The Little Mermaid is Not (Just) an LGBT+ Story
And why I dislike this take as an LGBT+ person
Before I delve into this needlessly polarising topic, I need to address a few things. “The Little Mermaid” (Andersen’s story) is my favourite fairy tale. In fact, I originally wanted to write an essay on why this is my favourite fairy tale. I eventually decided to shift its focus into something I believe needs more attention and from which I can bring something new to the discussion. I will still explain why “The Little Mermaid” is my favourite fairy tale, but much more briefly than I originally intended.
Because I can already predict that some will accuse me of being a “queerphobe”, or that I don’t get what being LGBT+ is like, I need to disclose something personal about myself: I’m bisexual. With a male preference.
My sexuality is the least interesting aspect of who I am (though it is part of who I am regardless), but I feel obligated to disclose it here, to basically use the “as a (blank) person” defence, because identity-obsessed weirdos with validation issues can’t comprehend the fact that your personality does not begin and end with your identity, whatever that is.
Another reason for disclosing my sexuality is that when you criticise the actions of a group of people — especially if it’s a marginalised group of people — the label of “phobe” and “ist” doesn’t stick as easily when you’re actually part of the group you’re criticising. Of course, that doesn’t stop the activists from name-calling you (“bootlicker”, “grifter”, “reactionary” and so on), but at least it will bring some level of authenticity to this discussion that someone not part of that group cannot.
With all that out of the way, let’s begin.
Not too long ago, the channel There Will Be Fudd uploaded a video ranking and reviewing 14 film versions of “The Little Mermaid”.
The video, overall, is well-researched and engaging. I do have some problems with it, though:
The creator of the video is a massive Disney shill. He decries anyone who has had a problem with the 2023 live-action remake of Disney’s The Little Mermaid — in particular with the casting of Halle Bailey as Ariel — by accusing them of “showing their ugly sides” (I’ve talked at length about this subject already) and claims that the Disney cheapquels “aren’t that bad and we’re just being unfair to them” (personal tastes are one thing, but there’s a reason those films have a reputation for being among the company’s weakest output).
While he makes compelling arguments on why certain films (or certain elements in a film) don’t work, the same cannot be said about most of the films that he likes. In particular, he’s weirdly hyperbolic about his adoration for The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning and the 1976 Little Mermaid film; he says some variations of “this (aspect) is great” without properly explaining why he thinks so.
He makes a really odd claim towards the end of the video that the reason why Disney’s The Little Mermaid has a happy ending, as opposed to its source material, is not to sanitise the story for children, but to “rescue” the Little Mermaid from her tragic fate. I find this argument to be reductive and one-sided, but again, this is beyond the subject of this post.
He alludes to (and indirectly supports) the now wide-spread take that “The Little Mermaid” (both the Disney film and Andersen’s story) is really a “queer” story.
You’ve likely seen some “Little Mermaid is secretly a queer story” essays and videos circulating the internet. They liken the Little Mermaid/Ariel’s journey to that of a gay or trans person’s and often use the life of Howard Ashman (lyricist of the Disney film) and/or Hans Christian Andersen (the original story’s author) to support their claim. The videos pictured below are good examples of this kind of essays.
Because Fudd (the video’s creator) didn’t elaborate on this take at all (besides claiming that Andersen “was likely queer” and the screenshot above), I will do it here. And explain why I, as an LGBT+ person myself, am tired of seeing it presented as the only valid way of interesting the story.
A Few Words on the Word “Queer”
I originally wanted to write an article about my thoughts on the word “queer”, but the subject became too politically-charged for my liking, so I decided to scrap it. But to not let my work go to waste, I’ll condense my thoughts here to explain why I’ll be using the term “LGBT+” throughout this post instead of “queer”. ShortFatOtaku already did a great video on the subject, and I recommend checking it out if you haven’t. I’ll only make some additions to Dev’s video and bring attention to some of the points that are relevant to this piece.
In short, “queer” was originally used as a synonym for “strange” and “weird”. Towards the latter half of the 20th century, it was used as a slur towards LGBT+ people, typically to refer to them as being “strange” and “abnormal”. But thanks to queer theory, the word has been “reclaimed” by activists and is now being used as an umbrella term for LGBT+ people, or for those who cannot neatly define their identity.
At least, that’s what mainstream LGBT+ activist groups want you to believe. I’ve noticed that only a particular group of people (hint: far-left activist types) use this word casually, while regular, politically disengaged LGBT+ people use instead words like “gay”, “bisexual” or “trans”.
But why “queer” instead of LGBT+?
