“Here” (Milne 11) is a word used to point towards a concrete reality that is before one’s eyes, indicating a space—literal or metaphorical—that resides in the present. It is also the first word in the first chapter of Winnie-The-Pooh (and therefore an invitation), the first point of entry into the world of the story for the reader, who is the child to whom the adult reader reads the story. The fictional world that A. A. Milne has fashioned is a complex one, in which two narrative dimensions operate simultaneously. The first dimension that is presented to the child reader is constructed as a realm resembling the real world, thus assisting the entry of the child reader, as the very first world they encounter is one not unlike their own. The other exists as the magical, doubly fictional world of the Hundred-Acre Wood—the world of childlike perfection—perfect in every way to and for and by a child’s definition. Milne has taken great care in the fashioning of this ‘perfect’ space in which both the adult and child reader reside, but it is essentially a space governed by the rules and expectations of a child’s imagination. That is the magic that draws a child reader into the story because he or she is fundamentally stepping into a world that is theirs in a very real sense of the word; Milne’s magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood is the kind of world that children would dream up on their own.
The magic begins from the start, the moment Milne gives voice to Edward Bear, the supposedly inanimate object of play who can think of no other way of coming downstairs besides “bumping” on the “back of his head”—“bump, bump, bump” (11). Like Edward Bear who has no time to “stop bumping for a moment” (11) to think of another way to come down the stairs, the child reader has no time to “stop [...] for a moment” (11) to process the oddity of a stuffed toy with cognitive abilities. Formal introduction takes place when Christopher Robin and Edward Bear make their literal entrance by descending the stairs and are now “ready to be introduced to you” (11). The word “you” here is significant in facilitating the child reader’s entry into the story because it directly addresses him or her, thus smoothly creating a space for them to reside in. It is as though Milne has created an additional character whose identity is assumed by the child reader, thus enhancing the reader’s involvement in the story. He extends this effect by having the adult reader take on the narrative voice and pre-empt the questions a child reader might ask, such as the question regarding Winnie-the-Pooh’s name. This effectively transforms the interruptive questions a child often asks into a part of the narrative that flows on smoothly, having provided “all the explanation [they] are going to get” (11).
After effectively assimilating the child reader into the first layer of narrative (the dimension resembling the real world), Milne crafts his entry into the second layer—the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood—with the words “Once upon a time” (12), a very conventional fairytale-like opening that signals the introduction of a magical space. Of course, the magic has already unobtrusively begun in the way Winnie-the-Pooh has been brought to life, but the magic now operates also on the level of the setting and the positioning of Winnie-the-Pooh as the protagonist. And since a new world has been ushered into the literary foreground, another opening has to be created for the entry of the child reader. This opportunity to enter the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood comes in the form of the character, Christopher Robin, the first person that comes to Pooh’s mind:
“And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin. (“Was that me?” said Christopher Robin in an awed voice, hardly daring to believe it. “That was you.” (Christopher Robin said nothing, but his eyes got larger and larger, and his face got pinker and pinker.) So Winnie-the-Pooh went round to his friend Christopher Robin, who lived behind a green door in another part of the Forest.
“Good morning, Christopher Robin,” he said.
“Good morning, Winnie-ther-Pooh,” said you. (17-8)
In the same way that the Christopher Robin of the first narrative layer enters the magical world, moving from conspicuous absence to parenthesis and finally to a concrete realization of Pooh’s thoughts, the child reader piggybacks on Christopher Robin’s character and is able to temporarily imagine him or herself as the Christopher Robin in the magical world. This is again facilitated by the use of the direct address “you” (18) henceforth, and very little mention of Christopher Robin’s actual name, save for occasions when Pooh refers to him. The child reader is now very much a part of the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood.
This world is magical not just in the sense that toys come alive; it is a world taken from the imagination, mindset and expectations of children, and hence, magical to children because it is perfect to them. Perfection is defined here as the fulfillment of a child’s expectations, the inclusion of what is important to a child, and the exclusion of what may confuse or escape a child’s understanding. The first level of perfection that characterises this world occurs on a cognitive level. Winnie-the-Pooh possesses a ‘perfect’ logic within the flow of his thoughts:
“First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.” Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree” (13-4).
