“How much time have you been spending on this?” Jack asked.
“A lot,” said the frog. “And that’s a w, not a decorative squiggle.”
Jack leaned over, his finger on his lips, peering at the letters. “Oh . . .” he murmured.
“And that’s a y, not a d. And an e, not an a.”
“Where did you learn to read?” Jill asked suddenly.
But Jack said, “Frog, you’re a genius . . .”
The frog grinned and went on. “Then there’s an s, not a j, and that’s two o’s after an l, not a b and an o.”
Jill nodded wonderingly.
“Finally,” said the frog, “that’s not an a. It’s a u and an r.”
Jack and Jill studied the mirror.
Their eyes traveled down the silvered pane.
They stared at their reflections.
And Jack and Jill, staring into the Glass, suddenly realized what their quest had actually been for, and what they had really been seeking all this time. And at that very moment, they found it.
* * *
Wait!
What?
What just happened?
What had they been looking for? What did they find?
Is the mirror magic? What did it show them?
Look, kid. I’m just telling this story. I don’t have all the answers. You gotta figure it out yourself.
* * *
“Um,” said a voice. “Excuse me, but did that frog just talk?”
Jack and Jill and the frog all spun around. Elsie and her little sister stood at the edge of their clearing, staring at them.
“Oh, boy . . .” muttered the frog.
“Well . . .” said Jack, “yes.”
“How?” said Elsie.
“Can I see?” asked her sister.
Jack looked at Jill. Jill looked at the frog. The frog shrugged.
“Come over here,” Jill said. She patted a spot on the log beside her. “Meet our friend Frog. He can talk.”
“Hello,” said the frog.
“Hi,” said both redheaded girls at once.
“You’re amazing . . .” said Elsie’s little sister.
The frog beamed.
“How do you talk?” Elsie asked.
“It’s a long story,” said the frog.
And both little girls, at the very same moment, said, “Okay.”
The frog sighed.
* * *
The sun was setting, and the sky was red and yellow and pink and blue as the frog finished his story.
“That was wonderful . . .” Elsie said with a sigh.
“Can you tell it again?” asked Elsie’s little sister.
Jack and Jill laughed.
“I mean, tomorrow,” the little girl said. “I want to bring my friends.”
The smiles slid off of Jack’s and Jill’s faces.
“Yeah,” said Elsie. “All the kids will want to meet the frog now!”
“And hear the story!” her sister agreed.
Jack and Jill both looked at the frog. “What do you think?” said Jill.
The frog turned his head coyly to one side. “They’ll all want to meet me?” he asked.
“Oh, yes!”
“And hear the story?”
“Definitely!”
“Well,” the frog replied. “If you insist.”
The next afternoon, all the children who had ever come to clearing to play with Jack and Jill were gathered before the hollow log. The frog sat between Jack and Jill. And once the children had gotten over their hysterical excitement about meeting a talking frog, he told them all his story.
He finished when the sky was dark, and the stars were twinkling overhead.
The children all instantly clamored for more: “What happened next? How did you meet Jack and Jill? Can we meet the salamanders?”
“No,” the frog replied, “you cannot meet the salamanders. And as for how I met Jack and Jill? That’s another very long story.”
And all the children, all at once, said, “Okay.”
Jack and Jill laughed. And then Jill said, “Why don’t we tell you tomorrow?”
The next day, an even larger group of children had assembled. Even some boys from Jack’s village were there. Not Marie, of course. But some of the quieter ones.
Jill told them all about her mother and the silk merchant and the terrible royal procession.
The children adored it. They ate up every word. A little boy in the back named Hans Christian laughed and gaped and clapped his hands straight the way through.
The day after, Jack told them about having to sell Milky and about the snake oil salesman. The boys from Jack’s village laughed when Jack sang the Little Lamb song, and told the other children that it was all true—that there really was a rickety old cart, and Jack did trade his cow for a bean. And then Jack and Jill and the frog told them about the creepy old lady with the pale eyes and the beanstalk. The children were mesmerized. Especially a little boy sitting in the front named Joseph, but whom everyone called J.J.