To be inclusive, one might say, especially towards those that might have complicated feelings about their sexuality or gender. And I’m certainly not one to dictate how people should or shouldn’t refer to themselves as. My issue is that, from a utilitarian point of view, “queer” is too vague of a word to really mean anything. Perhaps it’s because I prefer to be specific with the language I use, but when you say you’re “queer”, what do you mean exactly? That you’re:
Anything but straight?
Genderqueer, or any other non-binary gender identity?
Have a “lived experience” that is different from that of a “cishetnormative society”?
Because I’ve seen this word being used in all of these contexts.
And that’s the point.
“Queer” is really just a political identity that seeks to disrupt what is seen by its proponents as a normative, “limiting” society. (Never mind that “normal” is a relative term, but again, that’s a subject for another time.) It co-opts gay and trans people to further their goals of “breaking binaries” and destigmatize social taboos, no matter how morally abhorrent they may be. I once saw a video (though sadly I can’t find it anymore) of someone basically admitting that gay is a non-political identity, while “queer” is, and to be a “good little queer” you have to engage in political activism.
And just in case you think I’m exaggerating or putting things into people’s mouths, this is how Lindz Amer, creator of Queer Kid Stuff and prominent “queer” activist, defines the word “queer” in Amer’s book Rainbow Parenting:
“The word “queer” has many definitions and meanings, both personal and cultural, that are held individually. (…) (W)hen I use the word “queer” I’m not usually using it as synonymous for “gay” or “homosexual” (…). When I use the word “queer” (…), I’m talking about queer as a theoretical concept from the field of queer studies. Here, the word “queer” is charged. Queer not as in gay or homosexual but queer as in other, queer as in opposition to everything that is deemed “normal” by society and culture at large. It represents an oppositional (and even political) position that pushes against norms across both gender and sexuality. “Queer” pairs this oppositional and political definition with its cultural definition: simultaneously describing a larger community, because anyone who is not heterosexual and/or cisgender can be deemed queer and a part of the queer community. It’s an extremely powerful word!”
There’s a lot more to unpack in regards to queer theory (there’s a disturbing amount of pedophilia and incest apologia in queer theory; just ask Michel Foucault, Judith Butler and John Money) but I’ll leave it at that for now. In short, because the word “queer” is too (intentionally) vague to be operational, and because it is ideologically and politically-charged (claiming that being LGBT+ is a political identity, rather than an inherent trait one has), I personally prefer not to use it, opting instead to use the more neutral LGBT+. You are free to use the word if you want, but you shouldn’t force others to do it, and then call them “homophobes” and “traitors” for not complying with your demands. In other words, don’t be like this person:
Is “The Little Mermaid” an LGBT+ Story?
The short answer is: Yes and no.
The long answer is the rest of this post.
In the aforementioned Little Mermaid video, Fudd says that Andersen was “most likely queer, autistic and a terrible guest to Charles Dickens.” These are all true (some more than others, at least), but you wouldn’t know it because his “proof” for this information is a bunch of sourceless quotes that are so vague they can mean anything.
(By the way, you can learn more about this and more in the Andersen chapter from Nicholas Jubber’s The Fairy Tellers. You’re welcome.)
Although Andersen had a great affection for many women (for instance Jenny Lind, who served as the inspiration for his story “The Nightingale”), he also had a “close” relationship with Edvard Collin, son of his benefactor Jonas Collin. Both because of the societal attitudes on homosexuality at the time, and because Edvard did not reciprocate his feelings, calling him odd and such, Andersen essentially used the story of the Little Mermaid as a way of dealing with this rejection.
All of Andersen’s stories are in part autobiographical, especially “The Ugly Duckling”. He was born in a poor family and mercilessly bullied at school for his appearance and effeminate mannerisms. He had a big imagination, however, and a love for the art and stories, and was thus determined to better his position in life. Though he managed to achieve this goal, he still felt like an outcast, someone who didn’t fit in with the upper classes. This caused him a great deal of distress and self-hatred which he projected onto his stories. In other words, his characters go through a lot of (physical) pain because he himself went through a lot of (internal) pain. As Andersen himself said: “Most of what I have written is a reflection of myself.”
In the case of “The Little Mermaid”, among other things (which I will talk more about below), the prince’s rejection of the Little Mermaid, in favour of a princess he thinks had rescued him, reflects Andersen’s pain of being rejected by Edvard and of Edvard’s engagement with another woman. This claim is substantiated by the fact that, shortly after the engagement, Andersen sent Edvard the finished manuscript of the story along with a letter. The letter (published in English in My Dear Boy: Gay Love Letters through the Centuries) leaves little to the imagination:
So it may seem this is an open-and-shut case. Andersen used the story of the Little Mermaid as an allegory for his unrequited love for another man. Additionally, the Little Mermaid’s transition from mermaid to human (and then later from human to daughter of the air) can be seen as a parallel to a trans person’s journey of transition (this is yet another can of worms I’m not willing to discuss here).
