Creating The Webbd Wheel: The Little Mermaid

In which we sacrifice for love, or not ...

When I was in Kindergarten my school had a book fair in the gym. My mother took me to it. I already loved books. I had learned to read before I went to school. My parents read to my brother and me and our house was filled with books.

I found a paperback picture book, large and brightly colored. On the cover was a mermaid with long blond hair, sea plants and fish around her. It was a version of The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Anderson. It was too advanced for me to read myself, but I wanted it with my whole soul. Mom asked me if I was sure and bought it.

That was my introduction to this old fairytale, and it’s been part of my imagination ever since. The book is long gone, but I remember it clearly. I have several versions of the tale in my folk and fairytale library. Many forms of this story exist; the most famous and popular of which is Disney’s animated film.

In common with all old tales that survive, The Little Mermaid is layered with meaning and speaks to what it is to be human. We long for the unknown. We dream and fantasize and romanticize. We make sacrifices and choices. We fall in love. We experience exile. We face death.

I have always wondered about the Prince, the object of The Little Mermaid’s love and desire. When the character Radulf made himself known to me, I at last had a chance to explore the periphery of this beloved fairytale.

One of the rules I break with my writing is introducing important characters midway through the book, or even toward the end. I make no apology for this. Radulf entered the stage when it was time for him. He’s a patient, solitary, self-sufficient man and he doesn’t care about the rules of fiction.

Another character in The Little Mermaid story is, of course, the Sea Witch. Baba Yaga traditionally had ties to the sea and the fairytale fits perfectly with The Yaga’s agenda of wrenching too-sweet maidens into strong, clear-seeing, truth-speaking women. It all fit together.

The original story ends the only way it could, with love the ultimate victor. I have not changed the ending, not because I’m still a romantic, but because I’m not. Love is important, and strong, and seductive, but it’s not all there is. True love, real love, enduring love is much closer to Baba Yaga than the most dewy-eyed and beautiful Disney heroine and her simpering Prince. The Baba is not romantic, in case you haven’t noticed!

The Little Mermaid, who I named Marella, has to die. But then what? What of the Prince? Did he ever fully realize her sacrifice, the terrible price she paid to be with him, how much she loved him? Loving with our whole hearts and lives doesn’t mean the object of our love is aware of it or returns the feeling! And if he should find out after she’s gone, how would he feel? What would he do? Would he learn anything?

Do we owe something to those who have loved us, especially those who have sacrificed for us and whose love we cannot return? How does the experience of loving and being loved shape us?

Love is an easy word, fresh-skinned, beautiful, joyous, smelling like flowers. but loving and being loved can thrust us into Baba Yaga territory: knife-eyed, bloody, horrifying, humiliating, agonizing, and as bitter and dirty as sea foam.

(This essay was published with post #47 of The Hanged Man.)