The Little Mermaid (1836) by Hans Christian Andersen

During certain difficult periods of my youth I've fallen prey to cursing myself and wishing to be anyone other than who I am. I'd guess that these sorts of moments of self-doubt and alienation are rather common among young adults. It wasn't until my late twenties that I began to set aside this brand of deep, subtle, festering self-hatred and instead choose to focus first on learning who exactly it is that I'm hating, then working to accept the person I am, and finally striving to improve the qualities I've already unknowingly developed, and then to correct some of my most unfortunate deficiencies. I think it's an important part of adulthood to finally come to terms with who you are and begin, from there, to learn and work to become who you really want to be.

The Little Mermaid's tragic fable touches on the theme of identity and desire, centered around a young girl who's given the opportunity to become somebody she is not in order to please what she believes are the desires of another. She realizes the heartbreaking gravity of such a tragic error, along with the fickle nature of desire.

Andersen's evocative scene-setting is perhaps what he does best, and it remains strong throughout this short story. Colorful descriptions of seashell-speckled aquatic palaces, the wriggling dark tentacles littering the walls of the sea witch's abode. Even the settings on dry land are especially spellbinding: limestone castles and fantastical beaches. These kinds of establishing shots read through in casual exposition are what I loved so much about Thumbelina, and it remains strong throughout The Little Mermaid.

The book is permeated with some Christian subtext that feels a bit jarring and out of place in the story, and I think it would have worked better had the titular mermaid been focused not on being granted an immortal soul, but simply the prince's love. I found the conclusion to be wanting as well, as we see Andersen devolve into a rather... psychedelic experience in the closing pages. It might have been compelling had it not been so abruptly and carelessly introduced, but I felt that it shifted the somber tone of the conclusion too quickly. I'd have much preferred for Andersen to instead have ended things on a simpler, more tragic note.

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