I think about the passage of time a lot, and the difference time can make on our perspectives. There are moments when time doesn’t seem to make a difference at all, and there are moments when time changes our perspective completely.
In May 2012, I graduated Sarah Lawrence College on my dad’s fifty-fourth birthday. In 2012, I was bright-eyed, hopeful, and ready to attempt to make my way in a world I was unprepared for. I moved back home to Connecticut after graduation and took a job babysitting, followed by tutoring, two jobs writing, and finally another job babysitting. My goal: pay off my student loans as fast as possible.
Somehow, I managed to cobble all of these jobs together into a cohesive schedule. I was focused on work. I babysat three mornings a week, wrote in the afternoons, tutored twice weekly, and still wrote when I came home.
To decompress, I would lose myself in boxed sets of my favorite TV shows. I liked science fiction at the time. I’d been a big fan of 2003’s Battlestar Galactica and 2009’s Dollhouse; I was disappointed when Syfy cancelled Caprica, and reluctantly gave Warehouse 13 a shot.
I loved the imagination in these shows. I loved the questions they posed, and I liked thinking about where the story was going.
I loved the imagination in these shows. I loved the questions they posed, and I liked thinking about where the story was going. It was also a genre that is the epitome of shows cancelled before their time and so, in the spring of 2013, I reluctantly left my comfort zone for a new show called Defiance.
Defiance premiered on the Syfy Channel in April 2013.
Its premise was that in 2013 a group of different alien races known as the Votanus Collective arrived on Earth. The worlds that each race inhabited were dying, so they built arks that carried their people across the stars.
But this was all backstory. The series picked up thirty years later with Joshua Nolan hunting for “ark tech” with his daughter, an alien girl named Irisa, whom he saved from a cult. They run into trouble and are brought to the former city of St. Louis, which has been renamed Defiance.
As a 2013 viewer, I was drawn into the show by the complex narratives presented. Defiance was a place where both humans and Votans could live in peace, and where the different cultures were respected, but it still had its own social ecosystem which made for good stories.
I found myself coming back to Defiance each week for the complex characters with their own motivations and fallacies. No character in Defiance was just there, they all had a role to play that drove the story forward. Most importantly there was an array of women who weren’t only strong, but complex in their own right.
I found myself coming back to Defiance each week for the complex characters with their own motivations and fallacies…. There was an array of women who weren’t only strong, but complex in their own right.
There was Amanda Rosewater, the newly minted mayor who always had a plan and yet was insecure in times of stress. Then there was her sister Kenya, who ran the bar and brothel called the Need/Want. Irisa, Nolan’s daughter, was just starting to come into her own and push back against her father. Doc Yewll was a serious scientist who let nothing stand in the way of her doing her job, and still had a shady past. Christy McCawley was a young woman in love with an alien boy against her father’s wishes, and while her story was arguably the most like a teen movie, it still sucked me in.
Yet, the character that really drew me in was Stahma Tarr. Stahma’s a Castithan woman who was married to the town loan shark, Datak Tarr. Over Defiance’s three seasons the couple and their son Alak presented a story not unlike many immigrant narratives as Stahma struggled to break the bonds of their old world, while Datak held tight to them.
Looking back, it isn’t surprising that she was one of the first characters I gravitated towards. Stahma and Datak carried themselves in a way that reminded me of the Purebloods in Harry Potter. In 2012, I’d written an op-ed about Bellatrix Lestrange and how her manic tendencies were something I admired because she was unapologetic for who she was. The Black family quickly became my favorite Harry Potter characters because of their history and complexity. Stahma reminded me of Bellatrix’s sister, Narcissa Malfoy, who I was also drawn to because she walked the line of self-preservation. She wasn’t setting out to do the right thing, just to take care of her family.
Stahma had similar motivations. Throughout the first season, Stahma pulled strings and manipulated situations to serve her interests. It was selfish, but it was all for the good of her family, and she wasn’t afraid to do what was needed.
In season two of Defiance, with Datak in prison and her son running the family business, Stahma had to find a way to ensure her survival without breaking the edicts of the Castithan homeworld. On Casti, their home planet, women weren’t allowed to run businesses and they weren’t supposed to have opinions, but Stahma believed in the new world that Earth promised, and she wanted to break the cycle.
