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The purpose of this paper is to discuss how the superhero genre, when couched in a space and project that seek to act as a counter-world and is rooted in the life experiences of youth, can allow Latinx elementary school students the opportunity to create counter-stories. Such stories facilitated the process of creating “critical hope” in relation to oppressive political discourses.

This is a qualitative study conducted at an afterschool club in the Western USA. Using the superhero genre, elementary school students, grades third-fifth, participated in a project in which they created superhero and villain narratives set in their community.

The authors found that the superhero genre supported some Latinx students to develop counter-stories that engaged with and resisted the heightened xenophobic and racist discourse appropriated by then US presidential candidate Donald Trump in the context of the 2016 presidential campaign. These counter-stories allowed youth to engage in critical hope to imagine a better, more just world.

In a time when young Latinx students are continually subjected to racism and xenophobia promoted by political figures and taken up by popular media and the general public, it is necessary to support students in creating counter-stories and critical hope that push back against oppression. Findings suggest that the superhero genre can support Latinx students to discuss, dismantle and counter hateful discourses while striving for hope.

The purpose of this paper is to describe the implementation of a storytelling teaching method in a company law course for accounting students and to evaluate its influence on engagement and effective learning.

The learning activity, known as “corporate villains”, is based on theories of storytelling and engagement. Selected qualitative and quantitative data from university course and teaching evaluation surveys were used to assess the achievement of objectives and identify learning outcomes.

The corporate villains learning activity engaged students at the beginning of the lecture and influenced student learning by demonstrating the relevance, or “real life” application, of company law to accounting students. Corporate villains also stimulated curiosity in learning more about the law which is characteristic of students pursuing a deep approach to learning.

The study extends the research on storytelling in accounting and legal education and supports empirical evidence as to the positive impact of storytelling on student engagement in learning. In particular, the study reveals the potential for corporate villains to address various academic and student concerns about company law by humanising the law and enabling students to connect the legal concepts to the story and to the curriculum.

Most fairy tale narratives have a hero, a damsel in distress and the ever-present opposing villain. The villains, or antagonists, share several commonalities across the various narratives as well as one over-arching trait of evil. However, as television viewers have become more intuitive, and demand for more sophisticated narratives have increased, contemporary portrayals of villains, as in the television series Once Upon a Time (Horowitz & Kitsis, 2011–2018), have shifted away from presenting villains as one-dimensional and restricted characters.

Instead, the construct of evil is depicted as a multifaceted and evolutionary trait of the character. Whereas previously evil was the fundamental core of the character it is now presented as a fluid concept. This chapter investigates how the construct of evil, and therefore the villain, has been redefined through a contemporary television narrative.

For every hero, there is a villain, and for every villain there should be a story. But, how much do we really know about the villain? Gender and Female Villains in 21st Century Fairy Tale Narratives: From Evil Queens to Wicked Witches seeks to fill a gap in the field of gender representation and character evolution, with chapters centred on female villains in the fairy tale narratives of the twenty-first-century media.

This book aims to bring together a collection of interdisciplinary research on the evolution of female villains from television and film, the impact of these characters on filmmaking, storytelling, narrative structures and considerations with regard to gender representations.

Within the realm of fairy tale study, the characters of princesses, princes, heroes and the damsels-in-distress have been researched extensively. However, the female villain has rarely been the central focus of academic study. This book is the first collection of chapters based on female villains in the twenty-first century fairy tale narratives.

Through all the villains that James Bond has encountered on his globe-trotting adventures – from Dr No to Auric Goldfinger, Drax to Le Chiffre and Rosa Klebb to Xenia Onatopp – one villain has remained a constant threat to both Bond and world security. Whether hiding behind a corrugated screen, living on a mountain top lair, working from a hollowed-out volcanic rocket site, or sitting in a wheelchair, Ernst Stavro Blofeld has proved time and time again to be a thorn in Bond’s side.

This chapter will investigate the changing appearances of Blofeld across the Eon Productions’ film franchise. It will consider the concept of Blofeld as Bond’s alter-ego, whilst offering in-depth analysis of just how – and why – this master-nemesis remains firmly rooted in Bond’s filmic adventures, whilst cementing his position as the villain most associated with the series.

The mere sight of Disney villains have struck fear into the hearts of many a child. From the Evil Queen, to Maleficent, to Ursula. From the black flowing capes to the ashen skin and pointy horns, the aesthetic of these villains alone is often enough to evoke a sense of dread in the audience. Ursula from The Little Mermaid (1989) may not be officially a queen in the Disney universe, but she is a notorious villain amongst fans. Although The Little Mermaid was released in 1989, the film, and thus Ursula, have a fanbase that has evolved and grown up to now, despite the film not being remade into a live-action version as yet. This chapter will analyse the comments of three fan-made YouTube videos regarding Ursula, and will examine the fan comments, with specific focus on the comments regarding Ursula's physicality or any positive comments about her. This will show fan positivity towards a villainous character, despite what may be depicted as a negative body image. Ursula, an octopus, looks quite different from other villains. The primary research methodology will include participatory culture and discourse analysis in order to understand why fans adore her, and how they do not necessarily accept her as a villain, but that there is an outpouring of positivity towards her body image.

The fairy tale is a genre popularly associated with characters that inhabit opposite extremes in the axis of good and evil, such as the brave prince, the beautiful princess and the wicked witch. From the tension between the two extremes emerges the familiar narrative: as Dallas Baker has remarked, the death of the monstrous villain often precedes ‘heterosexual fulfilment’ (2010, p. 8), and thus the classical script is laid out.

