Folklore: The People Could Fly

  

           I have never been very interested in folktales; I have never related much to the exaggeration and supernatural that I correlate with folktales. Unfortunately, The People Could Fly didn’t do much to change this.

            One of my main issues with this collection was the dialect used in the first section (the animal tales section). I have read—and enjoyed—many books whose authors have used language that is true to the characters’ dialect or setting, so I was surprised to find how frustrating and aggravating it was to read the dialect in these first stories.

While reading, I kept thinking of books I have read with difficult dialect, specifically African-American dialect: Their Eyes Were Watching God, The Color Purple, and Push. In all of these books, there is a clear and direct purpose for using the language that is used. The dialect truly adds to the experience of reading the book: it makes the characters seem more realistic and it helps the reader enter the different worlds of those characters. While I understand that the purpose of the dialects used in the folktales in The People Could Fly is to recreate the oral tradition of the folktales involved, these first stories seemed to go overboard. I felt I could have gotten the same sense of the story, and of the oral tradition, with less literal interpretations of the languages. Rather than adding to my understanding of the characters, I felt the language detracted from my enjoyment of the stories.

While the overuse of dialect in the first section of stories created a negative reaction, I did learn from the stories in a unique way. One characteristic that proved enjoyable was understanding how American slaves often used the animals in their stories to not only explain the mysteries of the natural world, but also the hierarchical order of the social world. For example, “Bruh Alligator Meets Trouble” sheds light on how the alligator’s smooth white skin became “all burned black and crinkly up” (p. 41). Using folktales to explain the natural world is a common practice of all cultures. However, some of the folktales in this collection also explored the hierarchical roles of the different beings on the planet, not just how they came to be. In “Bruh Alligator and Bruh Deer” white hunters, black slaves, and hunted animals are explored in relation to each other, rather than in an explanatory, physical way. Because there is a history of slavery in these folktales, it was interesting to see how it influenced the tales and distinguished them from their ancestral African folktales.

In regard to the structure and elements of folktales, a typically simplistic plot structure with a defined moral ending was present in many of the folktales in this book. Taking advantage of a direct, black-and-white worldview, many of the stories laid out a straightforward, often predictable, path toward danger. For example, in “Little Eight John” the main character purposely disobeys his mother, over and over again. As the story continues, in a very predictable way, the mother warns Little Eight John against certain actions, yet he consistently acts against her wishes. Eventually, Little Eight John is turned into a grease spot and his mother wipes him away, never to return. As the tale continues, we know Little Eight John will disobey each and every time; there is no suspense regarding what decision he will make. This leads us toward the obvious end—a predetermined moral lesson: “And that was the end of Little Eight John. What happens to all little chil’ren who never mind.” We are led to think: Yes, of course that is what happens to children who don’t listen.

These straightforward plot lines and blunt endings help the reader imagine the moment of the original storytelling. The overt repetition of similar events helps audiences stay tuned in to the storyteller, even allowing them to predict correctly what will happen next. An excellent example of this is in “The Peculiar Such Thing.” We are told at the beginning of the story that the main character “had no sense” (p.117) when he ate the creature’s tail, so we know something bad will happen to him. Again, the story is not about suspense, but about reader attention and lessons learned. As the creature comes back again and again, asking for his tail, we can predict that the terrified main character will continue to claim he doesn’t have it. The gruesome ending is stated briefly, in a mild voice, and concludes with a simple statement: “They say it got its tailypo back” (p. 120). Again, we are led to agree: Well, of course it did.

This simplistic plot and predictable ending is also used to tell other stories, those without an overt moral lesson, but still with a clever, yet obvious ending. In “How Nehemiah Got Free,” we know Nehemiah will be set free. It is not the suspense that keeps the story moving; instead, it is the predictability. As we read, we know Nehemiah will make Mister Warton laugh; it is just a matter of when. Once Nehemiah wins the bet, the black-and-white simplicity returns: “But true is true and facts are facts. And Nehemiah got his freedom” (p. 150). Well, of course he did.

These straightforward, almost emotionless, plots and endings are the best insight into the way the stories were told in the past. I can imagine a wry grin and a quick wink as the storyteller spins his tales and teaches his lessons, and then shoos everyone off to get back to work or go on to bed.