Her feminist narrative was one of the strongest of season two and one of the reasons that I kept watching the show. Yet, Stahma’s narrative always felt like she was in danger of being found out.
Defiance was cancelled in 2015 shortly after the Season 3 finale aired, but I hadn’t seen it.
I was neck deep in a redesign work project and cultivating a friendship with my brother’s girlfriend. Since moving back home in 2012, I had put up my own stasis nets. I had lived with a presumption that I could, and possibly would, move at any time, but that hadn’t happened.
I had put up my own stasis nets. I had lived with a presumption that I could, and possibly would, move at any time, but that hadn’t happened.
While I was living at home, Sunday dinners had become a ritual, with my brother and his girlfriend coming over every week—sometimes on short notice—and that meant I was often cooking dinner. Over the course of a year and a half I got to know his girlfriend and we became friends. I taught her to knit and we went to trunk shows in New York City and knitting circles together. I showed my mom and brother the sometimes-complicated world of buying yarn from independent dyers online for Christmas and her birthday, and often served as a fit guide for when my mom decided to buy her clothes.
I wanted to do it, I was happy to do it. I liked my brother’s girlfriend, but a nagging part of me thought to myself: “She’s currently my only friend. What happens if this doesn’t work out?”
Before Christmas 2015, they broke up. She disappeared from my life like a shadow in the corner of my eye. That’s when my mother looked at me and said, “She was your friend. I didn’t even think about that.”
“I did,” I replied.
Since then, the stasis nets went back up. This time, not because I was planning to move, but because I didn’t want to lose another friend that way.
When 2016 rolled around I vowed that I would start doing things for myself again. A big project at work had recently come to an end and suddenly I had free time and didn’t know what to do with myself.
I got back into reading and went to a book group at my local independent bookstore…. Yet, I also felt lonely, in the way that someone describes being alone in a crowd of people.
I started writing television reviews for Tell-Tale TV, and threw myself full-tilt into a blog. I got back into reading and went to a book group at my local independent bookstore, and I kept doing things like the weekly grocery run. Yet, I also felt lonely, in the way that someone describes being alone in a crowd of people.
It’s strange seeing a mirror of yourself when you don’t expect it.
In July 2018, I was working on an article for Tell-Tale TV. I’d been contributing to them regularly for over two years and I often credit the site with giving me an outlet to save my sanity. I had written an essay about the TV show Timeless and its place in the time travel genre, and was working on a list of shows with similarly rich narratives.
I was talking to a friend about the idea, and asking her if she knew about any other shows, when she said, “Defiance.”
I thought about it for a moment. Defiance had slipped away from me so slowly that it hadn’t even occurred to me when I made my list. I thought about it some more and searched for the show online. It had been five years since the premiere but the three seasons were on Amazon Prime.
I began to re-watch the pilot, and I came to the scene where Joshua Nolan walks into Defiance for the first time and sees Amanda Rosewater give a speech at a town celebration. Later, walking through town with the former mayor, Amanda says how she’s “genetically incapable of inspiring people.” Later, when the town is under attack, she’s struggling with how to address the citizens. She’s looking for the right words that will inspire them to take up arms against the Volge.
She compares herself to Mayor Nicky, and when she ultimately takes to the podium in front of a scared and confused town, she ditches her script and says plainly, “We’re all going do die!”
In those two scenes I started to realize that it wasn’t Stahma Tarr I should have been looking at, but Amanda. She was a newly minted mayor who was fighting for a town that she loved. In each season, the writers gave Amanda new challenges and she always approached it rationally. She didn’t have all the answers, but she always attempted to find the best way out of her situation.
In those two scenes I started to realize that it wasn’t Stahma Tarr I should have been looking at, but Amanda…. She didn’t have all the answers, but she always attempted to find the best way out of her situation.
My world is nothing like Amanda Rosewater’s. Her history and mine don’t mirror each other, but as the pilot progressed, I saw more of myself in Amanda. When Amanda is injured during the fight with the Volge she attempts to get up and keep fighting before Doc Yewll pushes her back down and tells her she’s on bed rest.