After the story, as the stars were spinning in the dark sky, Elsie and her little sister pulled some of the boys from the village aside.
“Don’t you think Jack’s father misses him?” Elsie asked.
“He does,” one of the boys replied. “He’s in mourning.”
“I bet Jill’s mother misses her, too,” said Elsie’s little sister.
“Well,” said Elsie, “why don’t we find out?”
* * *
The next night, the group was enormous. Jack and Jill had planned to tell the giant story, and they had gathered enough sticks and branches to make a large fire. The children sat round the crackling flames as dusk settled in, and Jack and Jill and the frog prepared to tell them about their adventures in the sky.
But before they could begin, some dark figures approached the back of the group. There were at least three of them, and they were pretty big for kids.
Elsie ran up to Jill and tugged on her arm. “Jill,” she whispered. “Do you think you could tell us the story from the beginning again? Most of the kids here missed the frog’s part.” Jill shrugged and asked Jack. Jack shrugged and asked the frog. The frog shrugged and said, “They want to hear my story again? I don’t know . . .”
He began his story again.
And off in the trees, a woman as tall as a statue and slender as a willow wand put her hand before her mouth and stared. Then she laughed. Then she grew serious. By the end of the story, she was wiping a tear from her eye.
The next evening, the crowd of children returned. And the next. And the next. And each evening, once the fire was raging and the children were comfortable, those three dark figures would come up behind the group and stand among the trees.
They heard about the silk merchant and the snake oil salesman and the old woman. They heard about the giants. They heard about Jack and Jill tumbling from the sky and falling down the hill.
A little girl sitting near the front, whose last name was Goose, laughed so hard at that part that Jack and Jill stopped telling the story and stared at her.
“I broke my head open,” Jack reminded her.
“I know,” said the little girl, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
They heard about the mermaid. They heard about the goblins. They heard about Eddie. Everyone loved Eddie. Finally, they heard about the terrible Others.
As Jack and Jill spoke, the fire illuminated their faces, igniting their features, flashing in their eyes. They spoke with such passion—and of such fearful and wondrous things. Their voices boomed and the children all sat back; their voices swooped down low and everyone leaned in. And Jack and Jill were fierce. And honest. And impressive. An
d beautiful. In the crackling light of the fire, out there in the pale green grove among the dark trees, everyone saw it. They were amazing, fierce, beautiful children.
And then they came to the final story. About returning home. They told it, and the tall figures in the back hugged their arms to their chests. They told about coming to live in these woods. And the friends they’d made.
And then they invited the frog to tell about the Seeing Glass—and his discovery. So he did.
He told them that what had seemed to say, “Fo timb hat da jeek, bok no father,” did not say that at all.
He told them that the f was actually a t.
He told them the t was an f.
He told them the m was a . . .
“Just tell us what it said!” someone cried.
“Oh!” said the frog. “Sure.”
He cleared his throat.
“It said, ‘To find what ye seek, look no further.’”
In the clearing, there was no sound but the crackling fire.
“What does that mean?” a child asked.
Jack smiled, and answered, “It means that it took a crazy quest, and almost dying lots of times, and more pain than anyone should ever have to go through—but we finally figured out what we’d been looking for all along.”
“And,” said Jill, “at that very moment, we found it.”
“What was it?” a big boy shouted.
“It was right there in the Glass,” Jill replied.
“What?” said Elsie. “What did you see?”
Jack smiled. “What do you think we saw? It’s a mirror. We saw ourselves.”
* * *
And then, suddenly, something burst inside of that tall, slender figure standing among the trees. She broke from the shadows and ran forward, over and through the seated children.
Jill stood up.
“Mom?” she said.
Her mother threw her arms around her. She whispered, “My beautiful, wise girl.” Jack’s father, and then the king, too, emerged from the trees, came up to the children, and embraced them.
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 “fair
y 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.”