"The Seven Wives of Bluebeard" by Anatole France is a member of its own genre, an offshoot of the fairy tale; that of the role reversal. Midway through this story, I was reminded of "The True Story of the Three Little Pigs." This story, an important part of my childhood, gives the story of the three little pigs from the wolf's perspective, depicting the pigs as rude and blunt, and the wolf as a sensitive, civilized asthmatic in need of some sugar. That story captured my imagination as a child the same way that France's story did. I loved the idea of turning the princesses into lecherous, superficial courtly women, and Bluebeard into a woefully misunderstood protagonist. The decision to tell the whole story as it were the retelling of a history is also interesting. Much in the same vein as "The True Story of the Three Little Pigs" it plays on this idea that what we've read about these characters is fantasy, while in reality there exists a truth far different from popular perception.

Bluebeard doesn't have a horrific dungeon in which he hides the hacked up remains of his past wives, but rather just a cabinet with women painted on the walls. He doesn't want his wife to go into the cabinet out of genuine concern that the images might frighten her. France legitimizes the idea that this is a history with his specific use of names. It reads at times like a genealogy chart. Bluebeard, for example, becomes Bernard de Montragoux, and his series of misguided wives are all also assigned titles of the privileged French. Anatole's repeated use of French titles also seems in itself a bit of a critique. The formalism of the French upper class comes across as fickle and sadist. Bernard becomes a tragic figure, in constant search of happiness but repeatedly exploited by those he tries to love. His wealth, which seems of so little value to him, prevents him from being happy, as it rather than himself is the object of desire for these women. The death at the end is not heroic. The brothers don't ride in at the last moment to save the day. Bernard's death is unearned and unjust. France fittingly ends the piece by reporting that the outcome of the story is identical to that of the fairy tale. The last wife inherits the wealth and honors that were her now deceased husband's and her companions whom helped her vanquish the previous lord become noblemen themselves.