Around the time I fell behind on Defiance, I was working on an important project for work. The project was taking longer than expected and one day, I suddenly realized I hadn’t showered in three days or changed my clothes, because I was so focused on the task. Had I been Amanda, in her exact same situation, I would have tried to get up too. I would have pressed on and kept working.
Watching Amanda tend to Defiance also brought up a connection I never expected.
I moved back to Connecticut in the summer of 2012, and I was there when the Sandy Hook shooting occurred. I was home and ready to pursue the next stage of my life, but on December 14, 2012, it was like the town halted. There were memorials and services, and I was concerned about two of the kids I babysat.
“Ms. Lauren,” the older one asked me. “Do I have to talk about what happened?”
I was at the stove making macaroni and cheese. I turned and stooped down to his level. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “I know a lot of people are asking you questions. So, when I am here, if you want to talk about it, we can. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”
He smiled and went back to his snack. Going on six years, I remember how internally, I had promised myself that I would be there for these boys and my community. And I was, until the family ultimately moved, but I never did; I stayed in my town and watched the anniversaries pass.
Looking back, in the spring of 2013, Stahma gave me what I needed to survive. She gave me calculated exterior and the hope that I could affect change in some small way. But, in my actions, I was really Amanda. She put her own feelings and ambitions aside for the good of the town. She loved Defiance and the people in it.
In an interview, Julie Benz who played the role of Amanda broke down one of her final scenes in the season three finale, “Upon the March We Fittest Die.”
“For me, Amanda represents the heart of Defiance. She’s the only character who consistently puts aside her own feelings for the good of the town. She sacrificed her whole life for the survival of the town.”
A few weeks ago, I was conducting a phone interview with Jennifer Bartels from American Woman. We were discussing how the characters were each developed differently. Bartels, who plays Diana, said:
“I know, as a viewer and as a woman, I really look to align with different characteristics of different women. I have a little Bonnie in me, and I have a little Kathleen in me, and of course, I have quite a bit of Diana in me, so it’s nice that people can relate to different aspects of the characters.”
I’ve been thinking about both Stahma Tarr and Amanda Rosewater, and the different things I’ve liked about each of them…. Stahma gave me the armor I needed at a time when the community around me was raw and healing, but Amanda was who I was.
This quote stayed with me as I transcribed it, and finished Defiance all the way through for the first time. I’ve been thinking about both Stahma Tarr and Amanda Rosewater, and the different things I’ve liked about each of them, and I realized that I have aspects of both of them. Stahma gave me the armor I needed at a time when the community around me was raw and healing, but Amanda was who I was. I just had to take care not to lose myself in the service of others, and protect myself a little bit, like Stahma Tarr would.
For all her backstabbing, which made her a compelling character, Stahma always looked out for herself, and she valued those closest to her. Stahma might not be the best role model, but she definitely had a few personality traits that I can benefit from.
In today’s media, there’s often a push for children’s stories to be more energized than those aimed at adults, especially when it comes to film.
This usually manifests itself through aspects like faster pacing, quicker movements and/or animation, and more physical or juvenile jokes. This type of story is not inherently bad, and I do enjoy more frenetic tales at times. Occasionally, though, I just want a calmer story that doesn’t have more modern comedy, nor a high-concept setting, nor a menacing villain. Sometimes, all you really need out of a children’s story is a pleasant set of characters and some charming conversations. And for me, the absolute best example of this is Disney’s The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, a movie that has greatly affected my life, and one that resonates with me even more now that I’m older.
The film, released in 1977, is composed of three previous featurettes, plus a bit of segueing animation. It’s usually viewed in a positive light by both fans and critics, but it rarely receives outright acclaim. I believe that’s because it’s less flashy and high-stakes than other children’s movies. What people so often overlook, though, is that childhood isn’t always action-packed and intense. There isn’t always bitter conflict, and when you’re young, actual evil is far less common than kids’ stories claim. A lot of the time, life is just…simple. The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh is a very simple movie, and that’s why it’s so important to me, and why it’s managed to stick with me all these years.
