Through a child's eyes

For my birthday, Miriam bought me several children's books that I fondly remember from elementary school. Books like Charlotte's Web, My Side of the Mountain and several others. She got a kick out of how I remembered those books and would occasionally talk about them with her.

So, I've begun reading them, and I thought that I would do some book reviews. Not exclusively whether they were good or bad, but whether they were better or worse than what I expected. But maybe that would be a little bit boring, so I decided to focus in on a particular thought I've been ruminating about for awhile that's brought to light by these books.

I realized that one literary/dramatic device that I love is the use of a child's perspective to add depth, richness and understanding to some event or situation. Although this is a generalization, I think we typically see the difference between adulthood and childhood like this: Adult = Complex, Child = Simple. Not that this is the only way we view the difference, but it is one of the main ways.

One way authors or directors use this is by presenting a scenario through a child's eyes, with the expectation that as adults, we are able to see more deeply into a situation than the child protagonist can.

For example, in the movie Forrest Gump, where Forrest is not a child, but functions like a child with his simplicity and naivete, there is a scene when he and Jenny are walking around their old neighborhood. This is after she has led her wild, party life, and after Forrest has gone through a series of adventures that have left him independent (due to his Bubba Gump/Apple fortune) and alone (due to the death of his mother). Anyway, they are walking, and they come to Jenny's old house, when she begins to cry and starts throwing rocks at the house. Then she kind of falls down and weeps while sitting on the ground. And in that moving moment of sadness, Forrest says (as the narrator) "Sometimes, there just aren't enough rocks."

The character, Forrest, is speaking literally. Jenny has no more rocks to throw at the house. But we, the audience, know more, and know how true what Forrest says is, even more than he knows. Because we know that Jenny was sexually abused as a child, because we know why she is throwing rocks, because we know what that house means to her. So, when Forrest says "Sometimes, there just aren't enough rocks" he is speaking a metaphor for the situation that is so powerful that to try and explain it would do it an injustice.

Anyway, my favorite book that I've gotten through so far has been Bridge to Terebithia. And I realized that partially, it's because it uses the same device to express its pain, its reality, its rawness through a character that at only 10 years old, doesn't quite know how to express his grief and to deal with tragedy, but somehow comes through it stronger and better than he was before. The main character, Jess, befriends the "new girl" at school, Leslie, and they form a firm and fast friendship. Near their homes (they are neighbors), they imagine a world of their own - Terebithia - where they are king and queen. It's a sad story, so you can imagine what happens. But I love the last few chapters that feel kind of like a whirlwind, in which Jess deals with his grief. I love it because a child can't comprehend his own grief, but still need to cope with it somehow. Not that adults can necessarily comprehend it either, but it's different. So it comes out in wild thoughts and actions (blaming people, running away with no clue where he's going), in denial, and in the dreadful fear of the Great Unknown - is she going to hell, is it his, Jess's, fault that she died?

I think this is why Goblet of Fire is my favorite Harry Potter book. It's mainly because of the events that happen after Harry returns from the graveyard, with the fresh horror of his experiences before him. I love the scene with Dumbledore and Sirius, listening to Harry recount the details of his encounter with Voldemort. He describes everything, but when it comes to memories that are a little too hard for him to say, all he feels is the lump in his throat. He hasn't been able to process it, and he doesn't want to process it. He just wants to leave it behind and forget about it. How can he process that he had seen his parents there beside him while locked in mortal combat with Voldemort, how they had spoken to him, how for one minute, it seemed like they were alive. His parents, who were with him as he looked in the Mirror of Erised - the one wish he had was to have his parents with him.

I also love when he goes to the hospital wing, and after Fudge and Dumbledore "part ways" Harry begins to say and think about how he told Cedric to take the Cup with him, and how he felt somehow responsible for Cedric's death. And how he wished that Ron would look away as he almost began crying, and how Mrs. Weasley hugs him almost like his mother, but not quite.

What I love about these scenes is of how Rowling captures 14 year old Harry - old enough to survive (almost a man!) but not old enough to be able to handle the enormity of what he has just experienced (not that many of us would). I love how she describes it all vaguely so that we are meant to empathize with Harry, not analyze him. We are meant to feel the lump in our throat as Harry does, not being able to speak because of what has just happened. We are meant to feel the the onrush of the tears that he longs to hide behind the boyish notion that men aren't supposed to cry (yes, it's okay if men cry! I think...).

I think that's why I ultimately love this convention of seeing events through a child's eyes - it leads to things being indirect and vague - kind of like a painting with shadows and indistinct lines as opposed to a realistic copy. There are all sorts of suggestions in this, different nooks and crannies to explore in the experience of the story.

"Sometimes, there just aren't enough rocks." One of my favorite movie lines, ever.

So anyway, back to my original intent, and remember, this is more about expectation and remembrance than it is about whether the book is actually good or not. I've like all of them so far. Bridge to Terebithia - thumbs up. My Side of the Mountain - thumbs down. The Indian in the Cupboard - TBD.