WILHELM HAUFF was a story-teller in the great European mythic tradition. His short stories, peopled with a vivid assortment of dwarves, evil witches, enchanted swans, and devious princes, owe a clear debt to the Brothers Grimm. But rather than rehashing old tales, Hauff created a realm far more exotic than the Grimm's Black Forest, a place where the morals are less than clear-cut and where characters must rely on wits as much as magic spells to solve their predicaments. One collection (probably his best known volume), Little Mook, provides the two tales for our new Pocket Paragon: "The History of Little Mook" and "Longnose the Dwarf." "Little Mook" features a gnomish, innocent orphan whose parents never thought he would amount to much and refused him even the most basic education. Friendless and alone, the naive Little Mook is stripped of his inheritance, cast out into a hostile world. Blessed with an enterprising nature and outfitted with a pair of magic slippers, he still manages to outwit a cabal of treacherous courtiers and make his fortune. "Longnose the Dwarf" stars a clever little boy enslaved by a cruel witch's curse. Freed from servitude but transformed into a hideous dwarf with a huge proboscis, he returns to parents who no longer recognize him. Luckily his culinary skills put him in good standing with the local Duke, and his good nature and generous heart restore him (with a little help from some magic herbs and an enchanted goose) to his family. Both stories are decorated with the glowing, gemlike tempera paintings of Boris Pak, a Russian artist whose ornate, whimsical style perfectly captures the romance and humor of these two extraordinary fables. His paintings, smuggledout of Communist Russia, are the first of his works to be published in the U.S. and they're reproduced here in glorious color.
Wilhelm Hauff was a German poet and novelist best known for his fairy tales.
Educated at the University of Tübingen, Hauff worked as a tutor and in 1827 became editor of J.F. Cotta’s newspaper Morgenblatt. Hauff had a narrative and inventive gift and sense of form; he wrote with ease, combining narrative themes of others with his own. His work shows a pleasant, often spirited, wit. There is a strong influence of E.T.A. Hoffmann in his fantasy Mitteilungen aus den Memoiren des Satans (1826–27; “Pronouncements from the Memoirs of Satan”). Hauff’s Lichtenstein (1826), a historical novel of 16th-century Württemberg, was one of the first imitations of Sir Walter Scott. He is also known for a number of fairy tales that were published in his Märchenalmanach auf das Jahr 1826 and had lasting popularity. Similar volumes followed in 1827 and 1828. His novellas, which were collected posthumously in Novellen, 3 vol. (1828), include Jud Süss (The Jew Suss; serialized 1827).
The publishing team at David R. Godine always seem to turn out books which look and feel like books destined for top shelf status. Good paper stock, unique titles, and excellent illustrations signify a Godine publication and this version of the exotic fairytales of Wilhelm Hauff upholds the same high standards.
Comprised of LITTLE MOOK (gnomish boy finds his path in life) and DWARF LONGNOSE (be careful of strange women in farmers' markets), the lessons told here make for excellent reading for child and adult. Throw in the colourful Soviet-ish illustrations by Boris Pak and this is one unusual book. I particularly enjoyed the second tale of lessons learned while being a culinary squirrel. Chew on that one.
I used to be in total love with little Mook when I was about 8. It's actually one of the first books I remember reading; if my memory serves me well, it was a colouring book that included the story as well.
I really like the illustrations and the way the pages feel. The stories are very cute and full of magic and trickery. I've not read Wilhelm Hauff's fairy tales before, and these two stories are a good introduction.
Two popular fairy-tales that I'd not read before. I liked the second one better, but both were nice in the narration, though none of them particularly overwhelming. Definitely a 'must' of German literature, though. I was moved to find out, though, that the author, who I'd always pictured as a worthy old gentleman, died before reaching twenty-five years of age.