s Andersen's dog
with "eyes as big as saucers ... eyes as big as Rundetaarn."

The use of "magic power" is of very frequent occurrence; it
seems, indeed, to be the generally accepted way of solving any
difficulty. As soon as the hero has been brought into a situation
from which no ordinary way of escape appears, it then transpires--as
an afterthought--that he is possessed of magic powers, when the rest,
of course, is easy. A delightful instance of the extent to which this
useful faculty can be watered down and yet remain effective is seen in
the case of the village where no wizard can be found to help in time
of famine, until it is "revealed" that Ikardlituarssuk "had formerly
sat on the knee of one of those present when the wizards called up
their helping spirits." In virtue of which very distant connection
he proceeds to magic away the ice.

There is a general tendency towards anthropomorphic conception of
supernatural beings. The Moon Man has his stock of harpoons like
any mortal hunter; the Mountain Spirit has a wife and children. The
life and domestic arrangements of "spirits" are mostly represented
as very similar to those with which the story-teller and his hearers
are familiar, much as we find, in early Italian paintings, Scriptural
personages represented in the costume and environment of the artist's
own place and period.

The style of narrative is peculiar. The stories open, as a rule, with
some traditionally accepted gambit. "There was once a man ..." or "A
fatherless boy lived in the house of the many brothers." The ending
may occasionally point a sort of moral, as in the case of Ukaleq,
who after having escaped from a Magic Bear, "never went out hunting
bear again." But the usual form is either a sort of equivalent to
"lived happily ever after," or a frank and direct intimation: "Here
ends this story," or "That is all I know of so-and-so." Some such
hint is not infrequently necessary, since the "end" of a story often
leaves considerable scope for further development.

It is a characteristic feature of these stories that one never knows
what is going to happen. Poetic justice is often satisfied, but by no
means always (Kagssagssuk). One or two of them are naively weak and
lacking in incident; we are constantly expecting something to happen,
but nothing happens ... still nothing happens ... and the story ends
(Puagssuaq). It is sometimes difficult to follow the exact course of a
conversation or action be