There is Nothing Twisted in the Twisted Tales Universe

Written by Kristina Tešija

There is nothing twisted in the Twisted Tales universe; there, everything is just as it should be.

The hardback edition of the “twisted” fairytale Cinda Real (Dora Vagić and Sara Božanić) came to me quite by chance, as a seemingly practical solution to the problem called “what to buy for the children of friends who have become parents.” A story that challenges the classical, canonical fairytale of Cinderella and offers it an alternative, enriched with playful, dreamlike, and yet almost tangible illustrations (Dalibor Kazija), instantly seemed to me an excellent choice for boys and girls we want to grow up into empathetic and brave young people.

I once came across the claim that children who read will grow up into people who think. It sounds nice, and I myself have used it several times in trying to encourage my students to read, but more and more I wonder: in what way can we ensure that children grow up into people who not only think, but also feel and empathize? What stories should we tell them, in what way, how do we encourage them to tell their own, but also to listen to those that are different, someone else’s, and to find themselves in them too?

After finishing the picture book Cinda Real, I visited the Twisted Tales website, which is listed on the back cover of the book, and discovered that there exists an entire universe full of ideas that can help me with the questions that trouble me. In search of answers, I decided on a subjective approach to the project from several of my own perspectives.

PERSPECTIVE #1: A cultural worker with many years of experience in writing and implementing projects at the national and European level

I’ll start broadly, with the project itself. What is Twisted Tales? From what idea did it grow, and what fruit has it borne? In the shortest terms, the authors describe Twisted Tales as a project of contemporary reinterpretation of classic fairytales – a phrase that calls to mind different, innovative approaches, but one that also abounds with opportunities for unimaginative, lazy, tried-and-tested approaches.

My own professional experience has taught me that the initial idea often transforms into something entirely different during the lifespan of a project, influenced by a whole range of factors: among them, partial or insufficient funding, administrative overload, work dynamics and changes in the project team, difficulties in finding quality implementers, but also in finding participants for the project activities.

I’ll let you in on a secret: to successfully apply for and implement (European) cultural projects, it is not, of course, necessary to be an expert in the project’s subject matter. It is not uncommon for projects to be carried by project professionals – people closely connected with the cultural and artistic sector, but who have over time become very pragmatic. These are individuals who think in project jargon, who can translate any idea into a text that fits the requirements of the application form. In short, people for whom this is above all a job, who can, without effort, come up with a phrase like “contemporary reinterpretation of classic fairytales,” but who will equally often – I dare to write – leave behind, once the project is over, nothing but a heap of digital clutter and waste.

That is why it is not enough to believe in the name and description of the project, the project idea and the project jargon. They are seductive and deceptive, and in reality often just plasters covering deficiencies in methodology, implementation, content. It is therefore necessary to look at what cultural, creative and educational projects for children and youth often leave behind: how long the lifespan of such materials is, who they reach, and, at the end of the day, what they can truly give to a child or a young person.

The package that regularly comes with launching many cultural projects for children and youth often includes the obligatory printing of unimaginative publications, where more attention is given to logos and disclaimers than to content, as well as the launching of websites and social media profiles whose lifespan lasts as long as the project does, only to remain later as a digital relic and proof that “an activity really did happen.” What remain are proofs in the form of paper, attendance sheets, official photos, but also that feeling familiar to precarious workers in culture — that many projects are just carried out mechanically, and sometimes it seems that the only guiding thought, after project funds are approved and implementation begins, is: how to get the whole project finished as simply and painlessly as possible.

If we look at the fruits of the Twisted Tales project, even at the very first visit to the website, both the idea and the vision are clear, while the materials created during the project are presented clearly, playfully, and accessibly. What will surprise you, if you are used to classical project websites, is the lack of project jargon, the lack of texts that belong in applications and reports. You will not find here biographies of project implementers or generic descriptions of organizations and institutions involved. Here, the vision and the idea are not just words on paper — they are implemented through thoughtful content reduced to its primary and most important role: to interest the visitor in discovering the universe that the twisted tales offer.

