If chased by cattle

Dislike: The word “muppet” as a pejorative. Also the word “silly,” same. (The latter most often used in an effort to not say “stupid” – like subbing “sugar” for “shit.” All well and good you don't want to call a kid stupid -- it's not the 80s anymore -- but let's not make silly a bad thing. It's a bad thing if a 3-year-old isn't silly.)

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Okay. You’re walking down the sidewalk. Not an enormous one, not a super narrow one; a normal sidewalk with space enough for two people to walk together, or pass each other in opposite directions. In New York – and as far as I can remember, in every other city I’ve ever been in – people will do just that: pass each other. There is no beat, there is no acknowledgement, there are simply two people moving independently through the world with no earthly need to acknowledge each other’s existence.

In London, the world’s most passive aggressive city, this is not the case. At least that’s how I’ve been reading the situation. Inevitably, one of the approaching people will pull over to let the other pass. At which point they expect an acknowledgment of their great largesse. Which I refuse to give, because why on Earth should I reward someone for doing something entirely unnecessary for no reason aside from receiving said acknowledgement.

But now I have a theory. It is not (merely) a case of performative politeness; it is learned behaviour based on driving. Because driving in this country is absolutely bonkers. (Have a look on YouTube for some variation of “Americans react to insane British roads!” for further illustration.) Here’s the deal: Lots and lots of roads, even in London, and certainly outside it, are too narrow for two cars to pass each other at speed. Baked into the system then is the requirement that two cars, approaching each other at 60mph, will somehow be able to slow down in time for one to pull into the side of a hedge (or in London, the gap in parallel-parked cars). There is no margin for error, and playing chicken is not an option. Whoever has the nearest two feet of shoulder must pull into it. At which point a little wave is given, the other person edges by, then they both gun it and go about their business. I do not know how everyone does not crash all the time.

So. This is standard practice, and absolutely essential to moving through British roadspace. Even if you don’t drive and never leave London, inevitably you will encounter this on any given bus route. It sinks in: Two bodies moving toward each other cannot simply move past each other; one must give way.

Still drives me up the fucking wall though.

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It’s inevitable: Every time we set foot in the English countryside, I’m reminded of Bill Bryson talking about the dangers of cows. Because they are dangerous, apparently; they will attack. Bill learned this at some point after moving here, and understandably felt the need to spread the word. And the English people he told said Well yes, of course, you’d better watch out if you’re in a field with cows. And the Americans said Why on earth would I be in a field with cows?

Why would I be in a field with cows. I never was, in America. I can’t imagine a scenario where I would be. Cows are… elsewhere. Somewhere in Iowa there’s a fratboy sneaking out at midnight to tip them. But Bryson is from Iowa, so maybe it’s actually Ohio. Or Indiana, or Wisconsin, who knows. America just has so much space I guess the cows and the people all have enough of their own.

There was a sign at the edge of the field: Stay safe – use a lead around livestock. But release your dog if chased by cattle. Why would I be in a field with cows indeed.

(I have of course continued Bryson’s experiment, and so far the Americans remain confused. I usually get some variation on Well, a bull…

Which reminds me of the rodeo Richard and I went to. In Madison Square Garden, unpredictably. Two things: 1. Whoever came up with the term Mutton Busting is a genius; 2. being a rodeo clown is a damn serious business. The guy trying to stay on the bull? He just has to hang on. The guy who has to get the attention of the bull after the other guy inevitably falls off, and lure it away to potentially trample him instead? Balls of steel.)

Recipe: Last Thanksgiving was a bit of a mess -- we got stood up by Richard's sister -- but on the plus side we didn't have to share these Garlicky Hasselback Sweet Potatoes, which were one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten.

The coffeeshop mums behind me:
“We’re reading Harry Potter right now.”
“Is it not scary?”

Well of course it’s bloody scary.

I had forgotten just how much until I was the one reading it out loud to a 6 year-old. A face sticking out the back of someone’s head? A murderous whisper in the walls? Creatures that suck your soul out through your mouth? I often hear parents saying they’ll stop after book 3, as if all the bad stuff happens later on. Ha. The books get bigger, yes, and more dramatic, but just wait til you’re the one whispering murderously at bedtime, kill, kill…

It is scary, but that scariness is part of a much larger world. Say what you will about JK Rowling, she knows how to build a bloody world, and this is very much one you want to live in, for as long as possible. Has anything ever been reread/re-listened to as much as Harry Potter? How many millions of humans has Stephen Fry read to sleep over the years?

Yes, that world has danger in it. But the danger can be got through. There will be sadness, people will be lost along the way, it will get hard, but it will. be. got. through. And along the way there will be chocolate frog cards, wands that turn into rubber chickens, chipolatas, giant pumpkins, gernumbly infestations, squashy-faced cats, treacle tarts, talking portraits (sidebar: paintings can talk; photos can only move?), nutty professors, frilly robes, quidditch, wandlore, unicorns…

The best parts aren’t when Harry is facing down Voldemort; those are just the ends, when you’re already feeling sad because you know the book is almost over. The best parts are when he’s wandering Diagon Alley, or lounging around the Burrow, or even stuck in Privet Drive. The best parts are when you, the reader, can most feel like Harry. That’s when you fall in love with the books. That’s where you want to live – over, and over, and over again.

