New York, Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 2005

Title: Thumbelina

Language: English

Translation by (if any): not credited (the text is primarily Lauren Mills’s; it is likely that she worked with the original)

Adaptation by (if any): Lauren Mills

Illustrated by: Lauren Mills

Andersen credited as the author on the title page: yes

Place of issue: New York, Boston

Publishing house: Little, Brown and Company

Year of issue: 2005

Annotation: Beautiful and heartfelt illustrations, albeit feeling a bit secondhand compared to Mills’s other works, are compromised by a retelling that tries too hard to strip Andersen’s text of its melancholy. Progressive ideas, which Mills pushes into the narrative, often feel superfluous and didactic, although they will undoubtedly appeal to many parents and some children.

This book is my most recent acquisition, and it is a fascinating one. Both the illustrations and  the English text were created by the same person, the author of many award-winning children's books Lauren Mills. The book is clearly marketed as Mills's work (her name being larger on the cover than Andersen's), and it will be clear from the review that there are sound reasons for that. First to the book itself, though. This is an unpresumptuous but beautiful hardcover, illustrated in soothing, somewhat dim colours, for which the decent printing quality allows. The front cover has a minimalistic, classical look, with a painting of Thumbelina in a flower against warm white background, and the title in gold stamping. The sombre colouring involving shades of green, orange and purple rather than gaudy contrasting colours hints at the book's serious attitude to the story, aimed at older children. The back cover contains a medium-sized picture of Thumbelina holding to a red flower set against a sombre yellow sunset – an illustration to the harrowing "good-bye, dear Sun" scene, another indication of the book being on the serious side of interpreting Andersen. There is a dust jacket with information about Mills on the flaps. The dark purple endpaper, the same colour as most initials in the book, agrees with the front cover and fits in the book's effective and simple style.

Compared to the overwhelming majority of Andersen's retellings and adaptations, this one is done surprisingly well, with some respect to the original as well as with a lot of talent and creativity. This is what one could expect from such a brilliant author of children's books as Lauren Miller, who treated American children with such stories as The Rag Coat and Tatterhood. Ironically, because the adaptation is done so well, it reads as Lauren Miller's creation to at least the same extent as Andersen's. According to Miller herself, her goal was 'to remain faithful to the heart of the story, while keeping the writing accessible to readers today', at the same time portraying the main heroine 'with more strength of character than nineteenth-century conventions allowed girls'.

I believe that the feminist perspective is always praiseworthy in children's books, of which Miller's Tatterhood is a masterpiece and must-read for every English-speaking child. In Thumbelina's case, however, such an approach raises a very interesting question: is there much to be 'fixed' in Andersen's fairy tales in general? It can be noted that The Snow Queen features an exceptionally active and strong female protagonist. At the same time, look at The Ugly Duckling, which was published at the same time as Thumbelina and  basically follows the same plot (an outsider hero is scorned by the mundane world, suffers, finally finds happiness with his/her own kind of beautiful flying creatures). 

The protagonist of The Ugly Duckling is male but hardly demonstrates a greater strength of character than Thumbelina. I would say that, on the contrary, Thumbelina is much more active throughout the story than the tragicomic little swan. While it is true that in Andersen's Thumbelina the heroine is often depicted as a victim of circumstances, this is better explained by the nature of the story, which is focused on suffering and redemption, rather than by nineteenth-century gender stereotypes that Andersen's genius was clearly ahead of. That said, Lauren Mills is absolutely right that, in a modern young reader, the original Thumbelina will raise a lot of questions. It is the essence of Miller's retelling that it answers and rationalises them in a unique way, which, I think, is very American in the good meaning of this word. Which I would define as 'fundamentally optimistic': something Andersen has never been.

Let's look at two examples of how this happens. There will be pictures after that as well as in the process, don't worry!

Of witches and widows

The quite radical reinterpretation is apparent as soon as one reads a few lines. Opened with an impressive initial T, with  a remarkably realistic toad sitting on the top bar, the story goes as follows:

There was once a widow who longed for a little child of her own, and so she went to a wise witch and begged her, 'Oh, please can you tell me how I might find a child?'

'Find a child? Pfff! Nothing is easier. The village streets are lined with them!' teased the witch.

'Yes, but I would like to have a little one I can call my own,' said the widow. 'Can't you help me?'

'Well, maybe I can and maybe I can't,' replied the witch.

The bold emphasis is mine, of course. I think Mills's wording is really remarkable here, and we will soon return to it, but first let us have a look at the original version of the same scene.

Jean Hersholt's translation:

There once was a woman who wanted so very much to have a tiny little child, but she did not know where to find one. So she went to an old witch, and she said:

"I have set my heart upon having a tiny little child. Please could you tell me where I can find one?"

