Jennifer Harrison's Blog - Posts Tagged "britain-fairy-tale"
When English Became a Foreign Language
“Will you write me a fairy tale?” This pointed question, from my five-year-old British neighbor in Oxford, England, had the worst timing. Exactly two heartbroken days after my inter-continental move from Los Angeles to Great Britain, after being abandoned in a strange country, I was giving off vibes that I was taking requests from a child. Apparently.
I tried to explain that despite Oxford’s illustrious past as the home of my beloved Lewis Carroll and THAT Alice in Wonderland, I was new to town. Fresh off the jet at Heathrow, and “sad because of a very mean English boy.” I grew up in America, and my freshly dumped status evidenced that I clearly knew too little about British men, much less kingdoms, princes, and chivalrous happily ever afters required in fairy tales. Little Emma wanted the mean boy to “live in another country, like Wales.” But honestly, I wasn’t even sure Wales was a country. Which confirmed my ignorance of kingdoms in general, the United Kingdom specifically, and one Englishman in particular.
I did once think Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England were wholly separate countries, but residents called the country “Great Britain” or “the UK.” And suddenly, where I lived became as confusing as the man for whom I had moved. I searched the recesses of my American education.
(1) The Republic of Ireland, an island off the west coast of the Great British Island, had its own army, civil war history, global rock star, and absolute sexiest man alive (Daniel Day-Lewis), all of which supported Ireland’s status as a country. But I also knew that Northern Ireland had detached itself in some way.
(2) My great-grandfather was a Scottish poet, and I was reasonably sure Scotland had its own parliament, or somehow shared one with England... which was confusing but outweighed by Scots unabashedly claiming their very own elves. As everyone knows, elves go a long way in officiating the status of any country.
(3) Wales had Sir David Attenborough and Dylan Thomas, and Prince William's last name was Wales. But he and his father the Prince of Wales lived in England and couldn't seem to be bothered with the Welsh as far as I could see, lending credence to my extreme disbelief that Wales was a country.
(4) Obviously England was a country. One with a queen, prime minister, and rowdy parliamentary get-togethers. Except technically, “Great Britain” was the imperial power, not England. And if the country was consistently referred to as “the UK”, where did that leave the parts that made up the Kingdom? If the telephone country code was the same for the entirety of the UK, how did it follow that each of the four purported countries within the country were in and of themselves countries?
How?!
And so I remained unsure of the strange Wonderland in a kingdom (on an island) in which I lived, which was a problem if I was going to write a fairy tale for a British child. At least we all spoke English, right? Only on the surface. Turns out, English was no longer the abiding friend it had always been in America.
According to the British dictionary rabbit-hole at my new Oxford rental, each of the four (alleged) countries in Great Britain had its own language. Several were spoken, and sometimes they were different. Welsh was defined as a Celtic language, and Celtic was a “subfamily of languages” subdivided into Welsh, on the one hand, and Scottish Gaelic and Irish Gaelic on the other. And since the English language existed long before anyone settled England, that had to mean... I had no idea.
My handy new dictionary confirmed my suspicions about Wales, which was not a country but instead a “principality” said to be merely ruled by a prince. Ireland was confirmed as a country, but not until the 1920s, before which it was part of the “Commonwealth of England” which was also called the “British Commonwealth.” Stated as a republic, I was taking Ireland’s word for it. Scotland was a country, although part of the United Kingdom, and occupying part of Great Britain. Formed by Irish immigrants, how exactly did the “Irish” become “Scottish” when immediately previous to it being true, it was not true? In the early 17th century, the Irish (who by then insisted on being called Scottish) joined their royal crown with England, but Scotland refused to become a part of England, and might still detach from the United Kingdom. If so, would Scotland still be part of Great Britain?
Yes, despite my long-held certainty and the indisputable reality of England’s status as a country, its description was the most bizarre of all... “the largest political division” of the United Kingdom. Clearly. How else would one describe England? There was, in the official word on England, no talk of countries, cities or islands.
An American friend in London said I should stop questioning the inconsistencies because I would inevitably compare Britain to America and thus could never really “get it.” So, I admitted defeat. I didn’t “get” the Englishman who never bothered to break up with me, and I didn’t “get” fairy tales. A monarchy was so foreign to this American girl, what could I know about island kingdoms, princes or princesses? But that precious five-year-old British child wanted a story, and I wasn’t going to let her down. Surely, if living in Los Angeles and working in Hollywood had taught me anything, it was how to fake a fecking fairy tale.
