SNOW
BLIND, a short story by Elizabeth Strout, is part of the feast offered up
by the sparkling Spring, 2013 issue of the Virginia Quarterly Review.
In
her story, Strout renders an updated example of the ancient form of the “fairy
tale.” Her version is complete with a
recognizable ensemble of characters and settings: the goose girl (the youngest among other
children of her family and a neighbor’s), the wise and infinitely durable old
woman (the grandmother of the goose girl), two sets of lamentable parents (one
of whom is driven mad by shame, and another of whom is revealed to be a
shameless monster) , a dark forest provided with a troll—unseen, but on the
loose (4th grade teacher), and a band of magical people who take the
goose girl away from all of this to care for her in a land of enchantment.
Strout
begins by observing olden forms. She
does not begin with “once upon a time,” but nearly so. She starts with, “Back then the road they
lived on was a dirt road…” The road
ultimately serves as a minor plot device helping us with the breadth of years,
when, near the conclusion, the road, now modern, becomes widened and paved.
Permit
me to interrupt myself. The term “plot
device” falls short. “Plot device” fails
in the way “machinery” fails to describe a “machine.” I prefer the term “plot coupon” (although it
can be used derisively) because (as has been said by Nick Lowe) your story
collects enough plot coupons, and you trade them in at the end for a denouement. Since we know that a story must be prepared
all along the way for what happens at the end, Nick’s term seems to fit.
While
we are at it, let us look at the term “denouement.” This is the French word for tying a knot and
for gathering in a net. This seems also
to be a good fit for an ending that must be satisfying to the reader in the way
that a crisply tied-up package is satisfying on birthdays.
Plot
coupons are important for Strout as she seeks identification for Snow Blind as
a linear descendant of the fairy tale.
Just as with fingerprint identification, there must be a sufficient
number of points of alignment.
Strout
has (by my count) sixteen plot coupons all during her story’s first
two-thirds. These not only prepare for
her ending, but also, they give her story membership in the category of “fairy
tales.” Six of those coupons are
repeated references to “the woods.” Many
fairy tales have their dark woods, as does this one. This being a modern fairy tale, sinister
things also go on in the neighbor’s house, but we needed a woods (or at least
some major touchstone with the older form) if Snow Blind was to be considered a
fairy tale.
Lousy
parents and dreary childhoods are also hallmarks of the genre. Snow Blind does not have the evil stepmothers
of Snow White and Cinderella, but the characters Strout brings to the story are
worthy of censure.
In
place of fairy godmothers and charming princes, Stout creates an industry of
good hearted “theater people” to whisk the goose girl off to safety and to
finish the job of growing her up.
Another
artifact that gives this modern story is “olden” feel, occurs near the end when
the author breaks the fourth wall, allowing the narrator (a gentle Mother Goose
sounding narrator), to kindly and ironically address the reader.
At
the end of the story, we have three parts:
the explication of the title, the finishing coda, and certain concluding
scenes at the goose girl’s old house, at the neighbor’s old house and at the
nursing home where the father of the goose girl wrecks havoc. The ending works. The story should have ended with the ending,
but it shows itself to be too insecure to stop talking.
One
of the final Beatles songs stopped very suddenly (with dramatic effect), perhaps
that could have been tried here with the final mention of the evil 4th
grade teacher.
The
early explication of the title (during a conversation with Grandma) should have
been “well-enough” left alone. The
finishing coda wanders off into unsupportable abstractions as Strout tries on a
unifying theme for both victims and predators.
Beyond this, the coda becomes “creepy” (a heedless extravagance at the
wrong time in the story, when we are trying to sort things out).
Snow
Blindness becomes a symbol. A symbol is
a metaphor given meaning by the story.
Now we see that the symbol of snow blindness (the physical condition)
attempts to serve the story. It does
not work, simply because the story has not connected with it sufficiently for
meaning to exist. So, it becomes a kind
of dangling metaphor.
A
good title refers to the core idea of a story without being stronger or weaker
and without misleading the reader.
Perhaps if snow blindness had been a recurring theme, it might have
worked, but as it is, after a brief and early mention, it was stuck on the back
end, like a shipping tag.
Indeed,
more than simply not working, the title (at the end) seems to supply an apology
for the two miscreant fathers. The coda
tells us that the two fathers were dazzled, causing them to heedlessly risk
everything in pursuit of two of society’s taboos.
With
this, even though the finishing coda fails, and even though the title fails to
support the denouement, the denouement does now perform additional useful work
as it brings into focus the last of Strout’s hallmarks of the fairy tale. This is the subject of society’s prohibitions
and the breaking of prohibitions.
The Thompson
Motif Index of Folk Literature lists hundreds of taboos as hallmarks of the
fairy tale genre. While most are
innocent, or even flippant (peeing on a fire, counting stars, travelers looking
backward), some of them are just as raw as the shame-wringing taboos of
Strout’s fairy tale.
Taken
for all its worth, the story can be counted a success. It is enough that Cinderella and Snow White
have new company with the addition of Annie Appleby (our goose girl of Strout’s
contemporary fairy tale).
Offered by the booktender of the Good Story Saloon (August
17, 2013)
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