Skip to main content

Babar the King

Having found fertile land, Babar builds Celesteville, a well-organized society with a Palace of Work and a Palace of Pleasure. Everyone has a job; for example, Hatchibombotar waters the streets with his motor watercart.

Little Zephir and Arthur go to school--and Arthur, being a child, announces that three times three is eight. Zephir agrees. Having been corrected, Zephir remarks on the number nine: "It's like CAT-O-NINE TAILS!" Because this *is* what a little boy would think of.

In the final pages, Jean de Brunhoff seems to recall that he needs a problem or conflict, so he has Zephir touch a "strange-looking stick." The stick is in fact a snake, and it bites Babar's friend, "the old lady." Meanwhile, Cornelius, an elderly elephant, falls into unconsciousness when his house catches fire.

Jean the moralist focuses on Babar. In a fitful sleep, Babar finds himself caught up in a dream. Misfortune, Disease, Stupidity--all scary alligators--surround Babar. But then friendly elephants appear: Hope, Intelligence, Courage, Patience. These elephants drive the gators away. Whatever happens to Cornelius, Babar will live under the tutelage of Goodness, Joy, Health, Love, Knowledge, et al.

Of course the old lady and Cornelius turn out to be fine.

It's nice to imagine Jean with his children, narrating Babar's wacky dream, perhaps in trying times. I'm still a fan.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...