But, as Nicholas Jubber pointed out, “there’s another way to read this tale.”
A Non-LGBT+ Take on Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid”
Let’s go back to that earlier quote where Andersen talked about his stories:
“Most of what I have written is a reflection of myself.”
Now let’s read some passages from Erik Christian Haugaard’s translation of “The Little Mermaid”:
“The youngest had planted red flowers in (her garden): she wanted it to look like the sun (…). She was a strange little child: quiet and thoughtful. Her sisters’ gardens were filled with all sorts of things that they had collected from shipwrecks, but she had only a marble statue of a boy in hers.”
“The youngest of the mermaids thought it particularly wonderful that the flowers up there had fragrance, for that they did not have on the bottom of the sea. She also liked to hear about the green forest, where the fishes that swam among the branches could sing most beautifully.”
“None of the sisters longed so much to see the world above as the youngest, the one who had to wait the longest before she could leave her home. Many a night this quiet, thoughtful little mermaid would stand by the open window, looking up through the dark blue waters where the fishes swam. (…) Sometimes a great shadow passed by like a cloud and then she knew that it was either a whale or a ship, with its crew and passengers, that was sailing high above her. None on board could have imagined that a little beautiful mermaid stood in the depths below them and stretched her little white hands up toward the keel of their ship.”
This all happens before she meets the prince. Like Ariel, her successor, the Little Mermaid had always been fascinated by the world above the waves. The prince is a catalyst for her wishes: her feelings towards him are romantic, but he also represents her greater love for the human world. She’s a non-conformist, as she opts to see the ocean’s surface instead of joining her sisters in their undersea games. She’s an explorer, as she wishes to learn all about the human world, even if it comes with a steep price. Which reminds me, here are a few passages after she meets and rescues the prince:
“Now that she knew where the prince lived, the little mermaid spent many evenings and nights looking at the splendid palace. She swam nearer to the land than any of her sisters had ever dared.”
“More and more she grew to love human beings and wished that she could leave the sea and live among them. It seemed to her that their world was far larger than hers (…). Their countries seemed ever so large (…); she knew that they stretched much farther than she could see. There was so much that she wanted to know…”
This all culminates in her learning about human souls. You see, merfolk can live up to three hundred years, but after that they cease to exist, their bodies dissolving into sea foam. Humans live less than one hundred years, but when they die, their souls go up to Heaven and live for eternity. The only way for a mermaid to gain a soul is if a human falls in love with her truly and earnestly. But that, her grandmother explains, can never happen, because humans find fishtails ugly and ungraceful.
So the Little Mermaid’s drive to become human is not just to be with the prince, but also to win an immortal soul. In other words, she longs to join in the same happiness and (dare I say) privileges as the humans’. At the end of the story, she does not win the prince, but she becomes a Daughter of the Air; she may gain an immortal soul after three hundred years of good deeds. Say her fellow sisters of the air:
“if we find a good child (…) God takes a year away from the time of our trial. But if there is a naughty and mean child in the house we come to, we cry; and for every tear we shed, God adds a day to the three hundred years we already must serve.”
This aspect certainly reflects Andersen’s overtly religious beliefs, which have caused anti-religious people like Jack Zipes to claim that the story is a “didactic Christian sermon about how a mermaid must sacrifice herself to win the Lord’s approval” (a view that Lindsay Ellis also shares, not so coincidentally enough). P.L. Travers, author of Mary Poppins, had also famously accused Andersen of blackmailing children into obedience with this ending.
But, as I already said, the Little Mermaid also represents non-conformity and independence. Maria Tatar notes of one scene where the Little Mermaid, now human, dresses in a page’s costume (strictly worn by males) to go horse-riding with the prince. Rather than it being a sign of the Little Mermaid being secretly trans, it subtly highlights the limitations women had had at the time in terms of their options (both in clothing and occupation) and how she is willing to disrupt them to pursue her interests and desires. Maria Tatar writes:
“(The Little Mermaid is) more adventurous, spirited, and curious than most fairy-tale heroines. Cross-dressing is a sign of her willingness to transgress gender boundaries and to take risks in order to see the world.”
Tatar also echoes my thoughts on the Little Mermaid being a seeker and explorer:
“The little mermaid is a creature intent on broadening her horizons. What she sees on earth stimulates her desire for challenges. She wants, above all, to explore the world and to discover what is beyond the realm of “home.””
But the story may also be interpreted as one about the struggles one finds when transitioning from one state of life (the sea) into another (the land). As author Cassandra Golds pointed out, this theme most famously appears in The Great Gatsby.
