It Was The Book That Changed Me. Now, I Don’t Know How to Feel.

I was transfixed, sitting inside the magical world it had taken me to. My teacher had read it perfectly, every line was an invitation, every word was so beautiful I could have listened to her all day.

The book was David and The Phoenix. I was in grade four, and I had never known this place within myself. The book, upon each reading of it, evoked a magical feeling, as if I’d been teleported to a spiritual, realm. I’ve remembered the feeling ever since.

Since then, I’ve returned to that realm many a time. The countless books I’ve read since, and even writing my own work. It’s in the sky, that place.

It’s where I first met David and The Phoenix.

Today, I read it again, and was just as gripped as grade four Brooke had been. But today, I felt a little sad. Hidden in the beauty of the text was some very outdated beliefs that I know would have caused significant harm to me back then had I truly understood their meaning.

Today, I read these words: (David had just cried. The text then said,) ‘The tears cleared David’s mind and helped him feel better.’

This part was good.

The next part, though, made me shudder.

‘And he had cried, too. Lucky no one had been there to see that.’

Good heavens in wonderland.

I’m only half way through the book, but by golly I hope the author somehow redeems himself and teaches David that he should not feel ashamed of crying.

The thing is: this sort of thinking was the norm, back then. It was an extremely false, extremely damaging cultural narrative that crying was something to be hidden and ashamed of. Even though crying is no different to sneezing, or wiping your nose, or laughing, or coughing. All natural bodily reactions. All human. All normal.

How the ‘crying is shameful’ narrative ever got any air time is beyond me, and there are not many things I get fired up about in this life: but this is one.

Absolutely this is one, and the narrative changes with me.

Does this put me off my all time favourite childhood book? Not at all. I can sit in the camp of understanding the author was following the only social script he knew, at the time, however damaging, however false.

There are still utterly beautiful parts of the book that I will always cherish.

So lets just say, the book and I have ‘had words’ and made peace.

And now I get to rewrite the ending.

‘David cried. And he was loved. And everything was beautiful.’