Published 1965
Yesterday I had two separate discussions with family members about Moomintroll (partly because the
New Scientist had published
this picture
of a marmoset, which reminded me of the Dweller Under the Sink), and by
bedtime I felt a need to immerse myself in the quiet of Moominvalley
for a while. I promptly picked out
Moominpappa at Sea, which is
only about Moominvalley at a remove - it's a book which leaves one
filled with strange yearnings, and by the time I finished it this
morning I was feeling distinctly wistful.
At the start of the book it is Moominpappa who is feeling strange
yearnings. He's also feeling disgruntled, because the family aren't
according him the respect he feels is his due - they even put out a
forest fire without consulting him! His real strength, he decides, lies
in his deep understanding of the sea, so they will set sail for the
island where he knows his lighthouse stands, and everything will fall
into its allotted place again. Moominmamma is, as ever, indulgent and
understanding, and for Pappa's sake she is prepared to forsake the
valley she loves. Moomintroll and Little My are quite prepared to set
off just for the sake of adventure, so Pappa's boat, the Adventure, is
loaded up and they set sail at dusk (because that's when events of such
significance ought to happen). What they don't know is that someone has
followed them...
Anyone who hadn't met the Moomins might think that these stories about
small, stout Finnish trolls were for small children. In fact they are
amongst the most poignant and expressive in European literature, on the
face of it simple little stories about the not-very-exciting daily round
of these small creatures and their friends, but which reach deep into
the uncertainties and insecurities we all carry around with us. In
Moominpappa at Sea,
Moomintroll and his parents must face the anguish of displacement,
Moomintroll and his mother dealing with the physical loss of the valley,
Moominpappa with the loss of his role as head of the family, as the
others make their own accommodations. "Don't you do anything," he keeps
telling Mamma, as he constrains her ever more tightly in a coccoon of
protectiveness, which only serves to further aggravate her sense of
loss.
The restricted set of characters - unlike in most of the books where
there is both extended family and a wide assortment of Rabbit-type
friends-and-relations - serves to underline the claustrophobia of the
tiny island, battered on all sides by a not-entirely-amenable Sea.
Moomintroll's own sadness is made worse by an unattainable love, which
can't be articulated to anyone else. Only Little My is untroubled,
rising above her circumstances with all the aplomb (if not actual
callousness) that readers will remember from earlier books:
"I'm not saying anything about some mothers and fathers," drawled Little
My. "If I do, the first thing you'll say is that they're never silly.
They're up to something, those two. I'd eat a bushel of sand if I knew
what it was." "You're not supposed to know," said Moomintroll sharply.
"They know perfectly well why they're behaving a little oddly. Some people think they're so superior and have to know everything just because they've been adopted!"
All my adult life I've had Moominmamma in the back of my mind as a role
model - always unruffled, understanding, warm and kind, bottle of
raspberry syrup at the ready. I was glad to find that, determined to
create a garden in the scattered rocks of the island, she's as sensibly
practical as ever: "Moominmamma pushed the dirty dishes under the bed to
make the room look tidier, and then she went out to look for soil." On
this reading, though, it's her unhappiness which most deeply affects me,
her uprootedness that is continually exacerbated by the failure of her
rose plants to grow in inhospitable soil. Her homesickness must be dealt
with quietly and discreetly, without impinging on the rest of the
family - Moominpappa, of course, is much too wrapped up in his own
concerns, as the sea resists his efforts to comprehend its moods.
The end of the book, typically of Tove Jansson, is low-key -
fortunately, her adult readers, at least, probably know better than to
expect a "story-book" happy ending. There's a resolution of sorts, and
for one character, at least, things turn out better than we might have
expected. But, as I said at the outset, the end leaves one more wistful
than anything else - really, you have to wait for the end of the next
(and final) book,
Moominvalley in November, for the end of this
one. All the Moomin books are ideal for reading aloud to children, but I
remember finding that more and more discussion was needed with the
later books. For adult readers, however, they are perfect for autumnal
days of indulgent melancholia, to be savoured alone and at leisure.
Troll Mill
picks up the story some time later, and I don't want to say too much
about the plot, except that new characters are introduced while old ones
return in a deliciously scary and atmospheric story. Along with Hilde I
agonised for Kersten and Bjørn, and I thought the troll baby was
tremendous! Peer and Hilde are both struggling with the pangs of growing
up and undergoing all sorts of feelings which will be familiar to a
young audience. The action is fast-moving though, and these are books
which would be wonderful to read to a younger child -- scary, but not
oppressively so, exciting and funny, and with the true fairytale
emphasis on the resourcefulness of its young heroes. An adult reader,
meanwhile, can appreciate the deft interweaving of the elements of the
folk tales on which Langrish draws, and the light touch she brings to
the exploration of the feelings of her main characters. There are some
superb writers working with this traditional material these days - what
makes Langrish stand out, I think, is that her love for it shines out of
her writing and lends a wonderful freshness and authority.