The picture book mentioned is just one fragment of everything this project has produced and made available on the website (an animated film, audio fairytales, original music, a developed creative learning method accessible through guides for teachers and parents, a mobile app…), but more than analyzing each material, I find it more important to emphasize something else: the innovation in thinking about the form and ways of using the valuable Twisted Tales material. These are not just written stories with a beginning and an end — you can watch them, listen to them, modify them, and use them in working with children and youth. Twisted tales are not a canon, nor do they pretend to untouchability; the canon has ossified, overgrown with patriarchal patterns that, as grown-up children, we now know to be wrong and, in the end, unnecessary. Twisted tales do not disappear with the official end of the project — each of them contains the potential to transform into hundreds of others, because from the beginning, participatory methods were inscribed into the very methodology as a principle that was never abandoned. Which brings me to the next perspective…

PERSPECTIVE #2: A teacher with experience in educational institutions, and leader of various informal cultural education programs

Let’s not fool ourselves: participation is no longer just a guideline or good advice when shaping project proposals; it is a condition for any thinking about working with any community. It has become so common in educational and informal processes that we use it as a filler word, and I fear that along the way we have forgotten its original meaning.

What does a participatory process with children and youth look like? At what stage should they be included, and how? How much freedom should we give them? How do we maintain structure and bring the story/project to an end? The answers to these questions emerge from almost every available Twisted Tales material. Participation is inscribed in the twisted tales through conversations with children, taking into account their ideas, comments, and remarks. It is present in illustrations, in animation, in voices, sounds, and song. And it is not limited to the many children who participated in the project implementation, it extends to every child who will take the picture book in their hands (and get several blank pages at the end of the book to write their own story), open the mobile app (and have the option to create and record their own audio fairytale), or take part in a workshop based on the Twisted Tales creative learning method developed by Sara Božanić and Nina Cigüt.

At this point, it is impossible not to note that on the project website you can count more than 150 names of individuals involved in the creation and production of the content available to you. Twisted Tales does not see the children, the participants in these processes, as numbers on attendance sheets or as numerical indicators of successful implementation. They are authors, their names matter, and every contribution, no matter how small, is acknowledged. Active participants – the children with and for whom the project team went through these creative processes – in this way become ambassadors of the project, but also refine skills that are often overlooked in the dynamics of institutional education. Yes, these children will express themselves creatively, they will draw, sing, and invent their own tales. But more than creative and storytelling skills, they will carry into the world skills like active and empathetic listening, thinking outside the given frameworks, and dialogue with those who, for whatever reason, we think are different.

PERSPECTIVE #3: A performing arts critic, cultural journalist

Although I place it third, the perspective my role as critic and journalist in culture offers me finally allows me to reflect on the content itself, on what individuals who are not directly involved in the project implementation – children, youth, and the general public – can get from it.

The animated film Cinda Real received recognition at over twenty film festivals, and each recognition is shared among dozens of individuals signed as co-authors in the long list of names in the credits. Without them, we would not have before us this charming, touching, and unpretentious film, an auditory, visual, and narrative collage where every element is equally important. Cinda introduces us to physical disability not only as an obstacle, but as a challenge. It introduces us to the person behind the physical appearance, although it does not resist some of the well-worn patterns in that regard. Thus, the evil stepmother retained physical unattractiveness in the sharp lines of her face, large nose, and characteristic wart/mole, serving as obvious proof of the rapid and early adoption of stereotypes engraved in the black-and-white world of classic fairytales. All character illustrations are in fact collaged elements of children’s drawings. If the evil stepmother has a big nose, it is because children believed she must have one – they learned this from the stories read to them by parents and grandparents, absorbed it from picture books they leafed through countless times before they could read a single word. I wonder how long it will take before we abandon the imaginary equation in which we equate character with physical appearance?

