As much of pop culture has been reminding us for a while now, fairy tales are quite a bit more irksome than Disney would have us suppose. And it is right that it be so. Disney’s The Little Mermaid remains an excellent piece of entertainment. But there’s something deeper and more moving in the original story’s tragic ending. Disney’s Cinderella is still enchanting; but when the Grimms’ wicked stepsisters’ eyes are pecked out by doves, there’s a satisfaction that is more than malice. Fairy tales ought to be ghastly: they are our myths, and no one likes an insipid demigod. And what better time to value one’s thirst for the gory than at the season of Halloween? (Or Hallowe’en, if you like.)
In 1982, the seventh issue of the Journal featured a poem called “Iron Hans,” by the American writer James Krusoe. Iron Hans, as you may know, is one of the Grimms’ less celebrated characters: a wild man who is, inevitably, a king in disguise. The poem has a splendid simplicity and a great cadence in its last two lines.
This Hallowe’en, as we or those around us revel in disguises, it may well for us to explore the eerie realm of forests, enchantments, and shocking transformations.
Iron Hans
James Krusoe
After all of that —
after all the huntsmen in the country and their dogs
have gone into the forest
only to be eaten by the iron man
and the iron man is captured and escapes
taking the king's son with him
who he keeps for a while and then lets go
so the kid's on his own until at last
it's revealed his father's a king
and just as he's about to marry another king's daughter
who should appear but Iron Hans himself
no longer under a spell and dangerous
but rich and handsome and himself a great king —
then we're expected to applaud
we who are huntsmen
or the sons of huntsmen
