Lemony Snicket piles terrible thing upon terrible thing. Paramount
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“When I started writing books for children, I knew what interested me,” Daniel Handler writes early on in his new memoir And Then? And Then? What Else?. “Terrible things happening, like in all the best literature.” Now there’s a man who understands his own muse. Writing as Lemony Snicket, in A Series of Unfortunate Events, Handler has been true to that muse. He piled terrible thing on terrible thing with an insouciant sweetness and lugubrious humour little rivalled in contemporary letters.
Even before Chapter One, the dedication of the first book, A Bad Beginning, sets the tone: “To Beatrice — darling, dearest, dead.” In these books, to say nothing of the dedicatee, villains (and not just villains) are burned to ash or poisoned, devoured by swarms of leeches and eviscerated with circular saws. Handler’s protagonists, the three orphaned Baudelaire children, are pursued through the novels by the evil monobrowed Count Olaf, who is determined to get his hands on the vast fortune which will be settled on them when 14-year-old Violet reaches the age of majority.
Each novel — each of the first seven, at least; it gets more complicated after that — sees the children taken into the care of a new guardian. Count Olaf turns up in a hopeless disguise that the children see through instantly but that inexplicably fools all the adults (shades, here, of Peter Sellers in Lolita). He hatches a plot, is thwarted and — when at last the dozy adults tumble to his disguise — escapes to scheme another day.
And Count Olaf — who physically punches a child in book one — is nasty. One of the glorious things about Lemony is the way in which, contra a whole history of fluffy bunnies, kindly bears and amiable ducks, his books tap into the appetite for the gruesome, violent and macabre which — much as adults who fetishise childhood innocence would prefer otherwise — are absolutely a feature of the childish imagination.
In doing so, he plays with the very traditions of children’s literature itself. The established tropes, in Handler’s work, are knowingly burlesqued — not least the orphan protagonists. Lots of children in children’s stories are orphans (it’s a convenient way to get the parents out of the way so adventures can be had; Roald Dahl, outstandingly, had James, of Giant Peach fame, orphaned when his parents were eaten by a rhinoceros), but Handler makes their orphanhood the centre of the story.
The very first line of his first book tips the hat to a narrative convention, too: “If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book.” Throughout the work this narrator (of whose ill-starred personal life hints are from time to time dropped) makes forlorn attempts to dissuade his readers from continuing. Here, of course, Lemony Snicket exploits the fact that, as Mrs Bluebeard knew all too well, warning someone off something makes it twice as attractive.
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SubscribeLemony Snicket is surely my most favorite author of all. For he gave me many moments of deliciously scary and funny delight when yet a youthful innocent was I! 😉
Also try (if you haven’t already) Richmal Crompton’s extremely funny “Just William” stories. These dealt with children but were aimed squarely at adults.
Crompton manages to like children, and boys in particular, while being completely clear eyed about them.
I’ve just had a major clear out and found my old “Just William” books which I intend rereading after many a long year.
An interesting but one sided read. Growing up in India our childhood in pre- Internet times revolved around the books of Enid Blyton.
The author dismisses her in a sentence, yet whatever maybe the controversial aspects of her personality, her books actually taught us about good versus bad, in great storytelling verve.
Her adventure stories and quasi- morality books( Children of Willow Tree Farm and the other Farm stories, Put- Em Rights are some one recalls) were huge sources of inspiration.
She dealt with violence against children as well as with their striking back at their tormentors in very interesting ways.
Blytonia surely deserved more attention than this article would give- as a counter to what the author chooses to argue.
Unless of course he is addressing the issue only of children today- which is a challenging issue, as social norms have changed radically since my days in some parts of the world – especially the West.
I do agree. Growing up in France, I had all the French versions of the Famous Five and the Secret Seven. Their adventures were quite thrilling oh, and they did not turn me into a racist.
No mention of famous orphan Harry Potter and his close shaves with death.
I also used to like stories by la Comtesse de Segur whose misbehaving children would get a serious whipping. I wasn’t shocked by that as a child but I would not touch the hair on a child’s head as an adult.
One of the most annoying traits about Western culture is its mawkish sensibility about childhood. This dive into children’s literature is an enjoyable counterpoint (or should that be counterpunch?) but there’s one omission, which can perhaps be excused on the grounds that it’s not, strictly speaking, aimed primarily at children.
I refer, of course, to William Golding’s Lord Of The Flies. Set in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust, it directly addresses the psychology of childhood interaction as a means of holding a mirror to our adult selves, having all but destroyed civilisation.
From the examples the author cites (none of which i’ve read) i expect the pleasure and delight which children derive from such narratives involves the recognition that at least one adult (the children’s author) hasn’t fallen into the pretence of innocence which adults strangely seem to assume – strangely, because as children, it can mystify us. The reason for this adult trait is, of course, sex.
Despite the efforts of Freud, when we’re referring to the ‘innocence’ of childhood, what we really mean is the innocence from sexuality, which helps us protect children from those who would wish children were otherwise.
Scary children’s literature then, might be seen as a way of holding a mirror to us, as adults; as a non-sexual way for children to participate in the game of pretending innocence whilst delving into some ‘over the top’ gory stories.
The (in my opinion, heinous) concept of “original sin” derives from the same psychology, except in reverse – assuming ‘guilt’ rather than ‘innocence’. Like Lord Of The Flies, the book of the Tree of Knowledge is children’s fiction for adults.