And yet, what surprises in the twisted tale Cinda Real is the approach to the main character. Cinda here is not a one-dimensional damsel in distress, and her physical disability is never equated with her character. Our Cinderella truly does not need a prince to save her; everything she needs she finds within herself. Her going to the ball is motivated and guided by her love of dance, and that love successfully breaks the foundation of every fairytale, that “icing” at the end, the promise of romantic love and the “fulfillment of every young girl’s dream.” When the prince asks her to marry him, Cinda is visibly surprised, and she answers neither yes nor no. She tells her truth: “I just came to dance.” In a simple way, in a sentence made of flesh and blood, Cinda successfully shatters the archetype of the damsel in distress and becomes a character every girl will want to identify with, and every boy will want to befriend. And, I am convinced, all of them will spend days humming the catchy song that closes the film – a song, surprise, that is the original work of the children involved in the project.

The other twisted tales, available in written and audio formats in several regional languages as well as English, leave you with a similar feeling. The authorial stamp in each story is subtle but noticeable, however deeply rooted it may be in fairytale archetypes. You will recognize in the characters values, emotions, and fears you had forgotten or suppressed. The New Hansel and Gretel (Boris Bakal and Pavle Perković) will move you in its approach to the heavy theme of loss, death, and grief, while reminding you how many times you were impatient with yourself, rushing your own and others’ grieving processes. You will remember that children sometimes just need to be listened to, that they often will not clearly tell you what troubles them, but they will always send a sign — whether as innocent as a cookie or as hard as a stone. In the same vein, Little Red’s Second Encounter With the Wolf (Marko Pejović) reminds us of the importance of encouraging children and youth to share negative and traumatic experiences, to find the courage to speak about what happened to them, but also reminds us that we must be adults to whom children will want to open up, and whom they will know will listen and respect them. Allen and the Magic Lamp (Miroslav Minić) will remind you of childhood friends who were different, who didn’t fit into the boys’ crowd, but who had something magnetic in them that made you admire them from the sidelines while holding you back from approaching them, from taking their side. This story will remind you of the pressure you felt, or may still feel, to make your parents proud and satisfied, and of the truth that, I hope, every adult has come to realize — money cannot replace what feeds us, fulfills us, what is truly ours. On the other hand, Desiree and the Snow Queen (Marko Pejović) reminds us of the cruel and lonely moments that are everyday reality for many children. Different in some obvious, easily visible way, individuals like Desiree quickly learn from personal experience that the world is full of prejudice, cruelty, and violence. Yet, this fairytale does not paint the world in black and white; it lingers on a dramatically tense and difficult situation – the dilemma between honest friendship and social acceptance – and allows children to reflect on the weight of such dilemmas, both for Desiree and for Ethan.

The twisted tales are at their strongest in that they do not shy away from difficult questions, but neither do they offer the one and only correct solution. The characters have the chance to reflect on their own and others’ actions, to find courage and faith in themselves, but also to give the other a chance to think, to change their mind, to learn something. Yes, perhaps the most valuable message we can send to children is that everything they need they can find deep within themselves, but at the same time we must be careful in sharing such lessons. If in doing so we erase the importance of the other and of difference, the importance of community and communication, we have achieved nothing, we have robbed future young people of valuable knowledge: that a child is not another child’s competitor, enemy, or wolf.

PERSPECTIVE #4: A classroom interpreter with years of experience working with a deaf boy

I spent one period of my adult life in children’s school benches, in the first desk by the window, with a boy who was deaf and who, upon starting elementary school, heard for the first time thanks to a cochlear implant, but also for the first time encountered spoken, written, and signed language. Despite repeated attempts to explain to the teaching staff that in their class sat a boy who, though smiling, polite, and generally well accepted by his peers, still bore the stigma and feeling of being different, the adjustments were almost non-existent. The teacher spent years shouting sentences instead of using the basics of sign language, which the other students rather quickly mastered. The staff regularly addressed me, ignoring the boy, and I quickly realized I was left to adapt the materials and decide to omit some things in translation (how does one translate for a deaf child the biblical parable of the blind man who, through the power of his faith, received the gift of sight?).

