It was only in recent years that I discovered Dr Seuss' How the Grinch stole Christmas (pictured). In fact, I saw the movie (starring Jim Carrey) before I found a copy of the book and read the original for myself. The movie quickly became one of my favourite-ever movies. And the book, similarly, delights me when I re-read it―as I did this week, twice―even though it is so much more simple than the film.
As a writer of children's verse, I am interested in Dr Seuss' Grinch from a professional point of view, quite apart from my private delight as a reader, although the two are linked. And what seems inescapable is that much of the power of the Grinch story derives from the fact that the Grinch is a great villain, yet lovable at the same time. He's an outcast, a loner, deluded to the point of committing a heinous crime against an entire town. He's also a greatly troubled individual, who cannot bear the noise and joy of ordinary society and so wants to spread misery to everyone. Even though he isn't "human", the Grinch has so much of the darker, mournful side of humanity about him that the reader cannot help but recognise him as familiar. In the end, his fault is boiled down in the book to one thing: his heart is "two sizes too small"―a delightful encapsulation of his fundamental condition.
And so the Grinch commits his great crime, stealing all the Christmas presents, decorations and food from the town of Whoville. Near the end of the book, of course, comes the great twist. In spite of his efforts, the Grinch doesn't stop Christmas from coming. It comes, even without the presents and trappings. The inhabitants of Whoville are still able to rejoice and sing, simply because it's Christmas. This revelation leads to the Grinch's own redemption; his heart grows "three sizes that day", and he returns all that he has pinched and joins in the celebrations with the rest of the town.
The whole story is given a light touch, not only by the crazy illustrations but also by the constant rhythm of the comic verse, and by the rhyming scheme. The rhythm is accented on every third syllable, and there are four of these units in every line, to give what is in strict terms anapestic tetrameter, i.e.da-da-DA da-da-DA da-da-DA da-da-DA. Dr Seuss doesn't follow this meter slavishly; sometimes syllables are dropped, and sometimes lines are split so that they appear on the page as two or three shorter lines instead of one long one. But the general rhythm provides a structure that basically extends through the whole book. And the rhymes are often delicious too.
Now, the whole point of this blog is to point out one very important truth. The power of Dr Seuss' text doesn't come solely from his clever rhyming verse; nor does it come solely from his wonderful character-driven story. The book is successful because Dr Seuss manages to meld both these things so beautifully. It is a fantastic story, but it is also a fantastic story written in wonderfully crafted verse. The two things meet, and the result is a book that has become a classic.
I often try to keep this double-truth in front of me when I write children's verse. I try to go all the way in imagining crazy character-driven stories, and I work hard to get the rhyming verse to really "sing".
Perhaps you'd like to get a copy of Dr Seuss' How the Grinch stole Christmas, and notice it all fresh for yourself!
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