Fairy Tales: Reflections prompted by the British Library’s Summer Exhibition

This year’s British Library’s summer exhibition was ‘Fairy Tales: A family adventure through magical worlds and enchanted stories’, which I managed to attend twice towards the end of its run. One visit was in the company of other storytellers and a writer, and the second with a friend with whom I have a shared academic background. Both visits included joy in the beauty of some of the exhibits, the cooing over objects of historic significance, much talk, many moments of recognition, and plenty of laughter.

Having made my initial visit, I was keen to take the opportunity to revisit the exhibition and focus on any objects or explanations that I had missed first time; the second trip was also prompted by a slight sense of unease or omission that had arisen after the first visit.

This blog, then, started as a review of the exhibition and response to that sense of unease; however, after the first few drafts, it became apparent that, rather than an exhibition review, I was writing an article on fairy tales, that had been prompted by, and was referenced to, the British Library’s Fairy Tales exhibition.

What follows, then, is a discussion of the genre we call ‘fairy tales’, its cultural and literary beginnings, its relationship to oral literature and, ultimately, its purposes. Throughout this article, I will make reference to the exhibition and highlight some of the artefacts, exploring why I regard them as significant. I also want to celebrate the British Library's decision to focus an exhibition on fairy tales but, at the same time, ask questions about some of the curatorial and labelling decisions.

Entering the World of Fairy Tales

The press release for the British Library's Fairy Tale exhibition states:

From encounters with powerful spells and curses, to the iconic heroes and villains from across storytelling cultures, Fairy Tales [the exhibition] will encourage children and their parents or carers to explore the wonders of the fairy tale world. (British Library, 2026)

From the moment visitors entered the exhibition space, its graphics, signposting and much of the display layout were presented in a way that was intended to appeal to children (and younger children in particular). The logo for the exhibition presented an amiable looking dragon from illustrator Chris Riddell, and thus reinforced the target audience. But already, this graphic prompted interesting questions for me, not only about the place of the monstrous in fairy tales (and whether monsters are often allies of the protagonist), but also about the association of fairy tales with childhood.

Heading down the stairs from the welcoming dragon, intriguing signposts in an easy-to-read font,

pointed the visitor onwards to enter ‘Once upon a time’ and travel ‘Into the woods’ and ‘Over the bridge’; there, they would find ‘enchantments’, ‘tricksters’, ‘crafty villains’, ‘beanstalks’, ‘brave heroes’, ‘poisoned apples’, ‘helpful elves’, ‘enchanted horses’ ‘swimming selkies’, ‘magic mirrors’, ‘sleeping princesses’, ‘fairy godmothers’ and (of course) ‘dragons’. Certainly, there was nothing listed that would disturb the visitor’s expectations of an exhibition about fairy tales.

The departure point for the visitor’s journey into fairy tales was a room where they were invited to sit and stare into a fireplace from which they were welcomed by an animated shadow play. The animation located fairy tale origins in the oral tradition (a relationship that is far from straightforward), and introduced visitors to some of the phrases (beyond the English ‘Once upon a time’) used by a range of cultures to open stories, including the Korean ‘When tigers smoked pipes’. The inclusion of non-European traditions, however, raised questions about the appropriateness of uncritically applying the term ‘fairy story’ to world folklore – an argument to which I will be returning later in this article.

[I would heartily recommend Sam Cannarozzi’s ‘When Tigers Smoked Pipes’ (published by the Society for Storytelling in 2008) to anyone who is interested in the range of story openings around the world.]

Stories Told, Stories Written and Stories Played 

If there is one thing that is almost guaranteed to irritate storytellers, it is the conflation of reading, writing and spoken language (specifically telling). It is a pity, then, that the phrasing of the animation welcoming visitors to the Fairy Tales exhibition seemed to make this common error, and failed to sufficiently differentiate between what are distinct practices: telling a story is not the same as reading a story or writing a story, and none of these is the same as enacting a story. 

The information board by the entrance to the first room of exhibits, was trying to provide the context for the whole exhibition by referencing storytelling and providing a definition of ‘folk tales’. I will unpick that definition later in this article but, having highlighted the origins of folklore in ‘storytelling’, the significance of the told story then disappeared from the displays. I realise that the exhibition was focused on fairy tales in print but, given the opening statement about fairy tales coming out of the spoken folkloric tradition, there was no further discussion of how published versions of such tales related to the oral tradition, nor to the vital distinctions between oral and written stories. And this point leads to a general observation about the exhibition: while during its run there were events where visitors could experience live oral performances, storytelling was given no place within the exhibition when it would have been simple enough to place video or audio recordings of storytellers (preferably with live audiences) against related printed texts, thus enabling visitors, young and old, to experience the difference between the story told, the story written and the story read.