This chapter will investigate how lesbian and bisexual retellings deconstruct that script and collapse the insurmountable distance between good and evil, hero and villain, queering fairy tale paradigms and upending genre expectations. Sam Miller declared in 2011 that ‘there are no more queer monsters’ (p. 222) in horror films, making the fact that they still lurk in fairy tale retellings all the more remarkable, although they often do so disguised as, or otherwise fused with, well-known childhood heroines. In this way, Lauren Beukes’s The Hidden Kingdom (2013) aligns a bisexual Rapunzel with Sadako, the vengeful spirit from Japanese horror film Ringu (1998); The Sleeper and the Spindle (Gaiman, 2014) features a Snow White who must save the Sleeping Beauty, here an evil witch guarded by zombie-like sleepers; and ABC's Once Upon a Time (2011–2018) features a bisexual Little Red Riding Hood who transforms into a dangerous werewolf. This chapter thus explores the significance of resilient, queer monstrosity in contemporary fairy tales, these authors' interpretation of the conservative archetype of the queer villain, and the potential of these retellings to enact subversive fantasies of empowerment for queer readers.

In this chapter, I explore how the queer-coding, gendering and policing of the monstrous female villain figure of twenty-first-century fairy tale media is interrogated and renegotiated in the transformative narrative tradition of femslash fan-fiction. With fan studies often focusing on the most popular, vocal fandom spaces and cultures, femslash (female-female) fan-fiction has been undertheorized in academic scholarship, just as queer female desire is routinely invalidated by the mainstream media properties that inspire femslash fans (Cranz, 2016; Gonzalez, 2016; Ng & Russo, 2017; Stanfill, 2017). By romantically and sexually pairing female villains with the heroines against whom they are canonically cast as antagonists, femslash fans of Once Upon a Time and The Devil Wears Prada subvert the heteronormative and anti-feminist plot machinery that pits women against each other. The engagement of femslash fan authors with the depiction of the characters Regina Mills and Miranda Priestly as literal and figurative ‘Evil Queens’ in their source texts highlights the extent to which both women are situated as ‘villains’ because of their position as ‘unhappy queers’ who obstruct heteronormative happy endings (Ahmed, 2010; Pande & Moitra, 2017; Strauch, 2017). While in the Swan Queen fiction somewhere, someone must know the ending (maleficently, 2012), Regina is only the Evil Queen in her son's imagination, as he tries to make sense of her infidelity, The Lily and the Crown (Telanu, 2013) recasts Miranda Priestly as Pirate Queen Mír, guilty of mass-murder, rather than merely acerbic barbs (as in the film). Through close readings, I argue that the way these texts ask their readers to consider the limits of both villains' desirability, by playing with the terms of their respective criminality, shows the extent to which nuancing and negotiating the ‘evil’ of these ‘queens’ is structurally embedded in these femslash fandoms. The femslash fannish investment these texts reflect, in both the figure of the queer female villain and those who desire her, proposes an alternative version of happiness to the heteronormative happy ending, one that does not attenuate the queer codes that position these ‘Evil Queens’ as monster-outsiders to it, but embraces that monstrosity as a site of power, progress and futurity.

A strange phenomenon among women writers of the late eighteenth century, both conservative and liberal minded, was the predominance of female villains in their novels. While this can be seen as an after-effect of masculine patriarchal discourse, particularly for those women writers who possessed a more religious-based ideology, why was it prevalent among feminist writers of the time who should have been aware of misogynistic stereotypes? Two such writers who emulated this strange paradox were Mary Robinson and Charlotte Smith. Both these women had been vilified by the Anti-Jacobin British 18th press as notorious and corrupt ‘female philosophers’ who followed in the footsteps of Mary Wollstonecraft. This chapter will conduct a historical feminist close comparative reading of Robinson's novel, Walsingham, and Smith's novel, The Young Philosopher, based on feminist scholarship on eighteenth-century female writers. It will examine how the female villains in the novels overpowered even the male antagonists and were often the cause behind the misfortunes, directly or indirectly, of the heroines/heroes. While these villains did serve as warnings against inappropriate behaviour, they illustrated the disaster for women when there is a lack of female community. Specifically, in the case of Robinson, her Sadean villains illustrated that no one is spared from the corruption of power and that the saintly female figure is nothing but an illusion of the male imagination. They were fallen Lucifers, rebels who relished in their freedom and power despite their damnation and punishment. The patriarchal system was temporarily demolished by them.

To study how twenty-first-century fairy tale retellings recombine villainy and motherhood, this chapter analyses two mother figures in Maleficent: Mistress of Evil (2019): Aurora's godmother, Maleficent, and Aurora's soon-to-be mother-in-law, Queen Ingrith. I argue that Mistress of Evil attempts and fails to trouble the Good/Terrible Mother binary, ultimately reconfirming traditional notions of the Good Mother, by juxtaposing two mother villain characters. Ingrith first appears to be the epitome of the Good Mother, but the film quickly reveals that she is actually the stereotypical evil mother-in-law who uses the Good Mother image to mask her villainy. By exposing Ingrith's lie, the film debases the myth of perfect motherhood, suggesting that the image of the ‘Good Mother’ is only used to vilify other women in order to control people, but it also uses the Good Mother image to highlight how Terrible Ingrith is. Maleficent, on the other hand, vacillates between twenty-first-century images of the Terrible and Good Mother, specifically the aberrant and supermother. Rather than balancing these images and depicting a more nuanced motherhood, the film switches Maleficent completely between these two extremes, making her seem more villainous when she is aberrant and more motherly when she steps into the role of supermother. Whereas the representation of Ingrith highlights the lie of the Good Mother, Maleficent is forced into becoming a variation of that image. I argue that while Mistress of Evil attempts to reveal the pernicious nature of the Good Mother myth, it ultimately reconfirms it for a new generation of women.