The Little Mermaid’s time on land as a human isn’t as she had expected: every step she takes feels like treading on sharp knives, yet she dances for the prince to please him; she uses dancing as a substitute for her now lost voice. She is treated by the prince as a platonic friend at best and at worst as a house-pet (even our dog sleeps on my mother’s bed, and not on a cushion outside our bedroom door like the Little Mermaid does). For that matter, she is rather treated like a commodity by the humans, like someone who looks like them but doesn’t behave like them. I feel this aspect is perfectly captured by Tim Manley:
“The Little Mermaid was now a human, but sometimes she still felt out of place. She didn’t get the cultural references people made — and her hips swayed like crazy. She tried her best to blend in, and she never spoke.
“But at a party one night she overheard a group of elegantly dressed women discussing an episode of Hoarders about a woman who collected forks, and the Little Mermaid just had to jump in on that one.
““That’s a very unusual accent you have,” one of the women said to her. “Where are you from?”
“Her past haunted her. She could never escape who she used to be.”
As discussed above, Andersen — born in poverty but eventually elevated to the higher classes — never truly felt like he belonged in his new state of life. This he clearly reflected in “The Little Mermaid”, which can also be seen as a subtle critique of the rigid social hierarchies of the time. As Nicholas Jubber best explained:
“The Little Mermaid is a migrant, turning her back on the comforts of home, grasping for a different life. (…) With his out-of-towner accent and lack of connections, (Andersen) was nearly as mute as the mermaid: another unusual dancer trying to find his way in a society that saw him as an alien.”
Which reminds me, the Little Mermaid losing her voice may not, after all, be a “pathetic, misogynist narrative” (as Jack Zipes put it) or “a contender for the most misogynist (fairy tale) of the lot” (as Nicholas Jubber put it). You see, one of the jobs Andersen took in his youth was singing at an opera — and he was rather good at it. Very good. In fact, he had quite an angelic voice — like the Little Mermaid. But puberty hit, his voice broke, and then he could no longer sing — just like the Little Mermaid could no longer sing after losing her voice to become human.
Also — and I’m surprised more people haven’t realised this yet — just because a story shows something bad happening, it doesn’t mean that it condones it. In this case, the Little Mermaid’s loss of a voice is not depicted as a good thing. She cannot express her true feelings, she cannot tell the prince that she loves him or that she had rescued him (which leads to her “death”) and her only method of communication, of expressing her feelings, is dancing, which, as I already explained, is extremely painful. As in, her feet actually bleed from all the pain she endures.
Her life is essentially made worse — in fact ruined — because she cannot speak. Truly, from a feminist point of view, this must reflect an urgent call for women to be heard and not just seen — not an endorsement for them to remain silent. It also reflects LGBT+ people’s inability of expressing their true desires in a society that belittled and denied their existence.
The story may also be generally about love and rejection, the lengths to which one may take in the name of love and the dangers it may entail. As Vigen Guroian (who otherwise argues from a theological point of view) put it: “Andersen’s story does not make romantic love into an idol. To the contrary, the story communicates a serious warning about the harm that such an idol can bring upon its worshiper.”
And this is why “The Little Mermaid” is my favourite fairy tale. Despite being a straightforward story on the surface, it elicits different kinds of readings and interpretations that can mean different things to different people. This is also why I love fairy tales so much: they’re timeless not because they are literally ageless but because they contain unchanging truths about human nature and also because of their ever-changing, versatile nature. “The Little Mermaid” perfectly demonstrates this versatility in both meaning and significance.
I’d like to end this section by briefly talking about Trung Le Nguyen’s graphic novel, The Magic Fish, which adapts “The Little Mermaid”, among other stories. I believe it achieves a happy balance between giving an LGBT+ take on the story (the mermaid doesn’t die, but gets together with the prince’s “rival”, another woman), while also honouring its other possible interpretations. The mermaid and her sisters are depicted in South-East Asian attire, while the human world is set in 1980’s San Francisco. This provides a stark contrast between the merfolk world and the human world and further highlights the drastic change the mermaid undergoes when moving from one form to another, both physically and metaphorically.
Fudd may claim that: “Marrying a human (as a merperson) isn’t like marrying someone outside your race or culture; it’s more like if your daughter suddenly told you she’d fallen in love with a hedgehog.” But the truth is, it’s kind of the former option, the race and culture thing. This isn’t an interspecies romance; it’s a mermaid-turned-human’s journey from one space to another: sea and land.
As Le Nguyen explains in the author’s note:
Disney’s The Little Mermaid as an LGBT+ Story
Now we move on to why some claim that Disney’s 1989 adaptation of the story (not to be confused with the vastly inferior live-action film from 2023) is also a “queer” story. Basically it’s for two reasons: 1. Howard Ashman, the film’s lyricist, was a gay man and a victim of the AIDS epidemic (dying just before the release of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast). 2. Ursula’s design was partially inspired by Devine, a drag queen best known for starring in Pink Flamingos and Hairspray.