Given that the target demographic for this exhibition was families with young children, it may be legitimate to ask whether I am being over analytical, and if such nuance is necessary. However, I would argue that the distinction between the told, the read and the written is essential (as is recognising the power of enaction through play – including small-world and puppet play). Each of these practices makes different demands of the person telling, reading, writing or enacting a story, reflecting the differing relationships they have with the events, the characters and the overall narrative. It is through engaging with these different means of communicating narrative that children and adults alike explore stories and make them their own.

Photo: British Library Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/mediacentre/2026/claire-foy-cbeebies-bedtime-stories-once-upon-a-time (accessed 4/9/26)

Jumping ahead, the exhibition’s final room was furnished with cushions, the chair from which celebrities read children’s books on the Cbeebies (BBC children’s) channel, and shelving of children’s books (artwork from many of which was on display throughout the exhibition). As much as I missed any reference in this space to oral storytelling I will admit to feeling quite emotional, as a specialist in literacy education, seeing adults reading with young children as a finale to the exhibition. In this final room, then, the curators connected the exhibits (behind glass and beyond reach) to physical objects that could be touched, and to stories that come alive when they are shared.

It is a pity, however, that such connective thinking was not consistently applied and, in particular, to oral storytelling and story enaction. While there were costumes in which children could dress up in one of the galleries, It does seem to have been an opportunity missed not to have provided puppets and/or a toy theatre (reflecting examples in the exhibition) so that children (and the childlike) could bring story worlds to life and, more significantly from my perspective, not to have given space in which visitors of all ages could celebrate creating and telling their own oral versions of stories.

Fairy Story, Folk Tale, Myth and Legend

While the title of the exhibition was the thing that drew visitors, it also presented the curators with a problem, and it was a problem that I am not sure they navigated with complete success.

When most people (in Western culture) hear the phrase ‘fairy tale’, they probably think of stories such as Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel, and Rumpelstiltskin. These stories are often traced back to the literary salons in the Paris of Louis XIV and the works of Charles Perrault, Madame d'Aulnoy, and Madame de Beaumont; however, their origins are somewhat more convoluted and Ruth B. Bottigheimer (2009), provides quite compelling evidence for several of the most well-known tales having their roots in the literature of Renaissance Italy and argues that any connection to oral traditions is hard to establish. The first use of the term ‘fairy tale’ can, however, be attributed to Madame d'Aulnoy and was first recorded in one of her publications in 1690, with ‘fairy tale’ moving into the title of her 1697-8 collection of stories, Contes des fées (Tales of the Fairies) and then Contes nouveaux ou les fées a la mode (New Tales, or Fairies in Fashion) in 1698. Unfortunately, although Madame d'Aulnoy gave us the phrase ‘fairy tale’, she didn’t define the term. Rather, she used it to reflect the content of the collection, the stories of which featured magical creatures. Since then, the term ‘fairy tale’ has been appropriated by storytellers and writers alike, despite the majority of tales which come under the fairy tale heading not including fairy folk.

In his Fairy and Folk Tales: A Handbook, D.L Ashliman suggests that:

In English [fairy tale] is at the same time as synonym for the adjectives fantasy, magical, ideal, fictitious, or untrue; and in common usage a designation for essentially any kind of make-believe story, especially one with a marvelously happy ending. But strictly speaking, fairy tale, applied to such traditional tales as ‘Hansel and Gretel’ or ‘Little Snow White,’ is a misnomer. These are tales of magic, but no fairies are involved. (2004: 32)

‘Fairy tale’ is used, then, to describe tales that, in other cultural and linguistic contexts, would not be labelled as such. Most notably, the tales collected by the Brothers Grimm (possibly the most famous collection of European fairy tales) were not labelled ‘fairy tales’ (although, interestingly, Zipes translation of the first edition of Grimm’s 1812 collection is titled The Original Folk and Fairy Tales). The German title for the Grimms collection(s) was Kinder- und Haus-märchen (Children’s and Household Tales) and, in German, stories that would be categorised in English as fairy tales, are referred to as Wundermärchen or ‘wonder tale’, a title which comes much closer to capturing the magical or marvellous nature of the narratives.

