Introduction by C.C. CecilyEveryone loves fairy tales. By which I mean, “Some people love fairy tales.” It’s just that “everyone” sounds better. Just as it sounds better to say “Nobody played with me” than “When I was on the playground, some of the children refused to obey me.”
Fairy tales tell of adventure, adversity, courage, and love. But once the tale is told, all we know of our heroes and heroines is that they lived Happily Ever After. But surely there must be more to it than that?
Ever After is a long time to be Merely Happy.
What are our heroes and heroines doing now? How do they feel about the fantastic events that they encountered? What lessons have they learned? And if they could go back in time, would they do the same things again? Does life seem boring now in comparison, or are they relieved they no longer have to keep their eyes peeled for poisonous apples, fearsome dragons, uncomfortable peas, etc.?
For the past few years, the curious among you have been asking these questions and sending them to me, C.C. Cecily, the Senior Secretary of the Fairy Tale Fan Club. I then pass on these communications to the Fairy Folk concerned and await their replies, which I then forward back to the relevant parties. If necessary, I add my own comments and clarifications.
How, you might ask, did I ascend to the prestigious rank of Senior Secretary of the Fairy Tale Fan Club? It’s a fascinating story, and I’m delighted you definitely asked me about it.
You see, being a coward myself, I’ve always admired heroism. And though I have nothing but high regard for those square-jawed types who rush in with no concerns vis-à-vis their personal safety, I’m afraid to say that if
I saw a dragon attacking a mythical kingdom, I would not reach for my smiting sword. Partly because I do not own a sword, and partly because I have always been a vocal opponent of smiting.
I’d be more likely to retreat a reasonable distance, fortify myself with an herbal tea, and write a strong letter of complaint. “Dear Mr. Dragon, I must urge you in the strongest possible terms to refrain from breathing fire over my fellow townsfolk. Not only is there significant risk of burning, the smell is sulphurous, and the resultant light pollution unsightly. Yours in expectation of a swift response, etc., etc.”
But here’s the nub of the thing. Many of these princes and princesses (who wouldn’t think twice of thrashing a troop of three-headed beasts) come out in rashes of the deepest and prickliest purple at the very prospect of writing so much as a postcard. Whereas I (who never met a three-headed beast to whom I would not defer) like nothing more than swiftly filling a few sides of lightly lined parchment.
When it comes to correspondence, I’m in a class of my own. Give me a form, and I will not quiver. I’ll plow through a pile of pamphlets and not once go outside the box. Ask me to scan something and I’ll skip to my office nook with the giddy abandon of an unleashed puppy. In that sense, there is no hero greater than I. As my mother would say: “To be highly organized is to be truly alive!” And also: “Stop climbing that tree—it might explode!”
Before long, and throughout the land, tell was told of my administrative mastery. I was headhunted (not literally!) to become personal assistant to the—and I quote from his email—“Prince Who Woke Sleeping Beauty’s Brother.”
When I replied, I pointed out that this made it sound like
he (the brother) was woken
by the prince or (even less clear!) that he was the prince who woke the brother of Sleeping Beauty! However, the unhelpful ambiguity could be rectified were we to change his sign-off to “The Brother
of the Prince (Who Woke Sleeping Beauty).” Needless to say, the prince’s brother was very impressed by my fastidiousness, as well as my ability to make grammatical accuracy so much fun.
The prince’s brother was, in all respects, the second-bravest and most blankly handsome man I’d ever met, but he was absolutely terrified of admin. He didn’t even have a name!
Try applying for a parking permit when your name and address are “The Other Prince, The Big Castle, Somewhere in Fairy Land.” It wasn’t long before I was managing both princes’ mailbags. Then, after successfully helping Sleeping Beauty set up her online wellness empire, I was recommended to Cinderella, who recommended me to her Prince Charming, who mentioned me to some elves and . . . Well, you see how it works.
I found myself answering so many letters that I thought it might be easier to set up a single postal address to handle all the inquiries. Please add the below to your files:
C.C. CECILY
SENIOR SECRETARY
THE FAIRY TALE FAN CLUB
PO BOX 1
FAIRY LAND AVE.
FAIRY LAND (ONCE UPON A TIME)
FAR, FAR AWAY
As well as “fan” letters, I also handle many of the communications within the Magical Kingdom itself.
Indeed, I have been known to share a little of my own wisdom, when so requested. (Yes—old C.C.C. has a few fans himself!) So, if you want to know more about your favorite fairy tale characters, you’ve chosen the right book. And if, once you’ve read this book, you’re left with any unanswered questions, why not write to me? Who knows? Maybe your letter will appear in the next volume . . .
LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD Our first letter is from Ira, and it is addressed to Little Red Riding Hood. You know Little Red Riding Hood—she was literally wolfed down.
