From Hungry Rats:
“Close your eyes, Meredith,” she’d say, stifling a yawn. “Lay yourself back, and listen to the Story of Little Red Riding Girl. Little Red Riding Girl was a little girl they called that because she dressed up in red until she glowed iridescent. She wore red shoes and red socks and a red dress and red gloves and a red cape flowed down her back. And she had a great great Grandmother she liked, but the Grandmother got sick. So Little Red had a basket of smoked bacon to take her to eat. Now on Little Red’s walk through the forest she was noticed by a Big Bad Wolf, and the Big Bad came at Little Red, but she didn’t scream because he was a master of disguises. He made himself look like Little Boy Blue. Now the Big Bad couldn’t eat Little Red then and there, because he can never eat you unless you invite him inside first. So Little Blue (who really was Big Bad) said to Little Red, ‘Where are you going, Little Red?’ She said, ‘I’m going to my Grandmother’s to give her a basket of smoked bacon to eat because she’s sick, and when you’re sick you’ve got to clean your plate.’ ‘Where does your Grandmother live?’ asked Big Bad. ‘She lives on the Eastside,’ answered Little Red, ‘on Jane Street near Lewis.’ ‘Oh,’ said Little Blue. ‘Do you want me to kiss you?’ ‘No!’ said Little Red, and stamped her foot so that Big Bad (who was posing as Little Blue) was scared. But Big Bad left her, and went down to Grandmother’s house. And Grandmother who thought it was Little Blue and not Big Bad, invited him inside. And terrible things happened. Then, who should come knocking upon the door, but Little Red? She came in and Grandmother (who was really Big Bad in disguise) said ‘Give me my smoked bacon!’ Little Red said, ‘Who are you?’ and Big Bad said, ‘The devil!’ and he climbed out of bed and ate her all up, so Meredith don’t you never talk to strangers.”
In Hungry Rats, Meredith Malady spends almost as much time exploring her own family’s history as she does searching out the Ratman. From the outset, this history is a riddle because her mom and aunt both resort to allegory and fairy tale to share the story of their past. In one of the earliest chapters, Meredith’s Aunt Maggie tells her the above variation on Little Red Riding Hood. In most of its details, the story is similar to the version familiar to most readers, but Aunt Maggie coopts the image of Little Boy Blue to rationalize the Wolf’s disguise, and the tale is set on the Eastside of Flint. This moment was included in the original draft of Hungry Rats, and was initially a mood- or a character-moment; it helped establish Meredith’s home and upbringing. To my surprise, however, Little Red Riding Hood has an ongoing relevance to Hungry Rats and has insinuated itself deeper into each revision.
Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked: Sex, Morality, and the Evolution of a Fairy Tale, a phenomenal critique by Catherine Orenstein, excavates the Little Red Riding Hood tale at various depths over 500 years. Orenstein debunks categorical judgments on the fairy tale, while demonstrating its versatility and tenacious advocacy for everchanging cultural norms.
According to Orenstein, most “traditional” versions of Little Red Riding Hood are derived from that written by the German Grimm brothers’ “Little Red Cap.” In this story, Little Red Cap is ensnared because of disobedience to her parents and is rescued by being cut from the wolf’s belly by a woodsman; the story reinforces a patriarchy in which the primacy of authority trumps all other concerns for security. But the Grimm story descended from a French version written by Charles Perrault, a courtier of the French King Louis XIV. In Perrault’s version the girl strips and climbs in bed with the wolf, is not rescued in the end, and the piece concludes with a bawdy moral cautioning young girls against “wolfish” men. More than a imperative to obey, the story argues vigilance against treachery and false appearances.
Even this story, however, developed from an earlier, oral, peasant tradition, with a close relative called the “Grandmother’s Tale” which dates back to the French Inquisition. In this version, the red riding hood is lost and the wolf is replaced by a bzou (werewolf). Although the story includes cannibalism and more explicit sexual and scatological references, it is notable that the girl escapes from her predicament through her own initiative and resourcefulness. It was fundamentally a “wives” tale, exchanged while peasant women spun and wove together. But what is its source or its moral? Serial killers are not unique to the modern era; Harold Schechter discusses many notorious examples in his book The Serial Killer Files. Among the peasantry, murderers such as Peter Stubbe and Gilles Garnier, were “rippers” who savaged the corpses of their victims. Because the prevailing mindset was that only monsters could behave so monstrously, the killers were called, and often confessed to being, werewolves.
So in my novel about serial killers, I have coincidentally included a fairy tale whose oldest origins are probably a caution against serial killers.
I don’t believe in magic fairy-dust style, but there seems to be someting almost magical in the way our imagination sorts out and selects aspects of our experience in our search for truth. One thing is certain; after seven years and six revisions, this novel has almost as much to do with Little Red Riding Hood as it does with hungry rats.
I’ve included the Grandmother’s Tale below, as translated by Catherine Orenstein, for anyone who may be interested.
To learn more about Hungry Rats, click here.
To purchase a copy of Little Red Riding Hood Uncloaked by Catherine Orenstein, click here.
There was once a woman who had some bread, and she said to her daughter: “Take this hot loaf and a bottle of milk to your granny.” The little girl set off. At the crossroads she met a bzou.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m taking a hot loaf of bread and a bottle of milk to my granny’s.”
“Which path are you taking,” said the bzou, “the path of needles or the path of pins?”
“The path of needles,” said the little girl.
“Well then, I’ll take the path of pins.”
The little girl amused herself picking up needles. Meanwhile the bzou arrived at her grandmother’s, killed her, put some of her flesh in the pantry and a bottle of her blood on the shelf. The girl arrived and knocked at the door.
“Push the door,” said the bzou. “It’s closed with a wet straw.”
“Hello, Granny; I’m bringing you a hot loaf and a bottle of milk.”
“Put them in the pantry. Eat the meat that’s there, and drink the bottle of wine on the shelf.”
As she ate, a little cat said: “She is the slut who eats the flesh and drinks the blood of her granny!”
“Undress, my child,” said the bzou, “and come to bed beside me.”
“Where should I put my apron?”
“Throw it on the fire, my child; you won’t be needing it anymore.”
And she asked where to put the other garments, the bodice, the dress, the skirt, and the stockings, and each time the wolf replied: “Throw them in the fire, my child. You won’t be needing them anymore.”
“Oh, Granny, how hairy you are!”
“It’s to keep me warmer, my child.”
“Oh, Granny, those long nails you have!”
“To scratch me better, my child.”
“Oh, Granny, what big shoulders you have!”
“All the better to carry firewood, my child.”
“Oh, Granny, what big ears you have!”
“All the better to hear with, my child.”
“Oh, Granny, what a big mouth you have!”
“All the better to eat you with, my child!”
“Oh, Granny, I need to go badly! Let me go outside.”
“Do it in the bed, my child.”
“No, Granny, I want to go outside.”
“All right, but don’t stay long.”
The bzou tied a woolen string to her foot and let her go out, and when the little girl was outside she tied the end of the string to a big plum tree in the yard. The bzou became impatient and said:
“Are you making a load out there? Are you shitting a load?”
When he realized that no one answered him, he jumped out of bed and saw that the little girl had escaped. He followed her, but he arrived at her house just at the moment she was safely inside.
