An unpopular opinion, and the reasons why

I discovered in looking for images for this post that every reviewer in the world loves the Peter and the Starcatchers books. Well, I do not. And I'm going to say why with spoilers, and many words, so you are hereby warned.

 I came home from Peter and the Starcatcher, the play, so wanting to spend more time with the characters that I cracked open Peter and the Shadow Thieves, the second in the Barry/Pearson series, and then went on number three, Peter and the Secret of Rundoon. And thus I remembered why I almost didn't give the play a chance.

First off, I freely admit to being put off by the complete departure from canon, from the character of Peter to the reason why Neverland exists. I have to accept here that one of my personal peeves is the reduction of the wondrous to something easily explained by a prosaic element. Starstuff is not prosaic in itself, but it's the single cause of literally all life in the universe and the reason for the cosmic battle between good and evil, life and the void. (How the diabolical Lord Ombra can be an ambassador for the void, yet exist, is not explained.)

Starstuff is the reason as well for why Peter doesn't age and can fly, the presence of mermaids (who began as fish exposed to starstuff--an explanation which the play turns into an Edwardian music hall number to great success), the menace of the crocodile, even Tinker Bell--a bird shaken up with starstuff to create a fairy. So there are no other fairies, no actual magic on the island, no ability to fly that doesn't come without assistance from--for all intents and purposes--aliens. A trope that is another pet peeve of mine. And Peter is not merely a boy who refuses to grow up, but a boy from a Very Important Family with a Purpose.

The play, doing it right.

Starcatchers the play takes such elements and magnified them to a silliness that nearly redeems them--the tribal chief was held captive in English kitchens, and sprinkles his phrases with cooking terms, thus making him drolly individual. Nods to the pantomime and vaudeville traditions tie the play in with decades of theatrical performances of Peter Pan. And references throughout to the source material, British history, and current events--often from the mouth of Black 'Stache--make it feel like part of the tradition. I don't feel this way about the books, which seem barely connected to the original source at all. Dave Barry admits to not having been a real Peter Pan fan growing up, and I suppose we see here the result of taking on a beloved classic without the heart attachment to it than others have.

Writing advice frequently encourages writers to keep upping the stakes, upping the stakes. Starcatchers the book series shows the danger in that, when the stakes become so universal as to rob them of any personal resonance. The stakes in the series become so abstract that the mythic quality of Barrie's story is lost. Peter Pan is a mythic presence because he expresses personal truths--the desire to stay young, the sacrifices involved in doing so, the nature of loss and forgetfulness. Another battle between the forces of good and evil in the universe simply does not resonate with me in the same way. I've read that/heard it/seen it so many times now, it's simply another flavor of something that has nothing to do with my own experience. Yes, the annihilation of the universe is a frightening thought. So is the annihilation and loss of many other things that I am more likely to experience for myself.

More specifically, there are aspects of Pearson/Barry's Starcatchers that would bother me in any context. Characters who are not well-educated and well-bred are fair game for mockery, such as the pirates. The evil land of Rundoon is set in a desert, where the people wear robes and turbans and ride camels--can we tell it the book was written post 9/11? (Published in 2007, to be precise). The problematic Indians of the original story are transformed into nearly-as-problematic Pacific islanders called the Mollusk Tribe, led by Fighting Prawn--not exactly dignified. While Pearson/Barry occasionally seem to realize the consequences of colonialism, the play actually calls attention to them with jokes, and don't approach the story from the books' viewpoint of aristocratic natural leaders, which among other things, leaves any number of interesting stories untold and viewpoints unexpressed.

Lovely art by Greg Call, as always,
but why has Molly become inexplicably blonde?

I like the character of Molly, but I find little in these books as a whole to identify with, and I'm sure there are young adults reading these books who feel the same way. It's the authors' choice to approach their subject this way, of course, but it does seem to me that it adds to a large collection of the same, rather than breaking the new ground they surely intended. And while the books are lauded for their imagination, I find too much I've seen before. Molly and Teacher the mermaid are both unusually beautiful. (I miss Hermione Granger.) Tubby Ted is obsessed with food. Battle between good and evil. Right. Got it.