Dear Little Red Riding Hood (I,m sorry, I don,t know your real name), How can you be swallowed by a wolf and survive? Also, how is it possible to mistake a wolf for an old woman? One is grisly and scary, and the other is a wolf. Just kidding, ha ha! But to be serious, it didn,t sound realistic to me. I think I would know the difference between a person and a wolf, and everyone tells me that I don,t concentrate enough just because I don,t like to eat an entire meal while sitting down in THE SAME PLACE! Anyway, I hope you,re feeling OK now. The whole thing must have been super weird. Yours sincerely, Ira
(aged 8) PS How "little'' are you? Here’s what our fairy tale friend has to say about the matter . . .
Dear Ira, Thank you for your letter inquiring after my health. I am fine now, though I have to admit I’m in no rush to be swallowed again! All I can say is that I’m glad wolves aren’t taught to chew their food. If that animal had possessed any manners, I’d be fully digested by now. I can understand why you thought some of the things in the story didn’t sound “realistic.” Why, you ask, couldn’t I tell the difference between my grandmother and a wolf? To which I might reply, don’t you think it’s weirder that a wolf was talking to me in the first place? And here’s the other thing. I don’t know if you’ve ever met my grandmother, but she’s a little on the hairy side. I don’t mean to be rude, but we went to the supermarket last week and a young girl asked if she could pet her. She also sounds surprisingly like a wolf. She howls quite a lot, dribbles, and frequently attacks sheep. And she can open tin cans with her teeth, which is not bad, seeing as she’s just turned ninety-six. I have told my grandmother that, in the future, if she suddenly finds herself with a craving for cupcakes again, she can add them to her own basket. Fondest,Little Red Riding Hood
PS (Re: your PS) Less "little" than I used to be.
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHESDo you recall the tale of the emperor’s new clothes? It tells of the (literal) exposure of a vain and self-important emperor. Two con men, conscious of the emperor’s weakness for the finer things in life, convince His Highness that they have fashioned some attire so gossamer-thin and resplendent that it can only be seen by those of superior intelligence. Not only does the emperor believe them, he also decides to parade in front of the whole town in his new “clothes.” No one wants to seem stupid, so everyone claps and cheers him along. Apart from a young child, who points out that this fashionista’s private wardrobe is very much on display.
Oi, Emperor! Gutted, mate! You must feel like a proper plank! Ha ha! P.J. The above letter is signed, simply, “P.J.”, and comes from either a pair of pajamas or another young child. It’s a letter that knows the value of brevity, something that may not have been in the forefront of the emperor’s mind when he sat down to respond.
Dear P.J., Your letter adopts an accusatory tone. You seem to be saying, “How on earth could you have been fooled into thinking you were wearing clothes?” Well, first things first — I was wearing underclothes. There’s a nasty rumor that I was wearing nothing but a look of slow realization. Well, that’s a lot of rot! Why would I go out without any underpants on?! What sort of brute do people take me for? I had on underpants, socks, AND an undershirt. I was practically dressed! Now, when you are both totally and marvelously royal, like me, you basically live in silk. Silk pajamas, silk suits, silk dressing gowns — you name it, I’ve got it in silk. I’m practically a parachute. Silk is almost weightless, and sometimes it’s so thin it’s see-through. So I thought, “Maybe these clothes are just super silky. Like, Next-Level Silk." Lastly, these absolute asses, whose names I neither care to mention nor remember actually, played a nasty trick. They said anyone who couldn’t see these so-called New Clothes was stupid. They used (what we call in the business) reverse psychology. Your parents probably use this on you: “Oh, I hope you don’t eat the rest of that spinach. I’d like to have it myself.” “Oh, this book might be a little too grown-up. Shouldn’t we pick one that’s for younger children?” “Oh, there’s no way you can pack away all your toys! Especially not in only two minutes!” It’s a mean, low-down trick, isn’t it? You feel you have to do what they say, just to wipe that smug smile off their faces. So if I had said I couldn’t see these New Clothes, I would basically have been saying I was stupid! Well, I wasn’t going to tell everyone I was stupid! What do people think I am? Stupid?! I’d rather DO something stupid than ADMIT to being stupid, that’s how NOT stupid I am! The only problem with not being in any way stupid is that you end up doing quite a lot of stupid stuff to prove that you’re not stupid. Such as, for example, parading in front of the whole kingdom with your knobbly knees pimpling in the chill wind. So my advice would be: if you can see through it, don’t wear it. Fondest, The Emperor
(Dictated but not read — I’m too important to read or write things — I barely have time to dictate!) PS: At least you didn’t use invisible ink to write to me! The last person who wrote me a letter did, and my new royal advisor, whom I trust implicitly, told me that it was from a very important charity (that all the other important royals support) and that I should sign a blank check every month and just give it to the advisor to post. It never ends!
Copyright © 2024 by Richard Ayoade; illustrated by David Roberts. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