I should mention that I also love the original Pooh Bear short stories by A. A. Milne. However, I’m going to focus on the first Disney adaptation for a few reasons. Firstly, the film does a great job translating the tone and characters of the books, so there’s no real need to contrast the two media. Additionally, a few things that make the stories so special are exclusive to the Disney version. Overall, while the Disney animated movie is of course indebted to Milne’s children’s classics, the movie has had the most influence on me, and I want to distill why this version is such a wonderful embodiment of what a calming, happy story for children should be like.
This version is such a wonderful embodiment of what a calming, happy story for children should be like.
Before I delve into everything that makes the movie great, I’ll summarize the plot and setting. Christopher Robin is a young boy who occasionally ventures into the magical Hundred Acre Wood, where he has several friends, all stuffed animals, who live there and love him dearly. Among them are the anxious, bashful Piglet; the controlling, authoritative Rabbit; the motherly Kanga and her enthusiastic son Roo; the hardworking Gopher (a character new to the film); the bouncy, rambunctious Tigger; the gloomy, depressed Eeyore; the thought-to-be-intelligent Owl; and, of course, the pure-hearted, surprisingly wise, “silly old bear,” Winnie the Pooh, or Pooh for short. In addition, there is the Narrator, a person in his own right who breaks the fourth wall and actually interacts with the other characters. The film details the characters’ “adventures” and interactions with each other in a calming, pleasant fashion.
To begin with, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh has a highly laidback, tranquil plot, especially when compared to other kid’s films. The pacing is especially barebones: there isn’t one overarching narrative, but rather, several stories intertwined by the same cast of characters. As such, there is no villain, nor a central conflict that the characters must overcome through action or hijinks. Instead, it’s just these charming characters working off each other, having fun, and getting into low-stakes scrapes like being stuck in a hole or getting lost in the woods. The closest thing to an antagonist is just a nightmare Pooh has of “Heffalumps and Woozles,” which are creatures that don’t even exist; they’re just figments of the imagination.
Winnie the Pooh has a highly laidback, tranquil plot, especially when compared to other kid’s films.
That’s as good a place as any to further delve into the intricacies of the storytelling here. To reiterate, THERE IS NO VILLAIN. The stuffed animals are never given ages, but they’re all dear friends of Christopher Robin and seem to be bonded to him (not to mention the popular theory that the animals are all creations of Christopher’s imagination, and that the boy is only going inside his own mind to play with them, a conjecture I’ll deal with at a later point). Therefore, it’s reasonable to assume that they all have child mentalities, as well. That tells us that Pooh is very similar to a child, meaning that his dreams of Heffalumps and Woozles (clearly misnomers of “elephants and weasels,” a fact the movie spells out to the audience) are the embodiments of the fears that a child would have. In other words, the biggest threat the characters must face is their fear of the unknown and their overactive imaginations. Many other kids’ stories feature children as the protagonists, but rarely do you see such a straightforward, action-less conflict. It’s wholly unique in that the childlike protagonists must face issues that childhood viewers must face in the real world, as well.
Additionally, the style of artwork is much calmer and subtler than what modern-day children are used to in movies, especially animated ones. Without getting too much into animation history, Walt Disney Animation Studios lowered their budget and used cost-cutting techniques in their animated movies during the time The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh was made, resulting in a sketchier type of artwork that utilized more visuality of pencil drawings. Although partially by necessity, the choice to simplify the animation ended up working in favor of the movie in several ways. The animation now closely resembles the book illustrations of E. H. Shepard, helping to establish a mood that’s heartily in line with the original stories’. Connected to that, the movie subsequently has a warm, wholesomely enjoyable vibe to it rarely found in kinetic, energy-infused stories for kids that overpopulate today’s entertainment. It’s peaceful and calming, but never in a dull way. It’s just…satisfying, and nice. In other words, what childhood often is. Many kids love to pretend to have swordfights and space battles and epic quests of glory, but that pretty much never happens, and that’s okay. Winnie the Pooh shows that the normal, everyday “adventures” you have are wonderful in their own right.
