Geraldine McCaughrean (writer) and Scott M. Fischer (llustrator), Peter Pan In Scarlet (Margaret K. McElderry, 2006)
On the subject of fairy tales and their meaning, there are roughly two opposing camps: one which insists that fairy tales are meant to capture the simplicity and innocence of children, and the other which claims that such cutesy Disney incarnations of fairy tales are a modern invention which blatantly overlooks the darker aspects of such tales.
I myself believe that the best fairy tales, like the best stories of any genre, operate at multiple levels, and, as in the example of John Crowley's fairy tale Little, Big, grow in scale the farther in you go.
Peter Pan In Scarlet could be used as a textbook case to illustrate these conflicting conceptualizations of fairy tales. While it fulfills the first definition as a story for children and even briefly brushes up against the second definition as a story with darker overtones, it ultimately fails the third definition of being able to operate on multiple levels. The main reason for this is that, though the first half of the book flirts with becoming a bigger story, the second half reduces its scale and instead chooses to commit its themes to the small and mundane world of conveniently two-dimensional characterization and glib happy endings.
Much of the hype around this particular Peter Pan story is connected to its self-declared status as "the official sequel" to J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan, which existed first as a play, and then as a number of books with varying titles and storylines. While I respect the fact that, as is explained in the forward to Peter Pan In Scarlet, Barrie himself bequeathed the copyright and its proceeds to the Great Ormond Street Hospital in 1929, I fear that it is this determination to appoint itself the gatekeeper for maintaining both the copyright and the public image of Peter Pan which has provided much of the conflicted storyline. Peter Pan was never well behaved, representing, as he did, open rebellion against all things civilized. The main problem with Peter Pan In Scarlet is that it seems to want to impose a moral onto the story, and never quite embraces the great Pan as a link to our own dark and sometimes destructive natures.
I want to stress that this story does possess a number of good points which may well be enough to provide a pleasurable read for some readers who don't expect more for the price of a hardcover book. The book is definitely well written, and each chapter contains small jewels of glittering prose. Sometimes the jewel is merely a perfectly phrased piece of conversation which leaves you nodding your head and thinking, Yes, Peter or Wendy would say it just that way. This perfectly-pitched phrasing is expressed from the very first lines, in which we find out that John Darling and the other Lost Boys have grown up to become "The Old Boys" all of whom now suffer from bad dreams.
"I'm not going to bed," said John -- which startled his wife. Children are never ready for bed, but grown-ups like John are usually hankering for their pillows and eiderdowns from the moment they finish dinner. "I'm not going to bed!" said John again, and so ferociously that his wife knew he was very frightened indeed.
"You have been dreaming again, haven't you?" she said tenderly. "Such a trial."
John scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. "I told you. I never dream! What does a man have to do to be believed in his own house?"
The dreams leave behind physical manifestations of Never Land -- a cutlass, a top hat, even a crocodile -- which indicate that Pan's world is leaking into the 1920s London of Wendy and the Old Boys.
The theme of dreams and sleep as portals to imaginary worlds creates some of the most appealing imagery in the book, but it is in the descriptions of Peter Pan's associations with nature that McCaughrean's writing excels, as when, after a long and rather silly struggle to get back to Never Land -- it takes three entire chapters -- Wendy and the Old Boys find it transformed into an autumn landscape which hints that Never Land -- and perhaps Peter himself -- is feeling the effects of time.
. . .[T]he sunlight was thinner and paler than she remembered. The shadows were longer -- some rocky pinnacles and pine trees had three or four shadows all sprawling in different directions. Wendy knew
they had been right to come: all was not well in Neverland.
As they flew over the Neverwood, an ocean of golden,
orange, and scarlet trees tossed and rolled beneath them
now, loosing, from time to time, a spray of crisp, autumn
leaves. The redskin totem poles leaned at crazy angles, felled
by wind or war, and roped in creepers and ivy. Huge globes
of mistletoe rolled about the treetops like Chinese lanterns.
It was beautiful . . . but there was no birdsong.
This is the best part of the book, when Wendy and the Lost Boys are reunited with Peter. But though Peter is still the boy who won't grow up, he is altered: "It was Peter Pan and it was not. His suit of skeleton leaves was gone, and in its place was a tunic of jay feathers and the blood-red leaves of autumn: Virginia creeper and maple."
These nature images convey both a sense of atmosphere and an intimation that the changes to Peter's appearance reflect a much larger threat. For Peter has also been experiencing nightmares, and it is implied that the death and destruction experienced by the Old Boys during World War I has leaked its poison into Never Land.
Soon there is a new villain to fight, and for a while it seems the story might manage to weave together the shadows which threaten both Never Land and the still shell-shocked London of the Old Boys. After all, the most dangerous predator is the one which walks upright on two legs.
This is where the story seemed to waver, as if the author couldn't quite decide to move into a more metaphorical reading of the villain's threat and its link to the autumn imagery and the rumors of war. One aspect of the problem is the authorial voice: while at times the author seems to be attempting to parody Barrie's tone of dark whimsy, she cannot maintain the tone for long. The result is that Peter's instinctual suspicion of adults and adult relationships fails to be as sharply defined as it is by Barrie, and thus, when he fails to recognize the ulterior motives of an adult, we find it difficult to believe that Peter could be so easily fooled.
In truth, there is not one likeable adult character in this book, and that seems to miss some of the point of Captain Hook's dual role as both the antithesis and the shadow-self of Peter. However, the author's descriptions of female characters can be downright disturbing. A new female joins the Lost Boys, but she expresses every stereotype of girls as silly featherbrains who only want to play princess, while the rest of the female characters are portrayed as actively clinging, cowardly, neurotic, and consuming. Even the crocodile which ate Hook was, it is pointed out, a female. This leaves Wendy to bear the burden of being caregiver, costumer, and all around good sport, always right behind Peter in order to take up and even make up from whole cloth the banner of boyhood while also expressing disapproval of her gender: "Girls," she says early in the story, "are so much sillier than they were when I was a baby."
Ultimately, though this book possesses some lovely prose, it suffers from two-dimensional characters who are just a bit much to bear with for over three hundred pages. Additionally, much of the complex ambiguity of Barrie's story is just not there at all. Devoted Peter Pan fans may be willing to overlook these faults, but for those adults who are not completists and want more than just a sequel, I would suggest waiting for the less expensive paperback edition. Meanwhile, the story, complemented as it is by a colorful cover and numerous illustrations, would make a nice holiday gift for a child.
