Peter Pan flies to Russia

He must, or how else would there be so many beautifully illustrated Russian versions of his story? I've been lucky enough to acquire three of them, from 1971, 1993, and 2010, all showing a love of J.M. Barrie's original tale despite their variance in style.

I find the loose watercolor illustrations from this 1971 Piter Pan, by May Miturich, absolutely charming.

I don't read Cyrillic--I wish I did--but this rendition of the book characters almost makes me feel like I can. Nevertheless, my artist information on these books may well be incorrect. If any of you readers do read Cyrillic and have translations for me, I will gladly add that information to this post.

Never Neverland, as seen in the dreams of May Miturich.

A completely different interpretation, in a folk-influenced, ornamental style, was printed in 1993. The retelling is by Irina Tokmakova, with illustrations by painter Tikhonov.

The black and white illustrations are as lush and intricate as the double-page color plates.

I have a special fondness for this book with its lovely, respectful portrait of J.M. Barrie.

And editions of Peter Pan continue to be printed in Russia, such as this one from 2010 by artist Mikko.

While it doesn't entirely escape the Disney influence (I note also some possible undertones of Anne Graham Johnstone and even Mabel Lucie Attwell) and modern tendency to make Peter a bit more adolescent than he was originally written, the detail of the illustrations shows the artist's fondness for the story.

I was also very pleased to find this plate within. I'd found it online, and it's the header I use for my writing inspiration Tumblr blog (a Tumblr I keep private because unfortunately, it contains a huge number of unattributed images I don't have time to research). I'd never been able to find what book it was from, and it was delightful to find it here.

This seems like an appropriate time to ask if anyone knows where I could find a copy of Piter Pan illustrated by Maxim Mitrafanov. I've been looking for this for some time, to no avail.

Unavoidably detained

Anyone who's read this blog or talked for me for longer than fifteen minutes knows I love research. Yet it's a project that expands and apparently has no end, and it's slowing my progress on The Stowaway considerably. So why am I so insistent on absorbing every bit of information about sailing that I reasonably can? Because of people like me.

Exhibit #1. Assassin's Creed IV, Black Flag.

I laughed when I saw this. It's a historical video game (more or less--there are some real missed opportunities here), it's about pirates, it's set on a brig--the same type of ship helmed by Captain Hook. But I've learned that a ship, unlike a car, does not swing immediately to the side as soon as its wheel is turned, and a sail does not drop instantly--flump!--when it's unfurled. (As a former crew member of the Lady put it, it can take ten minutes just to muster the crew to get started.) And as I watched this very pretty game, I wondered, "Where is all the rigging?"

I know the game's depiction isn't right because of--you guessed it--my research, from sources I've found to be accurate. For instance, here's a photo of mine from a battle sail on board the Lady Washington, which is also a brig. Note the difference. I realize accuracy in this case would interfere with the game play of "Black Flag," but leaving it out altogether is a mistake I don't want to make in The Stowaway.

By further comparison, here is an illustration from Seamanship In the Age of Sail,

which was recommended to me by a captain of the Lady Washington as his favorite resource for general ship knowledge. It's readable and clear and will be even more helpful to me once I spend more time with it--time being the resource I am most in need of these days.

I have this as well, though I find it denser and harder to parse.

I am also reading Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander whilst taking notes and looking up every term that could possibly apply to The Stowaway in this companion volume, A Sea of Words: A Lexicon and Companion to the Complete Seafaring Tales of Patrick O'Brian, by Dean King with John. B. Hattendorf and J. Worth Estes. This process is not helping me enjoy the pace of the book as the adventure story it was intended to be, but it's tremendously helpful in giving me an idea of how life was conducted at sea and what words were used in directions and commands.

Exhibit 2: Master and Commander, page 164
The brig was the obvious choice and they set a course to cut her off, keeping closest watch upon her the while: she sailed on placidly enough under courses and topsails, while the Sophie set her royals and topgallants and hurried along on the larboard tack with the wind one point free, heeling so that her lee-channels were under the water; and as their courses converged the Sophies were astonished to see that the stranger was extraordinarily like their own vessel, even to the exaggerated steeve of her bowsprit.