The movie has a warm, wholesomely enjoyable vibe to it rarely found in kinetic, energy-infused stories for kids that overpopulate today’s entertainment. It’s peaceful and calming, but never in a dull way.
Another brilliant thing about the film is the varied roster of characters, as well as the pitch-perfect casting choices. The fact that all of the many protagonists are so very different means that children can identify with many of them easily. One might find themselves in line with the stubbornness of Rabbit, or the gloominess of Eeyore, or the inflated pride of Owl. The best way for me to convey the effectiveness of the characters is this: I like to say that Tigger is who I wanted to be like when I was little, Pooh Bear is who I want to be like now, and Piglet is who I’m most like in real life. You can connect with many of them, because they’re all so uniquely realistic, albeit in exaggerated ways. The most important thing, though, is that they’re all KIND. None of these creatures are unlikeable or mean-spirited; even when they mess up or get on one another’s nerves, they apologize and quickly become friends again. Going back to antagonism, sometimes children like to have an obviously evil villain to root against, but every once in a while, it’s worth remembering that, if you’re surrounded by friends and good people (or animals), there isn’t really anything worth hating or fearing.
None of these creatures are unlikeable or mean-spirited; even when they mess up or get on one another’s nerves, they apologize and quickly become friends again.
That utterly pure sentimentality is showcased to perfection by the voice actors. Over the years, I have become invested in the art of voice acting, and that’s largely thanks to the fact that Walt Disney Animation Studios reused many actors and actresses in their animated movies. Nearly every actor in The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh appears in another Disney movie, and the fun of hearing a voice in this film, then cropping up in another fills me with glee whenever I watch classic Disney movies now. Furthermore, these characters are largely so successful because the people portraying them hone in on precisely what makes them all so uniquely delightful. Ralph Wright nails the gloominess of Eeyore, John Fiedler is the only possible choice for the perpetually nervous and stuttering Piglet, and Paul Winchell is spot-on as the bouncy Tigger. And of course, there’s the absolutely marvelous Sterling Holloway as Winnie the Pooh. Holloway is my favorite voice actor of all time, and one of my favorite actors ever, period. He had numerous other roles in Disney features, but this is his most famous for a reason. He’s just so sweet, innocent, and kind as the Bear of Very Little Brain, and it makes my heart melt whenever I hear his voice. Casting is a factor of film that sometimes gets overlooked, but this movie shows why it’s so integral.
Finally, there’s the quality of timelessness that this story has. A lot of the time, a story is aimed exclusively at one age group, and it’s therefore constrained. Too often, a children’s story is too juvenile; it’s not something you can take in at one time, then come back to years later and enjoy as much as you did before. Either the pop culture references are poorly dated, or the effects and style haven’t held up, or it’s just not as well-written as you remembered. Every so often, though, there’s a story like this one that’s different when you experience it again years later, but in a good way. You appreciate the more nuanced moments and messages even more because you’re old enough to understand the depth of what they mean. It’s like a magic trick: you sit back and wait a bit, and suddenly, all sorts of things that you couldn’t see before come out to delight you. The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh is one of those stories. The animation isn’t as flashy or ambitious as other children’s animated movies, but I love that even more now for its calming presence and warm tone. The jokes that involve subtle wordplay aren’t laugh-out-loud, but nowadays I appreciate that softer style of humor; in contrast, jokes involving the Narrator breaking the fourth wall and talking to the characters are much funnier to me as an adult, since I appreciate their cleverness. The songs by the always-brilliant Sherman Brothers are clever and catchy, and they just fill me with warmness and giggles. The story is excessively simple, but hey—when you’ve grown up, and everything seems like it moves at breakneck speed, simple is all you want from a story, and this movie delivers that. It’s a movie that only gets better with each passing year.
It’s a story that often seems to be liked, but not loved, and I can’t help but think that it’s a little underappreciated simply because…well, because it’s so simple.
