Under the Oaken Bough - the new book

April 29, 2018

It has been in the works for a couple of years, with the writing, getting feedback and rewriting, editing with Jennifer Carson and Laura Spauling and re-writing, working with Rob Brookes on the illustrations, and with Parkhurst Brothers, the publishers! (And re-writing a bit more!) But it is out. And I am thrilled. Thanks Ted for approaching me and asking me to do this.

As I say in the author Q&A, I wrote this book because I feel people do not value, or necessarily enjoy folk and fairy tales the way I do. I wanted to try to change that, by putting together a collection of tales that was fun, and that got people interested in these ancient tales from different cultures.

There are many books out there for young people, teachers, and librarians which contain 'the usual suspects' like Sleeping Beauty, Rumpelstiltskin, Cinderella et al. I wanted to write a book which contains some old favourites (for comfort) and some stories that are harder to find for the layperson. I wanted the stories to be fun to read either to yourself or better still out loud! I wanted to have sources for readers, whether that a Tips on Telling section (check!), or a list of further reading (check!), or a list of words that some readers might find challenging along with their definitions (check)! And as I mentioned above it has an author Q&A.

There are seventeen folk and fairy tales, which, as Odds Bodkin says, are (I hope): "[w]itty, funny and full of tenderness..." Odds also says: "Brooks’ slightly irreverent, post-modern versions of world tales are marked by his ability to bring his characters to life..." Thank you Odds! All of these tales are stories I tell. Some more than others. Some stories to me are special stories that I take out only so often, and there are others which I love to tell more often. Some are like fine chocolates to be spoiled with, others are like soda or coffee - we need it now!

Yes, I have included Goldilocks in the collection, but I think the title says it all: "The True Story of the Brat Goldilocks." I want people who read this book to understand you don't have to tell a story as it is written on the page, but you can add yourself to the story, you can use your own voice and words to tell a story. With each tale, I have often included the Aarne-Thompson tale type so you can find variations, as well as notes where I first heard or found the story, or what it means to me. I want these insights to encourage the reader to dive into libraries and go to storytelling events to discover more stories and see how they can be told, and maybe find new stories to share with others, using your own unique style and voice.

Trying to write the stories as I tell them was a challenge. Telling a story with a live audience, using their energy as feedback and inspiration is very different to writing something legible! If I transcribed stories I have recorded live, either from my CDs or a live performance, the tales would have not mUnder the Oaken Boughade too much sense, or would have been hard to read. There are things I do in performance which tell the story - body movement, facial expressions, sound effects - which do not translate well to the page. But I think I have thrown my energy into the book, and added the style I tell to the pages, if not the exact words you might have heard. If you read the book and have one or more of my CDs, you might want to do a side by side comparison of stories such as Anansi Gathers Stories, or The Dragon and the Monkey's Heart, or One Wish - all tales on my first two CDs which are in the book. (If you have one of my bootleg CDs there are a few more tales you can compare! - Shh.) You will see what I mean by what works in the telling and what works in the writing.

The book contains seventeen illustrations done by the remarkable Rob Brookes. The book is worth the money for these alone! Rob created a holding page for each of the stories and illustrated the cover. His work is a blessing and wonderful compliment to the book. To be honest, I am not sure I would have published the book without his artwork and design suggestions. Rob is really a partner in this. Thanks Rob.

So if you like telling stories, if you are a librarian or school teacher, if you are a parent, grandparent or young person who kind of sort of wants to read more folk and fairy tales, or you want to try telling them yourself, this might just be the book for you. And you don't have to believe me! Check out what the godfather of storytelling, the fairy godmother of storytelling and a colleague and friend of mine who is a storyteller and story researcher have said about Under the Oaken Bough.

"A delicious collection: a tempting mix of old favorites and rare gems, all shared in Simon Brooks' engaging style.
Parents, teachers and tellers will all want this for their libraries. It is made more useful by his informative notes that include folktale index motifs as well as sources and variants. His insightful Tips for Telling is an added bonus."
- Elizabeth Ellis, International Storyteller and Author

"Simon Brooks invites us to relax and rest ‘under the oaken bough’ and the time is well spent.  Whether it is his clever adaptation of an Aesop tale, the humorous fractured fairy tale of a trespassing Goldilocks or a visit with our favorite trickster Anansi, Simon’s beautiful words and imagery will transport you.
In addition to the glorious, fresh variations of familiar and unique tales, these stories are well researched. Simon offers insights on different variations of specific tales, including the Aarne-Thompson classifications, along with his personal insights. Storytellers, educators, and librarians will definitely appreciate the detailed research he shares.  
Simon also offers us an extra gift with a gentle hand, specific guidelines perfected from his years of storytelling on how to find your unique voice before you step onto the stage. That section alone is worth its weight in leprechaun gold! I guarantee your imagination will be happily satiated when you rise from your time Under the Oaken Bough."
-Karen Chace, Storyteller/Author)