Without A Sea of Words, I wouldn't know what half of that meant or if it was useful to me. Now the challenge is to make sure I get my own terms right.

Research can become a labyrinth, and soon I may need to break out heavy tools and hack my way through the side. But it matters to me that I make the effort. Every writer may not find it important to give the reader a vivid and accurate rendering of their setting, but it matters to me when I'm reading, and I want to give my readers that respect. I know to my sadness that it's not possible for me to get every detail right, but I'm going to get as close as I possibly can.

Milestone

Thank you, readers of Hook's Waltz!

This blog has had 25,000 page views--a statistic I might have missed had I not been working on a new post tonight. This may not be a tremendous achievement in the world of blogs, but given the niche nature of this one, I'm going to allow myself a moment of pride.

In commemoration of the event, please enjoy two pictures from a 1987 edition of Peter Pan, by an illustrator who demonstrates a proper appreciation of Captain Hook: Jan Ormerod.

New directions for Peter Pan

It's easy--too easy--to complain about retellings of Peter Pan that I don't want to see or read (and perhaps find actively appalling for various reasons). So instead, I'm going to focus here on some stage productions I would very much like to see.

Trey McIntire's choreography for performance
 by Houston Ballet (Sara Webb and Randy Herrera)

Peter Pan ballet performances have been staged for years by companies around the world, large and small, professional and amateur, and somehow I have yet to see it. If I had paid more attention, I could have gone to a performance in a nearby city in May. I'm trying not to think too much about that.

I'm surprised I've so far been unable to find any information on the first Peter Pan ballet performance, with all its "many modal re-translations."* It's been staged with scores by a number of musicians, including some contemporaries of J. M. Barrie: Edward Elgar and Arnold Bax (ironically called by some "the Peter Pan of composers). And various choreographers have applied their hand to the piece as well--a glance at recent stagings shows that a favorite is Trey McIntire.

Northern Ballet's Kenneth Tindall as Captain Hook

So many scenes in the original play lend themselves to beautiful dance scenes, although admittedly I'd most like to see the dash and elegance of a balletic Captain Hook. (Also dancing mermaids, because the very idea is amusing.) I can accept Peter as a strapping older lad for the course of a performance.

Cast of the performance at the Welsh National Opera, 2015

There's also a very new Peter Pan opera, written in 2014. It's gotten mixed reviews, and the Jolly Roger does seem to have inexplicably been combined with a railroad carriage, but it's a version of the story I'd like to see for myself. "Symbolic interpretation hangs heavily over the rough-and-tumble jumble of Janacek, Beethoven, Stravinsky, Satie, Handel, Vivaldi, sea shanties and klezmer," said The Spectator, which sounds like enough reason.

Poet and novelist Lavinia Greenlaw (whose name I also know from her non-fiction The Importance of Music to Girls) went deep into the original text for her libretto. The music is by composer Richard Ayres, who is also known for writing what he calls NONcertos. 

Also recent--from 2013--is the production from avant-garde director Robert Wilson, with music by Cocorosie for the Berlin Ensemble. I'm already a fan of Cocorosie, and I've heard songs from this production on their "Tales From a Grass Widow" album, so this caught my attention immediately. This highly-stylized retelling looks strange and wonderful, and entirely worth seeing.

Perhaps not.

And I must not forget Finding Neverland, even if it's not exactly a version of Peter Pan. Instead it's a theatrical adaptation of the 2004 Johnny Depp film, which tells a fictionalized version of how J.M. Barrie came to meet the Llewellyn Davies boys, who inspired his story of Peter Pan. Matthew Morrison from Glee plays Barrie, and Kelsey Grammer is American producer Charles Frohman and Captain Hook. Grammer as my beloved Captain is off-putting in so many ways, but surely by the time the musical tours, he'll have been replaced.

