Review: The Short Story, “The Wicker Husband…”

Folk tales have a familiar charm: their clear lessons draw us in and invite us to reflect on how people treat one another. They teach us about right and wrong in ways that are easy to remember and share across generations. Their simple storytelling gives us room to consider the choices characters make, the consequences that follow, and what we might learn from them. Although we often associate folk tales with centuries past, their insights into human nature and moral choices remain relevant to our lives today. Reading them can offer both the pleasure of a good story and a gentle invitation to examine our own assumptions. Ursula Mills’ short story “The Wicker Husband” offers a contemporary example of this enduring tradition, reminding us that even a simple story can leave us with much to consider. 

The story introduces us to an unnamed “ugly girl” who lives alone in a village where she faces rejection and ridicule. Its familiar characters and setting draw us into a world reminiscent of classic fairy tales. When no man in the village will marry her, she takes a chance on a risky bargain: she asks a local basket-maker to weave her a living, gentle husband from willow wicker. Traditional craft and folk magic take the place of modern technology. The simple language and rhythm give the tale the feel of an old story passed from one generation to the next, while its feelings remain easy to understand. Set in a coastal village that recalls medieval times, it invites us into a world where the characters accept a magical event as part of everyday life. 

From the outset, the protagonist accepts herself and seeks to shape her own future rather than wait for approval from a community that excludes her. Her unconventional marriage offers a way beyond that need for acceptance. The small fishing village places great importance on appearance, social conformity, and traditional marriage roles, mocking or rejecting anyone who departs from them. Yet the wicker husband, despite having neither social status nor biological life, proves more attentive, gentle, and devoted than the village’s human husbands. His care invites us to consider what truly makes a loving partner. When the village women see the happiness the protagonist enjoys, their dissatisfaction gives way to jealousy and a scheme to undermine the couple. Through this contrast, the story questions familiar power dynamics and asks how far our ideas of a “proper partner” reflect personal choice rather than cultural expectations. 

The story’s recurring details invite us to look more closely at its themes: wicker and craftsmanship, the wicker baby and wicker woman, the shabby cottage on the village outskirts, and the protagonist’s fish scales and fish-smelling hands. The basket-maker’s work with woven materials suggests artifice, flexibility, and creation. As he shapes willow and blackthorn into human forms, the story invites us to see relationships and social identities as constructed rather than simply natural. The wicker baby and prickly blackthorn woman reflect the villagers’ anxieties about fertility, danger, and superficial relationships. Meanwhile, the protagonist’s neglected cottage becomes a cared-for sanctuary after her husband arrives, offering an image of emotional renewal within the story’s wider account of companionship and renewed happiness. Her scale-covered dresses and fish-smelling hands remind us of the demanding, unglamorous work she does—and how the village turns these signs of labor into grounds for physical and class-based contempt before she finds self-worth.

The story’s folkloric premise invites reflection on familiar concerns: loneliness, difficult relationships, and the pressure to fit in. The village values women largely for domestic work and childbearing, while the wicker husband offers a model of partnership grounded in care and attention. When the protagonist finds affection, her happiness provokes envy rather than support from her neighbors. Their scrutiny recalls the pressures of modern social life. For readers who find dating impersonal or transactional, his gentleness may speak to a longing for kindness, listening, and mutual respect. The villagers’ hostility also raises a question about belonging: why punish someone whose happiness falls outside community expectations? Their fabricated accusation of betrayal threatens the couple’s trust, encouraging us to look beyond appearances and consider how outside judgment can undermine a relationship that deserves room to flourish. 

At its heart, the story invites us to reflect on envy, social cruelty, freedom of choice, and the fragility of relationships. When the lonely, excluded fisherwoman commissions a gentle husband woven from willow, his everyday kindness brings the neglect and harmful patterns in the village’s conventional marriages into sharper focus. Rather than learn from his devotion, the villagers resent the couple’s happiness and plot to undermine their trust, treating an unfamiliar partnership as a threat to the established order. The tale warns that collective malice, peer pressure, and gossip can lead people to damage what is good, leaving lasting regret. Yet it also offers an affirming lesson: expectations about beauty and worth need not determine a person’s future. The protagonist’s experience encourages us to consider a person’s right to define happiness beyond the judgments of the community. 

With the film adaptation, Wicker, due for release later this month, I’m glad to have read and reflected on the original story first. This brief folk tale works beautifully on the page, and I look forward to seeing how its themes translate to the screen. I gather the adaptation will remain close to the story, though some changes are to be expected; how well they serve the material remains to be seen. In the meantime, I warmly recommend the short story. It takes less than an hour to read and offers plenty to reflect on afterward.