Reassuring Readers:Winnie-the-Pooh Stephen Canham Click for larger view View full resolution Illustrations from Winnie-the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, copyright 1926 & 1928, E.P. Dutton; copyright renewal 1954 & 1956, A.A. Milne. Used by permission. The world of Winnie-the-Pooh is an "unself-conscious" world, one which is complete in and of itself, a world of the imagination, of play and distress, a world which is very much a child's world. Reassurance is one of the key values of this world, one of the central, operating principles of the fiction. It is reassuring, it is consoling. Inside its simplicity is an impulse to reassure the reader (not just the child), to tell us despite the apparent confusion and chaos of the world for those of us with very little brain, there is beauty, order, and harmony. That all of life's crises, from diluvian disasters to friendlessness, can and will turn out right. This is reassuring, no doubt about it; some would call it sentimental, even downright false, but this is the Hundred Acre Wood, not Los Angeles. [End Page 1] This impulse to reassure is also fundamentally comic, in that profound aspect of comedy which recognizes creative, constructive patterns beneath the often baffling surface of events and actions. It is upon this comic impulse that the individual episodes and larger movement of the book depend. Take the Woozle hunt, for instance; it is funny to watch the artless bumbling of Pooh and Piglet, and those of us who have spent our nights out snipe hunting, flashlight and gunnysack in hand, can chuckle (with chagrin or smugness) at the errant hunters. But the child and "young" adult may not laugh, for this is, after all, an adventure, one that seems to be going rather badly for the heroes. The calm surface of life in the Hundred Acre Wood has been disturbed—if it can be restored and the characters made to learn from their experience, then we have a comedy; if not, meaningless repetition, confusion, and even tragedy can result. Just as things look their blackest, Christopher Robin reveals himself (deus ex machina) perched in a tree, able to Sort It All Out and to greet Pooh with "Silly old bear," his affectionate, endearing phrase for the toy he has made come alive. Christopher Robin gently enlightens the misguided pair and, more importantly, soothes the addled Pooh —"You're the Best Bear in All the World." Pooh brightens and recalls that it is nearly Luncheon Time. It is a pattern repeated throughout the book: Pooh in or involved with Danger and Distress, Christopher Robin appearing to solve, rescue, and console. Christopher Robin possesses the ability to think clearly and act effectively in the world of the Hundred Acre Wood, to transform potential disaster to comic resolution. He is, in one sense, the analytical, intelligent aspect of the child, the complex, knowledgeable, confident side of us. But, and we must not forget this, he is not a symbol but a boy, a loving, kind, adventurous child. Pooh, himself, is much more than an engaging klutz, more than foil for Christopher Robin's efficiency, and it seems to me that it is in this "moreness" that both his enduring charm and his significance lie. We all note and respect Pooh's admirable childlike qualities, such as his openness, his honesty, his compassion; but I think he is even more fundamentally like a child than even these traits reveal. Pooh is a bear of very little brain, but of great feeling, and, even further, of great hunger. He is always involved with food, with obtaining, sampling, and protecting his precious honey (and it is precious to him, which makes his birthday gift to Eeyore, though slightly abortive, so endearing). It is almost always time for a little something, time to satisfy the unrelenting demands of the body. What child (or adult, for that matter) does not have to accommodate the needs of the spirit to the needs of the body? [End Page 25] And what better way to represent this demand than with a bear, one of those voracious, hulkingly beautiful creatures —"Old Eat-and...
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