And herein lies the problem for the curators of the Fairy Tales exhibition: there is no satisfactory universal definition of the term on which the range of artefacts displayed could be hung. At the entrance to the introductory room, it stated:

‘People all over the world love to tell stories and pass them down through generations. We call these stories folk tales. There are lots of types of folk tales, like myths, legends, trickster tales, fables and fairy tales.’

It is perhaps true that this description fits the understanding of the relationship between folk and fairy tales for some folklorists. However, the inclusion of legend and myth within the category of folk tale is, I would suggest, problematic: while legend and myth may be folkloric (Swann Jones (1995) uses the term ‘folk narratives’ to describe them), their function and status within the cultures from which they originate separates them from narratives that may be appropriately labelled as ‘tales’ (with its association with fiction).

As I noted above, Madame d'Aulnoy did not define the genre, but the curators attempted to draw out common features of fairy tales in the exhibition. Unfortunately, I fear, that these also were not sufficiently considered. Returning to the initial information board, it went on to say:

‘Different stories might have different names and details, but they have many things in common like adventure, talking animals and “good” winning over “bad”.’

Although the presence of talking animals does perhaps imply the magical and the wonderful, the essential characteristics of magic and/or wonder were not explicitly identified. Further on in the exhibition a provocation asks:

‘Magical, scary or funny…. What is your favourite thing about fairy tales?’

Magic at least features in this provocation, but the question is only tangential to the introductory information board which lists ‘adventure, talking animals and “good” winning over “bad”.’

There are many stories around the world which contain ‘adventure, talking animals and “good” winning over “bad”’, as well as being of themselves ‘magical, scary or funny’, but we have to question whether it is appropriate to use the term ‘fairy tale’ to describe narratives from outside of Europe or beyond Western culture and I want to suggest that fairy tales are, of their nature European, or at least a Western, form.

One of the strengths of the exhibition was the inclusion of narratives and texts from around the globe. However, is a story about Anansi (the Ghanian trickster spider, who was taken across the Atlantic by enslaved Africans) a ‘fairy tale’? There is neither mention of the term ‘fairy tale in Peek and Yankah’s (2004) African Folklore: An Encyclopedia, nor of Anansi stories in Zipes’ (2000) The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales. Anansi tales certainly fulfil the defining characteristic of containing talking animals (and they are often amusing), but referring to them as a fairy tale feels uncomfortable. Of course, it is important to highlight connections between Western and other world traditions, while acknowledging the world ecology of story, but I would suggest that cultural sensitivity needs to be maintained and care taken that a world of stories isn’t appropriated to the Western tradition.

Historic texts

When I visited the exhibition in the company of other storytellers and a writer, the room that probably elicited the most excitement was the one in which fairy tales were introduced through a range of historic documents and artefacts.

I have already mentioned works by Charles Perrault, Madame d'Aulnoy, Madame de Beaumont, and the Grimm brothers, and the historic significance of the output of these authors, adapters and collectors of story in the development of the European literary fairy tale cannot be underestimated. It was a real thrill, then, to see early editions of d’Aulnoy’s Contes de fées (Tales of the fairies, 1697-8), Perrault’s 1697 Histoires ou Contes du temps passé, avec des moralitez (Stories or tales of times past, with morals) and the Grimms’ Kinder- und Haus-märchen (Children’s and Household Tales, 1812) alongside each other. 

Each of these texts have contributed significantly to the Western notion of what counts as a fairy tale and have included versions of stories that still shape thinking about the fairy story today. Of course, the printed matter is not the story, but then neither is the language through which the story is expressed; these literary treasure chests, however, have opened for over 200 years to give comfort, prompt laughter, provoke tears, and provide models of virtuous living, and homes for our fears. At the same time, of course, they have also represented a world in which women were subjugated, difference was feared and the poor suffered (more on this below). 

