"Fever Dream" is a short story written by Ray Bradbury in for Weird Tales. It deals with the issues and anxieties suffered by teenagers that result from bodily.
Table of contents
Her plan to burn Talia at the stake backfires, and she herself becomes the victim of the flames. Basile adds a disconcerting moral: Is it any surprise that the Brothers Grimm changed the rape to a chaste kiss and replaced the married king with a bachelor prince in their more child-friendly collection of fairy tales? Today, Sleeping Beauty continues to haunt our cultural imagination -- it will not go away -- with philosophers meditating on the Sleeping Beauty Problem, filmmakers probing motivation in productions like Catherine Breillat's Sleeping Beauty and Robert Stromberg's Maleficent , and celebrities like Lady Gaga reenacting a version of Beauty's sleep in a bid to sell perfume.
Sleeping Beauty may wake up to the perils of mortality, but her story retains a perverse vitality. Wayne State University Press, , pp. There are many variants of this African tale about a hunter known as Ama in some versions who learns harsh lessons about beauty, art, and sustainability at a time when environmental concerns were not of less burning cultural relevance. Removing the tortoise from its natural surroundings was already a violation; revealing its secret becomes a profound betrayal.
Unable to resist the impulse to broadcast the wonders of the tortoise's song and what else is that but the storytelling instinct? And the tortoise, in an act of controlled passive-aggressive behavior, refuses to sing on command. Branded a liar who misrepresents, talks nonsense, and tells "fantastic tales," Ama is publicly shamed by the chief. Central to "The Singing Tortoise" is the cult of beauty, with a tortoise that sings with a human voice and plays a small piano-like instrument known as a sansa but also feels freed of the obligation to court an audience.
Humans have an obligation to protect that self-contained, natural beauty. Advertising its allure is condemned in a story that can be seen as an exercise in the very same activity of telling in which Ama engaged. The story captures paradoxes about concealment and revelation in the image of the tortoise, which can open up to the world but also withdraw into its shell.
Many African tales have an emphatically self-reflexive quality, one that often challenges us to think about the power of story in general as well as to decode narrative mysteries. Henry Holt and Co. The Russian answer to the Brothers Grimm, Alexander Afanasev collected hundreds of folktales, among them a hybrid of "Cinderella" and "Hansel and Gretel. On the orders of her stepmother to secure fire from Baba Yaga, Vasilisa makes the trek out to her hut in the woods. What does she see there?
Skulls with empty eye sockets stared down from the posts. The gate was made from the bones of human legs; the bolts were made from human hands, and the lock was a jaw with sharp teeth. She becomes a consummate spinner and seamstress, who wins the heart of the tsar with her beautiful fabrics and handicraft. Vasilisa's story traces an odyssey from rags to riches, but it also turns the girl into a cultural heroine who brings light, in the form of fire, back home. Three magnificent steeds also gallop through the story, sending an apocalyptic shudder through the woods and frightening Vasilisa out of her wits, with each horse and rider a different color white, red, and black to match the times of day at which Vasilisa sees them dawn, high noon, and night.
Fairy tales like "Vasilisa the Fair" are syncretic, constructed by borrowing tropes and motifs, along with bits and pieces of plot, not only from the cultural surround in which the tale is told but also from other tales, legends, and myths. Maria Tatar New York: Norton, , The raw energy of "The Juniper Tree" has fascinated writers ranging from P.
Travers of Mary Poppins fame to J. Both fell under the spell of the tale, rhapsodized about the story's "exquisite and tragic beginning" and its combination of "beauty and horror. A mother dies in childbirth. Her husband remarries, and the new wife is determined to do away with her stepson. She lures him to his death by offering him an apple from a chest, and then, bam!
