if you saw yesterday's entry, i did read "the tale of peter rabbit" to myself last night. stories change because we change! not only had i started off by identifying with mr. mcgregor since my gardening escapades, but i also saw the rest of the story through new eyes. we are, after all, a product of our life experiences blended together over time. my current letter to the author would go something like this, "dear beatrix, i have been a fan of your books since age 4 when i was just learning to read. more accurately, i memorized 'peter rabbit' long before i could actually read, thanks to the tireless hours of being read to by both my father and my mother to whom i give credit for my current love of books. perhaps you, too, were entering your second half of life when you wrote the stories (was it, originally for your nieces and nephews?) take page 10, for example, when mrs. rabbit fully discloses to her four small bunnies the reason that she is a single mother: their father was put in a pie by mrs. mcgregor. incidentally, this is the only mention of mrs. mcgregor and i suppose it is enough that we know she was a resourceful woman in the kitchen (or just a good cover for her husband's garden-rage). this brings up questions: how does mrs. rabbit know this? was she there? did her husband regularly venture into the garden but just got caught one too many times? did she narrowly escape herself or just hear the news from a crow? at any rate, this is first called 'an accident', as in 'your father had an accident in the garden' which is so euphemistic and metaphoric that in fact, i could imagine the bunnies growing up thinking that their father was still alive somewhere, being held prisoner inside a large and very ominous crust. you omitted the words 'eaten by' which i suppose was wise, though far from the truth. you and i and the adults reading the book know this to be true in the same way that my father saying my pet goose 'rejoined the flock' was as true as the fresh mound of dirt beneath our willow tree. we figure it out sooner or later. regardless, the bunnies aren't so afraid that they don't go out and play but i suppose the main idea was that it would keep them out of trouble. then, mrs. rabbit leaves them while she goes the opposite direction to the baker's. that's all fine and good unless you have abandonment issues, which i don't, but some might in a 21st century reading about kids being left in hot cars and such, something you likely did not have to deal with. i suppose there was the nasty issue of child chimney sweeps, however, but i digress. so we know the story: flopsy, mopsy and cottontail are the 'good bunnies' and peter is the 'bad bunny'. in the end he gets a cold and has camomile tea while his siblings have the aforementioned baked goods, the end. my four year old self would have taken this as a lesson not to talk to strangers, to stay inside the playground walls and do my chores (all good things) whereas my forty year old self thinks, just wait one minute here! ok, so peter got some sniffles, big deal, he had an ADVENTURE! he saw the world, was equipped to think on his feet, problem solve, escape danger and live to tell about it. (with all due respect, ms. potter, did you figure into the plot that his soul may have been somewhat diminished upon returning to his safe, but albeit small home?) out in the garden his furry life was enriched, not to mention that he got to eat REAL bunny food: his fill of lettuces, french beans, radishes and parsley--even if only once; a veritable portrait of a rabbit fully alive!--this is what real bunnies eat, after all, as opposed to currant rolls. (none of the bunnies in my yard are even the slightest bit tempted by currant rolls, a fact of which i know you are well aware and what brought all of this on yesterday with my gardening nonsense and whatnot in the first place.) which brings me somehow to peter's clothing. he sheds it to escape the nets and it occurred to me on a much deeper premise that you may or may not have intended: he breaks free of societal shackles and is made a spectacle of, but perhaps at great personal liberation. i mean you no offense whatsoever, the story just seemed to end rather abruptly with the 'goodness' of the three bunnies getting blackberries and such. i rather wanted to hear peter's version upon reflection, as it was quite a big day for him, a sort of mammal
Bildungsroman if you will. perhaps later in life flopsy, mopsy and cottontail had regrets? but peter was able to identify with the person who is known for saying, 'in the end, i want to be known, not for being prim or proper, clutching my invitation safely, but for arriving at the party slightly ragged, breathless and full of tales!' thank you for your kind stories, i enjoyed each of them as a child and obviously still do. i would be interested to hear your take on how stories change with us over time, when they are good ones and true, as yours are, as well as if it is autobiographical in any sense? plus, if you would be so kind, your intentions as per moral life compass, etc. best regards, a fellow bunny who has been to the other side of the gate"
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