It sounds cliché, but The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh really is my childhood. In all honesty, I can’t even say it’s my favorite movie, or even my favorite Disney animated movie. But there isn’t another film, or even another story, that has done more to shape what I appreciate, how I want to act, and who I want to be like. It’s a story that often seems to be liked, but not loved, and I can’t help but think that it’s a little underappreciated simply because…well, because it’s so simple. However, it’s largely thanks to this story that I try to be kind to whoever I can, and attempt to keep a childlike, innocent perspective whenever I do something, and just strive to have a pleasant time in life. I genuinely think if everyone took the time to sit down and enjoy it, they’d remember the basic goodness of what it was like to be a kid, and the joys to be found in the little things. Things like bouncing, and going for walks, and just sitting and doing nothing. Everyone wants to just do nothing every so often, and Winnie the Pooh shows that that isn’t a bad thought. If the last scene of the movie is anything to go by, then it’s clear that childhood is something you should cherish. I certainly do, and I think we all should.
The first time I read Lord of the Rings, I was annoyed by the anal description of the Shire and abandoned it.
My mother insisted that this trilogy of books had saved her life, and I just needed to push forward. At the time, I had discovered the magic of reading, but I could not yet comprehend how a fictional world could become your home and give you strength in times of need. I obeyed, but it was mainly to prove her wrong. And then I met Gandalf, and Tom Bombadil, and Aragorn. From the second Aragorn the wanderer came into my life, I felt relieved – he, too, made the choice to be a nomad who explored the Earth, told the truth as it was, protected the defenseless ones, and honored the elders and the traditions. There was such an obvious resemblance between us. As I kept reading, I fell in love with Arwen; I faced the demons of Rohan; with white knuckles, and my heart beating too fast, I entered the cave of ghosts. I helped in all the battles. I broke Eowyn’s heart. And, finally, I built a home.
At the time, I had discovered the magic of reading, but I could not yet comprehend how a fictional world could become your home and give you strength in times of need.
Since then, I have seen many movies making fun of the sensitive nerds who have a hard time at school and take refuge in imaginary worlds. I never identified with those people, and yet, now that I tell this story, I admit that I owe my sanity to fantasy worlds. I remember that my family was puzzled by how often I read Harry Potter; every time a new book of the series came out, I started all over again, from the first volume. So, I have read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone seven times, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets six times, and so on, and so forth. For some reason, I believe that would make J.K. Rowling happy, maybe because it has a sense of magic to it. I would read the adventures of my sister-in-arms Hermione, and her friends, Harry and Ron, while brushing my teeth, walking to school, and also secretly after curfew and early in the morning. With Harry Potter, no matter where I opened any of the books, I was home, and I was safe. I knew the geography of the castle. I studied the main courses of magic by adding up all the information I could find in the novels. I waited for my Hogwarts letter, but never resented not getting it. (Last year, the love of my life had a Hogwarts letter made for me, with my name and my address, and deposited it on my bed – as you may guess, I am marrying him.
I admit that I owe my sanity to fantasy worlds.
Harry Potter changed my relationship to reality and fiction, because it was such a widespread phenomenon that I wasn’t considered a freak for going back in again and again. I could talk to friends about the world and the characters. Practicing spells was a kids’ game. I was allowed to consider the pros and cons of the different modes of transportation – broom, train, flying car, Floo Powder, Thestral. As much as my longing for the Shire and Lothlorien was a shameful secret (I come from a family of intellectuals, and fantasy literature is not favorably looked upon), Hogwarts was instead the first imaginary world I shared with other people. I subscribed to writing forums, where we would create our own character within Hogwarts, and then develop adventures. Real human beings and I were interacting inside my home, and I felt closer to them than to most of my schoolmates. On those forums, I had a voice, a style, a personality. Being a hard-worker, who wrote a lot and with regularity, was appreciated. Being specific about what the tavern looked like, or what the forest smelled like, was rewarded.