Inclusion, Otherness and Representation

The press release for the Fairy Tales exhibition highlighted the aim of challenging preconceptions about fairy tales:

Through examples from old favourites such as Goldilocks and Rapunzel and contemporary retellings including Zombierella written by Joseph Coelho and illustrated by Freya Hartas, this section of the exhibition will question and challenge how the representation of fairy tale characters has evolved over time. (British Library, 2026)

The final room, as already mentioned, provided the opportunity for adults and children to share books of fairy tales. On the first of my visits to the exhibition, one of the adults was sitting in the Cbeebies chair. reading Alex T Smith’s Little Red and the Hungry Lion with a child, black and white illustrations from which were included in the exhibition. Both Little Red and the Hungry Lion and Joseph Coelho’s Zombierella (some of Freya Hartas’s monochrome illustrations from which were also on display) feature protagonists of colour. The published version of Little Red and the Hungry Lion is a colour picturebook and the cover of Zombierella is also in colour and, in both cases, the ethnicity of the protagonists is much clearer in the colour images than the black and white illustrations. Given that, I am puzzled why the curators didn’t link the exhibits with the relevant book covers so that their inclusive nature was more visible, and visitors could immediately connect the illustrations with the books provided in the final room and/or the exhibition shop.

While the information provided on signage and exhibit labels was clear and informative, sometimes connections weren’t made across the exhibition. It felt as though associations were restricted to individual sections, rather than creating a web of connections across the whole exhibition. Returning to the two example texts, the lack of interconnectedness was in danger of undermining the laudable aim of inclusion.

Rudine Sims Bishop (1990) wrote about how children from ethnic minorities in the US experience literature, describing how texts can be windows, mirrors, or sliding doors: a means of looking out into another world, a reflection of the reader or a means of entering a new way of being. Using Sims Bishop’s lens as a way of viewing fairy tales (and specifically published fairy tales) may have provided more clarity for the integration of inclusive texts into the exhibition. Had the displays of the Freya Harts and Alex T Smith’s illustrations been placed alongside colour renderings form the published book, the ethnicity of the main characters would have been much more obvious, providing a mirror for visitors of colour and windows for white visitors.

Aspects of visibility and inclusion were also addressed for those affected by: the rigidity of gender roles, the portrayal of age, the exclusion of LGBTQIA+ relationships, and the negativity attached to people with disabilities. In the preface to a collection of fairy tales in which each protagonist has a disability, the authors of And They Lived… Ever After: Disabled Women Retell Fairy Tales say:

In many ways, these stories… tell us about how we, as a society, perceived worth and value, who we wish happy endings for and who are kept away from these emotions. (Rising Flame, 2024: ix)

A quote which emphasises some of the negative implications of literature being a mirror when representations are negative, and that means that we, as gatekeepers, need to be proactive in taking a critical approach to the stories that we share with children and how we frame them, both in children’s literature (including fairy tales) and oral performance. While D.L. Ashliman is addressing students of folklore specifically, his sentiment has a much more general application when he says:

‘[we] can love the stories but criticize at least some of the standards that they reflect. Perhaps we can learn not only from the ethical successes of our forebears, but also from their shortcomings. (2004: 4-5)

As a gay man, I was interested in the LGBTQIA+ representation in the exhibition which, as far as I could see, was limited to two exhibits. An open double page spread from Meseország Mindenkié (published in Hungarian in 2020) and a similarly open copy of Pete Jordi Wood’s (2024) The Dog and Sailor.

I have absolutely no objection to the inclusion of non-English texts in the exhibition, but it was a pity that an English translation of the page was not placed alongside the Meseország Mindenkié exhibit and (again) that the cover for the book was not shown - in particular, the cover of the English version A Fairytale for Everyone (published in 2022) which would have informed English speaking visitors that they could obtain this inclusive collection. Pete Jordi Wood’s The Dog and Sailor is a traditional (and historically gay) tale from the European tradition incorporating the common trope of the human cursed to live as an animal – I was delighted to see this picturebook available in the exhibition shop (although, inevitably, the cover was not displayed in connection to the exhibit).

Returning to Sims Bishop’s model, the happily ever after in these examples could provide either a window through which visitors could see how an LGBTQIA+ story can end well, or a sliding door which could encourage queer people of all ages to explore their own happy ever afters. But, most importantly, these books provide a mirror in which, not only gay people themselves can see their own identities, but also in which the participation of gay people in families and society more generally is reflected.

Pursuing the discussion of LGBTQIA+ visibility, one aspect of the labelling that (for me at least) missed the mark is what I regard as the straight-washing of Hans Christian Andersen. Even if he would not (or could not) identify himself as queer, it is clear from his life story, and some of his correspondence, that his identity was complex and far from heteronormative. The labelling in the exhibition draws parallels between Andersen’s tales and his struggles for acceptance in the higher echelons of Danish society, in which he felt an outsider. However, the Little Mermaid provides a tale that is as much deserving an interpretation that included how Andersen’s love for unobtainable men was silenced and doomed, just as the Little Mermaid is unable to speak of her love.