Pooh begins with the most basic level of an argument, an inference regarding the “loud buzzing-noise” he has previously observed. He then moves on to a perfectly logical proposition—that a bee is making this “buzzing-noise”. The structure of his argument appears sound, until he says “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” Linking the notion of a bee and the making of honey is inherently logical, but the very phrasing of the statement—Pooh is basically saying that the sole purpose of a bee’s existence is to make honey-is certainly problematic to an adult reader. The adult reader detects these cracks in Pooh’s logic, which subsequently falls apart completely when Pooh makes the illogical (but charming) proposition that the “only reason for making honey is so as [he] can eat it”. Yet there is nothing within the passage that disputes his logic. It may appear to be an unsound argument to the adult, but to the child reader, proposition after proposition seems ‘perfect’—perfectly sound. There are two factors that contribute to this apparent soundness of the logic. Firstly, and perhaps, more importantly, the flow of Pooh’s thoughts and reasoning serve to drive the plot along. The child reader moves on rapidly from one idea to another, no matter how tenuous the link, in order to get to the next thought, the next part of the story. Secondly, the use of conjunctions like “If”, “and” and “So” create the illusion of logical connectivity between clauses, enabling the child reader to leap, no matter how erringly, from one clause to another with Pooh. Hence, while Pooh’s logic is riddled with loopholes for the adult reader, it is ‘perfect’ for the child reader who is satisfied with its apparent soundness.
‘Perfect’ logic is accompanied by ‘perfect’ reasoning, which perhaps, to the adult reader, would be more aptly described as nonsensical excuses. This may be observed in the reason Pooh gives for abandoning his quest for honey—the bees are the “wrong sort of bees” (23) and therefore make the “wrong sort of honey” (23)—which in actuality is probably his excuse for coming down because the bees have started to sting him. Here, the child reader is not likely to remain oblivious to Pooh’s charmingly naive ploy, yet no attempt is made by the narrator to expose him. In the identity of Christopher Robin, the child reader plays along, asking “Would they?” (24), in an attempt to confirm Pooh’s assumption, and allows Pooh to come to his conclusion—“So I think I shall come down” (24) without any objection.
This ‘perfect’ reasoning is made possible only in the light of ‘perfect’ respect, which is one of the governing rules of the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood. Just as children want to be taken seriously by the people around them, especially adults, Christopher Robin (with the child reader) takes Pooh’s suggestions and statements in all seriousness. There seems to be some sort of mutual agreement that Milne has established between Pooh and Christopher Robin, the child reader and Pooh, and even the adult reader and child reader, that the Hundred-Acre Wood is a space in which every character is of significance and what they say has value in itself. Age, a defining factor with regards to maturity, has no meaning in this magical wood. Compounded by the fact that there are no adult characters functioning as the standard or benchmark of sensibleness, judgements have little place in this text. A sort of democracy is at work here, which allows Pooh to pitch his idea of disguising himself as a “small black cloud” (19) to deceive the bees and consequently to act upon it, without derision from Christopher Robin, the adult or child readers. Even the closest thing to a judgement, which occurs when Christopher Robin or the child reader laugh to themselves “Silly old Bear!” (22), conveys affection rather than a perfunctory verdict. Moreover, it remains between the adult and child reader, never reaching Pooh’s ears because it is not said “aloud” (22). This ‘perfect’ respect is crucial in a world where a child’s imagination dominates – toys come to life and so on—because this is a narrative written primarily for children. The commonsense and levelheadedness that dominate in adults would push children out of this space because these are things that anchor oneself to reality. In order to “[float] gracefully up into the sky” (20) and explore the hive of childish fantasy, one has to let go of things that measure, which are attached to fixed standards. Hence, this attitude of ‘perfect’ respect, operating on the principle of open-minded acceptance, becomes one of the basic fundamentals in the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood.
The notion of perfection extends also to the level of geography. The physical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood is ‘perfect’ in two senses, the first being ‘perfect’ to children because home is always nearby, and the second in the sense that it hearkens to a time and space of God-given perfection that is no longer conceivable in modern-day reality. Home is a place of refuge and assurance because it is a space that is known and familiar to children. The process of growing up takes place primarily in this place called ‘home’, and hence, the very sense of it is comforting to the child’s mind. In the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood, the sense of home is brought across to the child reader by the physical positioning of Christopher Robin’s house within the woods. Apparently his house is so close that Christopher Robin is able to return home “for [his] umbrella” (22) upon Pooh’s suggestion. It is, of course, rather incongruous to imagine Christopher Robin’s modern house—staircase, hearth fire and all – existing in a magical space. Yet this geographical positioning is ‘perfect’ to a child because it is a necessary space of familiarity in a comparatively foreign setting. Home has to be positioned perfectly—it cannot be the main setting, for the wonder of exploration, of fantastical atmosphere, would not be present in this space. Yet it cannot be beyond the child’s reach, because that would abandon the child in the fantasy space, which would be disconcerting. Hence home has to be there and not quite there. It is mentioned briefly, but never described in detail in the Hundred-Acre Wood narrative because it is supposed to convey only a sense of itself, having no real place in the magical space.
