Sarah Akhtar

fuckyeahpeterpan:

dreamsofelectricsheep:

“We are never allowed to forget that some books are badly written; we should remember that sometimes they’re badly read, too.” I am reminded of this, another quotable quote by Nich Hornby, one of my favorite contemporary writers (obviously), not long after finishing Peter Pan, a novel by one of his fellow Britons. The novel was not badly written, not at all, by J.M. Barrie. Rather, it was badly read, unfortunately, by me.

I got my copy of Peter Pan, sporting a beautiful cover illustration drawn by a 10-year-old, from a friend on the day I turned 24. (But of course. What better gift to give your bibliomaniacal friend on his birthday, on the day he turns another year older, than a beloved book about a boy who refuses to grow old?) I opened the book, longer than most children’s stories but a lot shorter than the novels I am wont to dip my flat nose into, and fathomed that an all-nighter would be enough for me to traverse its length.

Alas, I was mistaken with my cocky calculation. Owing to a slew of reasons that run the gamut from petty to weighty, e.g., unrealistic project deadlines, depleting personal finances, rhinotillexomania, I became a terrible reader of this decades-old novel that inspired, among others, a classic animated film by Walt Disney, an Oscar-worthy performance by Johnny Depp, a faithful adaptation by Michael Goldenberg, and even an unwarranted sequel by Steven Spielberg. I got to the end just last night, thirteen listless nights more than I expected.

No matter, Peter Pan was well worth the while. J.M. Barrie’s writing is utterly fantastic, by turns simply beautiful and wonderfully grandiloquent (in the vein, dare I say, of the amusing badinage between two of the most flighty lads I know). You might have seen or read all the great works based on the story, but reading the original novel is an altogether differently sublime experience. Where else can you come across an uncannily poignant passage such as this?

He had one of his dreams that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, and Wendy held him tight.

In conclusion, I hope nobody takes it amiss if I take off with a rather despicable pun (Brace yourselves, lads!): Regardless of how badly one reads it, Peter Pan’s classic story—wait for it—never grows old.

“While she slept she had a dream. She dreamt that the Neverland had come too near and that a strange boy had broken through from it. He did not alarm her, for she thought she had seen him before in the faces of many women who have no children. Perhaps he is to be found in the faces of some mothers also. But in her dream he had rent the film that obscures the Neverland, and she saw Wendy and John and Michael peeping through the gap.”

- Peter Pan (J.M. Barrie)