The Grammar of Story

by Paula Davidoff

 Fairy Ointment illustration by J. D. Batten 

Every storyteller knows some version of this tale: a midwife is summoned to a fairy dwelling. Sometimes the woman she is called to serve is human; sometimes she is not. When the baby is born, the midwife is given a salve or ointment and instructed to rub it on the child’s eyes. By chance or by choice, she gets a bit of it in her own eye and, in that instant, the scene before her is transformed. In some variants of the tale, a comfortable dwelling turns out to be a cave or hovel, and the respectable couple who needed her service become wizened imps or elves. In other tales, the opposite occurs and the midwife finds a humble cottage transformed into a splendid room crowded with fairy folk. Either way, the ointment has allowed her to see through the fairy glamour, the magic which makes things seem other than they are.

Begin typing the word glamour into a Google search and you’ll get automatic completions like “glamour shots,” “glamour nails,” and “Glamour magazine.” Today, glamour is almost a synonym for beauty, but a certain kind of beauty: exciting, sparkling, alluring. In fact, some etymologists make its root an Indo-European word for ‘shine,’ with cognates like gleam, glitz, and glimmer.

However, there is another respected etymologic theory about the root of  glamour, namely that it is an alternate spelling of grammar and that it means “magic, enchantment, or spell,” as in “fairy glamour.” At first glance, the two words, glamour and grammar seem to be at opposite poles – one has to do with movie stars; the other with elementary school teachers, but dig a little deeper and you realize that this second etymology explains why a textbook of magic is called a grimoire.

A grimoire contains formulae for casting spells, making amulets, and summoning demons, among other occult activities. These texts are said to have been written by necromancers as ancient as the Egyptian god Thoth, the Biblical King Solomon, and Hermes Trismegistus (the alchemist mentioned in Gerry’s recent post).  Folklore teaches us that making magic is no simple task. It requires learning, patience, and much practice to get it right. The sorcerer’s apprentice must acquire deep knowledge of the natural world before he can command the supernatural and, as the story teaches, there are no shortcuts.

The root of our English grammar is the Latin grammatica or the Greek γραμματκη which means, literally, the art of letters. Grammar texts teach the rules for putting words together correctly. Learning the rules can be tedious but, just as with the lessons of the grimoire, mastering them gives one great power. In fact, when you think of it, language is magic, pure and simple. Take its first building blocks, letters, string them in a certain order and, ta da!, the letters now convey meaning; they put a picture in one’s mind.  They’ve cast a spell, a spelling.

And language is a crucial part of magic making. The words chanted over a potion are as important as the ingredients in the pot. They must be pronounced correctly and in the right order. It’s the same with stories. Like newts and frogs, some story ingredients are easy to find. They are the stuff of everyday life: people, places, and problems. Other ingredients are, like dragon scales, more difficult to come by, and finding an effective combination of any of these elements can be tricky. The storymaker must first learn to understand their value, learn how they work together, and practice, practice, practice to get it right. There are no short cuts.

Those of us who tell folktales find stories ready made. But we must still study our grammars so that, when we find the exactly right words, we know how to put them together to not only convey our understanding of the tale, but also to create images in the minds and uncover truths in the hearts of our audiences. We know the power contained in a well wrought sentence. Put just the right number of sentences in perfect order and cast a spell to transport listeners out of themselves and into strange souls in distant lands at other times, to make things appear other than they first seemed. Story glamour.

Storyteller illustration by Andrew Kostiw