Cinderella II

Thanks for joining! We’re going through Cinderella by Charles Perrault and having as much fun as much as possible — providing funny commentary and helpful tips for the author’s general improvement. Quick legend: We refer to the original author by several nicknames, including CP, Chaz, or, simply, Charles.

LAST TIME, we met Cinderella, a Very Nice Girl...

And her stepsisters! The Stepmom is there, too. The prince/king’s son of the land has issued a mostly universal invite to a party, and Cinderella’s trying to be cool about the fact that she definitely won’t be going. Two of the three girls instantly start brainstorming what they’re going to do/wear/say/etc, and the third girl forces a smile and cries inside. Let’s go! 

As a result of their solid sixteen-hour day of thinking about their party lewks, the stepsisters summon their hairdresser (who is not named) and someone named Mademoiselle de la Poche for their all-important “red brushes and patches”. Okay, so, more research needed for whatever those were and why they deserved name-dropping; but, also, I have a bit of French, and their friend is named Miss Pocket. Come on, Charles. 

In the next breath, it’s admitted that the stepsisters consult Cinderella in all of their beauty conversations, because she has great taste and advice. Hold up. They treat her like a servant, but, like, a trusted friend-y sort of servant? Given their backstories, that’s a little…condescending. (Although I suppose from what I know of seventeenth century France, ‘condescension’ is a pretty good take on … everything.) 

She even did their hair. (What happened to the hairdresser from last paragraph?) I mean, these three are acting like friends circa 1999. Until they start talking. “Hey, Cinderella, don’t you want to go to the ball?” “Don’t make fun of me,” cries Cinderella. “I’m not good enough for that.” (Girl has both incredible self-esteem issues and incredible restraint. Although, because seventeenth century France, maybe it’s less self-esteem and more a good sense of the establishment and a bit of depressed realism about her likely lot in life? Idk, Cinderella without magic, if it ends right there, is sadly relatable.) 

Moving on: To which heartbreaking admission the stepsisters’ classy rejoinder is “Right. It would make the people laugh to see a Cinderwench at a ball.” Elder sister, I’m not surprised, but younger sister, I expected more from you! 

What follows is more evidence of Cinderella’s arguably misplaced classiness: CP notes that this exchange would have made a lot of put-upon scullery maids with their hands in their mistress’s hair “fix their hair awry” so they’d look goofy at the castle later. Cinderella does not do this. I am disappoint. 

Okay, so, it’s suddenly the night of the ball. (Note to CP: Timeline not incredibly well laid out in 750 word story.) The stepsisters have been starving themselves and they’re breaking corsets so they can be all tiny and they’re rabidly staring at themselves in the mirror; it’s fine. Cinderella helps them dress and watches them leave with tears in her eyes. (Again, this is v relatable. I’ve been there.) Until…entrez la magique. 

Well—or—sort of. Her godmother just starts talking, as if…she’s been there all along, in the corner of the room, like a lamp or something. (Note to CP: Maybe your important characters should have an entrance? Helps with reader comprehension and flow of story.) 

Godmother asks if Cinderella is fine, and like many overwhelmed people who have been able to hold back tears up until a kind person asks this question, Cinderella breaks down sobbing. She wants to go to the ball, but she’d wanted to be all chill about it in front of her stepsisters. Again, highly relatable. Hashtag, Cinderella is all of us. But come on, Cindy (ew, not calling her that), suppressing your emotions and your ambitions, that’s a millennial thing. Civilization isn’t there yet. Be better. (I know, I know, that’s not unique to millennials; here I am trying to be ironic and topical. I won’t stop.) 

Okay, now la magique can fait its entrance. But Charles is working with some kind of under-sell-over-deliver type of rhetoric: “This godmother of hers, who was a fairy, said to her (paraphrased), 'You wanna go to the party?'" (Note to CP: Maybe you’re going for understated glamour, but your fairy godmother – a necessary type in the tale – was literally in the room all along, I guess, and now is like, boom, I’m a fairy, no big. Perhaps try for a little bit of tension? Surprise, suspense, action? Just a little? If you don’t write like you’re excited, no reader will be excited, amirite.) 

