Elizabeth Hopkinson's Hidden Grove

  Warning: contains spoilers for the books and film. This year’s theme at Swanwick Writers’ Summer School is “Back to the Movies”. I’ve decided to go as a character from one of my favourite films ever: Howl’s Moving Castle . For that reason (as if I needed a reason!) I’ve been re-watching the film and re-reading the sequels, Castle in the Air and House of Many Ways . And as with the moving castle itself, there is always more to discover. Here are some of them. The Magician’s Cape  I’ve been reading this Swedish fairy tale by Anna Wahlenberg as part of my ongoing quest for asexual fairy tales. I think it could well qualify! But I couldn’t help noticing the similarities to Howl’s Moving Castle. The titular magician has a castle high on a mountain, in front of which “he conjured a wonderful garden where magnificent flowers glowed… There the magician would lie on a velvet couch under the branches watching beautiful young girls dance on the lawn, and sing and play the guitar.” Furt...

It’s that time of year again, when people start posting “spooky” Hallowe’en blogs, pics and videos. I famously detest the modern Hallowe’en, but am all in favour of the more recent rediscovery of the season as a time to honour the dead, perhaps via the Mexican Day of the Dead. Last night, I watched the classic Ingmar Bergman film The Seventh Seal for the first time. (The one where the knight plays chess with Death.) Contrary to common belief, the film isn’t wall-to-wall bleakness, and Death actually has a sense of humour. I love his deadpan - excuse the pun - delivery when he is sawing down a tree in which a man who has just escaped death is hiding.  Yep, I’m Death. I’m just sawing down this tree because your time is up. Nothing to see here. As you were. (I paraphrase). Anyway, it got me thinking about literary portrayals of Death, and how Death in books is often anything but bleak. Or even final. Here are my top choices: 1. Discworld by Terry Pratchet ...

Several times on this blog, I have referred to the story of Mary Taft, who in 1726 supposedly gave birth to 17 rabbits. In my discussions, it has usually been linked with ideas of parthenogenesis, monstrous births and fears about the contents of women's wombs. And now the 17 rabbits have surfaced again, in the film The Favourite , about Queen Anne, the last (officially recognised) Stuart monarch, and her court favourites Sarah Churchill and Abigail Masham. In the film, Queen Anne has 17 pet rabbits, which she keeps in little cages in her private chambers, and lets out to hop around and be petted at various intervals throughout the film. We are told that each of these rabbits represents a child that Anne lost through miscarriage, stillbirth or cot death. I have to say, the rabbits are incredibly cute, and provide some much-needed relief from some of the more disturbing aspects of the film. Having done a fact-check, I can tell you that the real Queen Anne did not keep pet rabbits (as...

I recently went to see Rupert Everett's wonderful film, The Happy Prince, about the last days of Oscar Wilde. The story is framed by Wilde telling his fairy tale, The Happy Prince, both in his lost past with his sons, and his down-at-heel present with young denizens of the Parisian demi-monde. I have loved The Happy Prince since childhood but hadn't thought to associate it with Wilde's life until now. In the film, there is a clear parallel between the statue of the Prince being stripped of his gold and jewels until he is finally torn down as an eyesore by the Mayor, and Wilde's fall from his heady period of fame, through scandal and prison, towards derision, destitution and death. This led me to think about our own times, which have seen a large number of high-profile celebrities and "national treasures" brought down through scandal and court cases. Some of these individuals have committed genuinely terrible crimes, unlike Oscar Wilde, who was ...

Who doesn't love Lettie Lutz, the Bearded Lady character in The Greatest Showman, who sings   the iconic anthem, This is Me ? Yesterday, my daughter took me to a singalong version of the film for a Mother's Day treat, and we both belted out This is Me at the tops of our voices. Both Lettie and the song have become symbols for anyone who feels marginalised or different. It so happens that last week I watched another film about a hairy woman, the very beautiful Norwegian coming-of-age film,   Løvekvinnen , or The Lion Woman, based on a book by   Erik Fosnes Hanson.   It tells the story of Eva Arctander, who is born in a small town in the early 20th century and struggles to find her place in the world. Especially, it concerns her relationship with her stationmaster father, widowed at her birth. I loved this film - which I watched on Netflix - and I definitely want to see it again. One of my best reads of last year was Orphans of the Carnival by Carol Bi...