Not everyone loves this production. But I was skeptical of Peter and the Starcatcher, and ended up quite enjoying it, so I'm willing to reserve judgment till I see this for myself as well.

Yet perhaps the most unexpected performance I've found is the 1975 Neverland from Jim Steinman. You might recognize the name from his collaborations with Meatloaf, which is entirely appropriate--the adaptation was merely a workshop at the Kennedy Center in 1977, but three of its songs are on Meatloaf's best-selling Bat Out of Hell album. Steinman's version portrays a "chemically insane" young man who leads a group of lost boys in a dystopian Los Angeles, and tries to seduce a Wendy who is the daughter of Captain Hook, himself the inventor of a genetic mutation process. Resemblance to 1950s horror movies is completely intentional.

Hmm, come to think of it, that sounds like the kind of retelling I don't want to see. But I admit I'm fascinated it exists.


* J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan In and Out of Time: A Children's Classic at 100. Donna R. White and Anita C. Tarr, editors

Fairies at home

Wherever children are, there are fairies, J. M. Barrie tells us in The Little White Bird. Kensington Gardens in London is filled with them, although they hide behind railings during the day and only come out to carouse at night "after Lock-out."

As for their houses, it is no use looking for them, because they are the exact opposite of our houses. You can see our houses by day but you can't see them by dark. Well, you can see their houses by dark, but you can't see them by day, for they are the colour of night, and I never heard of anyone yet who could see night in the daytime. This does not mean that they are black, for night has its colours just as day has, but ever so much brighter. Their blues and reds and greens are like ours with a light behind them.

Not all fairy houses are so elaborate. Many are constructed from leaves and twigs, stones and feathers. And some are made with help from humans.

Kruckeberg Botanic Garden in Shoreline, Washington, USA, invites children to make fairy houses in their Enchanted Garden area. I found these there last Saturday:

I also managed to get lost in the garden repeatedly, although it's not enormous, ending up over and over at the Enchanted Garden. Leading travelers astray is, of course, a popular game among fairies.

One would expect Tinker Bell to live in just such a house. And in the videos about Pixie Hollow, where Disney tells us Tink lived prior to meeting Peter Pan, the fairies do live in similar structures, decorated with items scavenged from humans, like spoons and shoes.

By the time Tinker Bell meets Peter, she aspires to a more upscale lifestyle:

[T]here was one recess in the wall, no larger than a bird-cage, which was the private apartment of Tinker Bell. It could be shut off from the rest of the house by a tiny curtain, which Tink, who was most fastidious [particular], always kept drawn when dressing or undressing. No woman, however large, could have had a more exquisite boudoir [dressing room] and bed-chamber combined. The couch, as she always called it, was a genuine Queen Mab, with club legs; and she varied the bedspreads according to what fruit- blossom was in season. Her mirror was a Puss-in-Boots, of which there are now only three, unchipped, known to fairy dealers; the washstand was Pie-crust and reversible, the chest of drawers an authentic Charming the Sixth, and the carpet and rugs the best (the early) period of Margery and Robin. There was a chandelier from Tiddlywinks for the look of the thing, but of course she lit the residence herself. Tink was very contemptuous of the rest of the house, as indeed was perhaps inevitable, and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited, having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up.

By Anne Graham Johnstone, 1988

In The Stowaway, when Vivian Drew sees this little room, she feels a pang of sympathy for the fairy whose life is so unlike the one she desires to live--a sentiment Vivian understands. Of course she would never say this within earshot of Tink, lest she find entire strands of hair yanked mercilessly from her head. Fairies do not care for pity from humankind.

Captain Hook and the Merry Monarch

King Charles II, born on May 29, 1630, was a fashion influence on Captain Jas. Hook.

Portrait by Sir Peter Lely, 1670

As J. M. Barrie wrote in Peter Pan and Wendy, "[i]n dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts."

Hook also wore his hair in long black corkscrews curls resembling the king's wig. While "[H]is eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not," wrote Barrie, there can perhaps be seen a shared melancholy in the faces of both.

