In a Glass Grimmly

by Adam Gidwitz

  Then the queen let go of Jill and turned to the frog—who was frozen, staring at her. And she said, “I owe you this,” and she picked up the frog and kissed him. Right on the mouth. All the children broke out cheering. The frog, on the other hand, fainted.

  The queen turned back to Jill, to embrace her again.

  But Jill had turned away. She and Jack had put their arms around each other’s shoulders, as best friends will do, and they were watching the black smoke from the bonfire rise into the sky. Overhead, the darkness was still littered with stars. But in the east, there were signs of dawn.

  * * *

  Wait, wait, go back.

  Are you saying the Glass was just a mirror? It wasn’t magic or anything?

  No, I wouldn’t say that. I’d say that all mirrors are magic, or can be.

  They show you yourself, after all.

  Really seeing yourself, though—that’s the hard part.

  * * *

  Suddenly, a roar shook the forest. It was so loud that the leaves fell from branches, the earth shook, and an old tree fell over.

  Everyone in the clearing doubled over and covered their ears. Their eyes were all panic. What was happening? Was the world coming to an end?

  Jack and Jill were doubled over, too. But they were not panicked. They were laughing.

  Once the roar had subsided, a giant head emerged from the darkness.

  “Run!” someone screamed. “Run! It’s a dragon!”

  But it was not a dragon, of course. It was Eddie.

  On top of Eddie’s head sat the three ravens.

  “Sorry to intrude,” said the first raven.

  “But this guy was lost,” said the second.

  Everyone around the bonfire stared at the talking birds, perched atop the head of the most enormous, foulest-smelling beast they could have ever imagined.

  “He was looking for you,” the third raven explained.

  “Looking for us?” Jack asked.

  “He’s been looking for you for weeks now,” the second raven said.

  “Why?” demanded Jill. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, I think so,” said the first raven. “I think he just has some questions he’d like to ask you.”

  So everyone sat around the bonfire as the sun rose in the east, trying to define the word in for Eddie, and deciding who was smellier, Eddie or Fred. Not that they knew who Fred was. The queen put the frog on her knee. The boys from the village sat beside Elsie and her little sister. And Jack and Jill had their arms around each other’s shoulders.

  Perched far up above in a pine tree, the three ravens looked down upon the scene.

  The third raven said, “Okay, I have a question. What happens next? To Jack and Jill?”

  “Don’t you know?” scoffed the second. “You see the future as well as we do.”

  “Yes,” said the third. “But the future is very large, and it’s hard to keep track of everything.”

  “When they grow up, they will share the throne of Märchen,” said the second raven.

  “But they’ll marry other people,” the first interjected.

  “Right. And Eddie will lead their armies.”

  “Not that that they ever fight a war,” said the first. “Who would want to fight Eddie?”

  “True. And they will govern by the light of the Seeing Glass.”

  “Which just means,” explained the first, “that they’ll read the inscription from time to time, to remind themselves.”

  “Exactly. And they will be the greatest and wisest rulers in the history of the kingdom of Märchen.”

  “And,” added the first raven, “they will live happily ever after.”

  The three ravens sat in silence for a while, watching Jack and Jill—who were stronger than giants, more beautiful than mermaids, cleverer than goblins, and fast-friends with a giant, fire-breathing salamander.

  Finally, the third raven asked, “The end?”

  And the second raven said, “The end.”

  And the first raven said, “The end.”

  And it is, indeed,

  Where Do These Stories Come From?

  Sometimes kids ask me where I get my ideas. My answer is always the same: I steal them. Every writer steals, and writers who work in folk traditions steal liberally. But we don’t just steal.

  For hundreds of generations, writers and storytellers have taken the threads of older tales and have rewoven them into new garments—new garments that reflect our hands and our visions, and that fit the children we know and care for. All writers do this, even today. We who write in folk traditions are just a little more transparent about it.

  My first book, A Tale Dark & Grimm, took its inspiration from the tales of the Brothers Grimm, and I was, in that book, often quite faithful to those awesome (and bloody) stories—just as the Brothers Grimm were often (but not always) quite faithful in retelling the stories that they collected. I am far less faithful to my sources in In a Glass Grimmly. This is because many of these tales are Kunstmärchen, or “original” fairy tales—tales that were invented by a known author, like Hans Christian Andersen or Christina Rossetti. And what better way to be faithful to invented stories than inventing my own? So the plot, the themes, and the architecture of In a Glass Grimmly are wholly mine, as they were in A Tale Dark & Grimm. But this time, most of the chapters are wholly mine, too, with a wink and a nod here and there to those awesome story-weavers who came before me.

  My chapter “The Wishing Well” is based on “The Frog King or Iron Heinrich,” collected by the Brothers Grimm. It is the most faithful retelling in the book. The name of the kingdom, Märchen, is actually the German word for “fairy tales”—though “fairy tales” is a bad translation. Really it just means “stories you tell around your house if you want to scare the bejeezus out of everybody.” The details about tears on water waking the stars, and the stars granting wishes, were also used in my first book, A Tale Dark & Grimm. Those details comes from the Grimm tale “The Seven Ravens.”

