Thursday, September 30, 2010

The bashed wife teaches best.

A wee shopping spree has left me somewhat of a beggar, but a beggar gloriously rich in (amongst other things) Russian fairy tales. I found a hefty tome lurking down the bottom of the children's section, and since I quite adore fairy tales and other bits of pre-modern literary ephemera I picked it up and opened it at random to find, in a delicious moment of irony, this:

HOW A HUSBAND WEANED HIS WIFE FROM FAIRY TALES

There was once an innkeeper whose wife loved fairy tales above all else and accepted as lodgers only those who could tell stories. Of course the husband suffered loss because of this, and he wondered how he could wean his wife away from fairy tales. One night in winter, at a late hour, an old man shivering with cold asked him for shelter. The husband ran out and said: "Can you tell stories? My wife does not allow me to let in anyone who cannot tell stories." The old man saw that he had no choice; he was almost frozen to death. He said: "I can tell stories."
"And will you tell them for a long time?"
"All night."

So far, so good. They let the old man in. The husband said: "Wife, this peasant has promised to tell stories all night long, but only on condition that you do not argue with him or interrupt him." The old man said: "Yes, there must be no interruptions, or I will not tell any stories." They ate supper and went to bed. Then the old man began: "An owl flew by a garden, sat on a tree trunk, and drank some water. An owl flew by a garden, sat on a tree trunk, and drank some water." He kept on saying again and again: "An owl flew by a garden, sat on a tree trunk, and drank some water." The wife listened and listened and than said: "What kind of story is this? He keeps repeating the same thing over and over!"
"Why do you interrupt me? I told you not to argue with me! That was only the beginning; it was going to change later." The husband, upon hearing this - and it was exactly what he wanted to hear - jumped down from his bed and began to belabor his wife: "You were told not to argue, and now you have not let him finish his story!" And he thrashed her and thrashed her, so that she began to hate stories and from that time on forswore listening to them.

After that, of course, my feminist hackles were bristling about my ears and I didn't know whether to laugh or scream so I just bought the book instead. I like how it's pretty much the story of Scheherezade in reverse: just think how many virgins would have been saved if King Shahryar had been a woman with an attendant man to bash her into submission. Or how terrible Scheherezade's stories could have been if only she'd been male. Anyway, a quick flick on the tram revealed quite a collection of similarly beleaguered ladies; they'll probably be popping up anon.