Telling Tales Slant – Something Wicked

This one’s not so much twisted as updated, and brought back to the level of nastiness I remember from reading translations of Grimm. By name and by nature – the endings of folk and fairy tales were once much darker. For this one I have in mind the wonderful Cloris Leachmann (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001458/) , who is currently owning the small screen in ‘American Gods’. Who would you cast in the role of Malva?

Something Wicked, Something Pink

So many people. They must have invited everyone. Malva inserted herself into the stream of partygoers pouring in through the great doors, flung open to the cool air of early evening, and peered through the throng. Everyone except me, that is. She stamped her foot. A startled footman glanced in her direction and she plastered a pleasant smile on her face and accepted a vol-au-vent from the tray he proffered. Now, where is that blasted baby?

She shouldered through the crowds, working her way into the heart of the building. Security was easy to spot – black suits, mirror shades, the whole stone-faced thing – but she had nothing to fear from them. Out here no-one was checking invitations (after all, everybody had one) and a little sleight of hand and misdirection should see her past anyone who took more than a casual interest. As for getting into the christening party itself… “Hello, dear.”

The sharp-suited man startled as the frail elderly woman greeted him. He drew himself up, preparing to send her on her way, but she grasped his elbow with surprisingly strong fingers. “I don’t…”

The words died in his throat as she administered three brisk taps to his wrist, neck and temple. All intelligence drained from his face and he gazed at her, open-mouthed, as she took charge and led him away. “There’s a good boy. Just keep walking. Now, take me to the family.”

He nodded, and escorted her through the crowds, all the way to the golden cradle. Malva relinquished her hostage as soon as she passed through the security cordon (her sibyllic ID – slightly psychic – and a pet security agent were all she needed to baffle the guards) and he wandered back to his post, none the worse for his experience, apart from a baffling tendency to scream whenever small, elderly ladies approached him.

The cradle was mobbed. All the invited bigwigs were offering their well wishes to the family. Malva wormed her way to the edge of the cradle. Some simpering fairy was offering up a pitiful wish. “May your days be merry, and your heart full of cheer.

Pathetic. The parents were lapping it up. The father stood grasping a glass of fizz, while the mother was practically festooned in ribbons and shiny paper from the gifts she was unwrapping. A teddy bear. Pink. A doll’s house. Pink. A satin dress with three layers of frills. Pink, what else? It was enough to make you sick.

“Darling child, your lips are like rosebuds, your eyes as bright as stars. May you marry the handsomest man in the land and live happily ever after.”

For heaven’s sake, is that what it’s come to? A chubby ball of fat, barely out of the womb, and it’s already being wished into a life of painted boredom? It had better hope it didn’t have much of an intellect, because otherwise this promised life was going to be nothing but a disappointment. Malva could stand it no longer. She stepped forward, sharp elbows at the ready.

“If you exchange your identity for invisibility in a pink shroud, you might as well be dead. So be it. At sixteen, you will come of age and die.”

So… why Treacle?

Treacle  ˈtriːk(ə)l

noun: treacle; plural noun: treacles

1. a. British: a thick, sticky dark syrup made from partly refined sugar; molasses.

         b. syrup of a golden-yellow colour; golden syrup.

2.  cloying sentimentality or flattery.

“enough of this treacle—let’s get back to business”

Origin: Middle English (originally denoting an antidote against venom): from Old French triacle, via Latin from Greek thēriakē ‘antidote against venom’, feminine of thēriakos (adjective), from thērion ‘wild beast’. Current senses date from the late 17th century.

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According to various online sources, the word treacle goes back to a borrowing from Old French triacle, a word referring to the sugar-syrup base into which apothecaries would decant whatever nasty-tasting cures they wished their patient to take. The word derives ultimately from a Greek word thēriakē, meaning an antidote against venom, which suggests that its early applications were topical (i.e. slather it on the outside, rather than apply it to the inside).

This dark, viscous product of sugar refining thus gained its name due to its association with apothecaries and their products. All the syrupy by-products of sugar refinement were known as treacle, but later the British firm Lyle perfected the refining process to produce that other, more popular, sugar syrup known as golden syrup. You can still buy treacle – these days it’s often called black treacle (or, in the US, molasses), to distinguish it from its golden cousin.

While sugar can be produced from beets as well as sugar cane, only the latter produces a pleasant tasting treacle.

The 17^th century seems to mark the time when treacle made the jump from a medicine to a foodstuff. https://britishfoodhistory.wordpress.com/tag/treacle/ suggests ‘bread tart’ and ‘sweetmeat cake’ as early recipes using treacle, and the earliest recipes for ‘treacle tart’ in the 1870s precede Lyle’s development of golden syrup, even though most modern recipes call for golden syrup rather than black treacle. Gingerbread, which has been around at least since the 1400s, switched to using treacle as an ingredient during the 18^th century. But the popularity of ‘Mary Poppins’ suggests that the association of sugar syrup with medicines remains as strong as ever.

I’m rather drawn to the idea that a substance famed for being sickly sweet (as in the famous treacle tart of my story – the favourite dessert of Harry Potter – and the treacle wells mentioned by the dormouse in Alice in Wonderland) ultimately derives its name from medicines which were so bitter that they required a sweet coating. That seems a good metaphor for this story collection.

In Treacle and Other Twisted Tales I take some well-known tales and retell them with a twist, a difference, or a wee flicker of darkness. There are new stories, too, some drawn from imagination and others from experience. There are no entirely happy endings – I don’t really believe in them – but some at least come to satisfactory conclusions. If there’s a moral in the story, it’s that beneath sweetness there is always a small, sharp tang of bitterness, and sometimes the sugar coating is very thin indeed. Life isn’t fair, and nothing ever turns out exactly the way we want it to. These aren’t fairy stories, you know.

As for the second meaning – sentimentality or flattery – isn’t that the business of we fiction writers? I employ my words as the appetising coating to encourage some unpalatable suggestions to go down. Did I sweeten the mixture enough?

And am I genuinely channelling my East End ancestors, or merely mocking Eastenders the soap, when I say to you, “Don’t worry, treacle* – if you don’t like this story, maybe the next one’ll suit you better”?

*Treacle (tart) = sweetheart

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