I’ve always thought of myself as a book lover, but possibly I’m more of an illustration lover? This is a new revelation.
I want to introduce you to Tove Jansson, a Finnish author who is massively famous in places that are not the United States. Her children’s books center on a family of trolls and their friends, every personality unique and precisely evoked using both words and illustration. It is a marriage of language and art that communicates more clearly than either could alone.
Thanks to a sister who had a teenaged obsession with Finland (or with Jansson—chicken and egg on this one) I was introduced to the Moomin books at a young age.
Possibly I was too young. Like most quality children’s books, the Moomin series contains much more adult wisdom and perspective than I could absorb in elementary school. That didn’t stop me from absolutely loving the books, in part because the illustrations reached me first. The meanings grew deeper for me over time.
1. The Caregiver
In Moominpappa at Sea, the patriarch brings his family to live in a deserted lighthouse on a remote island while he attempts to complete his memoir. When I was young, Moominmamma seemed like a cipher and didn’t interest me. She seemed to putter at home while others were off Doing Interesting Things. In this book, Moominmamma is focused on making things comfortable for the family on the desolate island, which young me saw as a waste of the adventure.
My attention was caught, though, when Moominmamma began to paint scenes of her beloved Moominvalley on the interior walls of the lighthouse. (Having been punished for drawing on the walls of my own family home, I perceived this as a shockingly transgressive act for a Moominmamma.)
Her family takes it in stride, however. They periodically wander by to observe and—of course—critique, coming and going from the lighthouse while Moominmamma simply continues to paint what she herself most wants to see. It’s gradually becoming clear that she misses Moominvalley dreadfully. Then, as an intense moment of homesickness washes over her, she finds herself inside the mural.
She wasn’t at all surprised by what had happened. Here she was at last in her own garden where everything was in its proper place and everything was growing just as it should grow. Here and there something hadn’t been drawn absolutely right, but it didn’t matter. She sat down in the long grass and listened to the cuckoo calling from somewhere on the other side of the river. When the kettle boiled for tea, Moominmamma was fast asleep with her head leaning against the apple tree.
It is such a wistful, magical, and at the same time lonely vignette (Jansson is full of those). Moominmamma needed comfort yet, despite being deeply loved, was the only one who thought to provide it for herself. Her self-care is enough to replenish her and she is soon back supporting the others.
This scene made me stop and consider Moominmamma as a complete character for the first time. Which was, of course, Jansson’s point.
2. The Outsider
In one of her short Tales from Moominvalley, Jansson introduces us to a Hemulen who doesn’t quite fit in with his own kind. (I identified with this story as an introvert, yet knowing now of Jansson’s own perspective as a queer person it’s clear that mine was only one lens.) Jansson’s Hemulens are typically jolly, robust, overbearing creatures who mean well but are perhaps a little tiring to others. In “The Hemulen Who Loved Silence,” the protagonist is a misfit Hemulen who works at a job he hates, punching entry tickets at his family’s amusement park.
…all around the sad and dreamy Hemulen people danced and whooped, laughed and quarrelled, and ate and drank, and by and by the Hemulen grew simply afraid of noisy people who were enjoying themselves.
When he becomes old enough to retire, the Hemulen finally convinces his relatives that his deepest longing is to be alone. His bemused but loving relatives gift him with an overgrown park to do with what he will.
“Oh, how wonderful to be old and pensioned at last,” he thought. “How much I like my relatives! And now I needn’t even think of them.”
He shuts everyone out but eventually (I won’t spoil plot) fashions the place into the antithesis of his former place of work: it becomes a magical, mysterious wonderland full of broken and upside-down attractions. These are half-hidden, not garish, to be discovered by chance rather than thrust upon visitors. In fact, the Hemulen gradually and grudgingly allows just the child-creatures in, and then only on condition of silence.
I desperately wanted to be one of those creatures exploring a hidden park that was off-limits to adults, and yet was now “rustling and seething with a secret and happy life.” Jansson’s illustrations are dark and dense with hidden corners, just as I imagined the park to be.
3. The Catastrophizer
In this same collection, a story called “The Fillyjonk Who Believed in Disasters” introduces us to a anxious, catastrophizing creature who finally faces a true, epic natural disaster. Its impact is not what you’d expect—not what she expects. Sketches and studies Jansson made of the Fillyjonk show her working out the Fillyjonk’s body language, which (before and during the disaster) tells the story in tandem with Jansson’s words.
“She saw all her knick-knacks fly straight to heaven, tray covers and photo frames and tea-cozies and Grandmother’s silver cream jug, and the sentences in silk and silver, every single thing! And she thought ecstatically: “How very, very wonderful! What can I do, a poor little Fillyjonk, against the great powers of nature? What is there to mend and repair now? Nothing! All is washed clean and swept away!”
The tornado went solemnly wandering off over the fields, and she saw it taper off, break, and disperse. It wasn’t needed anymore.”
At times this story has helped me to stare down my own anxieties. Anticipation can be more traumatic than experience, and disasters sometimes create opportunities. The word “ecstatically,” in this context, is doing some very heavy lifting.
If you haven’t yet read the Moomin books, I envy you the discovery of Jansson’s world. Start with Comet in Moominland, read through to Moominvalley in November, and then start all over again.
This was such a delightful write up. I’ve long heard about the Moomin books and characters but never sought them out. I’m definitely going to now.
I discovered Tove and the Moomins through my husband, whose family grew up with their stories, and each had their own mug with a moomin character assigned to them (he was Snufkin, and still is very Snufkin. When I joined the family I was given Mimble, to my delight).
I was hooked. The stories are so beautiful, timeless and perfectly for adults too. They explain everything most difficult about the world. Then you get to know Tove's story and it's heartbreaking. I had the privilege of going to Finland and the museum about her work, then being delighted all over again to find people in Japan also loved her. Now we read the stories to our daughter, she continues to bring light and dark into the world in bittersweet proximity.
Thank you for this lovely post—I really enjoy how you write about each book. And glad I found your Substack!