"Why, that's easily done," said the witch.

The Danish original:

Der var engang en Kone, som saa gjerne vilde have sig et lille bitte Barn, men hun vidste slet ikke, hvor hun skulde faae et fra; saa gik hun hen til en gammel Hex og sagde til hende: »Jeg vilde saa inderlig gjerne have et lille Barn, vil Du ikke sige mig, hvor jeg dog skal faae et fra?«

»Jo, det skal vi nok komme ud af!« sagde Hexen.

The curious English tradition of making Thumbelina's mother a widow is not Mills's invention, but is in fact a great topic for another time, when I do more research on English translations. More interesting is the emphasis on the woman’s desire to have a child ‘of her own’, which is scorned by the witch: a theme completely absent from the original. Telling the woman that ‘village streets are lined with [children]’, the witch either points at the possibility of adoption, which is  today an important social issue, or  simply hints that a child is never ‘one’s own’. The contrast between Andersen’s ’Jo, det skal vi nok komme ud af’ (’ Why, that's easily done’) and Mills’s (’ 'Well, maybe I can and maybe I can't’) is especially telling. The latter statement is particularly critical of the widow’s desire to have ‘her own’ child, foreshadowing the fact that most of the story has nothing to do with the widow: Thumbelina is not someone’s, neither her mother’s nor anyone else’s. This is the first accent on Thumbelina’s independency that Mills throws into the story, even before the character is born.

Further on, these ideas are fully developed in the following quite moralistic passage that has no parallel in Andersen's text:

By and by the witch stepped in to see how the widow and her tiny child were getting along. 'Are you happy now?' the witch asked the widow.

'Yes, except one thing,' the old widow answered. 'I watch that Thumbelina is safe at all times, but I know that someday I will die and there will be no one to look out for her.'

The wise witch, who was quite old herself, nodded and said, 'I know something about caring for children. Someday they start to take care of themselves, but only after you've let them go. You will know when it's time for Thumbelina to leave you. At that time you must open the window to the world and let be what is to be'.

And so there came a time when the widow noticed that Thumbelina was no longer playing happily at her old games. Instead, she sat listlessly on the windowstill gazing out at the butterflies fluttering about freely. One night when Thumbelina was sleeping in her bed, the widow quietly opened the window, bent down, and gently kissed Thumbelina for the last time.

Leaving aside the uncomfortable idea that the woman sent Thumbelina directly to the toads without even asking for her opinion, there are three aspects of Mills’s original scene worth looking at in more detail.

1. In Andersen, once Thumbelina is kidnapped by the toad, we never hear of Thumbelina's mother again; we can only assume how heartbroken she is. Here, an attempt is made to reconcile the reader with this fact by introducing the familiar rhetoric of children getting grown-up and independent. The widow even accepts the situation herself, which throws a more positive light on the whole story.
2. The transition between Thumbelina's childhood idyll and her later ordeals is quite shocking in Andersen's original. Once again, Mills makes her version more optimistic by making Thumbelina actually wish for a change. This is actually such an important concept in this retelling that a separate illustration is devoted to Thumbelina looking sadly at the fluttering butterflies through the window – a completely new image not even hinted at in Andersen’s text.
3. Mills introduces a rationalising voice – that of the witch – advocating the idea that the  story's events are natural and imminently good. Andersen's narrative lacks this notion, and in fact tends to present what happens to Thumbelina as dangerous and unfair. Andersen also limits the role of the witch to Thumbelina's supernatural birth, thus putting emphasis on Thumbelina’s transcendental, magical nature. This, in turn, explains the fact that she may only be happy in a transcendent, magical world that requires the help a boundary-crosser like the swallow to travel to. By including the witch into the ordinary human world, and even making her justify some of the story’s most tragic events, Mills effaces the boundary between the otherworldly and the mundane. The contrast, on which Andersen’s aesthetics are built, is still there, but it softened and compromised, and the uncanny implications of Andersen’s storytelling (no happiness in this world, great happiness in another world reached by transcendence; see The Little Match Girl) are made away with.

These changes to the story are ambivalent. On the one hand, they dispose of the original’s irrational and scary elements (and this tendency will continue further on). On the other hand, these elements are not simply thrown out, as it happens in many other retellings, but rather substituted with the discourse of a child’s coming of age – something the audience of the book can identify with.

The butterfly effect

Another important change undertaken my Mills takes place during Thumbelina’s escape from the toads. In Andersen’s original fairy tale, a butterfly helps Thumbelina escape by dragging the leaf she is standing at. However, once Thumbelina is kidnapped by the beetle, the butterfly stays tied to the leaf:

Jean Hersholt’s translation

A lovely white butterfly kept fluttering around her, and at last alighted on the leaf, because he admired Thumbelina. She was a happy little girl again, now that the toad could not catch her. It was all very lovely as she floated along, and where the sun struck the water it looked like shining gold. Thumbelina undid her sash, tied one end of it to the butterfly, and made the other end fast to the leaf. It went much faster now, and Thumbelina went much faster too, for of course she was standing on it.

