Imagine being invited to a grand banquet at a fairytale castle only to discover that the spread consists of nothing but candied faux sweets and decorative fruit. It all looks so ornate, so beautiful, maybe even magical, but where, pray tell, is the substance?
Reading “Happily: A Personal History—with Fairy Tales” by Sabrina Orah Mark is a similar sort of let-down. We are invited to travel to an intimate realm set in the first-person perspective, forged deep within the innermost chambers of Mark’s most personal thoughts. We are served a glorious smorgasbord of exquisite, poetic prose that shimmers in our eyes as if it’s been craftily dusted with emotionally-powered pixie dust. It seems like the table is set with the makings of a thrilling reading experience, but upon closer inspection we can’t help noticing a major fault in the foundation: the sub-par narrative.
While the language is undoubtedly enchanting, “Happily” fails at satisfactorily fleshing out some basic, although crucial, elements of story: plot arc, character development, and some semblance of resolution. The result of such oversight leaves the poor reader to wander through a labyrinth of disjointed introspection, and despite its lyrical brilliance, “Happily” ultimately struggles to offer the substantive value one should expect from a fully realized story.
At its core, “Happily” is a collection of Mark’s personal essays in which she reflects on her life as a mother, a daughter, a woman, and a writer. These reflections are interwoven with Mark’s knowledgeable explorations of fairy tales, from classic stories like Rumpelstiltskin and Cinderella, to more esoteric legends such as that of the Hebrew Golem. From such lore, Mark extracts metaphor and mines elements of theme. She then makes use of these literary gems to inform her own story and to construct a thematic cornucopia of her own design. From the metaphorical Horn of Theme overfloweth such: coping with loss, navigating personal relationships, the trials of motherhood, isolation and disillusionment within modern society, and the search for the ever-elusive concept of identity. Each essay could probably stand on its own; Together they form a patchwork quilt of Mark’s own life experiences. While the interludes of fairy tale are sometimes interesting, they too often feel disjointed, interrupting the flow of her real-life narrative, rather than enhancing it.
Mark’s prose is undeniably poetic, with language so rich you almost expect it to transmogrify into something living. She has an uncanny ability to take something run-of-the-mill, like taking an iPad in for repair or a family trip to Target, and elevating it into some sort of thaumaturgical rite. There are moments where it is all quite impressive, but all the glittery language, the brief moments of magical realism, and the myriad poetic turns begin to feel like magic for magic’s sake. It’s the literary equivalent of trading the family cow for a few magic beans.
So, what happens when the beanstalk doesn’t actually lead anywhere?
Think of a bad first date: You find yourself on the receiving end of a one-way conversation, where the other person is recounting their entire life story in no particular order. In between anecdotes, before you can get a word in, your date fills the silence with postulations from their diary or their dream journal. That’s what “Happily” often feels like: an over-share that leaves you disconnected. With no distinct narrative thread, the reader is left to piece together Mark’s musings with little in the way of guidance. This non-linear structure may be excused as an intentional mirroring of the elusive nature of memory, but in the context of “Happily” it is ultimately unsatisfying as a reading experience, especially when the book offers so little in the way of resolution.
There really are some terrible choices going on here: while the center is too narrowly focused on the protagonist, the rest of the quixotically large field is left a sea of blur—a mistake that additionally comes at the expense of character and character development. While Mark gives readers more than enough insight into herself, the secondary characters in her world—a world that spans decades—remain significantly understated, serving only as reflections of her own internal struggles. As such, everyone else in her life is reduced to a mechanism for furthering her own story, as if they are just there to give the protagonist cues or to be wistfully gazed at and pondered upon. Even her closest relations—her sons, husband, sister, mother—are all given a treatment akin to NPCs (Non-Playable Characters). It’s a shame that despite her clear desire to explore these relationships in depth, Mark’s self-focused lens leaves all the other characters flat as a gingerbread man.
Fairy tales, especially the original versions toward which we oft find Mark prone, inevitably contain dark elements. Of course, the same is true of life in the real world, a fact not lost on Mark in “Happily.” In fact, there is little in “Happily” if not dark emotional weight. However, the book never quite reaches a cathartic release or a satisfying resolution and foregoes the “happily ever after” we might expect from, say, a fairy tale. Surely, it is purposeful—the point being that there are no perfect resolutions in life. This idea is at least saying something but it may not be quite the revelation that Mark intended. It just isn’t a particularly original thought, and to think it so would be a tad presumptuous.
Ultimately, “Happily” offers readers an emotional journey, albeit lackluster. While Mark’s lyrical prose casts spells abound, the shortfalls of narrative leave the reader disenchanted. Those who enjoy meditative, language-driven writing may yet appreciate it; Others might find themselves lost in the aimless wood, chasing after a satisfactory arc, only to find the rainbow has disappeared and the wishing well has run dry. Sure, there are glimpses of magic along the way, but it’s too easy to get lost in the maze of introspection and intellectual musings, and you may end up wondering if wandering the castle is worth it just to be chasing someone else’s shadow.