My fictional refuge had been somewhat validated, and from there, I braved other worlds and quests. Discovering Eragon was, at first, the secret of the dragon egg in my house, then the guilt and the training with a tough mentor, and finally the transformation from a small life to an international trip across borders. My favorite passage that I kept coming back to was the training of Eragon at the Elves’ domain. He knew much about socializing, fighting, being discreet, negotiating. What he didn’t know yet was connection. Alone, the book in my hands, I craved connection on another level, something profound and true that I didn’t find often amongst my peers. When Eragon was ordered to sit down in silence, to meditate, and to feel the ants walking and working, to listen to all sounds without exception, I felt shivers and shudders. I discovered much later that these messages are repeated by calm voices in guided meditations. For me, though, the spirituality behind Eragon’s new behavior overwhelmed me with hope: it suggested that true magic was attainable through sitting down, and, with discipline and patience, opening yourself up to the world.
I had learnt from Aragorn’s integrity and sense of duty, Hermione’s straightforwardness and perseverance, and Eragon’s curiosity and bravery.
So far, I had learnt from Aragorn’s integrity and sense of duty, Hermione’s straightforwardness and perseverance, and Eragon’s curiosity and bravery. In each of those universes, the rules had been simple – good versus evil. My beliefs were the right ones. I just had to grow enough to share them with others and make them win over darkness.
Then, with Tales of the Otori, everything changed. Suddenly, the hero had a million mentors from different families with extensive backgrounds. Diverse magical powers were born from specific paths. Every quick judgment about a character representing “good” or “evil” was contradicted. I was constantly surprised, shocked, and taught to search for nuances, to look beyond appearances. In a way, all the nuances I had been running away from, all the complications, the grey areas, were coming back in the fictional world. The advantage is that they were explained. I could track down the why and how of my mistakes and the power of my individual choices. When the hero chose wrong, I paled at the harshness of the consequences, and then was captivated by how he rebuilt himself and his environment. I discovered that love and identity were worth fighting for and were a construction that I had to come back to every single day.
Armed with this new wisdom, I finally stumbled into the most magical universe of all: I followed the footsteps of Lyra in Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials. It started innocently enough as a children’s book – we were playing in the mud, defying authority, refusing baths, and asking too many questions. Then, we had a goal: it was good versus evil, and we needed to defeat the sinister Mrs. Coulter, and side with Lord Asriel. At the end of the first book, though, the turn was so violent that I had to read the scenes again and again until agreeing that, yes, Lyra and I had been betrayed. The greater good was presented as more important than the worth of an individual life and that conflict has since then fascinated me.
As we moved into the next volumes of the trilogy, Lyra and I understood the necessity of some sacrifices, but also the slow work of time when it came to forgiveness, studying, and even magic. There was something utterly delicate in how she fell in love and how she learned that a gift can be used in many different ways, and that it is up to us to use our resources in the best way we see fit.
Philip Pullman taught me best what freedom truly means and how it invokes our sense of responsibility. He also showed me the delicate balance between what must be done and what we want to do.
Philip Pullman taught me best what freedom truly means and how it invokes our sense of responsibility. He also showed me the delicate balance between what must be done and what we want to do. I felt bittersweet wonder as I read the last chapter and I have never quite recovered. It has been the most intimate read of my life and I suspect it will always remain the most special universe I have ever visited. It is home, but it is also foreign, because, like reality, everything constantly moves: the borders, the power dynamics, and the people. There is a cycle and a stability with rules that cannot be altered, and there is free will and ethical dilemmas. In this world more than in any other, I had the privilege of learning how reality works – its religions, politics, relationships, and even life and death. In many ways, Philip Pullman became the mentor I had always been longing for.
Every time I walk into a bookstore, I touch the books, read the titles, waiting for one of them to call me. They often do, and every so often, I find new universes where I recognize the streets as if I had explored them by myself in another life.
Now I am twenty-five years old and still looking for answers and ways of looking at our world. Every time I walk into a bookstore, I touch the books, read the titles, waiting for one of them to call me. They often do, and every so often, I find new universes where I recognize the streets as if I had explored them by myself in another life. The last one to date is the gem La Passe-Miroir, a fantasy series by Christelle Dabos, and, amazingly enough, her first published work, where we follow a tough young woman, who can walk through mirrors and read the past of objects by touching them.
All I wish you now is that you find your own worlds and magic, mentors and maps, places where you feel at home, and journeys that teach you new ways to approach reality, with hope, humor, and tenderness.
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