Examining my responses to the books as opposed to the play has been interesting, and you can look forward to more on this. (Sorry. No, wait, I'm not.) Specifically, I've had to analyze what types of fairy tale retelling I like and which I don't, and why. And then there's the Starcatchers books' treatment of Captain Hook, which merits its own post. (That you probably knew to expect.)

Defending the boy

I can't believe I've been driven to this (and I'm sorry, Captain, sir, I honestly am), but I have lost my tolerance for depictions of Peter Pan as a villain.

I've seen Peter portrayed as a vampire in one than one interpretation, as a fighter who uses foundlings and runaways as his soldiers in his war (Brom's The Child Thief), as a brutal young man who uses children to fuel his immortality (Zenescope's Neverland comics), as a mysterious being whose exact evil nature we will soon learn (the TV series "Once Upon a Time"). Just this morning I discovered a web comic called "The Assassin of Neverland." Only 30 pages so far, but I think the intent is clear.

These versions don't necessarily involve casting Captain Hook as a hero, although sometimes they do--frequently everyone in the story is equally dismal and/or morally defunct, leaving me nothing to enjoy in the telling. I have encountered so much unrelenting grimness in these stories that Disney's Peter Pan begins to come as a relief. Even versions of the character that fly (heh) even further against the original in their portrayal of Peter's origin or age--the Starcatchers series, the SyFy miniseries "Neverland"--shine brighter to me than they did formerly, in the face of such bleakness. The concept of Peter Pan has long provided an escape for children (if not adults) in need of one, and even if my heart lies with the purported villain of the original, I find this one of the story's signal virtues.

Disney Peter had his less-than-benevolent moments, but at least they were transient.

In his recent book, "I Wear the Black Hat," New York Times ethics writer Chuck Klosterman analyzes what makes a person the villain (noting that the same traits would garner different reactions in fiction and in real life--e.g. Batman). One of his characteristics is "knows the most and cares the least," and another is "super-human self-assurance." Looked at through that lens, it's easy to see Peter Pan as the villain. But perhaps because it is so easy to flip the narrative, doing so no longer holds any meaning it might have originally.

Yes, Peter can be seen as a thief of children and a real threat,and Barrie acknowledges the fact. But keep in mind that the Darling children returned home safely once they chose to. And before meeting Wendy, Peter only took boys to Neverland who fell out of their perambulators and weren't claimed by their parents--not children from loving homes. (Girls, he says, are too smart to fall out of their prams.) Remember also that Barrie describes Peter Pan as a psychopomp who meets children after their deaths to escort them partway. And yes, Peter kills blithely, but out of the innocence and ignorance of being an eternal child, not from malice.

It's the ambiguity in the original story which lends it resonance and continued relevance. A cardboard villain is easy to fight against. But a character who isn't quite a hero and isn't quite a villain, who forces you to consider why he does what he does and the effects his actions have upon him, who causes the reader or viewer to give genuine consideration to him and to the story--this character's complexity adds depth to the story, as opposed to eliciting knee-jerk, unquestioned responses. And takes away none of the magic.

Certainly I enjoy dark retellings of classic tales, but only if they're not too easy. Only if they give me some insight the original did not (see Gregory Maguire's "Wicked" series for how to do it right).I won't go so far as to call a moratorium on Evil Peter portrayals--as if that would even work, ha. Occasionally one still entertains me--I admit I enjoy the Zenescope comics more than I probably should. I'm even looking forward to OUaT, if mainly for ranting purposes. But it may be time to put Evil Peter into context.

I really want the shadow to have split apart from Peter into its own evil entity, but OUaT has not been known for listening to me.

