Andersen's Mermaid

The Little Mermaid

Of all the fairy tales, I would say that my favourites tend to be those of Hans Christian Andersen. Forget the usual Ladybird retellings or antiquated public-domain translations found online; I would urge anybody to get a fresh, modern translation of the original stories, my favourite being the Penguin Classics edition (translated by Tiina Nunnally), followed closely by Naomi Lewis' translation (mainly as her translations have been the basis for a number of picture books and illustrated editions, my favourite being the one illustrated by Joel Stewart). A good English rendering of Andersen's stories lets Andersen's unique, arguably revolutionary, way with words shine through, and will appeal to both children and adults.

What makes Andersen's stories most appealing, however, is that they are the very emotionally charged creations of a specific author, told with a type of passion and sincerity that captures the reader's imagination. Andersen had a very unhappy life, and his fairy tales, inspired by folklore yet otherwise completely the author's original works, are often reflections of his life and inner-most feelings. The worlds created by Andersen are often cruel worlds, and a great deal of his stories don't have happy endings.

The richness of Andersen's fairy tales also makes them perfect points of inspiration. The Little Mermaid ended up being one such case a few weeks ago when, probably feeling a bit down as well, I was filling a sketchbook with random things. Andersen's original is far removed from the utopia Disney created; the story ends on a sad note, with its fragile heroine's plight a symbol of unrequited love. In addition to such a brilliantly tragic heroine, the story has a wistful, mystical tone to it, which equally gives it something worthy of exploration.