The student I worked with was different due to a physical deficiency, and in a way – however inappropriate this may sound – that deficiency became his blessing in the educational process. His difficulty was measurable and provable, which allowed him to have an interpreter in class throughout his primary and secondary education. Still, everyday time in the classroom confronted me with many other students whose interests, communication, and learning process were simply different. These differences were not measurable like the degree of deafness, but their behavior in class sent me a clear message that they were struggling in the environment where they spent several hours a day. I became, in a way, a personal assistant to a handful of different children; individuals who could not learn the multiplication table, but could talk for hours about shark species or cities in Australia. Some struggled with Croatian syntax but had no problem forming complex sentences in English. My role came down to listening to stories they could not tell anyone else, stories that would have been dismissed as disruptions to the learning process or daydreaming with no place inside school walls.

The twisted tales may address individuals who are different and stigmatized based on visible, measurable difficulties, but they also send a much more important message, one that transcends the limitations faced by these children and that also communicates with the “ordinary” children, the ones who fit perfectly into their environment. And that message is: we are all different. There is no good or bad “difference.” Difference is the foundation of our personalities, and if we look deep enough within ourselves, we will see that we can recognize ourselves even in those who seem very different from us, and also in those we don’t know where to place, those we might just call “weird.”

PERSPECTIVE #5: A person who has experienced stigmatization based on physical appearance

Finally, I leave the approach that may be impermissibly emotional, but I nevertheless choose to speak from the experience of someone who, in the most vulnerable years of growing up, was stigmatized daily on the basis of physical appearance. The saddest part of the whole story: my biggest bully was myself.

In my thirty-six years of life, I lived only the first few months with a clear face, without the hemangioma that, with its purple, swollen fists, encompassed my lower lip, the right side of my face, and my right ear. To clearly see that you are different, and to know that your greatest insecurity will be seen by everyone – not just those with whom you choose to share it – is truly, as I only learned later, an isolating experience that stays with you, regardless of emotional development or self-work.

I grew up in a supportive family environment, because of which I walked into school with a confidence that was contagious. My memories of primary school are rarely gray; with every nasty comment I fought either with humor, or with ignoring it, or by proving my worth in every possible area I touched. With this approach, of course, I became the “perfect child”, one who would consider it beneath her dignity to cry, to admit vulnerability, or to feel different, no matter how much I tried to fit in.

I remember the strange, overwhelming feeling of relief when, as a twenty-year-old student, I met for the first time a girl who had gone through an experience eerily similar to mine. At the same time I felt both elation (I’m not alone!) and incredible anger (This realization means nothing to me at this age!). How was it possible that in the same city, at the same time, in the early 1990s, there existed my peer with the same problems? Why was there no opportunity to meet her? Why had I never heard the word “hemangioma” outside the family and hospital context? Why were there no illustrations in textbooks of children who were different in any way? Why did teachers regularly punish bullying, but never devote a single class meeting to the topics of empathy, understanding, acceptance, and active listening?

Perhaps then I would have more easily learned what I am still struggling with: that it is okay to be vulnerable, it is okay to be hurt, it is okay not to get over some things. I try to comfort myself with the realization that we live in a time when attention is finally being paid to some long-overlooked and silenced topics, but I am not completely comforted. Surely even today, in some rickety desk in some remote school, there sit an Allen and an Ivan, a Bianca, a Desiree… Each of them different in their own way, each of them vulnerable in their own way, and each of them brave in some way – a way we should celebrate, write about, and read about, a way from which the youngest can learn and feel that they are not alone.

I do not remember all the fairytales I read, but I believe I would remember if there had been one that touched on the themes explored by the twisted tales of Twisted Tales. I know I would remember it, because I am certain it would have been my favorite fairytale ever.