As I noted in my review of Midnight in Neverland, I am finding that these interpretations have been written almost entirely after September 11, 2001. (And I hedge my statement only to cover any that I might find in the future, as so far everything I've read or seen along these lines is from this era.) This seems to me a surprising place for Americans' altered sensibilities about their safety in the world to come to rest, but certainly current YA fiction is rife with these themes.

Is is possible that stories for young people now contain enough looming threats and evildoers that we can return to allowing children--and adults--to see Peter Pan as more than yet another bad guy? After the outside threats are acknowledged and guarded against, we still have human nature to contemplate, and that is a mystery we have been unable to conquer, or even fully understand, for many and many a year. Longer, for certain, than there has been a Peter Pan. Even if he is a vampire.

Too dark in Neverland

This is my copy of Midnight in Never Land. The Post-It notes are tagging introductions of characters from the original Peter Pan (green), bits taken straight from Barrie (blue), bits that directly contradict Barrie (purple), gold star moments (yellow, for some reason), and moments I found completely jarring (pink). You can see why reviewing this would be difficult. I can't really do so without spoilers,and that isn't fair to readers or writers, but if you would like a spoiler, I can give you it in one word. Ask in the comments or contact me directly. I think it will explain a lot.

I picked up this book due to a misleading description, expecting a real prequel to the Peter Pan story, one about events that happened in Neverland before any of Barrie's characters set foot there. Instead I got another retelling of how the characters we know ended up on the island.

James Hauke is a perfect summation of this book as a whole. From the beginning he's half Barrie, half original creation. Gone are Eton and Oxford in favor of the self-made man, and gone is the playful humor that made him so unpredictable to his men. This James (named James Matthew after Mr. Barrie, as the book Capt. Hook also did) is well-written and his character development compelling. He was believable and complicated. He also wasn't Captain Hook.

Mr. Smee is the other character of most complexity, with a twist to his story at the end. Painfully, Disney is a definite influence here (Skull Rock, the name Mary), making me twitchy as I wouldn't tangle with their kopyright kops, and at times I thought this might almost be a dark version of the "Starcatchers" series.

My favorite aspect, and an opportunity I think the authors squandered, was some brief comparison between Peter Pan and Anansi. There was some real opportunity here to create a story of depth that tied in several mythologies to make them even more universal, but the story stopped short of following through. Instead, the book resorted to a conventional horror narrative by the end that wasn't false to what had come before, but left me disappointed.

I began reading retellings of Peter Pan because I felt like needed to know what's out there, what's commonly accepted as part of the mythos (whether correct or not), and if I'm writing something too close to someone else's interpretation that I need to redo. I went into this with my sword drawn, ready to defend my James from all takers. And yes, there are interpretations that make me grit my teeth, the kind that tell me to get back to work and fix it if I'm that concerned. But I didn't expect this reading to be so far from enjoyable. Yes, it's partly possessiveness, but it's also because these retellings are joyless, lacking in the humor and levity that make deeper themes easier to take in.

Wee James staves off the onslaught.

With the exception of the "Starcatchers" series (which goes too far into silliness in my book, but I'm finding that less objectionable as I continue this project), these tales are almost unrelentingly grim. Yes, of course there are dark themes in the original, which have too often been stripped out (*ahem* Disney). I'm working with them too. That's where the texture and depth are found. But to explore those at the expense of the jollity and whimsy of Barrie--I'm finding these books so bleak I'm not sure I will, or should, continue reading them. I don't think I'm gaining anything except the amusement in seeing which sources authors are obviously familiar with. Even Peter Pan in Scarlet is more gloomy than not. I'm fond of dark fantasy in general, but I guess...not here.

In addition, I'm finding too many examples of a pet peeve of mine: it's apparently too easy to strip the magic out of Neverland in the attempt to explain how everything began. In MiNL, the island gets its name from a scrawl on a map: "Never Land Here." And why can't Tinker Bell just be a pots and pans fairy? Why can't mermaids just be mermaids?

Another observation? Every one of these was written after 2001. An entire literary thesis lives in that.