Fairy tales present a challenge when it comes to the representation of gender in general, but the portrayal of women is particularly problematic in many fairy tales. It remains true that the protagonists (or at least the focus character) in the most well-known fairy tales are female (e.g. Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Little Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel), and this was reflected in the exhibition. However, I felt that the space provided in which gender roles could be challenged was limited.

Exhibits did include one of Karrie Fransman’s illustrations from her and Jonathan Plackett’s Gender Swapped Fairy Tales, but, while there was an informative label alongside the exhibit, it would have easy enough to have included an associated provocation board to encourage children and adults to talk together about gender roles in fairy tales. Nor (as far as I could see) were there texts, beyond Gender Swapped Fairy Tales, that could prompt new ways of seeing the place of men and women, boys and girls, in fairy tales. For example, the exhibition could have included Prince Cinders (Babette Cole) or Little Red (Lynne Roberts) among others, Indeed the central image on the board that accompanies Rikin Parekh’s artwork for Cinderella and the Comfy Old Trainer in ‘Fearless Fairy Tales’ by Konnie Huq and James Kay (2020), is of a ball gown and the provocation question is: ‘Princes, balls and weddings, or something different? What would your ‘happily ever after’ be?’ Although the questioning is open, it certainly appears to be premised on a gendered interpretation of the tale.

Another example where I felt that the labelling was over reductive (and missed opportunities to make connections across the exhibition about gender and beauty) was that linked to Cinderella, discussing Joseph Coelho’s reimaging Zomblerella:

Cinderella’s sisters are often called 'ugly', but in this version of the story by Joseph Coelho, they are described as 'fake' sisters. They are all beautiful and stylish but shallow and unkind - it is their personalities that are 'fake',

While the phrase ‘ugly sisters’ is sufficiently embedded in English to be a collocation, this association of the step-sisters with ugliness comes out of a combination of their representation in the Disney animation of Cinderella and the English pantomime tradition.  Perrault (whose written version introduced the glass slipper and is the interpretation on which Disney based its films) talks about the step sisters as resembling their mother who was haughty and proud, physical ugliness is not mentioned. The Grimms tell us that the sisters ‘had beautiful features, but proud, nasty, and wicked hearts’ (2014:69).  It would not have taken much for labelling to reflect this more complex history of the Cinderella’s step-sisters and made connections between contemporary versions and the historic texts that introduced the exhibition.

Fairy Tales – A Dark Side

I suggested in the earlier section on historic texts that fairy tales are ‘literary treasure chests’, and they ‘give comfort, prompt laughter, provoke tears and provide models of virtuous living, and homes for our fears.’ Of course, all of this is wonderful, but treasure is often obtained in stories with a price attached. At the same time as we have been lifted up by these tales, they have also embedded gender injustice, heteronormative expectations, the fetishisation of wealth and status, the mistrust and ill treatment of the elderly and disabled, and the othering of anyone who is just ‘different’. All of which leaves me uncomfortable with the relative lack of overt critique in the exhibition, leaving only ‘those who have eyes to see’ to draw their own conclusions.

The penultimate room in the exhibition was titled ‘Happily ever after… ?’. I thoroughly approve of the question mark here, but several of the discussions that I had with friends who visited the exhibition centred around the lack of engagement with both the darker side of fairy tales and the complete absence of a ‘happily ever after’ in some tales (particularly by the likes of Hans Christian Andersen and Oscar Wilde). Indeed, while the parallels drawn between Andersen’s The Little Mermaid and the selkie stories of Scotland and Ireland are legitimate, the prominent example text in the exhibition is one with a happy ending, despite the tradition of selkie stories being overwhelmingly tragic. I was also not alone in feeling that this lack of engagement did a disservice to children and their desire and need to talk about complex issues. It is understandable that the exhibition curators wanted families to leave the British Library having had a positive experience, but it is a library rather than a theme park, and educational content featured throughout, so why shy away from some of the darker themes.

Maria Tatar, in interview with Manisha Aggarwal Schifelllite (2020) suggests:

Myths and fairy tales enact all the fantasies, fears, anxieties, and terrors stored up in our imaginations that we are ordinarily afraid to talk about. By amplifying and exaggerating real-life conflicts, folktales animated our ancestors, getting them to sit up, listen, and think. In the safe space of ‘once upon a time,’ they could explore taboo subjects and talk about the dark side of human nature. They are the symbolic stories that help us talk about and navigate the real.

