I wrote a piece for VICE about consent as fantasy element in the 18th-century “Beauty and the Beast,” and a little about what happens to the shape of the tale when a retelling (say, I dunno, Disney) alters those elements: “How Disney’s ‘Beauty and the Beast’ Became the Darkest Tale of All.“
An excerpt:
The most powerful force in Beauty and the Beast isn’t magic,
or even love, but consent. Most retellings of Villeneuve’s version are
careful to keep it. The Beast is clear that Beauty must know what she’s
getting into. (In Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch’s 1910 version, it’s still
more explicit: The Beast warns Beauty’s father to “be honest with your
daughter. Describe me to her just as I am. Let her be free to choose
whether she will come or no…”) Later, the Beast asks Beauty herself if
she comes willingly. And that first dinner is marked by the Beast’s
deference to her wishes. Beauty’s earliest surprise is how much power
she wields. Even in his nightly request that Beauty marry him, he
defers. Andrew Lang emphasized the power dynamics in 1889’s Blue Fairy Book:
“Oh! What shall I say?” cried Beauty, for she was afraid to make the Beast angry by refusing. “Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without fear,” he replied. “Oh! No, Beast,” said Beauty hastily “Since you will not, good-night, Beauty,” he said. And she answered, “Good-night, Beast,” very glad to find that her refusal had not provoked him.
Lang was one of many who used marriage proposals for the nightly
request (Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont’s 1756 retelling was the
first), but Villeneuve was under no illusions about the story’s
undertones. In her original, Beast asks Beauty to sleep with him.
Beauty’s power is the ability to withhold sexual consent.
