Fictocriticism Review of Shary Boyle’s “Outside the Palace of Me”
An exhibit at The Gardiner Museum, Feb 24-May 15, 2022. Primer on fictocriticism. Strikethrough sentences taken from various Grimms’ Fairy Tales.
The Endless Toil of the Puppeteer
The eager young puppeteer decided to attend puppet school, as there was no better place for her. She was shy, content to disappear behind a black curtain, letting her puppets express the difficult feelings she avoided. One day, wandering the campus in search of nothing in particular, she found the smoke pit where many of her fellow students took refuge. Along the edge of the uneven circle was a long-haired student she’d never seen before. “Would you like a smoke?” he asked, and extended a red-paper cigarette. She politely declined and stood awkwardly, as was her want. She glanced down and noticed a dull red, pulsing glow coming from the long-haired student’s shoes. ̶O̶n̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶s̶,̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶e̶v̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶t̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶a̶ ̶h̶o̶r̶s̶e̶’̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶’̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶o̶t̶,̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶.
“What do you think of my shoes?” he asked. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re the devil,” she said. His face grew serious, and he gestured toward a nearby awning. The puppeteer, curious and fearful both, followed. “Let us say, for the sake of argument, that I am who you say I am,” he said. “Is there anything you would trade your soul for?” The puppeteer laughed for a moment. When the long-haired student did not, she paused to consider. “Okay,” she said. “I want to be twice as good as the puppeteers in my class.”
“Are you sure?” asked the long-haired devil. “Yes,” she said. ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶e̶v̶i̶l̶ ̶s̶a̶i̶d̶,̶ ̶“̶B̶u̶t̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶I̶ ̶m̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶t̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶m̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶h̶,̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶b̶,̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶t̶r̶i̶m̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶s̶e̶l̶f̶,̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶c̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶h̶a̶i̶r̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶n̶a̶i̶l̶s̶,̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶w̶i̶p̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶f̶r̶o̶m̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶.̶” They completed the necessary paperwork and shook hands.
The next morning the puppeteer awoke, feeling heavier. She rolled over and shrieked twice — first in terror and then in joy. She now had four arms, not two. And indeed, for many months, it was as she had wished. Her puppet shows became famous, and crowds grew in size, making rowdy, appreciative noises. But soon enough, scheming theatre owners let greed pollute their minds. ̶C̶u̶t̶ ̶o̶p̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶b̶i̶r̶d̶,̶ ̶t̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶k̶e̶e̶p̶ ̶i̶t̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶p̶i̶e̶c̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶g̶o̶l̶d̶ ̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶p̶i̶l̶l̶o̶w̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶r̶i̶s̶e̶.̶ ̶I̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶i̶r̶d̶’̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶b̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶g̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶l̶u̶c̶k̶. Why pay two puppeteers when a single puppeteer could do the same job? Too shy to ask for double the wages, the puppeteer became twice as tired, trapped in a world of her own making. And although she never saw him again, it was clear that the devil would always have a sooty hand on her back, pulling the strings that truly mattered.
The Porcelain Prison
̶A̶s̶ ̶s̶o̶o̶n̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶a̶g̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶,̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶e̶f̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶k̶s̶h̶o̶p̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶d̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶,̶ ̶o̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶d̶a̶l̶e̶,̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶t̶h̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶t̶h̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶. One day, walking in the forest on a fine spring day, the artist came across a fox. Its paw trapped beneath a large stone, the fox looked up with sad eyes. Taking pity, the artist carefully pushed the stone aside. “Thank you,” said the fox, rubbing its paw. “For your kindness I can grant you one wish.” The artist thought carefully. “I am but a humble pottery maker. I spend my days arguing with clay and kiln and often lose the battle. Give me the greatest skills in the land.” “And so it shall be,” said the fox, and he quickly disappeared into the forest with a sly grin. ̶A̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶p̶o̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶s̶,̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶g̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶i̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶m̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶g̶r̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶t̶u̶r̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶h̶o̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶g̶l̶a̶d̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶e̶d̶.
The next day the artist discovered that the clay obeyed her every command and she could control the chaos of her fiery kiln like an orchestra conductor. She abandoned her usual flower vases and water jugs to create beautiful creatures. A little boy with jaunty hair. Three friends enjoying tea together. A prince in the forest. ̶T̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶o̶f̶t̶e̶n̶ ̶r̶a̶n̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶g̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶r̶r̶i̶e̶s̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶a̶s̶t̶s̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶h̶a̶r̶m̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶c̶a̶m̶e̶ ̶c̶l̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶t̶r̶u̶s̶t̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶. But the details of each were so gossamer fine and delicate that the artist began to fret about their safety. After many sleepless nights, she decided to build them cages. Visitors to her studio grew in number, but they were disappointed that they could not fully appreciate the sophistication and subtlety of her creations through the thick bars of the cages. Eventually the visitors dwindled, which in truth suited the artist, who preferred to focus on her newfound abilities.
But unbeknownst to the artist, her creations could only stay vibrant with frequent viewings. Bit by bit, the ignored porcelain figurines grew unhappy and eventually tried to flee. The little boy with jaunty hair grew modest wings above each ear. The friends enjoying tea melted fine silver strands into ropes to connect their minds together, in order to better plan an escape. Only the prince in the forest realized the truth of their entrapment, and decided to crawl into an empty tree trunk so that the memory of his handsome face would be preserved forever. ̶I̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶g̶ ̶b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶u̶n̶e̶r̶a̶l̶ ̶b̶i̶r̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶a̶n̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶c̶r̶y̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶,̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶d̶b̶r̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶c̶o̶l̶l̶e̶c̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶b̶r̶a̶n̶c̶h̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶a̶ ̶f̶u̶n̶e̶r̶a̶l̶ ̶w̶r̶e̶a̶t̶h̶.̶ ̶S̶o̶o̶n̶ ̶a̶f̶t̶e̶r̶w̶a̶r̶d̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶ ̶l̶a̶y̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶b̶i̶e̶r̶.
