So tormented was she by her curiosity that, without stopping to think how rude it was to leave her friends, she raced down a little staircase so fast that more than once she thought she was going to break her neck. When she reached the door to the room, she stopped to think for a moment about how her husband had forbidden her to enter, and she reflected on the harm that might come her way for being disobedient. But the temptation was so great that she was unable to resist it. She took the little key and, trembling, opened the door.
– ‘Le Barbe bleu’ by Charles Perrault, translation by Maria Tatar (1999, p. 144)
This excerpt from Bluebeard has been the source of some inspiration for me in recent times. I found myself needing to prepare a piece to share with my writers’ group and, in need of a guiding light, I looked to a genre of poetry that I had not yet explored (the glosa) and my vast collection of fairy tales, folklore, and poetry. As it often has since my childhood, Bluebeard lured me in. I gravitated to the excerpt quoted above and I began to think through how it might inform the construction of a glosa.
Ever since, I have been working on two pieces, Darlings and Bluebird, the first entries in a collection (I hope!) which will explore the perspectives of women from various horror films. My initial thinking was to frame each piece as if the women in question were the wives placed upon the walls of that nightmarish little room on the lower floor. The collection is still a work in progress, but I am curious and keen to see what may emerge through the crafting process.
As I have worked through several iterations of Darlings (which reflects the perspective of Julie Christie’s representation of Laura from the film adaptation of Daphne du Maurier’s short story, Don’t Look Now), and as I commenced drafting Bluebird (which focuses on Susannah York’s representation of Cathryn in Robert Altman’s 1972 film Images), I began to reflect on connections with recent creative works, which include poems and works of short fiction.
These are pieces which aren’t canonically interwoven (though that is a tempting notion; alas, I haven’t devoted any time as yet to considering if or how they might exist in the same universe…) but there are conceptual and thematic links. I would also say that these works exist because of one another and I have begun to think of them as a daisy-chain of sorts:
- The Falls (Vol 1 of Athena): This was one of my earliest published works. Through creative non-fiction, I sought to explore an unnerving experience where threats abound. At first, it is the landscape which presents a potential threat (such as is often seen in Australian Gothic works), but as the story unfolds, a more sinister presence is revealed. Looking back, I can see so many threads that I have woven into later works, both academic and creative: a wonder at the natural world, a determined pursuit of self-discovery, a need to turn a difficult experience over in the palms of my hands until I know the full shape and weight of it, and a desire to put some distance between myself and what troubles me by translating hard truths into works of (almost) fiction.
- With Consequence (Vol 28, Issue 2 of Limina): Like several other works listed here, With Consequence was an exercise in subversion. The main character, Frankie, struggles with monstrosity within herself and in terms of what she can see – in all too vivid detail – in other people. It became a reflection on how we understand and navigate the monstrous, which is a theme that runs through the works to follow.
- All the Decay Below (Vol 28, Issue 2 of Limina): I wrote this piece with a treasured friend and favourite collaborator, Sarai Mannolini-Winwood. We play with multiple perspectives and subjectivity across the piece, which and a haunting vagueness to why a violent act came to be, and what exists – or ceases to exist – in the aftermath. The question of where monstrosity exists remains unanswered, or rather, we leave that to the reader to interpret (the death of the author feels eerily fitting in this case!)
- What Was Owed (Vol 1, Issue 1 of Emerging Possibilities): This is a spin (pardon the pun) on Rumpelstiltskin, centring on the child who was promised in exchange for the gold spun by Rumpelstiltskin’s magic. Part re-telling, part re-imagining, this story stemmed from my wonderings about the events of the original tale and what harm may have done to the Queen and her kin. Like the next piece on this list, it takes on a “child’s-eye view” of the world and asks what it might be like for a child to grow up surrounded by monstrosity brought about by trauma and other corrupting forces.
- Little Bridget (Vol 28, Issue 2 of Limina): Last but not least, I have to give some more airtime to Little Bridget. I’ve written about this piece before and it has remained very dear to me in the years since its publication. I wrote this poem with a mind towards exploring the monstrosity of fairy-folk, from the point of view of a child affected by said monstrosity. It continues the theme of re-imagining which is apparent in many of the above-mentioned works, or works-in-progress; in this instance, Little Bridget draws from The Fairies by William Allingham.
I am also looking forward to seeing another work make its way into the wider world very soon: The Wallpaper Tattoo (co-authored with Sarai Mannolini-Winwood and pending publication… more on that soon!). We crafted this piece by weaving together two sources of inspiration – a (long-ish) short story that I had worked on, originally entitled Wild Strawberries, and The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I like to think of our story as a subversive homage to The Yellow Wallpaper, and ultimately, a love letter to that work. I also think of it as a love letter to Millie, the main character in The Wallpaper Tattoo, who has felt real to me for such a long time. This story is about Millie’s encounters with the monstrosity that exists within her own partner and, ultimately, her pathway to a life beyond that torturous dynamic.
Across these works, I have attempted to explore different points of view, especially with an emphasis on uncovering elements of existing tales that might otherwise go untold. I am particularly keen to continue exploring the perspectives of those who are often diminished in narratives; for example, children, who are often simplified, sidelined, or idealised in fiction and in other representations.
For now, I’m going to keep working on Darlings and Bluebird, for it is always a joy to dwell in the long process of crafting poetic works. I’d like to grow this collection and am drawn to Christiane, the central character in Les Yeux Sans Visage. I’d love to share some of that thinking and crafting here in the months to come. Until then, here’s an excerpt from Darlings:
Time and time again, I retrace that loop
Spirals upon spirals, all unspooling
I imagine I can will it away
Rewrite fate, rearrange the stars above
Yet here I am and there I was, locked out
No vantage point, yet I could clearly see
The blade, the bloodshed, his blindfold lifted
All forewarned, all too late, all far too soon
And here I remain, perpetually
Tormented by curiosity…