And the danger? The very dark darkness that lurks throughout? The real fear of things that are really scary? You can take it – kids can take it, and want to take it, and need to take it.

“Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.”¹

or

“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”²

I like both versions. It’s hard to read Neil Gaiman right now, but that doesn’t change the fact the man knows how to put together a sentence. No offense, Gilbert Keith.

But I don’t want to talk about Neil. I have, enough. I’ve had my reckoning. (The look on my 27-year-old queer coworker’s face when I confessed I had a Sandman quote tattooed on my back. I know.)

It’s an extension of the SFF issue isn’t it? Children need fairy tales. Children need stories filled with magic and peril. The magic expands their minds, confuses them as to what is possible, stretches their imaginations. The peril shows them that danger can be faced, demons defeated, good triumph over evil. That bravery isn’t about feeling no fear; it’s being the Cowardly Lion and roaring your foes down anyway.

Contention: That scariness (within reason) – that darkness – isn’t the problem nearly as much as the editing is.

Why is Totoro okay for literally anyone, but Into the Spiderverse isn’t? Totoro has darkness, after all: a sick mum, a missing child. But it is summer-paced; it is almost more a place you are than a movie you watch. It doesn’t happen to you; you sink into it.

The scariness of Harry Potter comes as part of a much larger/longer world. It demands attention span; it is not edited for the YouTube generation. Children need that darkness/peril/fear/depression/cruelty. They do not need – and often can’t handle – loud noises/fast editing/constant action. Me neither.

It’s hard to put your finger on exactly what makes these differences, what pushes a movie from one side to the other. Lots of things, I’m sure. But you know it when you see it. Watch a movie made forty years ago and breathe a sigh of relief. (Amazing, isn’t it, that a forty-year-old movie sounds old? It’s just an 80s movie. Which may be inappropriate for kids for plenty of other reasons…)

There were two mums in the bookshop last week, one describing the plot of The Velveteen Rabbit to the other, who was pushing a baby in a pram. Once she got to the burning, the latter said, “Oh, so skip that one, right?” As if this was something so clearly belonging to a former age when adults enjoyed traumatizing children. Not for her child, in this sanitized modern age!

I didn’t interrupt. I do sometimes, which is probably not very English. I’m supposed to pretend I can’t hear people having conversations right in front of me because they are not, after all, talking to me. But I think it’s part of my job, as a responsible bookseller, to put them right. This time though I let them walk away; the subject was too big.

I wanted to shout, It's a wonderful book! I give The Velveteen Rabbit at baby showers – there’s a whole rabbit theme – stuffed animal, blanket – it’s fantastic! Were you never a child? Have you no soul? Yes, it is sad, but do you honestly think you are doing your child any favors by not allowing them to feel this, specific sadness? It is soul-expanding sadness! It is the very definition of love. What you love, so hard, becomes real.

I won’t belabor it (more). If you know, you know; if you don’t, you have another book to read.

We are pan narrans. Stories are inextricable from the human condition. One of the things they do is provide us with a safe space in which to encounter ideas we would not otherwise come across in our day-to-day life. Ideas we may one day need to understand – so we better encounter them as children, to give us time to grapple. To raise a human being is to help them learn to be human. The more stories they’re exposed to, of all sorts, the better.

“For though Hansel and Gretel are still running silently through the dead forest, someday, no, soon, the forest will come to life and help the children with pointers, and when they get there, they’ll be welcomed with a subtitle: “Hello, there you are at last!”³

Children need fear, and mystery, and wonder. They need to be lost. Because if they are never lost they will never learn how to find themselves. Mother isn’t here now.⁴

¹G.K. Chesterton
²Neil Gaiman
³Günter Grass
⁴Stephen Sondheim

Recipe: Spanakopita Pasta, a great alternative if you need the comfort of mac n cheese but also like bitter greens. A bit like my parents in pasta form.

Wicked

‘Tis the second year of the “Wicked” Christmas. “For Good” just came on in the coffee shop. That’s how they get you I suppose: make it a two-parter. So much spectacle you can’t fit it all in one film.

I thought I might like Wicked. I love musicals. I’m here for some brain-off glitz and Busby Berkeleyesque choreography and amazing set design and costumes. I tried it on our last airplane ride to the States this summer. I got maybe 20 minutes (and two numbers) in.

I wonder if it’s like The Matrix or Avatar: So big and dumb you can only watch it on the big screen. A marvellous cinematic experience; a mediocre film.

For years I refused to engage with it at all. Oz was such an important part of my childhood – what was this non-canon prequel bullshit?

But I gave it a shot. I read the book not long after it came out. I didn’t like it. Eventually I listened to the show, after it had been on Broadway for a little while. Defying Gravity is a moment, yes, a true 11 o’clock number. But only the least forgettable of a very forgettable score. I moved on.

And now we have the movies. The actors are amazing. The whole thing is a visual feast.

It is not for me.

I am glad, on balance, to have it in the world. Every time a person watches a musical an angel gets their wings.

And maybe it will lead them to “The Wizard of Oz.” And maybe that will lead them to Judy Garland. And the stories I love will be loved by other people, and what is best in the world will never truly die. And we always defeat the bad guys and save the day. No one ever dies and everybody lives happily ever after.¹

¹Lie to Me, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”

Recipe: Harissa White Bean Chili. Simple but effective. Improves, as all stews do, with age.