Why Original Fairy Tales Are Too Brutal for Modern Readers

You might have heard whispers that the fairy tales you loved as a child have a darker, more brutal history. That in the original versions, the prince doesn’t just kiss Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel's beloved has his eyes gouged out, and Cinderella’s sisters take a knife to their own feet to fit into the slipper. These aren’t just rumors; they are echoes of the stories as they were once told. Back then, we read the sweetened, adapted versions. The original sources, however, can be unsettling even for an adult, revealing a world of meaning we never grasped as children. Let's explore why these tales were so grim and what profound lessons we missed.

Echoes of Ancient Rituals

Much of the cruelty in fairy tales has historical roots. These stories are often the descendants of religious myths that lost their sacred power over time. For ancient peoples, myths were a kind of textbook for life, explaining the creation of the world, the complex relationship between gods and humans, and the boundary between the earthly and otherworldly realms.

These myths were deeply intertwined with rituals—ceremonial actions that marked the great transitions of life. Rituals helped people grow up, marry, and say farewell to loved ones. Through these ceremonies, a person acquired a new status in society. These were often brutal trials. For instance, an adolescent boy might be left alone in the forest, forced to overcome predators by strength or cunning to be recognized as a man. Today, anthropologists call these "rites of passage." The person undergoing the trial was seen as being reborn, dying in their former status to emerge as someone new.

As beliefs about the universe changed, the myths faded, but the rituals proved far more enduring. It is the ghost of these ancient, often violent, rites of passage that we find haunting the pages of our fairy tales. Of course, there was another, simpler reason for the gore: bloody details made a story more exciting and terrifying. People in the past enjoyed a good horror story just as much as we do today.

Censored for the Nursery

So why do we know these stories in such a censored form? It comes down to how they were passed to us. Fairy tales came from two main sources: oral traditions and texts written down starting in the late 18th century. Initially, these stories were entertainment for adults, a way to pass the long evening hours. Only gradually did they become the domain of children.

Often, tales were told to children by nannies or governesses who deliberately softened the more problematic and violent moments. The collectors and writers of these tales also played a huge role. While the Brothers Grimm famously tried to preserve the stories as they heard them, others, like Charles Perrault, actively intervened in the plots.

Consider Little Red Riding Hood. The moment the woodcutter cuts the wolf open to save the girl and her grandmother seems frightening enough in childhood. But in some earlier folk versions, the story is far more sinister. The wolf doesn't just swallow the grandmother; he butchers her body, prepares a meal from her flesh and a drink from her blood, and offers it to the unsuspecting Little Red Riding Hood when she arrives. He then invites the girl to undress and join him in bed. In many versions, the story ends right there. Perrault reworked this horrifying plot, added a happy ending with a heroic woodsman, and, for good measure, attached a moral warning young ladies against charming strangers. It is this tradition of viewing fairy tales as simple, instructive stories for children that has prevailed.

Beyond Good and Evil: The Symbolic Logic of Suffering

Because we see them as moral lessons, many classic tales face criticism today. Look at the story of Anastasia in the tale of Father Frost (or Jack Frost). A modern reader might conclude that the story teaches girls to endure hardship without complaint. But this view misses the point. The original fairy tales weren't primarily about education; they were built on a completely different set of rules. Anastasia, for example, isn’t entirely passive; when asked, she honestly tells Father Frost that she is cold. She isn't being rewarded for silence, but for passing a series of tests.

To our modern sensibilities, the premises can seem unjustifiably cruel. Who would send a young girl out into the freezing wilderness? But even the most terrible events in these tales symbolize something other than what they appear to be on the surface.

In the original Sleeping Beauty, the plot is far from innocent. The prince doesn't wake the princess with a gentle kiss. He discovers her in her enchanted sleep, violates her, and leaves. She gives birth to twins while still unconscious, and it is only when one of the infants, searching for her breast, sucks the enchanted splinter from her finger that she awakens. For a modern person, this is a deeply disturbing plot. But an older, archaic logic is at work here. The only force that can oppose eternal sleep—that is, death—is the creation of new life. This is embodied by male sexual force and the act of procreation. The prince, in this brutal way, awakens the princess's dormant life force. She is reborn in a new capacity: as a woman and a mother, capable of giving life herself. It’s no coincidence that the entire castle comes to life with her.

This theme of a death-like sleep is a "wandering plot" found in many cultures, including in Snow White. Here, the story is complicated by the princess’s cohabitation with seven dwarfs. The folklorist Vladimir Propp connects this to the archaic custom of "men's houses," where the adult men of a clan would gather for rituals. Young women sometimes lived in these houses and were considered communal wives. This arrangement was not seen as dishonorable. The original story of a young woman living with seven "brothers" or "mighty men" was likely not the platonic friendship we see in the sanitized versions.

Pain as a Path to Growth

This fairy-tale logic of trial and sacrifice is visible even in the works of authors who created their own original plots. Hans Christian Andersen’s beautifully sad tales often follow these ancient folklore traditions. The sacrificial Little Mermaid, who not only gives up her voice for legs but agrees that every step will feel like walking on knives, is performing a rite of passage. The mute Elisa in The Wild Swans, who weaves shirts for her brothers from stinging nettles gathered in a cemetery, risks her own life to save them. The girl in The Red Shoes repents her vanity and asks the executioner to cut off her feet, which he does.

These stories, written in the nineteenth century, are deeply connected to ancient plots. They understand that growth requires sacrifice, that transformation is often painful, and that to gain something new, something old must be given up.

The logic of these ancient tales still accompanies our culture. We see its reflection in literature, film, and art. And although the overt cruelty has faded over time, the mystical component—the profound idea of personal growth and wisdom gained through trials—remains as powerful as ever. It invites us to look past the surface of our favorite stories and unravel the hidden, often darker, meanings woven within.

References

• Propp, Vladimir. Morphology of the Folktale. University of Texas Press, 2nd Edition, 1968.
  This foundational work of structuralism breaks down folk tales into their essential components, which Propp calls "functions." He argues that while the characters and settings may change, the underlying sequence of events (like a hero leaving home, being tested, and receiving a magical aid) remains constant. This supports the article's discussion of fairy tales as structured trials and rites of passage.
• Bettelheim, Bruno. The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales. Vintage Books, 1977.
  A psychoanalytic exploration of fairy tales, this book argues that their dark and sometimes violent elements are crucial for a child's psychological development. Bettelheim suggests that tales like "Cinderella" and "Snow White" allow children to grapple with complex emotions like sibling rivalry, oedipal conflicts, and fear of abandonment in a safe, symbolic way. His analysis of "Sleeping Beauty" as an allegory for adolescent awakening resonates with the article's interpretation (see Part Two, "The Child in the World," particularly pp. 225-236).
• Zipes, Jack. The Great Fairy Tale Tradition: From Straparola and Basile to the Brothers Grimm. W. W. Norton & Company, 2001.
  This comprehensive collection provides a historical context for the evolution of fairy tales, presenting multiple versions of the same story over time. The introduction and the notes for individual tales (like "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Sleeping Beauty") clearly demonstrate how the stories were changed from bawdy or grim tales for adult audiences into sanitized moral lessons for children by collectors like Perrault and, to a lesser extent, the Grimms. This directly confirms the article's claims about censorship and rewriting.