"Simon Brooks’ collection of folk and fairy tales is a must-have for parents to read to kids, while trying not to smile too much.  Witty, funny and full of tenderness, Brooks’ slightly irreverent, post-modern versions of world tales are marked by his ability to bring his characters to life, both with breezy but still vivid descriptions of animals and people, gifted dialog for all of them, and a lovely warmth for his material. An overly talkative turtle, a Goldilocks who is quite the brat, a quick-thinking fox facing a vain and hungry bear––the characters go on and on but never resemble one another. Brooks even adds a how-to about oral storytelling itself, filled with insights for both beginners and seasoned performers. With evocative illustrations by Rob Brookes, Under the Oaken Bough is a gem."
- Odds Bodkin, Storyteller/Author

RED! a retelling (PG-13 for fantasy violence)

Originally posted October 10, 2017

Red! A retelling, starting the story in the middle, by Simon Brooks, © 2017

It was dark, damp and hot. The air was filled with rancidity. The old woman felt around the slime covered walls which gave and moved to her touch. She felt a jolt and was bounced around and for a short while was not sure which way was up and which was down. Then all was still. Sitting up she felt the walls press against her. She heard gentle rumblings, was jolted again and felt it become slightly and slowly more damp. There was an acidic smell to the new dampness, not unlike wine. At least it was warm. Silence and stillness and what seemed like eternal darkness ruled for a while. Then the old lady could hear murmurings, mumbles, but could not really make anything out. The woman was glad to try to hear what the noise was; it was a distraction from the claustrophobia she was beginning to feel. Then another sudden jolt, a roar, and she was bounced and jostled around and felt something land and press against her. There was barely room to move before; now she was crushed almost beyond endurance against the stinking, slimy wall. The old woman did not move and then muttered to herself: “It’s dark in here, but at least I am still alive.”

“Who’s there?” said a tiny voice.

“Is that you, Little Red?”

“Grandma! Did the wolf eat you too?”

“Well, I suppose he did, my little one.”

“I’m sorry Granny, it’s all my fault.” The small voice began to tremble, so Granny pulled her grandchild in close and hugged her.

“Don’t be silly. How can it be your fault?”

“Well. Me and Mama, we made some bread for you ‘cause you were poorly and I was supposed to bring it to you with the wine. And I was s’posed to come straight here, but I never did,” said the girl. “It’s so hot, I can barely breathe.”

Granny spoke softly. “There, there.”

There was a sudden movement and they heard the sound of liquid rushing towards them. It poured over them both. Red cried out and Granny held the girl tighter. There was that acidic smell again. In another place it might have smelled good. Maybe. Granny said, “Well, what happened?” She tried to clear the warm liquid from Red’s face.

“Mama told me to come straight here, but I didn’t,” said Red.

“Well, what happened?” Granny asked again.

The girl sniffed and said, “I met a wolf on the path, Granny.”

Granny’s voice was patient and soft. “What happened, Red?”

“He asked if he could walk with me as it was such a nice day and I said ‘yes’. He was big, but really thin, Granny.”

“There, there. What happened?” There was more noise and some moving, then nothing.

“He asked where I was going and I told him. That I was coming to your house ‘cause you was poorly and I had bread me and Mama made and some wine for you. The wolf, the wolf, he said maybe I should pick some flowers, too. That if you was poorly, flowers would make you happy and feel better.”

“Yes, they would, my dear. Yes they would. So you strayed off the path?”

“I did Granny. I strayed off the path, and then he was gone. And I came straight here.”

Granny was quiet for a while. “That wolf, the old sinner. I bet he thought he’d come here and make a meal of us both.” She sniffed the air and her clothes. “And wash us down with the wine, of course.” She sighed and thought. “I’m sure there’s a way out of this, if I could think of it,” she said.

“It smells in here, Granny.”

“That is does, dear. That it does. It’s dark and hot too, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Although Red could not see her grandmother, she knew she was smiling. Red could hear it in her grandmother’s voice.

The humidity rose and rose. Granny tried to take deep breaths, but found it hard. The fetid air grew heavier until there was a great rumbling roar and release. For a while Granny and Red could breathe a little easier.

There was a slight movement and it felt like something was pushing in against one of the walls of the wolf’s stomach. A shining point came through the wall and with it, a thin sliver of light. The sudden brightness grew as the slit grew. After the complete darkness, the light made Granny cover both her own eyes and those of Little Red. More light poured in and a pair of hands followed. Little Red was pulled from Grandma’s grasp and lifted out of the belly of the beast. Granny cried out. The hands reached down again and carefully lifted Granny. They both blinked in the bright light and saw before them a tall, strong, kind-faced huntsman. Although he smiled at them, there was something about his face that told Granny how both she and her granddaughter looked and smelled.

“Are you two ladies alright?” he asked. He looked about and got a cloth. After dampening it he handed it to Granny who wiped her face and hands clean. A basket lay on the floor, and flowers were strewn about. An empty bottle lay on the floor next to an untouched loaf of bread still wrapped in a cloth. The table had been pushed across the floor and a chair tipped over. The old lady stood still shaking a little, wetted the cloth once more and began to wipe off Red. The young girl clung to her grandmother looking between the huntsman and the wolf.

