"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred." So entreats Christopher Robin in the final chapter of The House at Pooh Corner.
Eighty years have now passed since A. A. Milne penned that stirring
plea, and David Benedictus has taken it upon himself to see that this
promise is honored, at least after a fashion. For us, Christopher Robin
is closing in on a century, but for the residents of the Hundred Acre
Wood, he's only been gone a few months. Time has little meaning in the
Wood, its chief measure being changes to the lad Pooh and his friends
love so dearly. For both dragons and Pooh Bears live forever, but not so
little boys. He may be doing it slowly, but Christopher Robin is
growing up. This reality sets a wistful tone for Return to the Hundred Acre Wood, but in the joy of reunion, the sense of melancholy seeps through only occasionally.
The book hints strongly that Christopher Robin is keenly aware of the
change in his circumstances, while Pooh and Piglet have vague
suspicions. While they savor Christopher Robin's return, they sense a
greater degree of maturity, and neither can quite forget his long
absence, as the rest seem to do fairly quickly, or be entirely assured
that he won't leave again. The book takes place over one golden summer
in which Christopher Robin appears to make a conscious effort to cram in
as much fun as possible, knowing that another nine months or so of
boarding school awaits and unsure of what sort of person he will have
become by the time of his next extended visit.
I came by knowledge of this book from an unlikely source: Saturday Night Live. Seth Meyers mentioned the book's release during the Weekend Update
segment, announcing that there would be a new character, which set him
up for the distasteful punchline that this was a replacement for Eeyore,
who had decided to do away with himself. Eeyore is just as gloomy as
ever in this book, his sense of sarcasm as sharp as the thistles he
craves, but of all the characters, he seems to benefit most from the
arrival of spunky Lottie, an otter. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes is just
what is needed to draw Eeyore more deeply into the affairs of the rest
of the forest. The others are so tired of being shot down that they
hesitate to make friendly overtures to him anymore, but Lottie has the
right mix of optimism and stubbornness to lift Eeyore out of the
doldrums now and again.
The book has ten chapters, and while
certain scenes focus on only one or two characters, most are ensemble
efforts, effectively drawing in not only the major players, who also
include Rabbit, Tigger, Owl, Kanga and Roo, but oodles of Rabbit's
Friends and Relations. Consequently, there are many busy scenes in which
characters essentially talk over top of one another, their personality
quirks allowing for some very funny dialogue. I don't think there was a
single chapter that failed to make me laugh out loud. Benedictus has a
wonderful feel for these fluff-filled friends, and he imitates Milne's
style so effectively that it's easy to almost forget Milne didn't write
it himself.
Meanwhile, Mark Burgess does an admirable job with
the full-color illustrations. The mimicry isn't quite as precise in
this department; I don't think I would ever mistake these paintings for
Ernest Shepard originals. It's mostly in the faces that a slight
difference is apparent. But they are very well done nonetheless,
enhancing the book on nearly every page, with one massive two-page
spread toward the end of the book and a new map of the Wood on the
inside of the cover. Because the book is meant to be set less than a
year after The House at Pooh Corner, there's an old-fashioned
sense to story and illustrations alike, with a gramophone and Latin
lessons some of the more noteworthy antiquities. The book also has a
distinctly English feel to it, especially during the chapter in which
Christopher Robin teaches all of his friends how to play cricket.
Moreover, a chapter about the formation of a Hundred Acre Wood Academy
reminded me of Harry Potter with its talk of headmasters and prefects.
Benedictus gives each of the main characters moments in the spotlight.
Hyperactive Roo often rambles, while Kanga has a tendency to let her
maternal instincts extend beyond her own son; she especially has a knack
for reining in Tigger. Rabbit remains a fussbudget, which leads to his
extensive woodland census project, a source of amusement to me since it
reminds me so much of Hurley's similarly poorly-received attempts at the
same on LOST. Meanwhile, in one chapter reminiscent of his
attempts to cure Tigger of his bouncing, he hatches a rather
mean-spirited plan to dissuade Owl from writing his uncle's biography,
as the exercise makes the bird excessively cross. Never one to squelch
creative impulses, I found that chapter somewhat sad but was pleased to
see acknowledgment from some of the others that Rabbit's idea might not
have been too kind. Owl's pomposity is on full display whenever
possible, facilitating some of the book's funniest moments, and though
Christopher Robin usually humors him, there are times when even his
patience is tested by Owl's self-importance.
Though
Christopher Robin is the impetus for the adventures in this book, Piglet
remains Pooh's most constant companion, which is scarcely avoidable now
that they share a home. Piglet is as jittery as ever, both excitable
and timid. While the book is pretty episodic, a longer story arc,
wrapped up in the predominant theme of change, or lack thereof, is
Piglet's concern that Lottie's arrival will diminish him. In chapter
four, Piglet is secretly disappointed when he does something heroic but
Pooh overlooks it in favor of Lottie's contributions; in the eighth
chapter, he receives dramatic reinforcement of Pooh's respect for him.
Pooh himself is as obsessed with honey as ever, a preoccupation that
leads to more than one adventure this time around, and though he is
kind, he sometimes fails to notice the needs of others. At other times,
however, he is surprisingly attentive, as when he worries that he may be
offending the bees by taking their honey all the time without asking,
and he also concocts a clever plan or two over the course of the summer.
Most of all, Pooh is reflective. For a Bear of Little Brain, he
certainly does a lot of thinking, and scattered throughout the book are
five Hums of his composition.
Even better than the Hums
themselves are the ruminations on the poetic process. There's this, from
the first chapter: "...a hum is all very well as far as it goes, and
very well indeed when it goes for seven verses, but it isn't a Real Hum
until it's been tried out on somebody." Then, at the end of the eighth
chapter, comes the admission that made me laugh more than any other
single moment in the book, partly because I can relate so well. After
reciting a Hum containing a rather dubious simile, Pooh confesses, "But
it wasn't really like a fish, only I couldn't think of anything else and
then I ran out of time, and sometimes it's best to have something not
quite right in a hum so that everybody can say: 'Humph! I could have
done it better myself.'"
To this bit of self-deprecation,
Christopher Robin responds, "I couldn't have," and while I'm a little
bemused by the decision to publish an authorized sequel to the Pooh
novels after all these years and hundreds of unofficial books, I find
this conversation particularly fitting for the book itself. Just as Pooh
seeks to honor Piglet with his humble hum, Benedictus pays homage to
the world Milne created, and I think he does a better job of it than
even he might be quick to admit. All of the characters feel incredibly
authentic, and they weave in and out of simple adventures with clever
twists and perfect comic timing, with just a hint of somberness more
likely to be noticed by adults than children.
"Are you really
going to write us new adventures?" Christopher Robin inquires of the
author in the introduction. "Because we rather liked the old ones."
Thankfully, if you rather liked the old ones too, then I expect you will
find these new ones a rare treat indeed.
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