And though Golding book presents one all-too-real side of human nature, from which children are in no way immune, in 1965-1966 there was a real-life rebuttal to that pessimistic portrait:
https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-05-16/tongans-say-shipwreck-story-not-lord-of-the-flies-tale/12249028
To this day I am mentally scarred by some of the concepts in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and the series (Chronicles of Narnia). Can’t recall which book it was, perhaps The Silver Chair when they are crawling through an ever decreasing tunnel. Sheesh.
To this day Puddleglum (The Silver Chair’s slightly froggy Plato) remains one of the literary characters I love the most for his belligerent refusal to be bullsh***ed:
“There never was such a world” said the Witch.
“There never was any world but yours” said [the children].
Puddleglum was still fighting hard. “I don’t rightly know what you all mean by a world,” he said, talking like a man who hasn’t enough air. “But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won’t make me forget Narnia; and the whole Overworld too. We’ll never see it again, I shouldn’t wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I’ve seen the sky full of stars. I’ve seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night. And I’ve seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn’t look at him for brightness.”
The grotesque truth about children … is that their thoughts and behaviour are greatly influenced by those around them.
But a few eventually question the latest fad, fashion or current Overton Window, and become productive, independent thinkers.
The problem we have today is that it is those specialising in the Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences that have cognative dissonance. They perpetuate destruction, intellectual and financial, while others attempt to maintain services and create wealth.
Can’t think of anything more grotesque than closing down North Sea oil exploration.
I’m always suspicious of the phrase “create wealth”. Sounds like my rent going up. Again.
Nothing, you say. I’m sceptical of your weird rhetorical pivot. I’d say that extracting every dollar or pound worth of paydirt you can from the earth at huge cost to the safety of the air, water, and soil–then having they hubris to call it Profit and Progress–is far more shortsighted and grotesque.
I’m not connecting that straight to your North Sea example, but I do make that charge against the Oil Sands industry in my birth province of Alberta, Canada.
Children seek to make sense of the violence in the world. In the 1970s we would read the horror magazines and comics at the local comic shop. Weird War was my favorite. The underlying moral universe however of the stories was one where the bad people succumbed to evil. They were mortality plays. My concern about some horror is that it now is going for bloodlust titillation .
Children are born empty vessels. They are like sponges, that absorb everything, good or bad, particularly if it’s exciting.
To some extent, but the blank slate/empty vessel model takes it way too far. Siblings from the same bloodline, raised in the same household, are often sharply different in personality and behavior.
A long column of obfuscation failing to draw some obvious distinctions. Children vary as much as adults do. Some tend towards cruelty, others towards kindness. Only nasty children like cruelty in stories for its own sake. Most children like it when children triumph over dangers and villains get their comeuppance, because it reassures them that justice exists and although weak, can sometimes win. I have to admit that when sub-Freudian literary types go on about children’s ‘dark imaginations’ and ‘lack of innocence’, I smell an agenda and not a very nice one.
Of course children vary, but talk of childhood innocence irritates me, I’m afraid.
If we want to protect children and advance their well-being, we need to be honest about ourselves and about them.
A good article – but Ogden Nash anticipated Mr Leith nearly a hundred years ago:
Don’t cry, darling, it’s blood all right
Whenever poets want to give you the idea that something is particularly meek and mild,
They compare it to a child,
Thereby proving that, though poets with poetry may be rife,
They don’t know the facts of life.
If of compassion you desire either a tittle or a jot,
Don’t try to get it from a tot.
Hard-boiled, sophisticated adults like me and you
May enjoy ourselves thoroughly with Little Women and Winnie-the-Pooh,
But innocent infants these titles from their reading course eliminate
As soon as they discover that it was honey and nuts and mashed potatoes instead of human flesh that Winnie-the-Pooh and Little Women ate.
Innocent infants have no use for fables about rabbits or donkeys or tortoises or porpoises,
What they want is something with plenty of well-mutilated corpoises.
Not on legends of how the rose came to be a rose instead of a petunia is their fancy fed,
But on the inside story of how somebody’s bones got ground up to make somebody else’s bread.
They go to sleep listening to the story of the little beggarmaid who got to be queen by being kind to the bees and the birds,
But they’re all eyes and ears the minute they suspect a wolf or a giant is going to tear some poor woodcutter into quarters and thirds.
It really doesn’t take much to fill their cup;
All they want is for somebody to be eaten up.
Therefore I say unto you, all you poets who are so crazy about meek and mild little children and their angelic air,
If you are sincere and really want to please them, why, just go out and get yourselves devoured by a bear.
Of course children, as a group, are not malevolent or benevolent. They are both, just as adults are, although the individual’s share can tilt pretty heavily in one direction, partly according to environment and example.
To think otherwise recalls the idealized notion of the Noble Savage. But look at the actual behavior of so-called uncontacted peoples. They may be unsophisticated, and lack (or be free from) metacognitive thinking and such, but they can be every bit as savage as an urban-jungle teenage gangster, or resentful suburban wife with a castration blade in her hands.
Are children cruel or kind? Yes, they are.
Oh god! Sam Leith was one of the reasons why I left the Spectator! Don’t tell me he has escaped and is being published by other organs.
By the way, what is happening unheard? Have they been secretly taking money from the globalists?
The two articles giving an opposing point of view were so bad I couldn’t finish them and now Dam Leith?!!!