Just then, a big May-bug flew by and caught sight of her. Immediately he fastened his claws around her slender waist and flew with her up into a tree. Away went the green leaf down the stream, and away went the butterfly with it, for he was tied to the leaf and could not get loose.

My goodness! How frightened little Thumbelina was when the May-bug carried her up in the tree. But she was even more sorry for the nice white butterfly she had fastened to the leaf, because if he couldn't free himself he would have to starve to death. 

The Danish original

En nydelig lille hvid Sommerfugl blev ved at flyve rundt omkring hende, og satte sig tilsidst ned paa Bladet, for den kunde saa godt lide Tommelise, og hun var saa fornøiet, for nu kunde Skruptudsen ikke naae hende og der var saa deiligt, hvor hun seilede; Solen skinnede paa Vandet, det var ligesom det deiligste Guld. Saa tog hun sit Livbaand, bandt den ene Ende om Sommerfuglen, den anden Ende af Baandet satte hun fast i Bladet; det gled da meget hurtigere afsted og hun med, for hun stod jo paa Bladet.

I det samme kom der en stor Oldenborre flyvende, den fik hende at see og i Øieblikket slog den sin Klo om hendes smækkre Liv og fløi op i Træet med hende, men det grønne Blad svømmede ned af Aaen og Sommerfuglen fløi med, for han var bundet til Bladet og kunde ikke komme løs.

Gud, hvor den stakkels Tommelise blev forskrækket, da Oldenborren fløi op i Træet med hende, men hun var dog allermeest bedrøvet for den smukke, hvide Sommerfugl, hun havde bundet fast til Bladet; dersom han nu ikke kunde komme løs, maatte han jo sulte ihjel.

It can be seen how the original revolves around the contrast between the idyllic scene in the beginning of the passage and the following catastrophe that has most probably killed the butterfly. In the Danish text, the melodramatic nature of the episode is even more pronounced due to Andersen’s emphatic use of epithets (‘en nydelig lille hvid Sommerfugl’, ‘den smukke, hvide Sommerfugl’, with no epithets applied to Thumbelina), meanwhile  the translation uses fewer epithets and distributes them more evenly between Thumbelina and the butterfly.

Mills’s retelling does not feature the story of the butterfly who was left tied to the lily pad, and although many adaptations don’t include it either, in Mills’s case this is a meaningful absence for a number of reasons. Firstly, Mills’s text does not tend to simplify or shorten Andersen’s text, and in fact preserves many minor details like the titles of the songs that Thumbelina sings for the mole. The exclusion of the butterfly story is therefore a conscious choice rather than necessity. Secondly, butterfly is clearly an important image in Mills’s version of the story overall. Not only is it present on quite a few illustrations including the front cover and the flips of the dust jacket, but Mills also includes butterflies into the text where in the original there are none; see the quote above about Thumbelina gazing through the window ‘out at the butterflies fluttering about freely’, and the accompanying illustration. 

Why leave aside an original story about a butterfly then? Especially given that, thirdly, when Thumbelina has escaped the toads, Mills does mention a butterfly in a passage that is very close to the original text. A line by line comparison will be useful, with bold emphasis on those parts of the original that Mills preserves in her retelling:

Jean Hersholt’s translation A lovely white butterfly kept fluttering around her, and at last alighted on the leaf, because he admired Thumbelina. She was a happy little girl again, now that the toad could not catch her. It was all very lovely as she floated along, and where the sun struck the water it looked like shining gold. Thumbelina undid her sash, tied one end of it to the butterfly, and made the other end fast to the leaf. It went much faster now, and Thumbelina went much faster too, for of course she was standing on it. Just then, a big May-bug flew by and caught sight of her. Immediately he fastened his claws around her slender waist and flew with her up into a tree. Away went the green leaf down the stream, and away went the butterfly with it, for he was tied to the leaf and could not get loose. My goodness! How frightened little Thumbelina was when the May-bug carried her up in the tree. But she was even more sorry for the nice white butterfly she had fastened to the leaf, because if he couldn't free himself he would have to starve to death.

