Mistaken Identity:Russell Hoban's Mouse and His Child Valerie Krips (bio) The longing for a past of innocence and wholeness haunts many a narrative, not least those that find themselves, either by design or accident, ranked among books for children. Such a longing often finds expression in an idealization of the child and of childhood itself. This idealization, which reaches back at least as far as Rousseau, still animates certain contemporary ideas of the child and provides a subtext both for fiction written for children and for criticism of that fiction. When criticism finds child protagonists to be the site of "hope" or "deep feelings," or when an interpretation credits a child with the ability to reshape or revitalize his or her world simply because he or she is a child, then we are almost certainly in the presence of idealized innocence.1 Russell Hoban's Mouse and His Child appears apt for such a reading. Its theme, a child's longing for a home and family, is familiar enough, while its happy outcome echoes any number of stories in which an inventive and persistent youngster succeeds where adults have given up or have already failed.2 However, Hoban's text, rather than affirming familiar ideas, in fact reevaluates the status of children and childhood, rejecting ideas of wholeness and innocence in favor of struggle and empowerment. Interpreted in this way some of the apparent difficulties in the book, such as Hoban's allusions to existential philosophy and modernist writing, as well as his use of narrative repetition, are demystified.3 It is in these details that the book's careful reworking of the theme of childhood develops much of its argumentative power and generates the conditions in which a radical rethinking of the idea of an innocent child can be undertaken. Hoban's book is not an easy read; nor is childhood an easy time as Hoban remembers and reimagines it. It is a time when the child is beginning to create a self, a me, and to find a place in the world into which (willy-nilly) she or he was so abruptly born. The challenges [End Page 92] of self-creation are met by Hoban's protagonist with verve, dignity, and determination: the mouse-child's progress is something like a pilgrimage. Its ending is not easily thought of, however, within the conventional frameworks of reconciliation and affirmation that bring other childish success stories to a close: the self-hood the mouse-child achieves is the site of loss as well as gain, and the "happy ending" is shown to be provisional. Nor is Hoban's rethinking or reimagining of childhood limited to the characters and events in the book; as the reader imagines this text and creates its meanings, she or he must also struggle to become its reader, its partner in narrative. The reader's struggle interweaves with that of the mouse-child: both reader and character are trying to find a place—the reader in the book, the mouse-child in his world. What, then, is offered? What sort of world, what sort of place, can the child reader find in Hoban's work? No human child is represented directly in The Mouse and His Child. Instead, the narrative of the coming-into-being of a human subject takes as its protagonist a clockwork mouse-child, attached by his hands, apparently for ever, to his father. Born into the world in a toy shop, the mouse-child wants to know what and where he is. His father cannot help; they must "wait and see" (14). The child hears the word "mama," and although he does not know what the word means, "he knew at once that he needed one badly" (17). In an interesting reversal of a well-established psychoanalytic view of childhood development, Hoban's mouse-child encounters language, the system that will enable him to represent, and thus to some extent overcome, his primary loss of the mother before he is aware of his lack of her. So, in a moment of remarkable power and economy, the text indicates both that the mouse-child's existence begins with lack (expressed here...
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