Stefanie vor Schulte
Boy with a Black Rooster
“Writing a fairy tale for adults requires a few solid characters who can withstand the horror, and the courage to open up a gulf between good and evil…”
In her book Boy with a Black Rooster, debut German novelist Stefanie vor Schulte adeptly upgrades the fairy tale genre for adults, with captivating characters, and seductive prose, set in a medieval backdrop.
By Prathap Nair
Novelist Stefanie vor Schulte admits that her inner world is filled with melancholic images that she sometimes commits to page. In her debut novel Boy with a Black Rooster, she attempts to revive the fairy tale genre for adults. What emerges is a powerful portrait of an apocalyptic world where the forces of good in the form of a prepubescent boy battle the morally detestable but formidable forces of evil.Her protagonist Martin is an eleven-year-old boy who loses his family in a massacre in a medieval village. Martin is a source of virtuousness and nobility in a depraved society. Even with almost nothing to look forward to in life, he is always brimming with courage and ready to even go on an extended mission to help the villagers when evil forces strike. Assisted by his unusual companions, a black rooster, and an adult - a painter who recognises Martin’s good spirit, the trio set out on an adventure to rescue kidnapped children from a cruel princess who lives in a castle. What emerges is a gripping tale of an unusual adventure in this feverishly paced book. Whether Martin is successful in his mission is told in exquisite detail.
In this interview, vor Schulte tells us more about her page-turning book, her fascination with fairy tales and what inspired her to write this dark medieval story.
You grew up with a rich tradition of fairy tales in Germany—stories like the Grimms' Kinder- und Hausmärchen, Rotkäppchen (Little Red Riding Hood) and Der Rattenfänger von Hameln (Pied Piper of Hamelin). How did these tales influence your reading as a child in Germany?
Even as a child, it wasn’t hard to uncover the values and morals in the stories of the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen. The challenge, and the joy, was in discovering how cleverly these morals were hidden. Listening to or reading them was a treasured experience—being scared or amused, yet always aware that the story remained at arm’s length. For example, as frightening as the story was, you weren’t actually in the forest, facing a wolf or under the spell of the Pied Piper. You could listen with a sense of reason even to the most unreasonable tales. Later, I started reading fairy tales from other countries to see if they felt similar. But they never quite did.
How have these morals in classic fairy tales aged for a modern reader? And what’s the main difference when writing a fairy tale for children versus adults?
While stories may age, it’s crucial for the morals to stay relevant, and this is where the reader’s role is important—to preserve and reinterpret these values. My role, as with Boy with the Black Rooster, was to evoke that nostalgic memory. As children, we expect fairy tales to end happily—we endure the darkness because light will follow. But to write a fairy tale for adults, you need solid characters who can endure darkness and the courage to open a real divide between good and evil, as was done in the past.
The young Martin in your story is an unusual hero—a fairytale figure with his trusty mascot, a rooster, and the support of the only sane adult in the village, the painter. How did Martin’s character come to you? Did the story start with him in mind?
Yes, it started with Martin, with his shaggy black rooster perched on his shoulder, who appeared one day in my kitchen and sparked my curiosity. It was essential that Martin didn’t just stand apart from those he was fleeing, but also from the trope of the “pure fool” found in German legends. Martin has a pure heart, but more importantly, a clear mind that helps him see through his era’s superstitions. The painter, in contrast, is the most human of all my characters—his heart is in the right place, and he stumbles and rises again. He recognizes Martin’s gift and, ultimately, is willing to protect him, even at great personal cost.
The black rooster in the story is a significant symbol—while it’s feared in the village, for Martin, it’s a loyal friend. Was this your way of challenging old stereotypes about the fear of the unknown?
In fairy tales, heroes are often alone, but I wanted Martin to have a companion. While writing, I thought about Disney movies where the protagonist has a helpful sidekick—like a talking teacup or cricket. The rooster breaks Martin’s isolation but is not an easy friend; he relentlessly drives Martin onward until his mission is complete. In a way, he’s Martin’s conscience made visible, which makes him a discomforting presence in a world that hides behind its own fears. Even in the rooster, there’s a need to find beauty and kindness.
Your book has been praised for its imaginative and allegorical nature. How did the premise of an adult fairy tale offer you the freedom to construct a rich, dark story?
My stories don’t necessarily stem from fairy tales but from images. I write from the images I visualize—sometimes inspired by fairy tales, unsettling dreams, or scenes from films. My inner world is filled with melancholic, vivid imagery, but I wouldn’t say that’s entirely due to the fairy tales I heard as a child.
Are you a fan of dark fantasy novels? You vividly paint a dark medieval village setting. Who has inspired you the most?
Cormac McCarthy, especially with The Road, has been my greatest inspiration. His writing always conveys the grand stakes—everything or nothing. That’s the line I try to maintain in my work. While I find fantasy novels intriguing, the imagery is not quite the same as in my own work. I’m also a big fan of graphic novels and only wish I had the time and skill to create one myself.
Have you read any Indian authors in English or German translation? Any favorites?
Yes, I’ve read Arundhati Roy and Kiran Desai. I read the German translations, and they inspire me.
Translator Diaries: Alexandra Roesch on her experience translating Boy with a Black Rooster
Translating fiction demands a keen sensitivity for both meaning and style. It’s a process of
working meticulously through each sentence, striving to retain the author’s voice whilst
ensuring the text flows naturally in English. In Boy with a Black Rooster, Stefanie vor Schulte’s poetic yet simple prose presented the challenge of preserving both clarity and beauty, while capturing the layers of meaning beneath the surface. Her use of vivid imagery and the delicate atmospheres she creates – even in moments of darkness – required a careful balance of word choice and rhythm to maintain the prose’s simplicity and depth.
What struck me most in translating the book was its unique combination of cruelty and kindness, harshness and humour. The magical black rooster and the pure-
hearted boy lent the novel a playful tone that contrasted sharply with its moments of
violence. This subtle interplay of light and dark made the translation process especially rewarding.
In today’s interconnected world, literary translation is both an art and a vital necessity. It serves as a cultural bridge, allowing readers to experience stories from distant places, fostering empathy and deeper understanding.