The huntsman began to pick up things which had been knocked onto the floor and straighten the house up a little. He said: “I’ve been tracking this old sinner for a while now. Sorry I didn’t find him sooner.”

Granny looked at the huntsman. He was handsome and made Granny’s heart skip a beat. She smiled at the man. “Thank you. For saving us and for picking up the mess.” Granny looked over at her bed and saw the wolf with his head flopped back and belly opened up. “Please take it away.”

The huntsman pulled the sheets around the wolf, took the body outside. Granny washed Red’s hair at the water pump in the kitchen.

When the hunter came back in he told them he had skinned the wolf and butchered the meat. “No point in letting it all go to waste.” His clothes were rough but well made. The boots heavy and worn, but looked comfortable.

Granny remembered her husband, when he had been alive, had a pair just like them and he used to say they were as comfortable as slippers. She smiled at the memory, but then shuddered again, thinking of the wolf.

The man looked around the house and then at Granny. “Well, there is a reward for a wolf’s pelt. It doesn’t seem right to me that I keep it all. After all, I found the sinner in your house.” He moved from one foot to another, slightly embarrassed. I’ll bring you the money, or we could split it” said the man.

“No need to do that.” Granny stroked Red’s hair with lavender oil trying to get the rid of the smell. “If you had not been tracking him, I don’t know when we would have got out. You keep the money.”

“If you say so. Thank you. Can I help out here? Should I send word to anyone?”

“No. We will be fine now. If you could burn the bed covers and sheets, I would appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

So, the house was put right again. The great pot was boiled and the water poured into a small tin tub into which Little Red was thoroughly scrubbed. The pot was boiled again and Granny washed herself. She picked some lavender and rubbed the leaves over both of them. Granny dressed her granddaughter in some of her own clothes, and the two laughed at such a small girl dressed in such roomy clothing.

 While the washed clothes dried in the sun, the girl’s hooded red cloak flapping in the warm breeze. Together they made some soup which went very nicely with the bread Red had brought.

Before dusk, they went out together and picked some new flowers and put them in a vase. The flowers Red had arrived with were broken and trampled. Red’s mother and father visited a couple of days later to check on them both. The hunter had told them that the wolf had been found and killed and Granny and Red were fine.

Although it needs not to be mentioned, I will say that Little Red never strayed from the path again; unless it was with her grandmother to pick flowers.

Copyright Simon Brooks, ©2017

Stories Are Alive

Originally posted August 20, 2017

Last night I was telling stories at Camp Exclamation Point (CAMP!) where I go every year to share stories. The kids here face more challenges in their lives than most. For the last five years, I think it is, Odds Bodkin has joined me, and this year we had a special visit from Karen Pillsworth. Karen was standing in for Angela Klingler, who has been coming on and off for as long as I have been going (13 years).

For a change I told stories to the youngest Pods, and Odds told tales to the oldest group. I have been telling to the older kids since the beginning of offering storytelling to CAMP!. Because the younger kids only get about 30 minutes, I was able to hoof it up the hill (in a golf cart), join Odds to catch his last story and share two tales myself.

I told a story I had been working on, one I wanted to share with the CAMP! folks for the first time - The Golden Ball. They wanted another tale from me, and one young man asked me to tell the Scottish story known as The Lonely Boatman, or The Fairy Bride, depending on your source! It could be a couple of years since I have told the story. When the young man asked me, my first reaction was - no! It's been too long, I have not practiced it, I'll botch it up. But the story and characters floated to my mind and wanted to be told.

The story of The Fairy Bride, is not a silly story, it is not a story which makes us look at ourselves and laugh. It is a love story about the fey, the fair people - fairy folk. It's about losing something precious. And getting it back. It's on my third CD ('A Tangle of Tales') and is a beautiful tale. It was one of my Gran's favourite stories.

Stories, I truly believe, live within us. I have likened them before to children - sometimes errant children, who hide away when you have practiced and planned on telling them, or they can jump up and down and demand to be told.  The Fairy Bride is a gentle story, sad in places, thoughtful in others, and when I was asked to tell it, the tale stepped quietly to the front, ready to be told. It was alive, and it breathed as I spoke the words. The telling was different, easy, relaxed - I caught the elusive dragon. When the story ended there was that pause you sometimes get as folks take it all in, then a sigh, then applause. This was a large group of young people from 12 years up, not a group I would have pegged this story on, especially when they wanted ghost stories. This was not a ghost story in any manner or form. And they loved it.

Another story I tell on the same CD is called The Story Untold, Song Unsung. I end it, where and whenever you hear it, with words I came up with for this story: "If you know a song - sing it. For they wrap us up and keep us warm when we need to be held. If you know a story, tell it. For stories are like boots and like to travel." And I'll end this blog the same way.

If you know a story - tell it. Stories are like boots and love to travel.

Simon

17th August, 2017