  The chapter “The Wonderful Mother” is based, loosely, on Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

  “Jack and Jill and the Beanstalk” is inspired by Joseph Jacobs’s story “Jack and the Beanstalk,” though I’ve changed just about everything in it. The chant “Marie had a little lamb” is a riff on the Mother Goose rhyme “Mary had a little lamb.” (Sorry to belabor the obvious here.) Jack’s rhyme about jumping over the candlestick is also from Mother Goose.

  “The Giant Killer” is based, very loosely, on Joseph Jacobs’s “Jack the Giant Killer.” The setting and situations are quite different, but the tests, and Jill’s ultimate solution, were suggested by Jacobs’s text.

  “Where You’ll Never Cry No More” is inspired by Scottish and Irish legends of the water nixie, though no specific tales were drawn upon. Just my messed up imagination. The beginning of that chapter, when Jack and Jill fall from the sky and then down the hill, and Jack breaks his head open, is my homage to the Mother Goose rhyme “Jack and Jill.”

  “Goblin Market” is inspired by Christina Rossetti’s brilliant poem of the same name, which I really wish I had written. The fruit sellers’ chant is lifted directly from her poem.

  “The Gray Valley” is original, though the three ravens, whom you might remember from A Tale Dark & Grimm, come from the Grimm tale “Faithful Johannes.”

  “Death or the Lady” is inspired by three sources. The first is Frank Stockton’s original story, “The Lady or the Tiger,” first published in 1882. It is unforgettable and highly recommended—but better for adults than kids. The second is the Jewish folk tale “The Grand Inquisitor,” collected by Nina Jaffe and Steve Zeitlin in While Standing on One Foot: Puzzle Stories and Wisdom Tales from the Jewish Tradition; this story also appears in Nathan Ausubel’s A Treasury of Jewish Folklore. The third source, where I first heard the riddle with the slips of paper and the casket, is a puzzler from the NPR show Car Talk—which was called “The Lady or
the Tiger.”

  “The Descent” and “Eidechse von Feuer, der Menschenfleischfressende” are original. Jack’s mumbling about all the king’s horses and all the king’s men is a reference to the Mother Goose rhyme “Humpty Dumpty.” I must thank Chiara Frigeni for her help with my, shall we say, “creative” use of German in coming up with Eddie’s full name.

  The chapters “The Others” and “Face to Face” are also original. When Jack and Jill start into the kingdom of Märchen, I quote the Mother Goose verse, “Home again, home again, jiggedy jig.” The rhyme “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” is from the Grimms’ “Snow White.” The rest of the mirror rhymes are invented. The Others’ punishment, and the fact that they unwittingly choose it themselves, is drawn from the Grimm tale “The Three Woodsmen.”

  The book’s inscription comes from the New Testament, 1 Corinthians 13:12: “We see now as in a glass, dimly, but then we shall see face to face.” The book’s title, and the title of the last chapter, and the whole structure of the book, reflect this verse.

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I must acknowledge the immense importance of Julie Strauss-Gabel, the editor of In a Glass Grimmly and A Tale Dark & Grimm. Our process is this: I write a book that is meaningful to me, and then she tells me if anyone will have any idea what I’m talking about. She explains what works, what does not, and why. I rewrite. We repeat the process. Endlessly. Until the book I wanted to write has been revealed. She is throughout as generous to my vision as she is firm against my excesses. If my books convey any meaning to the reader at all, it is because of Julie.

  I must also thank the wonderful people at Penguin. Scottie Bowditch in particular has guided my work from obscurity to recognition with the resolution and intuition of a brilliant sea captain. Liza Kaplan has taken care of all the behind scenes work. Bernadette Cruz and Marie Kent, together, have introduced me to half of the librarians and booksellers in the country—I can’t wait to be introduced to the other half. The entire Penguin team does incredible work just to ensure that children get to read these stories; I am deeply grateful to them.

  Sarah Burnes, my agent, guides my life as it relates to books as insightfully as Julie guides my writing. I would be utterly and totally lost without her. And without Logan Garrison, too. Rebecca Gardner and Will Roberts at The Gernert Company have gotten A Tale Dark & Grimm into more languages and countries than I can keep track of; they are masters.

  Hugh D’Andrade’s incredible covers and interior art deserve their own gallery show. Perhaps we’ll arrange that one day. For now, the fantastic work of the Penguin Young Readers Group design team will do nicely.

  Laura Amy Schlitz was my elementary school librarian, and it may be that I learned the art of storytelling by watching her masterful, weekly performances. More recently, she has taken me under her wing, offering endless advice, comfort, and care through the process of becoming, and being, a writer. I do not deserve her.

  I feel deep gratitude toward Sal Vascellero of the Bank Street College of Education, as well as toward Amy Hest. Both Sal and Amy guided me through my very first attempts at writing, and were endlessly encouraging when I needed encouragement most.

  Zachary Gidwitz and Lauren Mancia both read drafts of this book and improved it immensely with their honesty.

  My family and my close friends are more important to me than anything else in the world. I know that you guys know that, but I just wanted to tell you again.

  Finally, I’ve got to say thank you to the kids. You know who you are. All the kids to whom I’ve told stories, at every school and library and bookstore I’ve visited—and, of course, at Saint Ann’s. Your laughter, your shrieks of horror, and your enduring passion for stories are . . . well . . . awesome.

  ALSO BY

  Adam Gidwitz

  A Tale Dark & Grimm