The Joy of Never Stopping Reading Children’s Books
Part 1
Posted 29 September 2019, by Daria Belostotckaia
“I only want to live in peace, plant potatoes and dream!”
When I was little, I loved books with illustrations, books about creatures that were not like humans, books filled with wisdom – though never nagging – that sounded good and comforting, as if someone was pouring hot chocolate into my mug. Those were children’s books.
There were books that I spent hours, or maybe days, just looking at the same illustrations, and rereading the same stories. Now I can’t explain why. For example, I loved a French book I had, which was based on a comic strip - Pif et Hercule. It was about a dog (the protagonist) and a cat (the antagonist), who would go to the movies, or try to feed a baby directly from a cow. My dedication to that book is somewhat unclear to me. My guess is that I thought they were really amusing, and while my family tried to convince me to read other books, this book was my guilty pleasure.
There are a few books, however, that won my heart a long time ago, and kept it captured ever since. I’m currently revisiting my old attachment to the world of Moomins, so beautifully drawn by the Finnish painter and writer Tove Jansson. I’m now in proud possession of a few stories, and an encyclopedia about the world of Moomins. My husband, Sam, reads them to me before I go to sleep, and my nights have never been sweeter. Don’t worry. I read other books. I actually read a good amount. I even managed to suffer through Joyce.
When I try to explain what the books about Moomins are like, I say that it’s about as hygge as one can get. Hygge is a Danish and Norwegian word for feeling cosy and content, it’s about any sensation of comfort that can come from company, light, warmth or softness. It can be anything, but it’s impossible to confuse. Since it’s a Northern world, my main association is with a cold world outside, but indoors is filled with warmth, soft light, blankets and warm drinks. Moomins are all of those things. Just read this:
“The quiet transition from autumn to winter is not a bad time at all. It's a time for protecting and securing things and for making sure you've got in as many supplies as you can. It's nice to gather together everything you possess as close to you as possible, to store up your warmth and your thoughts and burrow yourself into a deep hole inside, a core of safety where you can defend what is important and precious and your very own. Then the cold and the storms and the darkness can do their worst. They can grope their way up the walls looking for a way in, but they won't find one, everything is shut, and you sit inside, laughing in your warmth and your solitude, for you have had foresight.”
Moomins are small, very round creatures that are friendly, content, and humourous in a rather subtle way. They’re always having friends around, looking for adventures and enjoying every moment for what it is. These are books of quiet joy, even when they are about loss, sorrow, and confusion. It was in these books that I found one of the most precise descriptions of depression:
“The hemulen woke up slowly and recognised himself and wished he had been someone he didn't know. He felt even tireder than when he went to bed, and here it was — another day which would go on until evening and then there would be another one and another one which would be the same as all days are when they are lived by a hemulen”.
What I love about children’s books the most, perhaps, is their slight weirdness – which, in fact, is not weirdness at all since it comes from the way things are said in these books – directly, immediately the moment things are felt, going straight to your heart. And I admire this honesty that somehow sounds so kind because it has no purpose other than describing things for what they are, with no intention of harm or superiority. That may be because often the main characters of children’s books are rather inconspicuous, unambitious, slightly awkward creatures, to hear the truth from whom is bearable.
“When one’s dead, then one’s dead. This squirrel will become earth all in his time. And later on still there’ll grow trees from him, with new squirrels skipping about in them. Do you think that’s so very sad?”
“Quite, quite,' she thought with a little sigh. 'It's always like this in their adventures. To save and be saved. I wish somebody would write a story sometime about the people who warm up the heroes afterward.”
I keep coming back to these books as to the most precious treasures. Reading Tove Jansson’s stories or even just staring at illustrations the same way I did as a child helps me to slow down, to breathe, to look out of the window and enjoy a falling leaf, to dream about good food and good weather, to hug a person I love – in other words, to be kinder.
“All things are so very uncertain, and that's exactly what makes me feel reassured.”
If you like existential children books that are perceptive of human psychology, I'd recommend starting with Moominvalley in November, Comet in Moominland, Moominland Midwinter.