Lauren Mills’s retelling Thumbelina sailed on and past many places, all the while listening to the birds singing sweetly to her. For a time, a dainty butterfly fluttered about her, and Thumbelina was overjoyed for its company and the brilliant sun shining down on the water, which glittered like liquid gold. Thumbelina’ happiness soon ended when a big beetle swooned down and clasped its claws around her waist and flew up with her into a tree. [then the narrative proceeds directly to the episode with the beetles’ visit]

It becomes clear at this point that there is no place for tragedy in Mills’s Thumbelina. Because of that, everything negative has to be excluded, like the butterfly’s likely death here. If something is sad and upsetting but impossible to exclude, it must explained and come to terms with by the means of introducing new original episodes, like Thumbelina’s parting with her mother.

***

Avoiding tragedy doesn't, however, mean dumbing down. Mills's illustrations are not just stunningly beautiful; they also tend to be very clever, and build up a quite complicated, almost Andersenian discourse by the means of playing with visual style. This is especially evident when the character of the Field Mouse is introduced. The idyllic, conformist world of the underground evokes children's classics from early 20^th century like Peter Rabbit – which, not unlike Andersen's Mouse, were focused on idyllic, conformist ideas and middle-class didacticism. The way Mouse herself is depicted is particularly characteristic of that style, together with the detailed environment of her home.

It strikes us immediately as we look at this illustration that Thumbelina does not really belong to this environment. She is depicted much more realistically, and does not have the Peter Rabbit 'cute' impression about her. This reflects Andresen's non-conformist pathos, which Mills clearly understands and respects, even though she tends to soften it now and then. The next large illustration, which depicts Thumbelina's wedding preparations, develops the same idea. The idyllic underground, which looked so nice in the beginning, are now dark and depressing. The many details are superfluous and overwhelming rather than cosy now, and the spinning spiders definitely add to the dark atmosphere. However, the Mouse is as cute as she was before, clearly having no idea about the gravity of the situation. This cute little creature is unable to understand that marriage without love may be a bad thing. She is unaware of how macabre her surroundings are. This is so close to Andresen it hurts a bit.

After this scene, the sublime romanticism of 'Good-bye, dear Sun' is all the more impressive. I really liked it that Mills went for smaller-scale illustrations here, but put three of them into the opening. Lighting and shadows are superbly done on both little illustrations, especially the dying out, golden sunset in the right: you really feel sunlight is going to be gone for good.

It is unfortunate how later illustrations do not really live up to this narrative strength, and in fact look as if they were stylistically relying too much on Mills's own excellent children's book Fairy Wings and The Book of Little Folk. Overall, it feels that there are too many self-quotations in this book, leading to the impression that Thumbelina lacks her own personality. She looks to similar to the heroines of The Rag Coat, Minna's Patchwork Coat and other Mills's works; you can look through Mills's gallery to see what I mean. Although this image of the lively ginger girl is sympathetic, one can't escape the impression Mills is trying to tell the same 'independent girl' story on Andersen's material. I would very much prefer such a brilliant artist to come up with a more original work, inspired by the original fairy tale more than by her own sentiments.

I am probably being too critical here. Some of the changes Lauren Mills decided to implement may upset someone who loves the original, but I believe that they are worthy of attention and respect rather than criticism from Andersen purists. It should be remembered that most editions of Andersen’s individual fairy tales aimed at children are toned down, happier retellings. This is especially true in Thumbelina’s case, since its editions are often marketed as reading for very young girls, meanwhile e.g. The Little Mermaid is seen as suitable for older kids and teenagers. What Lauren Mills does, and most editors don’t care to do, is actually discussing with the little reader the important questions imminent in Andersen’s narrative.  Andersen’s text is stronger and more profound because it provides no answers and leaves us to contemplate. Mills, at the same time, throws in what was never a part of Andersen’s Thumbelina – didacticism. This is not, however, the oldschool patriarchal didacticism of Peter Rabbit (or the early Andersen ‘translations’). This is rather the didacticism of the most recent Disney/Pixar animated movies that teach the children good and progressive things: be strong and independent, be true to yourself, fight for your happiness. The question is not, therefore, what to teach the children. The question is whether to teach – or not to teach, and just tell the story.

So let's be honest: this Thumbelina is a work of a genuinely talented person, gorgeously illustrated, thoughtfully retold. It will appeal to many people better than the original story, which is sad and broken in many ways, and kills the little white butterfly. The problem is, I do not personally care very much about the story Mills ended up with. Despite its praiseworthy involvement into modern social discourse (adoption, children getting independent, active attitude to life), at the essence it remains too watered down, and is, one could argue, too much afraid of frightening the child. This is especially strange given the book's clear aim at older children rather than early readers. I just assume Andersen is not a field Lauren Mills is completely comfortable at, which could also explain why her Thumbelina looks so similar to her other plucky, red-haired heroines. I adore Mills's work in general, though. My favourites are Tatterhood and the Hibgoblins, which takes the adaptation much better than Thumbelina, and the bust of Barack Obama.