But apparently Cinderella knew about this, because this isn’t a surprise (or she’s just already all cried out, poor thing). I suppose this means that I, as the reader, am just super out of the loop when it comes to magic relatives, because the author, the narrator, and the protag are all acting like it’s the smallest deal in the entire world? Am I missing something?? (Note to CP: this would not fly in today’s marketing landscape) 

Cinderella only pays attention to the really important part of what her godmother, who just so happens to be a fairy, just said: yes, of course she wants to go to the party. Don’t we all? Why did the godmother even ask?

The pedantic fairy godmother then says, “Well, be a good girl, and I’ll get you to the party.” This was only sort of paraphrased. I don’t love this. This is how I address my dog. I’ll probably tell a future daughter this at some point, but I won’t be proud about it. Come on, fairy godmother. Also, spoilers, but in the millennial version of this story, Cinderella goes to a therapist for about forty years. 

They go to Cinderella’s horrifying garret, likely standing as far away from the offensive low-tech straw pallet as they can, and the godmother (who is also a fairy) assesses the situation. She then claps her hands at Cinderella, who dries her eyes and jumps to attention. “Grab a pumpkin,” says the godmother. Okay, so, we have now an idea of the time of year. Cinderella’s directed to find the gourd in the garden, which means that it’s a fresh pumpkin. Per expatica.com, it’s fall in France – likely, because it’s a pretty big pumpkin (per logistics), late fall. It is very cold outside. Just a thought. (This is reflected in zero of the movies, at least as far as I’m aware.) 

Cinderella lugs the pumpkin inside and watches as her godmother performs the messy work of scooping out the seeds. I hope she kept them. Roasted pumpkin seeds are delicious and an easy way to up your daily intake of fiber! Insert recipe, here!  

• How to make Roasted Pumpkin Seeds!
• Scoop seeds out of pumpkin.
• Wash seeds.
• Sprinkle literally any herb, pepper, or salt on the seeds.
• Sprinkle oil on the seeds.
• Bake the seeds at some degree for an amount of time.
• They are probably delicious now.

That wasn't a shameless grab for SEO.

After this, the godmother jabs the pumpkin with her wand, and it turns into a coach. (Stage, not life.) A few questions: Are they still in Cinderella’s bedroom? If the FG was planning on transmogrifying it all along, why scoop it out? (Appetizers; FG is hungry.) Why go for a pumpkin, if a mug or a toy car or a ball of yarn would have done the trick, and not necessitated Cinderella drag a heavy pumpkin inside in 25F weather? (Note to CP: UNCLEAR.) 

The godmother, who may have wings sprouting randomly from her back, went and grabbed the mousetrap from the corner. It’s full of live mice. Maybe that’s why the garret is undesirable? Although, unless Cinderella has a second kitchen in the corner of her attic, I’m not sure why the mice are up here.

Cinderella lets the mice out, godmother pokes each with her wand, and they turn into six horses; very fine horses. We know they’re fine, because Charles tells us they were each “of a beautiful mouse-colored dapple grey”. I thank you, CP, for giving me all of the compliments I’ll be using for the foreseeable future. One of my friends is getting married soon, and when everyone else is like “Oh boy! What a beautiful bride you are!” WILL I HAVE SOMETHING ORIGINAL TO SAY OR WHAT. (Scene: Rebecca hugs bride, smiles, and tenderly says, “You are far from the most ordinary in the world. You’re actually, just, kinda, medium-ordinary. Which probably means you’re even more ordinary, if you think about it. And lo, the beautiful mouse-grey pallor of your dappled skin! Oh happy day!”) 

NOTE TO FRIENDS WHO READ THIS WHO MAY BE GETTING MARRIED SOON: I will not say this.