Because of that, people have projected whatever “queer” reading of the film they see fit. For instance, Andrew Osmond, in 100 Animated Feature Films: Revised Edition, wrote about the film:
“(The Little Mermaid is) a critique of gender construction. In (…) ‘Kiss the Girl’, (…) construction is the whole joke of the song. (…) Much earlier in the film, Mermaid highlights how Ariel’s feelings grow from abstract urges. She sings ‘Part of Your World’ a few moments before she sees the human prince the first time. Later she obsesses over a tacky heroic statue of the prince, after we saw the youth react to it with embarrassed incredulity. The film puts these points upfront, about how we create our own performances and narratives; Ursula just helps them along.”
If that wasn’t bizarre (or confusing) enough, another take I found claims that “even though Eric’s castle and kingdom are technically higher than the sea, they’re physically incorporated in a way that challenges the sea/land dichotomy, just as they subvert the kingdom/castle dichotomy.”
Using Neo-Marxist academic jargon (see the paragraph above), the writer also claims:
“Unlike Andersen’s mermaid, Ariel isn’t required to sacrifice and bury her undersea roots to be accepted on land. Instead, she and Eric indirectly bring about a union between these two realms that were once at odds. (…) Both Andersen and Disney’s The Little Mermaid explore movement between spaces and forms (but) Disney’s approach to these binaries is far more fluid and optimistic.”
Change “undersea roots” with “LGBT+ identity” and “land” with “society” and you can see what this writer was trying to achieve with this frankly pedantic take.
But in general, they interpret Ariel as the closeted LGBT+ person (or more specifically LGBT+ teen) and Triton as the bigoted parent whose prejudice against humans is a stand-in for a prejudice against LGBT+ people. By the end of the film, Triton has to learn to accept his daughter’s identity. “Part of Your World” is also interpreted as an anthem for someone uncomfortable in their body and wishing to be in a world where they’re accepted for who they are.
But there’s a problem with this take: it inadvertently reinforces harmful stereotypes about LGBT+ people being predators and groomers. Allow me to explain why.
There’s this narrative among conservative types that LGBT+ adults are “grooming” vulnerable kids and teens into being LGBT+ so they can use them as pawns for their political and ideological goals, often at the expense of those kids’ and teens’ mental health and bodily function. It doesn’t matter whether you agree or not with this narrative; that’s not the point. Nor is it my goal to endorse or disavow this narrative. The point is that this narrative exists and that it’s generally used against LGBT+ people as a whole.
Now let’s take a look at the scene where Ursula convinces Ariel to become human. For the sake of the argument, let’s have Ursula represent the drag queen, or the LGBT+ adult, while Ariel represents the vulnerable, questioning teen who has just been outed, disowned and “disciplined” by her bigoted father. Ariel is unsure if this LGBT+ life is fit for her (“If I become human, I can never be with my father or sisters again.”), but Ursula assures her that it is and that she can help her achieve her dreams — for a price. A price that will hinder Ariel from fully achieving her goals.
As you all know, Ursula also does her very best to try and hinder Ariel’s chances of achieving her goals. And we also know that Ursula’s ultimate goal isn’t to help Ariel, but to use her as a pawn to get back at her father and take over his throne.
So you have an LGBT+ adult (Ursula) preying on a vulnerable, questioning teen (Ariel) and using her as a pawn for her goals and agenda, at the expense of the teen. If that isn’t unintentionally reinforcing harmful stereotypes about all LGBT+ people being predators, then I don’t know what a harmful LGBT+ stereotype is (though I should know).
This isn’t to say that Disney’s The Little Mermaid is an anti-LGBT+ film; Ariel being a stand-in for a closeted teen is still a valid interpretation. Rather, my argument is meant to highlight why projecting a “queer” reading onto the film may not benefit your cause as you might have expected. And, as I said above about the original story, this is also an absolutist take, as it doesn’t factor the different ways people have connected to the film and Ariel in particular.
To name only one example, Abby, from the Jubilee Middle Ground video on autism, explained why Ariel has resonated so deeply with her and her experiences as an autistic person:
If you ask me, “The Little Mermaid” (both Andersen’s story and the Disney version) is a story about the search of one’s identity and the struggles that come with it. Identity is not limited to being LGBT+ — it can be anything, from being a woman, a non-conforming man, autistic, non-white, disabled, and so on. To insist there’s only one way to interpret the story is an absolutist and reductionist mindset.
Why Do People Insist “The Little Mermaid” is an LGBT+ Story?
Remember when I talked about those people who claim the story is misogynistic? This is why. This is why some people are desperate to claim the story is secretly “queer”, because they would otherwise dismiss it as “problematic”.