And this takes us back to that welcoming illustration of the dragon at the start of the exhibition. While the welcoming image needed to be warm and inviting, most children enjoy being frightened within a safe space in the presence of those whom they trust. I feel that curators could have taken the opportunity within the exhibition to help adults understand the role of the monster in folklore and why not every dragon should be regarded as friendly. Fairy tales tell us that we can overcome the monsters in our lives (whether those monsters are fanged beasts, wicked step mothers or capricious kings), but how is that a comfort if we learn that it was all a misunderstanding and that the monster was good all along?

Concluding Remarks

Visiting the British Library’s Fairy Tales exhibition in the company of adults, rather than young people, meant that I had to take vicarious pleasure in the excitement of the families with young children around me. And it was a joy to see how they engaged with the exhibits and revelled in the presence of so many tales which are of significance to me as a storyteller.

I have reached an age were bending down to look at historic artefacts is uncomfortable, so I was grateful that a significant number of the exhibits were at a height suitable for me as an adult. However, with many of the historic items laid horizontally (or near horizontally) in cabinets set at a height suitable for me, younger children would have struggled to view them for themselves and would rely on an adult holding them over the display case. It is a pity, then, that there wasn't stepped access in places so that young children could share something of the awe that we as storytellers felt looking at these foundational texts in the history of the literary fairy tale. So much of what children learn is caught rather than taught, and I am sure that the interest shown by adults towards these objects would have sown the seeds of interest for some children at least.

The labelling of the exhibits was accessible, and I hope that it provided talking points for families and other multi-generational groups visiting the exhibition. However, there was often a nuance missing in the texts accompanying the displays which would have been of benefit to the understanding of the adult visitors and enhanced the visits of many of the children, either by reading directly or through discussion with adults. This lack of nuance also meant that there were several missed opportunities to create coherence across the exhibition.

As an overall judgement, there was much to enjoy in the British Library’s Fairy Tales exhibition for visitors both old and young. From a personal perspective, the inclusion of significant historic publications that shaped the inheritance of the Western tradition of fairy tale provided a powerful presence, and the memory of being with so many foundational texts will stay with me.

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The views expressed in this blog are my own, but I am immensely grateful to the following people (who attended the exhibition either separately or with me) for the conversations that helped to shape my thinking:

James Canvin (storyteller), Dr Diane Craven (writer and expert in children’s spirituality), Maria Credali (storyteller), Peter Hardwick (member of Surrey Storytellers), Sarah Rundle (storyteller) and Gary Thomas (writer and filmmaker)

References

Aggarwal Schifelllite, M. (2020) Snow White and the darkness within (interview with Maria Tatar). The Harvard Gazette available at: https://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2020/07/the-tale-of-snow-white-and-what-the-various-versions-mean-to-us/ (accessed 25/8/26)

Ashliman, D.L. (2004) Fairy and Folk Tales: A Handbook. Westport CT: Greenwood Press

Bishop, R. Sims (1990) Mirrors, Windows and Sliding-Doors. Available at https://scenicregional.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Mirrors-Windows-and-Sliding-Glass-Doors.pdf  (accessed 10/5/20)

Bottigheimer, R.B. (2009) Fairy Tales: A New History. Albany NY: State University of New York Press

British Library (2026) British Library celebrates fairy tales in a major new exhibition. Available at: https://www.bl.uk/about/press/releases/british-library-celebrates-fairy-tales-in-a-major-new-exhibition (accessed 29/10/26)

Cannarozzi, S. (2008) When Tigers Smoked Pipes. Reading: Society for Storytelling

Grimm, J. and W. (2014) The Complete First Edition: The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm. Translated and edited by Jack Zipes. Princeton: Princeton University Press

Peek, P.M. and Yankah, K. (Eds.) (2004) African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. London: Routledge

Perrault, C. (2009) The Complete Fairy Tales. Translated by Christopher Betts. Oxford: Oxford University Press 

Rising Flame (2024) And They Lived… Ever After: Disabled Women Retell Fairy Tales. Gurugram: Harper Collins India

Swann Jones, Steven (1995) The Fairy Tale, the magic mirror of the imagination. London: Routledge

Yankah’s (2004) African Folklore: An Encyclopedia. New York: Routledge

Zipes, J. (ed.) (2000) The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales. Oxford University Press