Portrait by John Michael Wright, c. 1660-1665

Yet Charles II, unlike Hook, was far from melancholy, though he might well have been. His father, Charles I, was deposed from the throne by the decidedly un-jolly Oliver Cromwell and executed in 1649, and the son exiled. Upon the death of Cromwell, Charles II reclaimed the throne in 1660--the start of the Restoration--with a style of rule so at odds with that of Cromwell that his court was renowned for all manner of licentious behavior. But he wasn't neglectful of his subjects, as one might expect from his frivolous ways--when the Great Fire of 1666 destroyed three-quarters of the wooden buildings in the City of London over the course of four days, he fought the fire alongside the citizens. And he founded the Royal Society of scientists in 1660. On a lighter note, King Charles spaniels are named after his favorite dogs.

As I have never yet passed up a chance to share the Horrible Histories "King of Bling," with Mathew here it is once more. Enjoy!

There are any number of entertaining stories about Charles II, a few of which I have fun mentioning in The Stowaway: He reinstated the celebration of Christmas, and was the recipient of the first pineapple brought to England. One anecdote which I haven't found a place for (yet) is about Thomas Blood, who attempted to steal the crown jewels (and whose portrait, incidentally, is a crucial part of the plot of Muppets Most Wanted). The crown jewels had been melted down after Charles I's execution and later refashioned by Charles II, so this was a grave crime indeed. And yet Charles was so impressed with Captain Blood's audacity that he rewarded him rather than have him punished.

Portrait of Catherine of Braganza
by Otto Hoynck

Charles's wife, Catherine of Braganza, Infanta of Portugal, was controversial among the populace because of her devout Catholicism. Convent-raised, she had difficulty adjusting to life at court and was never able to bring a child of the union to term, but--unlike some kings--Charles refused to divorce her and insisted she be treated with respect. In time she did become more comfortable in her new home, embracing the fashion trends of wearing men's clothing and shorter skirts, scandalizing the Protestants by playing cards on Sunday, and popularizing the drinking of tea in England.

Charles II with actress Nell Gwyn, by Edward
Mathew Ward (1854), possibly wearing black to
recall the Great Fire of 1666

Charles II was surrounded by interesting women, in fact. He had a dozen acknowledged children with a plethora of mistresses, including two by actress Nell Gwyn. (Among his actions as monarch was legalizing the profession of acting for women.)

And he wrote poetry for one woman who resisted his advances, Frances Theresa Stuart, granddaughter of Walter Stuart, 1st Lord Blantyre and the face of Britannia, a Scot whose portrait whose portrait appeared not only upon medals commemorating a naval victory, but also on the English penny until the decimal system was put into use in 1971.

The Pleasures of Love

I pass all my hours in a shady old grove.
But I live not the day when I see not my love;
I survey every walk now my Phyllis is gone,
And sigh when I think we were there all alone,
Oh, then ‘tis I think there’s no Hell
Like loving too well.

But each shade and each conscious bower when I find
Where I once have been happy and she has been kind;
When I see the print left of her shape on the green,
And imagine the pleasure may yet come again;
Oh, then ‘tis I think that no joys are above
The pleasures of love.

While alone to myself I repeat all her charms,
She I love may be locked in another man’s arms,
She may laugh at my cares, and so false she may be,
To say all the kind things she before said to me!
Oh then ‘tis, oh then, that I think there’s no Hell
Like loving too well.

But when I consider the truth of her heart,
Such an innocent passion, so kind without art,
I fear I have wronged her, and hope she may be
So full of true love to be jealous of me.
Oh then ‘tis I think that no joys are above
The pleasures of love.

Of course, this being English history, all was not revelry during the reign of Charles II. Though he promoted religious tolerance, constant conflict between Protestants and Catholics led to his dissolving Parliament in 1681 and ruling alone. In 1677, Charles encouraged the marriage of his niece Mary (son of his Catholic brother, James) to the Protestant King William III of Orange, in hopes of increasing peace between the two religions, and also re-establishing his own Protestant credentials. Nevertheless, he officially converted to Catholicism upon his death bed.