To offer one example of what I mean, I found a video on Toei’s The Little Mermaid, where the hosts, Tennelle and Whitney, casually talk about the film. Tennelle and Whitney are the sort of people who think that “All art is political,” to put it mildly. The first line in the video’s description tells you everything you need to know about these two’s worldview: “Some stories are best left in the past... or at least, re-adapted and changed for a modern audience.”
To cut a long story short, the video isn’t really a review of the Toei film, but rather a rant on how much these two hate the original story and how misogynistic they think it is. They do this under the assumption that the Toei film is a word-for-word retelling of the original story (which is not, but again, that’s a discussion for another time). But of course, the commenters are here to the rescue, almost all of them saying: “No, the story isn’t that problematic. It’s supposed to be a metaphor for the author’s unrequited love for another man. It’s secretly a queer story! You’ll definitely appreciate the original story once you know its full context!”
So now suddenly the story is no longer “outdated” and “problematic” once you apply the “queer” lens onto it. Many retellings of the story from the 2010’s took a radical feminist angle (see Louise O’Neill’s garbage novel The Surface Breaks), but then a shift happened and since the late 2010’s most retellings focus on the “queer” angle (see Benjamin Lacombe’s picture book reimagining).
One can always say that once the feminism movement lost its steam, the LGBT+ movement took its place in the cultural zeitgeist. But in the case of this particular story, it’s really just so activist-type people can justify liking something “problematic”. As if you can’t just enjoy a piece of media that is a product of its time or isn’t morally pure. Especially when we talk about fairy tales.
The Larger Issue at Hand: “Queer” Readings Gone Out of Control
Another reason why some insist “The Little Mermaid” is a “queer” story is the larger trend we’re currently seeing of people claiming that every story, every piece of media, is secretly “queer”. Sam and Frodo are very close friends? That must mean they’re secretly gay! Some character from an old video game crossdresses for reasons unrelated to their identity? They’re secretly trans or non-binary!
Since folk and fairy tales are interpretive by nature, of course they’ve gotten the short end of the stick. To be clear, I'm not against an LGBT+ interpretation or retelling of any classic story. Trung Le Nguyen’s The Magic Fish mentioned above is a particular favourite of mine in this regard, as are a few other LGBT+ adaptations. My issue is that there’s a difference between “I’d like to reimagine this story to reflect an LGBT+ perspective” and “this story is DEFINITELY queer because I said so/saw myself reflected in it.”
An example of this is in Pete Jordi Wood’s garbage book Tales from Beyond the Rainbow. It adapts ten folk tales through an (ideologically-bent) LGBT+ lens, but of course it doesn’t advertise itself as such. Instead it claims that it “proudly reclaims” these stories as LGBT+, especially those that have been “buried” and “neglected” by history.
One story from the book that I’d like to draw attention to is “The Soldier and the Peasant”, an adaptation of the Grimm Brothers’ story “The Grave Mound”. The story is about a soldier and a peasant who guard a rich man’s grave so that his soul isn’t taken by the Devil. It is not an identity- or romance-based narrative, but a trickster one, as the two trick the Devil from taking the rich man’s soul while also gaining some money from him. But somehow Wood decided to pair the soldier and the peasant together, despite their supposed romance being irrelevant to the overall plot.
In the “About the Tales” section of the book, Wood justifies this change by saying:
“I grew up reading fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm, but even when I was very young, this story struck me as distinct from the others. Sometimes a story just feels queer, even if queerness is not explicitly mentioned. Featuring two male characters who walk off into the sunset (or, in this case, sunrise) having promised to support one another and live together, ‘The Grave Mound’ achieved something extraordinary, becoming a story that found its way into popular nineteenth-century literature whilst featuring a same-sex couple.”
This is Sam and Frodo all over again, isn’t it?
Also, what does it mean exactly for a story to “feel queer”?
Wood also references an essay on the story from Transgressive Tales: Queering the Grimms, edited by Kay Turner and Pauline Greenhill. That book is the book among fairy tale scholars on queer theory. Just to give you an idea on what kind of delusional takes abound in that book, one essay suggests that the girl cutting her finger in “The Seven Ravens” is somehow trans-coded, because “finger equals penis”, I guess. Another essay (which you can actually read here) suggests that the story “Allerleirauh” is one of “gender ambiguity” because the protagonist is referred to in unisex words in her Allerleirauh form and in feminine words in her princess form. And also because of some ambiguity regarding pronoun usage in the German language.
Some essays on “queer” fairy tale readings veer dangerously close into the yikes category, as exemplified in Pauline Greenhill’s reasonings on why Andersen’s “The Snow Queen” is a “queer” story. She claims that “most live-action films (of the story) render (Kay and Gerda’s) quasi-sibling relationship romantic”. Not only is this provably false (or at least just projection on the author’s part), but she also implies that incest is “queer” and therefore part of the LGBT+ umbrella, which is not.
