Hansel and Grethel is arguably one of the most famous folk tales of all time, so I was aware of its premise even though I hadn’t read it before. Nevertheless, let’s briefly refamiliarize ourselves with the story, just in case.
A man and woman live in dire poverty without enough food to feed themselves and their two children; Hansel and Grethel. The mother wants to desert the children in the forest so that at least she and her husband can survive the winter. This may seem cruel, but it’s by no means unusual in nature. Many animal species either abandon or eat their young during hard times, since they are more likely to survive that way and produce new offspring when conditions improve. Most of us have never gone hungry for more than a few hours and get hangry without our afternoon snack, so let he who is without food cast the first stone. At least they didn’t resort to cannibalism. Oh, wait, that’s the rest of the plot… Anyway, her husband reluctantly agrees and they leave the children in the forest. However, Hansel and Grethel find their way back to the house by cleverly leaving a trail of stones on their way into the wood (having overheard their parents plotting). What an awkward conversation that must have been when they got back. I’m not quite sure what I would have done in that situation, but I sure as hell would not have followed my parents out into the forest again! Hansel and Grethel are much more forgiving (or stupid) it seems and decide to venture out on another hike. Starvation can literally drive people insane, so maybe they’re just out of their minds. Unfortunately, this time they get lost. Wandering around, they eventually stumble upon a cottage made of bread and immediately start munching on it. The witch who inhabits the cottage seems undisturbed by this property damage and invites them in. She quickly locks up Hansel and orders Grethel to feed him so as to fatten him up. Hansel is growing, but the witch gets impatient and wants to roast Grethel in her oven as an appetizer. Grethel outmaneuvers the witch and locks her in the oven instead, burning her to death. Hansel and Grethel proceed to loot the house (which was full of jewelry) and manage to make their way back to the family home, only to find that their mother has died. The end.
Wait, was that supposed to be a happy ending? I mean, If I were to be starving, abandoned by my parents, lost in the woods, kidnapped, and almost cannibalized, I’d be emotionally scarred for life and need some serious therapy, or at the very least an apology. Perhaps we’re meant to be pleased that the mother, whose idea it was to leave the children in the forest in the first place, was the one who ended up dead. The thing is, I just never feel the urge to relish in someone’s death. It always seemed like such a barbaric impulse to me. Anytime some public figure dies, whether it be a politician or a pope, people immediately take to social media to celebrate; posting vitriolic comments about what a supposedly awful person this was and how the world is now a better place. I would rather cheer on my own team than boo the other, so to speak, and I think we can all disagree on politics and religion without stooping to schadenfreude. After all, there’s that gazing into the abyss thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not against criticizing public figures, but in these situations it’s more like sadistic glee. For instance, let’s say that Vladimir Putin was assassinated tomorrow. I’m sure a lot of people would be ecstatic, but it most likely wouldn’t change Russian politics or the overall attitudes of the Russian people. Nor would it guarantee that the war in Ukraine would end. It would just create another murderer in this world and rob us of the opportunity to hold Putin accountable and put him on trial. I guess what I’m trying to say is that, all else being equal, if I had to choose between a political party or religious faith that celebrates the death of others, and one that doesn’t, I know which one I’d pick. Maybe that’s why I don’t belong to any party or religion.
In any case, I think the moral of this story is pretty straight forward for once. Don’t go into a stranger’s home and pay attention to landmarks when in unfamiliar territory. Oh, and if you’re going to plot the murder of your children, don’t discuss it while they’re still in the house.
Sorobetea 