William of Orange is reportedly an ancestor of my own, and his statue in Kensington Gardens, London, has been mentioned as another of J. M. Barrie's sources of inspiration for Captain Hook. (In other words, I find yet another connection to Peter Pan and the Captain in my own life.)

A baby named Peter

Despite what contemporary retellings may say, Peter Pan was never a street urchin or a fairy or a vampire, or even an orphan.

Rather, as J. M. Barrie tells us in The Little White Bird, or Adventures in Kensington Gardens, 

His age is one week, and though he was born so long ago he has never had a birthday, nor is there the slightest chance of his ever having one. The reason is that he escaped from being a human when he was seven days' old; he escaped by the window and flew back to the Kensington Gardens.

If you think he was the only baby who ever wanted to escape, it shows how completely you have forgotten your own young days.

Well, Peter Pan got out by the window, which had no bars. Standing on the ledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless the Kensington Gardens, and the moment he saw them he entirely forgot that he was now a little boy in a nightgown, and away he flew, right over the houses to the Gardens. It is wonderful that he could fly without wings, but the place itched tremendously, and, perhaps we could all fly if we were as dead-confident-sure of our capacity to do it as was bold Peter Pan that evening.

But the little boy's presence frightened the fairies, and the birds shunned him. He went to bird-sentinel Solomon Caw for help, and Solomon told him could stay in the park, but would never be anything other than "a Betwixt-and-Between." Peter he was happy enough with this pronouncement, and made himself a reed pipe to play upon, and eventually, with the help of the thrushes, a boat made of a nest and the remnants of his old night-gown so that he could sail about on the Serpentine lake.

Peter always thought he could return home. He visited once, but could not resolve himself to stay. And when he tried a second time,

He went in a hurry in the end because he had dreamt that his mother was crying, and he knew what was the great thing she cried for, and that a hug from her splendid Peter would quickly make her to smile. Oh, he felt sure of it, and so eager was he to be nestling in her arms that this time he flew straight to the window, which was always to be open for him.

But the window was closed, and there were iron bars on it, and peering inside he saw his mother sleeping peacefully with her arm round another little boy.

Peter called, "Mother! mother!" but she heard him not; in vain he beat his little limbs against the iron bars. He had to fly back, sobbing, to the Gardens, and he never saw his dear again.

And yet Peter, being so young, lost himself in adventures and did not think much of his old home again. One night a little girl named Maimie stayed after closing time in the park to see the fairies (not without incident), and there encountered a little boy out in the snow with no clothes on, in a meeting reminiscent of another in Peter's later literary life.

She said, out of pity for him, "I shall give you a kiss if you like," but though he once knew he had long forgotten what kisses are, and he replied, "Thank you," and held out his hand, thinking she had offered to put something into it. This was a great shock to her, but she felt she could not explain without shaming him, so with charming delicacy she gave Peter a thimble which happened to be in her pocket, and pretended that it was a kiss. Poor little boy! he quite believed her, and to this day he wears it on his finger, though there can be scarcely anyone who needs a thimble so little. 

The Little White Bird, or Adventures in Kensington Gardens was published in 1902, and was the first literary appearance of Peter Pan. After the success of the 1904 play featuring the boy who never grows up, the seven chapters (out of twenty-six) about Peter were published separately as Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. Illustrations by artist Arthur Rackham, including 49 color plates of his oil paintings, added to the popularity of both the book and Rackham himself. It's had a number of reprints since then, including one by the Folio Society. My own copy, found at Insatiables in Port Townsend, WA, is from 1976.

In 1912, when a statue of Peter Pan appeared in Kensington Gardens one morning, it was considered by many to be too commercial, akin to a statue of Harry Potter being erected in a major public park after only one book in the series. Now, of course, the statue of Peter is one of the best-known landmarks in London and the world.

For the entire text of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, with many of the Rackham illustrations, see Project Gutenberg.