Along with “the relationship between Gerda and the robber girl has lesbian undertones” take, Greenhill also claims the story has fetishist undertones (the supposed focus on hands and feet via the mere mention of articles of clothing), paedophilic undertones:
“Kai and the Snow Queen instantiate intergenerational love between a young boy and an adult woman — by no means mainstream, though arguably not as tabooed as connections between older men and children,”
and even zoophilic undertones:
“An interspecific love relationship manifests between Gerda and the reindeer, who when he needs to leave the girl “kissed her on the lips, while big sparkling tears ran down his cheeks.”
Seriously, I felt physically sick while reading the essay, and even thought: “Somebody needs to call on this person and check her computer.” Because seriously, how can you write stuff like this with a straight face and not face any repercussions?
This is also a good example of how overly pedantic fairy tale scholarship can get. And why I reject the “queer” label altogether.
Conclusion (and Recommendations)
I can go on with examples such as these (trust me, there’s plenty more), but I think you get the picture by now. “Queer readings” — of fairy tales or otherwise — have gone from fun and interesting ways of interpreting a story to insecure, identity-obsessed people’s projections on what they want a story to be about. And of course, they call you a bigot if you disagree with them and hide behind “death of the author” when criticised or challenged.
I want to reiterate that I’m not against adapting a folk or fairy tale to include a same-sex couple or a trans person, but again, there is a BIG difference between what a story actually contains and what you insist it contains based on your beliefs. I don’t want to turn this into a discussion on “death of the author”, but we need to understand where to draw the line when it comes to interpreting a story.
I don’t know what else to say about “The Little Mermaid” besides repeating that it’s my favourite fairy tale and that it isn’t just an LGBT+ story, so, to end on a more positive note, I’ll list below some of my favourite LGBT+ retellings of classic folk and fairy tales:
New World Fairy Tales by Cassandra Parkin: Contains a gay male Snow White retelling (that is also about parental gay oppression) and a lesbian Rumpelstiltskin retelling, both written as interviews to a collage students.
The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen: Already mentioned; contains a twist at the end of “The Little Mermaid” by paring her with the prince’s “rival”, and thus saving her from doom. It’s all done very compellingly.
“All Fur” by Joanne Webster and Emily Hann from Valor: Swords, edited by Isabelle Melançon and Megan Lavey-Heaton: A lesbian retelling of “Allerleirauh” where the titular character gets together with a bisexual princess. It is also one of my favourite versions of the story.
Fairy Tales: Traditional Stories Retold for Gay Men by Peter Cashorali: A collection of classic fairy tales retold with a gay male twist. Not perfect, and it may be a little too abstract and anachronistic for some people (as well as a little dated), but I really like some of the changes Cashorali has done to many of the stories, particularly to “The Frog Princess” and “The Ugly Duckling” retellings.
“Koni’s Antlers” by Edit Szűcs from A Fairytale for Everyone, edited by Boldizsár M. Nagi: A retelling of Bambi (not a fairy tale, but it is written as a fairy tale-like story, so whatever) where the main character is a trans male deer. One of the very few trans stories I’ve encountered that feels genuine and authentic, without feeling too pandering. It also helps that I never cared much for Bambi (the Disney film anyway), so anything that elevates it is a thumbs up for me.
“HEA” by Alex London from At Midnight: Fifteen Beloved Fairy Tales Reimagined, edited by Dahlia Adler: A gay male retelling of Cinderella, and the only LGBT+ story in the book that I genuinely liked. It’s chock-full of pop culture references, and it spells out its themes to the reader, but I really liked the relationship between the two boys and some of the changes to the story, so I included it here.
“The Souls Trapped Under the Ocean” and “The Woman and the Glass Mountain” from The Sister who Ate Her Brothers and Other Gruesome Tales by Jen Campbell: The first story is a short adaptation of the Irish tale “The Soul Cages” by Thomas Keightley. It turns the human male protagonist and the merman (originally merrow) from friends to a couple, but unlike Wood’s “The Soldier and the Peasant”, it does so much more organically and in a manner that is much more relevant to the plot. The second story is an adaptation of a Spanish folk tale in which the princess is paired up with a woman. It lacks narrative depth, but is engaging nonetheless.
I also want to list some of my favourite versions of “The Little Mermaid” below:
The Little Mermaid (Русалочка) (1968): A beautifully animated short from Soyuzmultfilm that stays faithful to the original story’s tragic ending, if not amplifying it. It’s also more melancholy and introspective on human nature, without feeling too cynical.
