I first read this De Meisjes: Zeven Sprookjes (literally, “Girls: Seven Fairy Tales”) in Dutch before it got translated into English last year with the extra “Life Isn’t A Fairy Tale” slapped onto it by the English language publishers, who must’ve wanted to boost sales by appealing to the “feminist retellings” market popular in the Anglosphere. I don’t think Schaap herself set out to do that, because she told the Dutch press in interviews that her retellings were inspired by episodes from her own life, “to write about my own life, about things that have happened and that occupy my mind, disguised as fairy tales” were her exact words when asked what her goal had been for the anthology, hence the mix of sad and hilarious, and surrealistic and whimsical.

If you want to read the entire anthology, I’d recommend you take the author’s words into account and approach the stories as parodies more than as retellings, because most of the tales have been subjected to changes to introduce themes and messages they never had in the first place, to the point some read like Schaap is strawmanning in order to drive a message home. Schaap’s fixation is an overarching motif of her own making than the fairy tales’ native themes, so she went for a focus on the trope of “waiting for the prince” (thanks for nothing, Disney, it’s your fault that so many people think fairy tales teach the “someday my prince will come” slop you fed us) throughout all tales including those that don’t have it organically, like the Rumpelstiltskin story. If you approach the short stories as retellings, they’re terrible and miss the point of each and every single tale, very typical of literalist interpretations, as well as have implausible and surrealistically forced plots. But if you remember what Schaap said and look at them as comedic spoofs parodying the original tales, then they make sense and, depending on your sense of humour, you could even like them.

Speaking of humour, the original Dutch makes it all more evident what Schaap wanted to achieve. The humour shines through brighter, you don’t even need to be told this is parody. But the English translation . . . Well, it’s not bad, but it doesn’t transmit Schaap’s brand of humour and her wordplay is either missing or just doesn’t sound the same even if translated “correctly.” Taking the Rumpelstiltskin story as an example again, I can’t say I was a fan of it, but at least in Dutch I was chuckling at its silliness and goofiness whilst in English I was rolling my eyes at it in exasperation.

That gives you an idea, doesn’t it?

Although I read the seven stories in the anthology, I’m only going to review the longest of them, a novelette-length retelling of Beauty and the Beast entitled “Monster Girl.” I know that Annet Schaap is a Beauty and the Beast fan, though I am not aware which of the versions is her favourite. Based on the fact that she said in an interview that the fairy tale was a “beautiful” story, and from her own take on “beastliness” here, I’d hazard a guess that it isn’t Disney, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew about the true story of the Gonsalvus family either.

At first, “Monster Girl” reads like it’s going to be a Rapunzel retelling. That’s what I thought it would be when I began reading it, because of the tower setting, the princess isolated there with no other companion than a crotchety and domineering old woman, and her daydreaming about a prince coming soon to sweep her off her feet and out of the tower. When the princess’ “beastliness” is revealed as the cause for her isolation in that tower, you could still look at it as a gender-swapped B&B plus Rapunzel retelling. It follows more of the second fairy tale than the first in terms of plot. But thematically, it’s definitely Beauty & Beast despite the plot divergences compared to the fairy tale.

One thing that’s never clarified in-world, but that made me think of Petrus Gonsalvus’ condition, is the condition of the princess (who doesn’t have a name, not sure why; Schaap also left other “girls” unnamed, so strange if this was supposed to be feminist like the publishers claim), and why she is a “monster.” She isn’t cursed, she is born human to human parents, but she’s gigantic, too hairy all over, and there’s a line about her trying to depilate her body’s excess hair. Does she suffer from hypertrichosis like Gonsalvus? It’s never said on-page. I also thought that maybe she was a troll or a half-troll because she has “small horns,” but the story emphasises that she’s 100% human, despite her description matching a cross between Bigfoot and a troll. And even thought it isn’t a curse, she somehow was fed the idea that the prince she’s waiting for will set her to rights with a kiss . . .

This is how Annet Schaap drew her:

So you see why I thought of a case of hypertrichosis like Gonsalvus’ but the extra “animalism” confused me. Honestly, it might be best not to take this princess’ beastliness literally and don’t look at it too closely, because the inconsistencies will drive you bonkers. It does bother me, yes, but I’m choosing to look at it symbolically. And above all, focus on the sweet and funny story she has with the prince.

Those who have read ASOIAF will remember the opening scene where Sansa Stark is introduced very negatively is an embroidering session with her septa. In “Monster Girl,” this is how the princess is introduced, too: she’s embroidering with her governess, and is so very bad at it that the proverb she’s supposed to embroider prettily—“Patience is a virtue”—is hilariously changed to “Patience is a virtub” because she can’t embroider the E properly and it looks like B (the wordplay is funnier in Dutch, because of the double-entendre the princess’ mistake creates that doesn’t exist in English; if you speak or understand Dutch, you will see what I mean). Her companion, Lady Morsegat, is as judgmental and nagging as Septa Mordane is to Sansa, which makes me wonder if Schaap read ASOIAF or watched GOT, and she instantly tries to drag the princess away from the prince when he finally arrives to their tower.

Because he’s not a prince, that is the punchline here. Who the “prince” turned out to be was more hilarious than I expected, mostly because I dislike this type of character’s, er,  occupation as a rule and was ready to loathe this twist. But I liked it. I won’t say who or what he is, not because it’s a big fat spoiler (it isn’t) but because it puts into perspective why this story was written like this. A social reject understands another social reject, and “Monster Girl” is a story about acceptance. The princess is rejected by her mother for her monstrosity, her father is too weak-willed to accept that he disagrees with his ableist and lookist wife and agrees more with his sister-in-law’s compassionate opinion, and Morsegat is a martinet that feeds the princess white lies . . . So, who is there to show the princess that she can be accepted and loved in spite of her appearance? The non-prince, because he knows social rejection and social condemnation.

Their interactions are brief but sweet, I wished this was longer and they spent more time together; he teaching him little things and pushing her towards little daily defiances, and she showing him what kindness and resilience are about. No wonder Schaap made this the longer story, and it could’ve been even longer. Not that it needed to be, because the message is delivered just fine as is; it’s that the potential for more is there. Especially because the ending is a wee bit abrupt, although not a cliffhanger. It made me laugh out loud that the ending was the “Patience is a virtub” line, because of the double-entendre becoming even starker and thus more comical here than before.

In sum, it’s a cute story. I would’ve preferred this be published separately, it can stand out on its own merit as a picture book Beauty & Beast story, as Schaap is primarily an illustrator (she has more works as illustrator than as writer) and she did the artwork adorning this anthology herself. It’s not my favourite style of illustration, it’s inky black and white, simple and minimalistic, very much for children’s books than for adult readers, but it’s suitable for what she’s telling here. Also, I think the Dutch edition did her artwork justice with the rendering and print quality, because in looking at both editions I noticed the illustrations for the English one look smaller and a bit “washed out” in comparison.

The Dutch edition definitely wins all round.