Besides the notion of ‘home’, the Hundred-Acre Wood is perfect also in the sense that it is a child’s Garden of Eden, an echo of a prelapsarian age. Just as Adam and Eve could roam around freely without fear of danger from their surroundings, characters can roam freely in the similarly protected space of the Hundred-Acre Wood. ‘Perfect’ physics and gravity are evident in the way Pooh falls while climbing the tree, in which he first “[bounces] twenty feet on to the next branch” (16), then “turn[s] head-over-heels, and crashe[s] on to another branch” (16), and “slither[s] very quickly through the next six branches” (16), before finally saying “goodbye to the last branch” and “[spins] round three times... [flying] gracefully into a gorse-bush” (17). The fall begins comically, with bouncing and somersaults, and the end, which is the most crucial part, puts one in mind of a trapeze artist instead. Of course, most importantly, Pooh emerges unharmed, merely “[brushing] prickles from his nose” (17), and begins to “think” (17)—evidently his cognitive abilities have not suffered any damage. In fact, at each stage or branch of his fall, Pooh manages to utter incomplete statements of regret, rather comical because it is completely apt in context of his falling, but which also helps to shift the focus away from the descriptions of him falling or any associated notions of injury.
‘Perfect’ geographical settings aside, ‘perfect’ coincidence also exists to move the plot along. When Pooh appears to be in need of a balloon—required for the execution of his plan to get honey—it “just happen[s]” that “you” (19), referring to both Christopher Robin and the child reader, had “been to a party the day before at the house of your friend Piglet, and you had balloons at the party” (19). The insertion of this narrative excerpt may appear absurd to the adult reader, but to the child reader, it firstly provides the balloon that Pooh needs, and secondly, presents an opportunity yet again to involve him or her directly in the narrative.
Yet the magic must in time come to an end as the story, the airtime of fantasy draws to a close. Just as Pooh does not like the idea of letting go of the string and falling—“bump” (24), and instead, prefers to “[float] down to the ground” (24) as air comes out slowly of the balloon, no one likes their fantasy to be dragged down to earth too abruptly. Instead, if swells of fancy must be punctured, the transition from the magical, fantastical world to one of reality should be slow and gradual, which is not unlike what Milne does as he pulls out from one layer of narrative so subtly that the child who is being read to does not realize that the story has reached its end. The first exit is signaled by the statement “that is why he was always called Pooh” (25), in which the phrase “that is why” is reminiscent of the kind of moral statements that are made at the end of a story. Yet the preceding line—“But his arms were so stiff from holding on to the string of the balloon all that time that they stayed up straight in the air for more than a week, and whenever a fly came and settled on his nose he had to blow it off” (25)—is deceptively simple. It leads the child reader from Pooh’s descent to the result of his ordeal, which spans a week and more, and finally to the reason behind his name, thereby guiding the child from the world of the Hundred- Acre Wood to the layer of narrative resembling reality. The child reader, eager to know what happens to Pooh after he floats down, is brought gently down from the layer of fantasy to narrative reality. The exit is so subtle that Christopher Robin actually has to ask, “Is that the end of the story?” (25), as the adult narrator re-emerges in the pronoun “I” (25) that establishes the end point and purpose of the story—“why he was always called Pooh” (25). The second exit is made again with Christopher Robin, who goes back upstairs, leaving the literal space of story- telling, and thus signaling the end of the story for the child—allowing the child to exit the space of metaphorical story-telling.
The seeming perfection of the magical world of the Hundred-Acre Wood to the child reader provides a setting and space in which he or she may reside comfortably and magically. Yet this magical perfection does not just stop there. The greatest attraction in the tale is probably Winnie- the-Pooh himself
“Well, you laughed to yourself, “Silly old Bear!” but you didn’t say it aloud because you were so fond of him, and you went home for your umbrella. (22)
It is the attachment that the child reader forms with the main character, the protagonist of Milne’s stories, that keeps the child asking “very sweetly” (11, 12) for more stories, more adventures in the land of the Hundred-Acre Wood. The ‘perfect’ world with the ‘perfect’ friend —is this not what every child dreams of?
Besides reading fantasy, Vera happens to be very skilled at pretending to be a fourth-year literature student at the National University of Singapore. What is importan,t however, is that Vera believes wholeheartedly in the power of unicorns and rainbows and sporadic little bursts of unexplainable glee, and the power of hugs. Also, that children should rule the world.
Works Cited
Milne, A.A. “Chapter One: In which we are Introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh and some Bees, and the Stories
Begin.” Winnie-the-Pooh. Illus. E.H. Shepard. Egmont: London, 2010. EPUB File.
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