I saw Beauty and the Beast yesterday, and–Wow!–I love it. I have to say that as immersed as I was in the story, periodically I was reminded of Harry Potter, and I wondered if Emma Watson noticed the similarities as she was making the movie. The castle (particularly the castle. Didn’t it look like Hogwarts?), the animated furnishings, and the magic rose all felt comfortable and familiar. This is a world that I know well.
I love fantasy. Old fantasy, new fantasy, any fantasy at all. Romance is an important part of that tradition. Today I have realized something important. I am now part of that history, as are any of us who write in the genre. Yea, us! We are carrying the torch for a kind of storytelling that far precedes most other forms of literature–the primary exception being poetry. All mythology, all fables, all heroic tales have elements of fantasy, making it arguably the most important literary form of all.
So there you go. My little stories belong in the same category as Cinderella, King Arthur, The Tempest–and Beauty and the Beast. Not too shabby for a housewife in Suwanee, Georgia.