I’m an ardent fan of
Edith’s children’s books. My favourites,
in roughly descending order, are: Five Children and It; The Enchanted Castle;
The Railway Children; The Treasure Seekers; and The Phoenix and the Carpet
(sequel to Five Children and It). Others,
for instance the sequels to The Treasure Seekers, are more hack work. Here’s a taste of why I find them so
delightful:
The Enchanted Castle is another fantasy with roots in real
life. Imaginary games of enchantment
take on new life when a group of siblings and their friend discover that their ‘magic’
ring really is magical – and that
real magic can be both delightful and dangerous. Apparently, Noel Coward had a copy of it by
his bedside when he died.
In The Treasure Seekers, the five Bastables, eager to help their
widowed father ‘restore the fortune of the House of Bastable,’ look for ways to
get rich, from digging for treasure to selling sherry to trying their hand at
being highwaymen on Blackheath. This novel
earns the distinction of being one of only a few books that make me laugh out
loud.
There’s no need to
introduce The Railway Children to most
English readers. To those who haven’t
had the chance to fall under its charms:
this is the story of three children living in relative luxury in London,
whose father suddenly has to ‘go away.’
Their mother is forced to move the family to a shabby home in the
country. They begin to make friends with
the railway workers and commuters, leading to a series of coincidences that
change the family’s fate. Though a
children’s book, it highlights the real plight of dissidents and those caught
up in the spy fever of the early twentieth century.
What I love about Edith
Nesbit’s work is her feel for the sibling dynamics of her large families that
might bicker and quarrel, but know that family sticks together. As I mentioned in the previous post, I also
love the way she explores the consequences of magic colliding with everyday
modern life. It’s interesting, I think,
that the children are most often thrown on their own resources due to an absent
or deceased parent and reduced family circumstances. Edith certainly understood the latter, but
tended to be the child sent away to school while her mother concentrated on her
other, invalid daughter. Perhaps even
the realism of her stories, then, is part the fantasy of a childhood she herself
rarely got to enjoy, and perhaps why her heart shines through the distance of a
century to make these stories real for us today.
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