Sometimes, the best available fiction is Kevin Henkes's "Chrysanthemum."
Henkes has a standard plot. A character is anxious about some aspect of himself. The character is not *wrong* to be anxious; in other words, the perceived problem is a *real* problem. Foolish adults tell the character not to worry, and this advice isn't helpful at all. The character continues to worry. Finally, the character meets someone who has *his same problem* -- and the knowledge that others are making their way through the world, flawed, struggling rather than suffering, is somehow *enough* ....Our main character decides he can *go on* ....
I'm thinking of "Wemberly Worried," where Wemberly should indeed worry. She knows that she is a wreck. Her parents say, basically, "Stop being a wreck" ....and this gets her nowhere. It's only a chance meeting with another insane child-mouse -- in school -- that gives Wemberly the courage she needs to proceed.
The same general set-up works for "The Year of Billy Miller." Billy worries that a fall has left him mentally incapacitated, in some mysterious way, and he knows that he is right to worry--because he overhears his mother voicing the same worry. I can't recall how the story plays out--except that the ending is happy--but, in any case, here is Henkes again acknowledging and "validating" a small child's fears (and also saying, you can get by despite your fears).
In "Chrysanthemum," the protagonist is given a batshit crazy first name. Chrysanthemum. Her classmates mock her name--because of course they just mock her name. Her parents, not comprehending, say: "But you have a *wonderful* name!" And this doesn't help at all.
It's only an encounter with a dazzling arts teacher--"Delphinium"--that leads Chrysanthemum to reevaluate her life. Delphinium says, "I love my eccentric name!" and, whether or not this is purely true, Chrysanthemum draws strength from the knowledge that someone else in the world is contending with precisely the thing Chrysanthemum herself is contending with.
Henkes concludes: "Chrysanthemum now didn't THINK her name was perfect. She KNEW it was." Who knows whether there even is such a thing as a perfect name? If you can will yourself to feel confident, then you can feel confident. Damn the odds.
I love this story-formula because it has a "meta" quality: Henkes is doing, for his readers, what Delphinium is doing for Chrysanthemum. Or what Wemberly's classmate does for Wemberly. "Look," says Henkes, in a subtextual way. "I know you're weird, and I'm weird, too. I tell these strange stories. But I've carved out a life for myself. And you will, as well."
This isn't Proust. It's not Alice Munro. But picking up a Henkes book is rarely--if ever--a bad idea. Who could fail to relate to Henkes's existential dilemmas? "I don't like my name. I don't like my gut. I don't like my thinning hair." And who couldn't draw strength from Henkes's message: "Toughen up. We're all in this mess together. Be calm and sensible and patient, and keep going."
I think of Henkes often, and I can't recommend his mouse stories to readers--whether small-sized or adult--highly enough.
P.S. In "Chrysanthemum," I particularly love the depiction of Victoria. Victoria is the little twit who really, really antagonizes Chrysanthemum. "I was named for my grandmother," she says proudly, "and YOU were named for just a FLOWER." And later, snidely: "Flowers are things that grow with poop around them....and worms....and snails...." It's not clear what the source of Victoria's deep, bottomless anger might be. And it's delightful to see that anger manifest itself as a crazed speech about dirty soil and flowers. I especially love that Henkes seems not to judge Victoria; he has compassion for her, and concern for whatever pain she might be in. Henkes simply reports on Victoria's behavior--calmly. "This is the world," says our artist. In Sondheim's words: "Crazy business, this....this life we live in!"
Henkes has a standard plot. A character is anxious about some aspect of himself. The character is not *wrong* to be anxious; in other words, the perceived problem is a *real* problem. Foolish adults tell the character not to worry, and this advice isn't helpful at all. The character continues to worry. Finally, the character meets someone who has *his same problem* -- and the knowledge that others are making their way through the world, flawed, struggling rather than suffering, is somehow *enough* ....Our main character decides he can *go on* ....
I'm thinking of "Wemberly Worried," where Wemberly should indeed worry. She knows that she is a wreck. Her parents say, basically, "Stop being a wreck" ....and this gets her nowhere. It's only a chance meeting with another insane child-mouse -- in school -- that gives Wemberly the courage she needs to proceed.
The same general set-up works for "The Year of Billy Miller." Billy worries that a fall has left him mentally incapacitated, in some mysterious way, and he knows that he is right to worry--because he overhears his mother voicing the same worry. I can't recall how the story plays out--except that the ending is happy--but, in any case, here is Henkes again acknowledging and "validating" a small child's fears (and also saying, you can get by despite your fears).
In "Chrysanthemum," the protagonist is given a batshit crazy first name. Chrysanthemum. Her classmates mock her name--because of course they just mock her name. Her parents, not comprehending, say: "But you have a *wonderful* name!" And this doesn't help at all.
It's only an encounter with a dazzling arts teacher--"Delphinium"--that leads Chrysanthemum to reevaluate her life. Delphinium says, "I love my eccentric name!" and, whether or not this is purely true, Chrysanthemum draws strength from the knowledge that someone else in the world is contending with precisely the thing Chrysanthemum herself is contending with.
Henkes concludes: "Chrysanthemum now didn't THINK her name was perfect. She KNEW it was." Who knows whether there even is such a thing as a perfect name? If you can will yourself to feel confident, then you can feel confident. Damn the odds.
I love this story-formula because it has a "meta" quality: Henkes is doing, for his readers, what Delphinium is doing for Chrysanthemum. Or what Wemberly's classmate does for Wemberly. "Look," says Henkes, in a subtextual way. "I know you're weird, and I'm weird, too. I tell these strange stories. But I've carved out a life for myself. And you will, as well."
This isn't Proust. It's not Alice Munro. But picking up a Henkes book is rarely--if ever--a bad idea. Who could fail to relate to Henkes's existential dilemmas? "I don't like my name. I don't like my gut. I don't like my thinning hair." And who couldn't draw strength from Henkes's message: "Toughen up. We're all in this mess together. Be calm and sensible and patient, and keep going."
I think of Henkes often, and I can't recommend his mouse stories to readers--whether small-sized or adult--highly enough.
P.S. In "Chrysanthemum," I particularly love the depiction of Victoria. Victoria is the little twit who really, really antagonizes Chrysanthemum. "I was named for my grandmother," she says proudly, "and YOU were named for just a FLOWER." And later, snidely: "Flowers are things that grow with poop around them....and worms....and snails...." It's not clear what the source of Victoria's deep, bottomless anger might be. And it's delightful to see that anger manifest itself as a crazed speech about dirty soil and flowers. I especially love that Henkes seems not to judge Victoria; he has compassion for her, and concern for whatever pain she might be in. Henkes simply reports on Victoria's behavior--calmly. "This is the world," says our artist. In Sondheim's words: "Crazy business, this....this life we live in!"
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