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A review by larrys
The Enchanted Wood, The Magic Faraway Tree, The Folk of The Faraway Tree, The Wishing Chair Again and Up The Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton
3.0
Having this year read the first two in the series and dishing out five stars, I have to admit to myself that despite everything – the imagination, the perfect pacing, the innate sense of what will appeal to children – this series has not dated well, and that this book, the third in the series, has aged the worst.
In the previous book cousin Dick came to stay – a greedy, hapless but lovable boy – my daughter enjoyed Dick's character more than the others. This time we have ‘Curious Connie’, a ‘spoilt only child’ who wears only pretty frocks and ribbons. Enid Blyton’s dismissal of such a girlie-girl borders on femme phobia, which might well be diagnosed after a wider consideration of her work – George from Famous Five in particular.
The young reader is encouraged to laugh at Connie’s expense as she is first verbally abused by the Angry Pixie, then has her dress covered in ink, and is then washed off by Dame Washalot’s sudsy water. All of this might well have a comic effect, except there is for some reason a nasty edge:
Mother says: “And don’t pout like that, Connie. I don’t like it. It makes you look really ugly.”
As an adult reader I see that Connie is simply conforming to the expectations expected of her gender; the reason she is upset and ‘pouting’ is because she wants to wear a pretty dress. But Connie can’t win, because expressing regret on her face makes her look ‘ugly’, as if little girls are obligated to look amenable at all times.
The ganging up and threats of harm against Connie continue throughout the story:
“Now, if you don’t climb down pretty fast, I shall be treading on your fingers!” [Moon-face] said, and that made Connie squeal and climb down much more quickly than she had meant to.
When the children arrive home: Mother wasn’t very pleased to see how dirty, ink-spotted and ragged Connie’s clothes were when she came back with the others.
“I shan’t let you go with the others to the Faraway Tree again if you can’t keep yourself cleaner than this,” she said, crossly.
Except none of the ink-staining and water-staining was Connie’s fault; remember when Dick got soaked? There was no subsequent scene of admonishment for Dick. Instead, it was pure slap-stick.
Then there is the fact that Connie refuses to believe in stories she has heard about The Faraway Tree and Enchanted Wood. She is soon proved wrong as, one by one, she is introduced to Moon-Face, Silky et al, and the reader is encouraged to collude in ridicule; after all, we must have faith in stories that are told to us, no matter how ridiculous and far-fetched they may seem. This is a message implicit in various stories for children, including more recently The Polar Express, in which childhood is inherently magical, because children are magically gullible, and once we lose our ‘faith’ or our ‘belief’ in magic, we have lost childhood itself.
This particular message -- all too common in children's literature -- really grates with me, because ours is not a religious family and a far better lesson for my own child is ‘Think for yourself’.
So when Connie is mercilessly punished for failing to believe in magic and fairies, I feel a sense of injustice this time round. I mean, who would believe in fairies? Really?
I don't know what to think of this book now, because I absolutely loved the entire series as a child. It is possible that while the pacing and the imagination and the setting of this book is wonderful, other aspects of it are simply not. But one cannot compensate for the other.
In the previous book cousin Dick came to stay – a greedy, hapless but lovable boy – my daughter enjoyed Dick's character more than the others. This time we have ‘Curious Connie’, a ‘spoilt only child’ who wears only pretty frocks and ribbons. Enid Blyton’s dismissal of such a girlie-girl borders on femme phobia, which might well be diagnosed after a wider consideration of her work – George from Famous Five in particular.
The young reader is encouraged to laugh at Connie’s expense as she is first verbally abused by the Angry Pixie, then has her dress covered in ink, and is then washed off by Dame Washalot’s sudsy water. All of this might well have a comic effect, except there is for some reason a nasty edge:
Mother says: “And don’t pout like that, Connie. I don’t like it. It makes you look really ugly.”
As an adult reader I see that Connie is simply conforming to the expectations expected of her gender; the reason she is upset and ‘pouting’ is because she wants to wear a pretty dress. But Connie can’t win, because expressing regret on her face makes her look ‘ugly’, as if little girls are obligated to look amenable at all times.
The ganging up and threats of harm against Connie continue throughout the story:
“Now, if you don’t climb down pretty fast, I shall be treading on your fingers!” [Moon-face] said, and that made Connie squeal and climb down much more quickly than she had meant to.
When the children arrive home: Mother wasn’t very pleased to see how dirty, ink-spotted and ragged Connie’s clothes were when she came back with the others.
“I shan’t let you go with the others to the Faraway Tree again if you can’t keep yourself cleaner than this,” she said, crossly.
Except none of the ink-staining and water-staining was Connie’s fault; remember when Dick got soaked? There was no subsequent scene of admonishment for Dick. Instead, it was pure slap-stick.
Then there is the fact that Connie refuses to believe in stories she has heard about The Faraway Tree and Enchanted Wood. She is soon proved wrong as, one by one, she is introduced to Moon-Face, Silky et al, and the reader is encouraged to collude in ridicule; after all, we must have faith in stories that are told to us, no matter how ridiculous and far-fetched they may seem. This is a message implicit in various stories for children, including more recently The Polar Express, in which childhood is inherently magical, because children are magically gullible, and once we lose our ‘faith’ or our ‘belief’ in magic, we have lost childhood itself.
This particular message -- all too common in children's literature -- really grates with me, because ours is not a religious family and a far better lesson for my own child is ‘Think for yourself’.
So when Connie is mercilessly punished for failing to believe in magic and fairies, I feel a sense of injustice this time round. I mean, who would believe in fairies? Really?
I don't know what to think of this book now, because I absolutely loved the entire series as a child. It is possible that while the pacing and the imagination and the setting of this book is wonderful, other aspects of it are simply not. But one cannot compensate for the other.