Some years ago, in the BC era (Before Children), I was wandering the back rooms of an antique store with a friend when she picked up a copy of the little book pictured above, gave a squee of joy, and shared her fond memories of having read it as a child. I loitered in that room and read the book. There was no squee for me. The book gave me cold chills.
I still feel guilty for wrecking my friend's fond memories of this book. Having grown up with it, and not having seen it since her childhood, she did not see the dark side of this outwardly charming tale.
I'm afraid that the book doesn't exist in my otherwise extensive library system, so my retelling is based entirely upon that one very quick read there in that dusty antique shop. The Little Rabbit who Wanted Red Wings, by Carolyn Bailey, is about a baby bunny who longs for a pair of red wings. Against the advice of mommy bunny, he, or possibly she, gets those wings, and discovers that life with wings is rather awful. Nobody recognizes him. He ultimately gives up the wings and goes back to being a generic baby bunny.
I can see how this would be a cute and happy read to a child. I can also see how such a story - published in 1945 - would help to guide little girls gently into their expected roles as future housewives and mothers. Or nudge little boys to follow their fathers' footsteps into the factories or mines. Or indoctrinate black children so that they wouldn't get uppity ideas into their heads. And all of this is done so gently and cheerfully! Because obviously teaching children to aspire to great things or different things or difficult things can lead to - oh no! - bad experiences! We wouldn't want those bad experiences in our children's soft and cozy futures, now would we? We wouldn't want our darling baby bunnies to grow up into fascinating people whom we don't recognize, now would we?
I must admit, Red Wings stung me doubly because since my earliest childhood, wings have been a potent symbol to me of my own future freedom. As I progressed from grade school to middle school to highschool, my educational track pushed me deeper and deeper into misery. I fantasized about dragons and winged unicorns, about my hundred-pound backpack turning into wings, about growing wings to save me from falling when the cliff of graduation finally came along. I was seven years old in 1985 when Mr. Mister released the song Broken Wings, which echoed through my childhood and is possibly to blame for my wing obsession: take these broken wings/ and learn to fly again/ learn to live so free. Had I read The Catcher in the Rye during my teen years, I would have added wings in my mental image of the drama out there on the rye field. Instead, I painted pictures of dragons chained in dungeons, or with torn wings.
I finally did find my wings as an adult, in the form of a career making art for games, in (finally) dating and falling in love, in having the free time to paint and play and choose my own path. I have even jumped out of an airplane in exploring what my wings can do. Twice! I am in love with my metaphorical wings!
If I succeed in getting my current manuscript published, I hope that some graduate student out there will analyze it, because I have taken all of this wing business and folded it up and crammed it in there. I would like to get the wing metaphor over with so that I can move on to telling stories about topics other than dragons and wings. At least some of the time.
Perhaps someday I'll even write a story about bunnies.
I remember that trip to the used bookstore in Norwood. I understand your interpretation of the story, but find myself very resistant to it. I don't know how much of that is having loved the book as a child and how much is having a different perspective. Here's what I remember taking away from the book as a child: don't try to be something you're not. You should be the best you that you can be, but a rabbit is not supposed to have wings. (And looking at those wings now, all I can think is they would never get that rabbit off the ground. That's pretty much the first thing I look at in any illustration of wings.) As a mother, I am very bothered that the little rabbit's mother did not recognize him and shooed him away. Your mom will recognize and love you no matter what.
ReplyDeleteI am glad you have found your wings.
To me, there is a difference between wanting to be something you're not and aspiring to be more than you are. The rabbit made a wish because he thought the bird's wings were pretty, never considering what might be involved in having wings. That is a very different story than the rabbit who designs and builds his own functional wings.
DeleteI hadn't heard of this book before reading your post. These are both interesting interpretations of the book's message. I think child-me would have seen this as a story about how one shouldn't want or try to be different. As a kid I was overly conscious about how I wasn't popular and was different from other kids. For more than a few years, all I wanted was to be Just Like Everyone Else and I think that I would have made this story reinforce how I saw my world at the time: the bunny wanted to be different and see how badly that worked out for him!
ReplyDeleteThere's one more detail I've remembered that I think makes the story much less sinister. The little rabbit spends the first few pages wishing for other random features he sees on passing animals. He wants a bushy tail like the squirrel, long legs like the deer, etc. When he finds the wishing pond, there happens to be a red bird sitting on the side of the pond, so he wishes for red wings.
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