The Little Mermaid (Malá mořská víla) (1976): Another inventive, introspective, and tragic take on the story. Fudd dismissed this as a product of the 1970’s, but I appreciate its frank take on the merfolk and human groups.
“The Little Mer-Persun” from Once Upon a More Enlightened Time by James Finn Garner: A parodic take on both the story and the politically correct movement.
“Lykke, the Little Mermaid” from Adventure Stories for Daring Girls by Samantha Newman: Short and clearly meant for kids, but I really like the twist end and the acknowledgment of the protagonist’s adventurous spirit, without making a “statement” out of it.
The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen: Besides the LGBT+ take, I also like the multicultural take, which, as I discussed above, gives the story a whole new dimension.
“The Little Mermaid” (“Die kleine Meerjungfrau”) from Sechs auf einen Streich (2013): This is a more modern and mature take on the story, despite its intended audience. I also really like the ending, which is neither tragic nor idyllic.
“The Little Android” (2014) from Stars Above by Marissa Meyer: A Sci-Fi take on the tale, which is very inventive and surprisingly retains its tragic ending. Can be read as a standalone, but readers of the “Lunar Chronicles” series will probably appreciate it more.
References
Amer, Lindz. “Spread Queer Joy: A Mission Statement.” Rainbow Parenting: Your Guide to Raising Queer Kids and Their Allies. St. Martin’s Griffin, 2023.
Andersen, Hans Christian Andersen. “The Little Mermaid.” The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories. 1976. Translated by Erik Christian Haugaard, Anchor Books, 1983.
“Can You Tell If Someone has Autism? | Middle Ground.” YouTube, uploaded by Jubilee, 28 January 2024, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FCixSEjUJ8.
“Derrick Jensen: Anarchism and Queer Theory Jeopardy.” YouTube, uploaded by Charlie Asbo, 5 January 2021, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cb3-tlyuhVo.
Golds, Cassandra. “Fairytale Reflections (10) Cassandra Golds.” Seven Miles of Steel Thistles, 19 November 2010, https://steelthistles.blogspot.com/2010/11/fairytale-reflections-10-cassandra.html. Accessed 1 June 2024.
Greenhill, Pauline. “Sexualities/Queer and Trans Studies.” The Routledge Companion to Media and Fairy-Tale Cultures, edited by Pauline Greenhill et al, Routledge, 2018.
Guroian, Vigen. “Love and Immortality in The Velveteen Rabbit and The Little Mermaid.” Tending the Heart of Virtue: How Classic Stories Awaken a Child’s Moral Imagination. Oxford University Press, 1998.
“Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid (1975)-Animation Pilgrimage.” YouTube, uploaded by Tannelle Flowers, 27 March 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgjRpl2PN24.
Jubber, Nicholas. “Part Seven: A Heart Too Warm for Ice.” The Fairy-Tellers: A Journey into the Secret History of Fairy Tales. John Murray, 2022.
The Little Mermaid. Directors John Clements and Ron Musker, Walt Disney Pictures, 1989.
Manley, Tim. Alice in tumblr-Land and Other Fairy Tales for a New Generation. Penguin Books, 2013.
Nguyen, Trung Le. The Magic Fish. RH Graphic, 2020.
Osmond, Andrew. “The Little Mermaid.” 100 Animated Feature Films: Revised Edition. 2010. Bloomsbury, 2022.
“The Queer Problem.” YouTube, uploaded by ShortFatOtaku, 31 January 2024, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvWm5pC6G7E.
“Ranking Every Version of The Little Mermaid.” YouTube, uploaded by There Will Be Fudd, 8 March 2024, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayzL98OkgD4.
“Reevaluating The Little Mermaid before Disney horks up another live action remake.” YouTube, uploaded by Lindsay Ellis, 16 June 2021, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeuLEu9ZePc.
“Scenic Symbolism: Prince Eric’s Castle.” Of Fact and Fantasy, 5 January 2024, https://offactandfantasy.wordpress.com/2024/01/05/scenic-symbolism-prince-erics-castle/. Accessed 1 June 2024.
Tatar, Maria, editor. “The Little Mermaid.” The Annotated Classic Fairy Tales. W. W. Norton & Company, 2002.
Trangressive Tales: Queering the Grimms, edited by Kay Turner and Pauline Greenhill, Wayne State University Press, 2012.
“The VERY Messed Up Origins of The Little Mermaid (REVISITED!) | Disney Explained - Jon Solo.” YouTube, uploaded by Jon Solo, 23 April 2020, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Q7mZY3dzAw.
Wood, Pete Jordi. Tales From Beyond the Rainbow. Puffin Classics, 2023.
Zipes, Jack. “Andersen’s Cinematic Legacy: Trivialization and Innovation.” The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films. Routledge, 2011.