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Once upon a time, fairy tales
were for children . . . But no longer.
You hold in your hands a volume of wonders -- magical tales of trolls and ogres, of bewitched princesses and kingdoms accursed, penned by some of the most acclaimed fantasists of our day. But these are not bedtime stories designed to usher an innocent child gently into a realm of dreams. These are stories that bite -- lush and erotic, often dark and disturbing mystical journeys through a phantasmagoric landscape of distinctly adult sensibilities . . . where there is no such thing as "happily ever after."
413 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1993
IT WAS the middle of winter, and the snow-flakes were falling like feathers from the sky, and a Queen sat at her window working, and her embroidery-frame was of ebony. And as she worked, gazing at times out on the snow, she pricked her finger, and there fell from it three drops of blood on the snow. And when she saw how bright and red it looked, she said to herself, “Oh that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the embroidery frame!” Not very long after she had a daughter, with a skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony, and she was named Snow-white. And when she was born the Queen died.
“Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”, collected by the Brothers Grimm
It is this interplay of light and shadow that we have sought to explore in creating this collection of stories, combining the Snow White of “high” fantasy fiction with the Blood Red of horror fiction. Some of the stories contained herein fall easily into one or another of these camps; others choose instead to tread the mysterious, enchanted path between the two—both bright and dark, wondrous and disturbing, newly fashioned and old as Time.
It seemed to me that all my life my mother had given me the wrong story, her made-up tales instead of Hansel and Gretel, had given me breadcrumbs instead of stones. That she had done this on purpose, told me the gaudiest, most wonder-filled lies she knew, so that I would not ask for anything more and stumble on her secret. It was too late now—I would have to find my own way back. But the path did not look at all familiar.
Wow, what a neat cover. Oh, fairy tale retellings? That sounds like it would be something I'd real- OMFG NEIL GAIMAN MUST BUY NOW
In an early French version of "Little Red Riding Hood," the wolf disguised as Grandmother tells the little girl to undress herself and come lie beside him. Her clothes must be put in the fire because, he says, she will need them no more.