She asked for a rose.  Her father reaches out to pluck one.  Suddenly, a Beast appears, furious, accusing him of theft.  The penalty is death.  Or the surrender of his daughter. But why such a harsh penalty for plucking a rose?  Much has been said - or invented - on the possible meaning of the rose.  When the last petal falls, the Beast's fate is sealed eternally.  It is the first thing he has learned to love.  It symbolises virginity; the plucking of the rose mirrors the deflowering of the daughter; the aristocratic Beast is excercising his  droit du seigneur  over Beauty, the merchant's child. But why should the plucking of a flower carry such a heavy penalty?  And why does the same motif occur in other fairy tales?  For example, Rapunzel , in which the father must sacrifice his child as payment for picking herbs from the Witch's garden. One answer may lie in ancient mythology.  Most ancient polytheistic religions have s...

King Kong: RKO pictures, 1933 I have recently finished reading Black and British: A Forgotten History by David Olusoga , an excellent book, which accompanied a BBC TV series of the same name.  I can't praise this book enough, and I'm not going to say everything that is to be said about it here.  Instead, I'm going to talk about something that came out of my reading of this and another book: The Anatomical Venus by Joanna Ebenstein.   It concerns a recurring image of paranoia, racism and sexism that ends up as the much-remade RKO film, King Kong. Before I start, let me warn you that this blog contains images and text that some people may find distressing and/or offensive. It begins with a painting: The Nightmare by  Anglo-Swiss artist Henry Fuseli.  The Nightmare: Henry Fuseli, 1781 There are several versions of this painting, but it basically depicts a beautiful young woman, asleep or swooning, with an ape-like incubus perched on top of he...

Two years ago, when the first Hobbit film came out, I took a retrospective of my relationship with Lord of the Rings , and Legolas in particular.  I commented that it was ten years since my first fan poem, "Legolas", which was to spark a whole wave of fan fiction, and lead me back into creative writing as a professional. Now, fresh from viewing the final Hobbit film, I would like to complete that retrospective (although my writing relationship with Middle-earth will never be ended).  It has been wonderful to see Mirkwood on screen, to see Legolas and Thranduil together, and to see another person's angle on those classic fan girl questions: "What was Legolas doing during the Battle of the Five Armies?"  "Did he really get on badly with Thranduil?" And, "What about Legolas' mother?"  I'm sure a lot more of those thoughts will come out on the extended DVDs, but for me, watching the Hobbit films has been like being inside a living fanf...

It's now the time of year when people usually start to ask the famous question, "What do you want for Christmas."  Usually, for me, it's books and films.  What more can anyone ask than a story that takes you away to a magical time and place?  Last week, I discovered that three animated films I had been waiting to be released have already been longlisted for Oscars.  One is already on DVD.  They're from three different countries and are all totally magical, and my wish  is now to see them all before next Christmas. 1.  Jack and the Cuckoo-Clock Heart. I have been waiting for this one ever since I read the book it's based on - The Boy With the Cuckoo-Clock Heart by Mathias Malzieu (original title: La Mécanique du Coeur) .  The English translation of the book came out in 2009, so it's been some wait... http://youtu.be/v7VHN4hGlk4?list=LL015t4QOwi2PPh995q4ZIvg 2.  Song of the Sea This beautiful Irish film is made by the same people as ...

watching the film in the mediatheque Last week, I went to try out the new mediatheque at the National Media Museum .  The film I watched made a huge impact on me.  It was a silent film from 1923 starring Ivor Novello, called The Man Without Desire . It reminded me of Oscar Wilde's fairy tales, so it was interesting that the director, Adrian Brunel, based the story on an idea from an Irish playwright, Monckton Hoffe.  It also seems to draw inspiration from a poem of Robert Browning's,  "A Toccata of Galuppi's", a stanza of which is quoted in the film: As for Venice and her people, merely born to bloom and drop, Here on earth they bore the fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop: What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?  (1) Like a true fairy tale, The Man Without Desire  can be read many ways, but as it contains themes especially dear to me, those are the ones I will concentrate on in my review. The plot An Engl...