Samuel DenHartog's Blog: The Road to 1,440 - Posts Tagged "grimm-brothers"

Rapunzel isn’t expecting to be saved. She’s surviving. Locked in a tower without a door, she builds her world from birdsong and threadbare dreams. Her hair, long enough to carry someone skyward, is cursed against cutting. The sorceress who imprisoned her returns only when it suits her, and never with kindness. Days bleed into each other, but Rapunzel does not fade. She writes songs no one hears but the birds, knots her braid into puzzles the magic combs cannot undo, and tells herself stories to remember who she is. It is not that she believes someone will come. It is that she refuses to believe this tower is the end. And yet, some part of her wonders if every silence, every dream, has been carefully placed. If the sorceress has been waiting for something too.

Raphael is the son of King Logan and Queen Seraphina, a prince raised with duty in his blood and expectation always just behind him. But when dreams begin pulling him westward—visions of a girl singing in a tower that should not exist—he chooses a path no one else would have allowed. He walks away from the safety of the crown and rides into the unknown, armed only with a bow, a dagger, and the belief that love might be true even before it is proven. What he finds is not a damsel in distress, but a girl who has survived more than silence and time. A girl who has waited without waiting, who meets him with wariness and fire.

This is a story about love, but not the kind that arrives perfect and easy. It is about the kind that takes root slowly, that grows through late conversations and uneasy trust, through jokes made to keep fear at bay and moments of silence that mean more than words. It is a story of courage that does not shout. And it is a story of destiny, not as prophecy, but as a choice made again and again. A climb, a voice, a hand reaching out through bramble and spell.

And if the sorceress meant for them to meet all along, then what comes next may cost more than either of them is ready to pay.

For as long as I can remember, I have been drawn to old stories, the kind that used to be passed from mouth to ear across generations, worn smooth with use like a favorite stone in the hand. These tales have outlived their tellers, stretching across continents and centuries, shaped by landscape, belief, struggle, and joy. What I do now with the Fables Anthologies series is, at its heart, an act of care. I take these stories from their dusty corners, from public domain collections, forgotten folktale volumes, and scattered translations, and I restore them for modern readers.

Some call what I do writing, but I think of it more as restoration. Much like someone working in a museum, I do not paint over what is already there. I clean it, I repair the cracks, and I sometimes touch up the fading color so the original shape and soul of the piece can be seen more clearly. I want young readers, and grown ones too, to see the full beauty of these stories as they were meant to be experienced, not buried under archaic phrasing or obscure references. My job is not to invent the tale but to make it shine again.

Stories by Culture, Not by Convenience

Each book in the Fables Anthologies series focuses on the stories of one culture. That is a key part of my approach. Unlike older collections that mix together tales from many places, I believe it is important for readers to know where a story comes from. Cultural context matters. It shapes the rhythm of a tale, the nature of its humor, the challenges its characters face, and the wisdom it tries to pass down. When a reader opens Fables from Nigeria, Fables from Japan, or Fables from Ireland, I want them to step into that world fully and respectfully.

Some books, like Fables from Nigeria or Fables from Simla, draw mostly from a single source or collector, carefully reworking the material into stories today’s readers can enjoy. Others, such as Fables from the Philippines or Fables from Wales, are assembled from multiple translations, folk collections, and retellings, requiring research, comparison, and thoughtful reconstruction. I always name my references at the start of each book, both out of respect and so that readers can explore the sources further if they wish. I am not the author of these stories in the traditional sense, and I never claim to be. What I do is act as a bridge between old text and new eyes.

Modern Retellings with Honest Roots

The stories themselves are traditional, but the way I present them is modern. I rewrite each tale using language that today’s children can follow with ease. If there are words or concepts that might feel unfamiliar, I explain them within the flow of the story itself, in a way that feels natural and welcoming. I do not shy away from keeping cultural terms or important original elements, but I give them context so that the magic is not lost in confusion.

I also add dialogue to help bring characters to life. Where the original tale might summarize a dramatic moment in just a line, I expand it, letting readers linger in the moment, hear the voice of a clever fox or a frightened child, and feel the emotional pull of a difficult decision. These small touches do not change the story’s heart, but they make it beat more clearly for a modern reader.

Following in the Footsteps of Lang and the Grimms

I see my work in the tradition of collectors like Andrew Lang and the Brothers Grimm . Lang’s Fairy Books gathered stories from around the world, adapting them for English-speaking readers in the late 19th century. His versions were shaped by his era and his audience, and while he sometimes blurred the origin of the tales, his work helped preserve them in a way that brought wonder to generations.

The Brothers Grimm, too, were not originators of the stories they are famous for. They gathered, edited, and reshaped German and European folktales, changing them over the years to suit their goals and audiences. Like them, I recognize the value of shaping a story so that it can survive. Unlike them, I aim to keep each culture’s tales clearly labeled and individually celebrated.

Books like Fables from South Africa, Fables from Czech, Fables from Blackfeet, and Fables from Turkey are part of this mission. These are not just stories for children. They are cultural treasures that deserve thoughtful presentation, clear language, and just enough creative guidance to make them sing again.

Why It Matters

What drives me is not nostalgia or academic interest alone. It is the belief that these stories matter. They carry within them the dreams and fears of past generations, the wisdom of elders, the humor of farmers, the songs of wanderers, and the quiet strength of those who survived hard winters and deep sorrows. To lose these stories to time or to language barriers would be a tragedy. To restore them, to make them live again for readers today, is a kind of quiet triumph.

The Fables Anthologies are my offering to that effort. They are meant to be read aloud, to be shared, to be loved. They are meant to stir curiosity, invite laughter, and pass on something precious. In every tale I retell, I try to honor the voices that came before me and the young minds who will carry those voices into the future.

This is not new work, but it is necessary work. And it is work I am proud to do.

Keeping Them Accessible

To make these stories as accessible as possible, I have priced all the Kindle eBooks in this series at $0.99. I want anyone, anywhere, to be able to read and enjoy these tales without cost being a barrier. These stories belong to the world, and my goal is simply to help them find their way into new hands and new hearts.