So I had a conversation with my mother-in-law the other day that made me really sad. Somehow we got onto the topic of allegory and she said something like this: “I never really liked C.S. Lewis or any of that allegorical stuff. I don’t like Harry Potter and I don’t understand Lord of the Rings; writing has to be realistic in order to mean anything – fantasy is just kid’s stuff and it’s not important.”
I nodded politely along then headed out to the garage so I could sit by myself with my LOTR tattoo and Neal Gaiman short story collection and wonder what’s wrong with this crazy family I married into.
My husband doesn’t read fiction, which was a hard hurdle for us to get over but which I eventually understood was related to his ADD so I see it more as a minor disability than as a personal flaw – he doesn’t read history or nonfiction either, only books about mechanics and chemical formulas, or as he puts it “Books I can use.”
My father-, brother-, and mother-in-laws don’t read fiction either, though, so I’m coming to see this as a nurture-more-than-nature issue.
When I was a kid my parents and grandparents read to and with me all the time. My grandmother would sit down and draw mermaids with my sister and I and we would make up stories about how they lived; my father read The Hobbit to me when I was only five years old and it made me look forward to bedtime every night because I wanted to see what Bilbo was up to next; my mother started a reading circle with my sister and I when I was 12, in which we would sit down and read whole novels to one another; I will admit that I can’t remember my grandfather reading me any books, but he was a magician (literally – check out http://kirkkirkham.blogspot.com/ - my dad’s blog about his dad) and so the fantastic was part of everyday life when he was around. I was raised to adore fantasy, to believe in the power of the imagination and the possibility of magic, of the strength of hope and wonder.
What happens when you take that kind of magic away? I’m not sure that it ruins people. But I don’t think that it does them any good. I get frustrated with my husband sometimes because of it; he enjoys Science Fiction occasionally, but thinks that LOTR is boring and Harry Potter is dumb, he has no patience for fairy tales and no time for whimsy. I love him, but that’s just a little sad.
I’m fairly convinced that most English majors are raised in an environment conducive to crushed dreams and heartbreaking revelations; we probably believed in Santa long after all the other kids in our class did, and played with Barbies when we were much too old for them, and still think that maybe we might someday see a fairy or a dragon. Fantasy doesn’t lead to the most realistic adults, but in this world who wants to be a realist? I’ll take the idealism, hope, magic and whimsy of fantasy with me forever and I’ll try to someday pass it on to my kids too – and no matter that he missed out on it as a child, you better believe that my husband will participate in fostering magic in the lives of his children.
So where do you stand? Fantasy or Facts? Do you still believe in Santa Claus or do you think it’s cruel to lie to children about tooth fairies and Easter bunnies? Let me know in the comments.
Alli,
ReplyDeleteI have to say that I never believed in Santa (or God for that matter) because my parents never told me to- they were very open with me about the fact that this was all in the realm of fantasy. But, that lack of belief never diminished the magic of the fantasy for me. I think fantasy is incredibly important and that the metaphors and life lessons that they portray and the sense of wonder that they instill in us as children are priceless. Even though I have never believed in anything supernatural, the fantastic has been a big part of my life and upbringing because it represents a magical way of looking at the world and of seeing the ordinary in through a creative lens. And I think that's what all fantasy literature and cultural myths are to some extent- a way of beautifying this otherwise often depressing world. Thanks for this blog, Alli!
-Leena
You may not have believed in Santa, but I know for sure you played with barbies after all your friends had stopped - even if it was just making the barbies talk in your head. Fuck santa and fairies - it's imagination that matters.
ReplyDeleteI have always had a strong fascination with history. I loved historical fiction going up and I can remember reading a book about the pony express that stirred my imagination crazy. My favorite period in American literature is the realism of the 19th century.
ReplyDeleteI never really got into Lord of the Rings or wizards and such because my grandfather (and my dad)loved history, mostly World War II.
I was the kid who played with GI Joes until high school when my mom "mysteriously" lost the key to the trunk where they were kept.
But I have sense opened that chest and from time to time find myself drawn to it.
Its a way of making my own fantasy land. A way of bring my imagination into a tangible reality.
Fantasy, whether in the form of dungeons and dragons or cowboys and indians, is important in any creative soul.
Great post! And furthermore I say your a bad ass for having a LOTR tattoo... Your cool in my book! My parents didn't really fuel my love of fantasy, but they didn't hinder it either. I have children now and I'm going to give them tons of fantasy!
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