Stylistically, The Princess and the Goblin, by George MacDonald, is that type of classic children’s literature that instantly transports me to the green leather couch in my parents’ living room, my feet tucked cozily in a fleece blanket and my mother’s voice bringing in the tide of fairy tale scenes on the shore of my childhood imagination. When I recently listened to the public domain audio recording online, although the charm of my mother’s sleepy voice was missing, I was soon caught up in the laughter and longing and victory of the forgotten story. The adventures of Princess Irene and miner-boy Curdie proved to be a ray of warm sunlight to my water-logged heart, so preoccupied lately in the business of new parenthood, moving, and all the “important” grownup books on my to-read list.
The piece of fiction that had last occupied my bed head was Anna Karenina. While that heavy work had brought many questions and much introspection (What is love, anyway? What is worth dying for?), I feared seeing myself in many of Tolstoy’s characters, like the fear of unraveling a bandaged wound; but over the short hours of George MacDonald’s children’s book, I longed to see myself and my loved ones reflected in the heroes of the story.
This longing made for more than simply an enjoyable reading experience. It put flesh and bones behind the virtues I want to cultivate in myself and my family. After all, who would not wish to possess the kindness and truthfulness of little Princess Irene? Or the unfailing courage of young Curdie? Or the wisdom and beauty of Irene’s mysterious great-great-grandmother? Or garner the respect and love of Irene’s “King Papa” or Curdie’s quiet, thoughtful mother? Among the many virtues exemplified in the characters of MacDonald’s story, one that I found especially praiseworthy in this reading of the tale was true belief, or child-like faith. Different characters took different journeys toward this virtue; I will briefly summarize a few of these journeys and disclose the journey toward faith my own heart took along the way.
Irene
Though only eight years old, Princess Irene is wise, kind, respectful, and brave—on account of being a princess, of course. Finding her great-great grandmother secretly living in a high tower of the castle opens up the first dialogue we encounter on belief. Irene readily accepts the truthfulness of her grandmother’s strange existence, spinning a mysterious thread by moonlight and eating only pigeons’ eggs. The Princess, we are led to understand, possesses a natural ability to believe the incredible; but I also suspect the innate beauty and goodness of her grandmother adds to the ease with which Irene is convinced of her truthfulness.
Even Irene though, after being unable for a time to find her grandmother’s tower again, begins to suspect that the fantastic story was all a dream. When she returns to visit her grandmother again and is shown all the splendor and magic of her bedroom—a fire of roses, a lamp of moonlight, walls full of stars—her belief solidifies and gives her courage to complete the task her grandmother will soon give her. Throughout the book, remembering the beauty and goodness of her grandmother gives Irene the courage to believe and act.
Lootie
MacDonald starkly contrasts Irene’s princess-like qualities from the baseness of her nurse, Lootie. Lootie is petty, prejudiced, and unaspiring. When Irene returns from her first encounter with her “great, big grandmother,” Lootie not only does not believe her, but, as Irene’s grandmother knew from the beginning, could not believe. “If she were to see me sitting spinning here, she wouldn’t believe me. . . . Because she couldn’t. She would rub her eyes, and go away and say she felt queer, and forget half of it and more, and then say it had been all a dream.”[1]
Lootie’s unbelief parallels her lack of courage, and that fear (which “always sides with the thing we are afraid of”[2]) causes her to be foolish when she should have been useful. Lootie is determined that Irene’s stories are false, despite her knowledge of the princess’s virtuous character; Irene scolds her: “When I tell you the truth, Lootie . . .you say to me, ‘Don’t tell stories’: it seems I must tell stories before you will believe me.”[3] For Lootie, reality is too fantastic to be believed, and she must herself concoct a fantasy that is common and jejune to make sense of it.
Curdie
While we scoff at Lootie’s apparent inability to believe, we are caught completely off guard when good, brave Curdie is equally skeptical. Though inexplicably rescued from the goblins’ cavern by Irene, allegedly helped only by the magical thread of her grandmother, Curdie cannot believe that the story she tells of how she came to rescue him can be true. He does not accuse her of falsehood however: “I never doubted you believed what you said. . . . I only thought you had some fancy in your head that was not correct,”[4] he says.
Irene insists on the goodness and wisdom of her grandmother, who she knows is helping to lead them to safety, though Curdie is unable to feel or see the magical guiding thread to which Irene clings. “If you don’t know what I mean what right have you to call it nonsense?” she wisely inquires. When she takes Curdie to meet her grandmother for himself, she is astonished that he is unable to see her and perceives her beautiful bedroom as only a bare garret with a heap of straw. Irene is distraught but “perceive[s] at once that for her not to believe him was at least as bad as for him not to believe her.”[5] Thankfully, her grandmother is wise enough to guide her through the pain of not being believed by her dear friend and will perhaps bring Curdie to a state of faith in the end.
Irene’s Great-great Grandmother
Irene’s grandmother, also named Irene (“‘That’s my name!’ cried the princess.”[6]), is the mysterious actor behind all the story’s happenings. Though she is very old, she is very beautiful, with hair at times white as silver, at times golden; her age is in the wisdom of her eyes. In her encounters with Irene, we learn that she is able to reveal herself when and to whom she chooses; she also understands who is able to believe in her strange existence. She councils Irene through the grief of Curdie’s unbelief:
People must believe what they can, and those who believe more must not be hard upon those who believe less. I doubt if you would have believed it all yourself if you hadn’t seen some of it. . . . You must give him time . . . and you must be content not to be believed for a while. It is very hard to bear; but I have had to bear it, and shall have to bear it many a time yet. I will take care of what Curdie thinks of you in the end.[7]
Of great-great grandmother Irene’s many magical artifacts, I will not go into detail, for fear of the same effect as explaining a joke. I suspect that their goodness and beauty combined give them their magical quality—as with the old lady herself.
Reflection
With so many seemingly urgent books on my to-read list, why take the time to re-read a children’s fairy tale? Although I may believe I learn the most from books of theology, history, or how-to, the truth is that we all learn most deeply through story. Pieces of great fiction can seemingly by-pass the conscious act of learning and growing and move straight to the source, shaping our hearts—our inner selves. As Sarah Mackenzie, author of The Read-Aloud Family and founder of Readaloudrevival.com, puts it, “Stories reach us where nothing else can and quicken the heartbeat of the hero within us.”[8]
As the characters in our favorite books struggle through hardship, we struggle with them. We consider whether we would be as brave, as bold, as fully human as our favorite heroes. And then we grasp—on a deeper, more meaningful level—the story we are living ourselves as well as the kind of character we will become as that story unfolds.[9]
As
I experienced this childhood story again, I wondered if my son would grow to be
as brave and kind as young Curdie. I wondered if he would struggle with the faith
I hope to pass on to him. I prayed for my unbelieving friends and was able to
rest in God’s plans for them. I found the courage to believe that Someone is
directing the strange journey I have found myself on; leading me finally to
Himself—if I’ll only follow the thread.
[1]George MacDonald, The Princess and the Goblin (London: Penguin Books Ltd.: 1996), 86.
[2]Ibid, 107.
[3]Ibid, 195.
[4]Ibid, 171.
[5]Ibid, 175.
[6]Ibid, 13.
[7] Ibid, 174, 176.
[8]Sarah Mackenzie, The Read-Aloud Family (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2018), 49.
[9]Ibid, 48.
January 14, 2020
Rebekah, I was fascinated by your comments on this kind of readings, It made me want to buy the book. Thanks. Ede
January 19, 2020
Thank you! If you follow the link in the first paragraph, you can listen to the audiobook for free! I think you would enjoy it.