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A review by ririkolyana
The Velveteen Rabbit: Or How Toys Become Real by Margery Williams Bianco
5.0
My mother used to read this book to me and never got to finish it because she was crying so hard. When I got my Kindle for Christmas, it was one of the books in public domain that were available for free. I downloaded it immediately. I read through it all, nice and slow so I wouldn't miss anything. I balled like a newborn baby.
When I was little, this book was just a story about a rabbit that got lost by its owner. I didn't understand it then. I didn't understand the deep meaning behind it. I didn't understand what being Real was.
Being Real, to me, is being so comfortable in yourself, so happy and bright and wonderful that it feels like nothing in the world can bring you down. When you've experienced that kind of happiness, no one can take it away from you. You know the secret to it and can keep it always: Love. Love, as the Horse says, makes up real. It doesn't happen all at once, but happen it does. When we're old and worn and our own stuffing and buttons are falling off, we're still beautiful and young and fresh if we're Real.
"Once you are real, you can't be ugly, except to people that you don't understand," the Horse says. When love changes us so completely, beauty, from the marrow of our bones to the hairs on our heads, surrounds us and makes us the best kind of lovely. The lovely that you can't always see in a mirror, but can always feel.
That's what being Real means. It's peace. Peace with the world, with love, but ultimately with yourself, your harshest critic. What makes this book so wonderful is that it makes that Realness seem possible. It tells the reader that they, too, are a toy who will find its children one day. It gives something all too scarce nowadays: hope.
When I was little, this book was just a story about a rabbit that got lost by its owner. I didn't understand it then. I didn't understand the deep meaning behind it. I didn't understand what being Real was.
Being Real, to me, is being so comfortable in yourself, so happy and bright and wonderful that it feels like nothing in the world can bring you down. When you've experienced that kind of happiness, no one can take it away from you. You know the secret to it and can keep it always: Love. Love, as the Horse says, makes up real. It doesn't happen all at once, but happen it does. When we're old and worn and our own stuffing and buttons are falling off, we're still beautiful and young and fresh if we're Real.
"Once you are real, you can't be ugly, except to people that you don't understand," the Horse says. When love changes us so completely, beauty, from the marrow of our bones to the hairs on our heads, surrounds us and makes us the best kind of lovely. The lovely that you can't always see in a mirror, but can always feel.
That's what being Real means. It's peace. Peace with the world, with love, but ultimately with yourself, your harshest critic. What makes this book so wonderful is that it makes that Realness seem possible. It tells the reader that they, too, are a toy who will find its children one day. It gives something all too scarce nowadays: hope.