Hostel Guide
She slams the lid down "so hard that the boy's head flew off and fell into the chest with the apples. Is there a way to engineer a "happily ever after" after the uncompromising brutality of these opening scenes of carnage? Folklorists know the tale as "My Mother Slew Me; My Father Ate Me," and a recent anthology of reimagined fairy tales uses that identifying label as its title. Can there by redemption after the slaughter of an innocent and a meal with all the mythical horrors of the one prepared by Atreus? The boy, buried under a juniper tree, comes back to life as a bird, with red and green feathers, eyes that sparkle like stars, and a band of pure gold around its neck.
Its rainbow beauty and alluring song fill the world with sparkling sunshine and aromatic wonders. But this bird is also out for revenge, and it exchanges a song for a millstone, using it to crush the stepmother, then returning to human form and sitting down for dinner with father and sister. Norton, , pp. The food promptly appears in bowls that sparkle and glow.
The Veldt (short story)
This microdrama packs wisdom about fairy tales into a small golden nugget. Wish fulfillment often takes the form of enough food to eat, and in this case it means that the heroine, who lacks culinary skills and burns all the dishes she tries to prepare, will no longer be the target of ridicule. In fairy tales, the highest good, whatever it may be, is always bathed in an aura of golden light, luminous and radiant, yet also contained or framed with metallic substantiality.
And finally, in a self-reflexive gesture, the crow's magical writing instrument reveals the power of words to build fairy-tale worlds, sites that move us out from reality and enable us to feel the power of what-if in ways that are palpably real. You can almost see and smell the dishes, even if you can't necessarily touch and taste them. With the magic quill, an instrument that signals the power of the pen, the youngest of the three sisters in the tale succeeds in duping a trio of would-be suitors and inflicting bodily punishments on them and the monarchs in the tale.
Closely related to "Cupid and Psyche," as well as to "East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon," in addition to Beauty and the Beast tales, this story gives us a beast less ferocious and slimy than the frogs, goats, dragons, dogs, and chimeras found in many tales. Penguin, , pp. Lulu Young, a old African-American woman living in North Carolina, sat down with the folklorist Elsie Clews Parsons about a century ago and told her the story of Bluebeard. A few decades later, Richard Wright would report the transformative childhood experience of having "Bluebeard and His Seven Wives" read to him by a boarder on the front porch: Never mind the content of the story, with its portrait of a marriage haunted by the threat of murder.
It is astonishing that a story we are accustomed to think of as European the Frenchman Charles Perrault was the first to write it down in circulated orally in the deep South. Lulu Young's Bluebeard tale takes up all the key tropes of the story in its many cultural variations: Wife number seven summons her seven brothers, "jus' as he went to kill her. Hans Christian Andersen's story begins with the description of a palace, "the most magnificent in the world," that belongs to the Emperor of China. The Emperor, an erudite man with exquisite aesthetic sensibilities, reads about nightingales and secures one for himself.
The bird has a voice so "lovely" that its music goes straight to his heart. One day a large package arrives with the word "Nightingale" written on it. Inside it is a mechanical bird, covered with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. It survived them all. In the end, however, an army of beetles attacked the tree and leveled it to the ground. The insects ate their way through the bark and gradually destroyed the inner strength of the tree by their tiny but incessant attacks.
A forest giant which age had not withered, nor lightning blasted, nor storms subdued, fell at last before beetles so small that a man could crush them between his forefinger and his thumb. There is a parallel in this story which should serve as a warning to us. Most of us can survive times of crisis. We summon the strength of faith or resolve for most any battle that we face head on. Whether it is in our professional or personal lives, we often overcome great obstacles.
It is the small things like jealousy, anger, resentment, pettiness and negativity that eat us from the inside, which often bring about our downfall. Harry Emerson Fosdick The seven wonders of the world. One morning there was a knock on John's door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter's toolbox. Could I help you? Look across the creek at that farm. In fact, it's my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us.
- 1-3 John MacArthur New Testament Commentary (Macarthur New Testament Commentary Serie)!
- Fever Dream (short story).
