The Noble Art of Fairy-Telling: A Case Study

Admirers of Ayn Rand's novels may scoff at fairy tales: they are, after all, stories of luck and magic instead of heroism, usually crudely extolling the values of humility and self-sacrifice — Robin Hood, or really any Brothers Grimm story, only strengthens the disdain.

Let then Mark Helprin’s A City in Winter serve to counteract that attitude.

Perhaps “fairy tale” is not an accurate description. A City in Winter is highly stylized — a sketch of a novel, written in broad and sweeping strokes that nevertheless suffice to make it both compelling and complete.

The story follows a bold and proud 10-year-old girl. With nothing to guide her but audacity, righteousness, and vague instructions from her elderly tutor, she ventures alone into the giant central city of her kingdom, now ruled by the fearsome tyrant known only as the Usurper, to claim the throne as the kingdom’s rightful queen.

A City in Winter by Mark Helprin

But for all her courage and powerful will, she is still a ten-year-old girl. The city fascinates her and frightens her, and it is only with the help of Notorincus and Astrahn (a slave and a slave-of-a-slave) that she manages to survive her first night there and avoid the frightening procedure of “selection” — just one measure of arbitrary violence the Usurper has instituted.

Apart from the young queen’s breathtaking character and adventures, which in themselves give the book a breathtaking, heroic spirit, the presentation of the city also enriches the story.

We see through the girl’s eyes a phantasmagoria of central planning, intricately and rigidly structured social classes, state media control, extravagant and idle nobles — all well-described, chillingly illustrative and sobering.

And all these descriptions flow in poetical, slightly archaic, high-sounding language, which expertly blends them with the plotline and makes the narration smooth and continuous.

A major undercurrent of A City in Winter is the love of freedom and freedom’s supreme value to man. Whether that was inserted consciously or no, but the ideas are refreshing, especially given the dearth of such ideas in children’s literature.

The discussion of freedom becomes especially visible and interesting in the table-side discussions of the local nobles with ambassadors from a neighboring nation of semi-mythical status. These discussions suggest that the book’s target audience does not consist exclusively of children.

And of course, there are the illustrations. Chris Van Allsburg’s color illustrations perfectly complement the story’s sketch-like feel. In muted colors, they reflect the matching scene precisely, without being too vague or superfluously detailed.

Most importantly, they pulsate with that mood which pervades the particular scene: the perpetual fear of a repressed city, the anxious secrecy of rebels, the sumptuous idleness of the nobility.

Finally, as an afterthought, there actually exist both a prequel and a sequel to A City in Winter: it is preceded by Swan Lake and followed by The Veil of Snows.

Of these, City is the best, but they are all worth reading. So lapse into childhood and enjoy!

Eugenia Fuchs is currently a student at the University of Chicago. Even though she was not born in the U.S., she grew up there, and thus has been thoroughly indoctrinated with arcane local ideals. Unlike most of her fellow students, though, she doesn’t mind it so much.