Adapted from “Perverse Wonderland” by Jennifer Harrison published by Incanto Press ©2014. Perverse Wonderland
I tried to explain that despite Oxford’s illustrious past as the home of my beloved Lewis Carroll and THAT Alice in Wonderland, I was new to town. Fresh off the jet at Heathrow, and “sad because of a very mean English boy.” I grew up in America, and my freshly dumped status evidenced that I clearly knew too little about British men, much less kingdoms, princes, and chivalrous happily ever afters required in fairy tales. Little Emma wanted the mean boy to “live in another country, like Wales.” But honestly, I wasn’t even sure Wales was a country. Which confirmed my ignorance of kingdoms in general, the United Kingdom specifically, and one Englishman in particular.
I did once think Ireland, Scotland, Wales and England were wholly separate countries, but residents called the country “Great Britain” or “the UK.” And suddenly, where I lived became as confusing as the man for whom I had moved. I searched the recesses of my American education.
(1) The Republic of Ireland, an island off the west coast of the Great British Island, had its own army, civil war history, global rock star, and absolute sexiest man alive (Daniel Day-Lewis), all of which supported Ireland’s status as a country. But I also knew that Northern Ireland had detached itself in some way.
(2) My great-grandfather was a Scottish poet, and I was reasonably sure Scotland had its own parliament, or somehow shared one with England... which was confusing but outweighed by Scots unabashedly claiming their very own elves. As everyone knows, elves go a long way in officiating the status of any country.
(3) Wales had Sir David Attenborough and Dylan Thomas, and Prince William's last name was Wales. But he and his father the Prince of Wales lived in England and couldn't seem to be bothered with the Welsh as far as I could see, lending credence to my extreme disbelief that Wales was a country.
(4) Obviously England was a country. One with a queen, prime minister, and rowdy parliamentary get-togethers. Except technically, “Great Britain” was the imperial power, not England. And if the country was consistently referred to as “the UK”, where did that leave the parts that made up the Kingdom? If the telephone country code was the same for the entirety of the UK, how did it follow that each of the four purported countries within the country were in and of themselves countries?
How?!
And so I remained unsure of the strange Wonderland in a kingdom (on an island) in which I lived, which was a problem if I was going to write a fairy tale for a British child. At least we all spoke English, right? Only on the surface. Turns out, English was no longer the abiding friend it had always been in America.
According to the British dictionary rabbit-hole at my new Oxford rental, each of the four (alleged) countries in Great Britain had its own language. Several were spoken, and sometimes they were different. Welsh was defined as a Celtic language, and Celtic was a “subfamily of languages” subdivided into Welsh, on the one hand, and Scottish Gaelic and Irish Gaelic on the other. And since the English language existed long before anyone settled England, that had to mean... I had no idea.
My handy new dictionary confirmed my suspicions about Wales, which was not a country but instead a “principality” said to be merely ruled by a prince. Ireland was confirmed as a country, but not until the 1920s, before which it was part of the “Commonwealth of England” which was also called the “British Commonwealth.” Stated as a republic, I was taking Ireland’s word for it. Scotland was a country, although part of the United Kingdom, and occupying part of Great Britain. Formed by Irish immigrants, how exactly did the “Irish” become “Scottish” when immediately previous to it being true, it was not true? In the early 17th century, the Irish (who by then insisted on being called Scottish) joined their royal crown with England, but Scotland refused to become a part of England, and might still detach from the United Kingdom. If so, would Scotland still be part of Great Britain?
Yes, despite my long-held certainty and the indisputable reality of England’s status as a country, its description was the most bizarre of all... “the largest political division” of the United Kingdom. Clearly. How else would one describe England? There was, in the official word on England, no talk of countries, cities or islands.
An American friend in London said I should stop questioning the inconsistencies because I would inevitably compare Britain to America and thus could never really “get it.” So, I admitted defeat. I didn’t “get” the Englishman who never bothered to break up with me, and I didn’t “get” fairy tales. A monarchy was so foreign to this American girl, what could I know about island kingdoms, princes or princesses? But that precious five-year-old British child wanted a story, and I wasn’t going to let her down. Surely, if living in Los Angeles and working in Hollywood had taught me anything, it was how to fake a fecking fairy tale.
Adapted from “Perverse Wonderland” by Jennifer Harrison published by Incanto Press ©2014. Perverse Wonderland
