Skip to main content

The Story of Babar

 Babar the elephant enjoys the beach, in youth; he digs in sand, with a little shell. The shell rests in a fold that he has created with his trunk. After the brutal murder of his mother, Babar retreats to Paris, where he briefly becomes distracted by an elevator in a department store. The kind intervention of an elderly Parisienne ensures that Babar will find his way: He learns about deportment, analytical thought, etc.


The king of the jungle dies; Babar must return to his ancestral lands. Here, he rules with grace; he loses his temper only once. That's not to say that life is placid. Awaiting the birth of one of his offspring, Babar can't focus; he must take a brisk walk, in an effort to cope with his nervousness. Also, foreign invaders rear their heads, at times. And Babar's hot-air balloon blows off course; there are moments of hunger, there is the temptation of despair.

A great fan of these stories, Maurice Sendak, has written eloquently about the subtext:

The precious sense of reason moves and excites me. Babar the very good little elephant deserves his kingdom. He is noble, and it is by preserving his inner worth that he gains his position in life. But the lessons are suggested in a tone so humorous, so engaging, that they are irresistible. The grace and graphic charm are almost sufficient in themselves, but to deny the message is to deny the full weight of de Brunhoff's genius....

Babar's story has been a source of comfort and inspiration for my family. Tipping my hat to de Brunhoff's son today; Laurent de Brunhoff was a colleague of Sendak's, and a gifted artist in his own way. Laurent died, recently, after a life of beautiful work. Many thanks.



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...