- The Surgeon and the Shepherd: Two Resistance Heroes in Vichy France;
- 10 Lesser-Known Fairy Tales That Should Get More Love | HuffPost?
- El fantasma de Canterville (Spanish Edition)?
- Gender and the City in Euripides Political Plays.
Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I'll go him one better. See that pile of lumber curing by the barn? I want you to build me a fence - an 8-foot fence - so I won't need to see his place anymore. Cool him down anyhow. Show me the nails and the post hole digger and I'll be able to do a job that pleases you. The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, and nailing. About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job.
- Poker Tips that Pay: Expert Strategy Guide for Winning No Limit Texas Hold em;
- The Veldt (short story) - Wikipedia.
- Fever Dream (short story) - Wikipedia.
- Digital Diplomacy: U.S. Foreign Policy in the Information Age?
- The Break Up Manual.
The farmer's eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all. It was a bridge - a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work - handrails and all - and the neighbour, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand outstretched.
Navigation menu
They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. Stay a few days. I've a lot of other projects for you," said the older brother. One leads to isolation and the other to openness. The other side of the wall. The two lumberjacks It was the annual lumberjack competition and the final was between an older, experienced lumberjack and a younger, stronger lumberjack.
The rule of the competition was quite simply who could fell the most trees in a day was the winner. The last ride I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes, I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift, I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I wanted to change the world When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.
Thoughtful and inspirational stories
Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world.
We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was really friendly. So I asked, 'Why did you just do that?
This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital! He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally, just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets.
The two hospital patients Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on holiday. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and colour of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every colour of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.
She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and, after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.
It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.
Her husband had always been a tender and loving soulmate before he had left for the wars but, ever since he returned home, he was cross, angry, and unpredictable. She was almost afraid to live with her own husband. Only in glancing moments did she catch a shadow of the husband she used to know and love. When one ailment or another bothered people in her village, they would often rush for a cure to a hermit who lived deep in the mountains.
She always prided herself that she could heal her own troubles. But this time was different. As Yun Ok approached the hermit's hut, she saw the door was open. The old man said without turning around: His back still to her, he said, "Ah yes, it's often that way when soldiers return from the war. What do you expect me to do about it? There is a potion that will restore your husband to the way he used to be, but you should know that it requires an unusual ingredient.
You must bring me a whisker from a live tiger. He turned his back. As you can see, I'm very busy. How could she get a whisker from a live tiger? The next day before dawn, she crept out of the house with a bowl of rice covered with meat sauce. She went to a cave on the mountainside where a tiger was known to live. She clicked her tongue very softly as she crept up, her heart pounding, and carefully set the bowl on the grass. Then, trying to make as little noise as she could, she backed away. The next day before dawn, she took another bowl of rice covered with meat sauce to the cave.
She approached the same spot, clicking softly with her tongue. She saw that the bowl was empty, replaced the empty one with a fresh one, and again left, clicking softly and trying not to break twigs or rustle leaves, or do anything else to startle and unsettle the wild beast. So it went, day after day, for several months. She never saw the tiger thank goodness for that!
Then one day as she approached, she noticed the tiger's head poking out of its cave. Glancing downward, she stepped very carefully to the same spot and with as little noise as she could, set down the fresh bowl and, her heart pounding, picked up the one that was empty. After a few weeks, she noticed the tiger would come out of its cave as it heard her footsteps, though it stayed a distance away again, thank goodness!
Another month went by. Then the tiger would wait by the empty food bowl as it heard her approaching. As she picked up the old bowl and replaced it with a fresh one, she could smell its scent, as it could surely smell hers. Not a week later, the tiger allowed her to gently rub its head, and it purred and stretched like a house cat.
Then she knew the time had come. The next morning, very early, she brought with her a small knife. After she set down the fresh bowl and the tiger allowed her to pet its head, she said in a low voice: She stood up, speaking softly her thanks, and left, for the last time.