Recently, I revisited an old favorite, a book from my childhood called "The Magic Pudding." It was written by the Australian Norman Lindsay, and first published in 1918. I, of course, didn't get it until the early 80's, where it would was read to me at bedtime with dramatic enhancement by my dad. It is pure silliness, about a koala that goes out into the world and discovers a sailor and a penguin who have ownership over a magical replenishing (and ornery) pudding, and the adventures they have in keeping it out of the hands of pudding thieves. The songs, the strange characters and the amazing illustrations have stayed with me since, and rereading it now I am certain that it has had a major influence on my sense of humor and general aesthetic, even though it has been at least 20 years since I've had any meaningful exposure to the text. Today, I am happy to report to you that this one is one of the rare things that didn't disappoint. It's appeal is immediately apparent. Though I couldn't have appreciated all of the jokes and innuendo as a child, the book is written in a tone that does not condescend. All manner of things, both serious and ridiculous, are presented with a matter-of-fact simplicity that seems designed to disarm cynics. It is brilliant, and I will simply say that this is a true classic of the genre. By any measure, either of neutral criticism or in biased memory, the work succeeds in creating happy satisfaction. When was the last time you could say that about anything?
If you follow the link above you will be able to read the first few pages as part of Project Gutenberg, albeit without the illustrations. It is still in print, however, and reissued as part of The New York Review Children's Collection. I'll leave you with a representative passage, from page 32 or thereabouts:
...Bill insisted on closely inspecting everybody he met, in case they should be puddin'-thieves in disguise.
To start off with, they had an unpleasant scene with a Kookaburra, a low larrikin who resented the way that Bill examined him.
"Who are you starin' at, Poodle's Whiskers?" he asked.
"Never mind," said Bill. "I'm starin' at you for a good an' sufficient reason."
"Are yer?" said the Kookaburra. "Well, all I can say is that if yer don't take yer dial outer the road I'll bloomin' well take an' bounce a gibber off yer crust," and he followed them for quite a long way, singing out insulting things such as, "You with the wire whiskers," and "Get onter the bloke with the face fringe."
Bill, of course, treated this conduct with silent contempt. It was his rule through life, he said, never to fight people with beaks.
See? Brilliant.
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