I was looking forward to reading "The Child Thief," but I don't know anymore. Maybe that's a project for a time when I've finished The Stowaway, or when it's on hiatus before revising. For the time being, I'm in need of a chapter of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. The downfall there is that I begin channeling Barrie's writing style after about a chapter (a useful skill when writing executive director letters for non-profit newsletters, but not so much when doing my own work), but I think it's worth the risk. And maybe the world could use a little more Barrie right about now.

To think there was ever a time when I wondered if there would be enough interest in a Peter Pan-related work for me to find readership. This week I ran across two recent books that feature the idea of Wendy as the storyteller who created Neverland and its denizens, books which handle the subject very differently after that point is made.

In "Hook and Jill," Andrea Jones does an excellent job of conveying the encroaching dread of a Neverland where everyone grows older except Peter Pan  and where Peter finds this unacceptable. How Wendy might come to change her allegiance from him to Captain Hook is reasonable and thought-provoking. Part coming-of-age story, part retelling of a classic story, "Hook and Jill" also creates some believable futures for lost boys. Jones is a good writer with strong plotting, and I envy her skill at combat scenes.

Unfortunately, I have to conclude that I am not the audience for this book. Innocent blonde Wendy on the cusp of womanhood, winning over the fascinating, all-powerful Captain essentially by being his ideal of Beauty, leaving both without the realistic character development I would have liked to see and robbing the original of its sense of melancholy. Her willing and rapid corruption at his hand, while set up nicely through her story of Red-Handed Jill, didn't seem entirely in character with Wendy as I've always understood her. The sexually available Indian maidens and their counterparts with European names made me uncomfortable. And why did Tinker Bell need to change her name to Jewel?

If I were fifteen years old, I imagine this book would have been a dream come true. As it is, I found little to identify with and I was ultimately uncomfortable with the handling.

The sequel to "Hook and Jill," Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga," may as well be part of a series unrelated to Peter Pan (something I've noticed with other Pan-inspired series). I liked the back stories on Cecco and Smee a good deal, but there was a strong hint of internalized misogyny with the character of Liza that left a bitter taste in my mouth. I was reminded of Laurell K. Hamilton's Meredith Gentry books more than once--this was more a straight romance than the first, and while not my usual genre of reading material, I enjoyed it more than the other, even if I found it less than believable that the characters all seemed endlessly enticing to each other.

All in all, I preferred the YA version of the theme, "Forever in Neverland" by Heather Killough-Walden. The premise of Wendy being "cured" of her stories/memories of Neverland through psychiatry made me twitchy, as I imagine (ha) it would any writer, but I believe that was intentional, so I don't count it as a complaint. This book is told in lyrical prose and updates the story more gracefully than most other versions I've seen. The reason given for Peter Pan to be in our world and aging makes sense, as well as his reason for re-entering the Darling children's lives. A couple of things did bother me--on the Kindle version, at least, Tinker Bell is spelled as one word (the sort of thing I can't help but notice now), and Skull Rock is a location from the Disney film, not the original book (guess how I come to know that?). Not only do I worry about copyright with that sort of thing, I feel like a follow-up to a book should be based on the original, rather than drawing from a film that was a significant departure from it. (My own opinion, and I admit it.) However, I always felt that if anyone turned out to be a prat, it would be Disney's John, and it looks as though Killough-Walden might agree.

All of these books are part of planned series. As far as "Hook and Jill," I don't know if I can do this again, but I may out of anxiety/protectiveness towards the characters. My primary concern over Killough-Walden's continuation of the series is that "Forever in Neverland" has such a lovely stand-alone ending that I hate to see it diluted. I'll have to trust that she will continue the style and feeling.

Reviewer Categories:
"Hook and Jill": Yer doing it wrong!, I wanted to do that
"Forever in Neverland": I wanted to to do that

I'm sure it's impossible to write about Neverland without sharing ideas with other writers, but oh, it can hurt!