Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist

Snow, Peter Pan

It snowed over night. Really snowed. Everything is covered. The rabbit has been sitting out in it. The footprints show he was up early- galumphing about. Ailz says rabbits like cold weather. 

I'm reading Peter Pan (it exists in many forms: I'm reading the play script as Barrie published it in the 1920s).  I hadn't realised before just how dreamlike it is. The mood keeps switching between sentimental whimsy and shivery, cold-hearted weirdness. I'll be at the stage of wanting to chuck it across the room because reading any more would be like starting in on a fourth cupcake, when there'll be a line that wings in out of nowhere that sets my hair on end. Children are utterly ruthless. One of the secrets of writing enduring children's fiction is to match them at it. 
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