Sleigh Bells Ring...Are You Listening?

I love The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg because it’s a spontaneous journey. Isn’t that every kid’s dream? That a train would appear out of the blue to take you to a magical destination, such as the North Pole? 

In our heart of hearts, we all want to see Santa in the flesh. Munching on a cookie and sipping his milk. Ascending the chimney. Jetting off in his sleigh with eight reindeer leading the way. As kids, we are convinced that we will catch him in the act. One way or another though, crafty Santa eludes us, making us believe without seeing.

This boy is the exception. He goes on the train ride of his life and not only meets Santa, but receives the first gift of Christmas: a chiming silver bell. Then, as with most magical adventures, he’s back at his house before anyone notices he’s gone. Jealousy doesn’t even come close. When I was little, I was a relatively compliant child: nice to my sister (most of the time), obedient to my parents (eh, as good as one gets), always remembered my “pleases” and “thank yous”…   

Dear Santa, why wasn’t I Polar Express material?         

Some people have all the luck. Merry Christmas! 

Hello, Treasure Trove

Having recently discussed one of my favorite stories, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, I feel justified in claiming the relevance of this post. It is also a chance to share a new obsession of mine. I am lusting after these even though, unfortunately, I already own all of them so there's no economically sound reason to go out and further adorn my overflowing bookshelf.

But the new classics released by Penguin are whimsical and absolutely beautiful. Sigh. The delicate scissors on the cover of Little Women are as charming as the characters in the story. Treasure Island's vibrant macaws hint at the exotic adventure to unfold. And who could possibly resist the little pink flamingos on the cover of Alice? It's the right amount of flair to celebrate the eccentricity that lies inside.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Everyone’s heard of Alice and her infamous journey into a land of talking caterpillars, disappearing cats, mobile playing cards, and everlasting tea parties. Like any other self-respecting six-year-old, I was enchanted by the impossibility of it all, which is why Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is so much fun to read. After poring over the pages, I cleverly deduced that there’s a world that makes sense and a world that doesn’t. As a kid, I figured that adults knew what they were doing so it was inevitable I would grow up into the more rational world – a world where rabbits don’t wear waistcoats or carry timepieces. This revelation was unappealing to say the least. No way was I going to turn into some boring adult!

I was so consumed by Alice’s adventure that over the years I read the book at least 7 more times (including its counterpart Through the Looking Glass), played the Cheshire Cat in a school play, built countless houses of cards, developed a tea addiction, and wrote my own version of an Alice in Wonderland movie. I even conceptualized the roles my sister and three neighborhood buddies were to undertake. Unfortunately, the film never came to light. Don’t tell me you weren’t wondering…

The point is, as I grew older I realized that Alice’s tale is more real than any of us may think. Every time I experienced something new – especially if it was out of my comfort zone – I felt like Alice, floundering in a strange land of mad people. I began identifying with her intensely, especially when I developed my first crush, entered both high school and college, studied abroad, and graduated. The day I realized that our everyday life is akin to Wonderland, it was as if the skies had opened up. A-ha moment! Here’s what I worked out: when we are comfortable, we are always in a place where things make sense, yet whenever something happens to undermine this comfort, we all become Alices seeking to understand a decidedly confusing world.

My six-year-old self would totally roll her eyes at this. Isn’t it kind of magical though that children’s stories can disclose messages to you at any age? Anyway, I loved this book because it grew up right alongside me, mirroring my changes and developments. I was Alice, bumbling along and trying to figure things out. Still haven’t really figured them out…

Thanks, Lewis Carroll. You did beautiful work.  

Let's Fly Away to Neverland

Treasure Maps and Tiaras is a blog I've dedicated to my favorite children's books. Children's books are special. Don't get me wrong, give me a copy of Madame Bovary any day and you'll find me sitting on my couch for hours with mug after mug of Earl Grey, lapping up the progression of events in sheer bliss. But the fact of the matter is, Madame Bovary doesn't mean as much to me as Matilda, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Barbar or any other childhood favorites. That's because I strongly believe that a true love of reading starts when you are young. It's where the magic all begins. These stories (among many others) are ones that completely bewitched me and made me develop a compulsive urge to discover more magic in other stories. They are fun, clever, and utterly unique. I mean, when you're little and believe in magic and happily ever afters, what could honestly be better than a healthy dose of Peter Pan?

Which brings me to my overall point. I am a twenty-something who recently graduated from college. While attending this fine institution, I was an English major and let me tell you, there was no Dr. Seuss happening in my classes. Instead, Dickens, Thackeray, Hawthorne, and Chaucer were my go-tos. At one point, when I was well into my 200 pages of reading slotted for the day, a worrisome thought crossed my mind. Am I cut out for this? I instantly felt ashamed that I wasn't acting like a true English major. How embarrassing. But then I realized that all I needed was a bit of balance. I had been overloading on all the harder stuff; what I truly craved was something light and fun. That's when I picked up The Wolves of Willoughby Chase for probably the tenth time and dove right in.

It was the best, most restorative feeling. I felt like I was young Rachel again who loved dressing up her Barbies, twirling about in her tutu, and reading to her little sister under a homemade tent. I was transported back into my childhood, back into someone who wanted to eat ice cream at least twice a day and thought lipstick was really, really cool. As an adult (well, sort of...), I found that reading children's books returned me to a kind of Neverland - a place where I never had to grow up and had the most innovative ideas on how I would spend my time. Living only in the present, never fretting about the future.

I think whenever we turn back to our favorite children's books, there's a part of us that gets rediscovered again. We become more hopeful, inspired, and confident. We refuse to settle for the mundane and dare to dream big. In that experience, the true power of the children's book is revealed. It is the power to touch someone at any age. I'm sorry, Flaubert, but Madame Bovary just doesn't do it like a simple, imaginative children's book.