Short People Got No Reason...

THE SHRINKING OF TREEHORN by Florence Parry Heide illustrated by Edward Gorey (1971) and THUMBELINA by Hans Christian Anderson illustrated by Adrienne Adams (1961)

Oh the tiny folk! Their problems are not so different from ours. Why if I had a dollar for every time I had to spurn the advances of a horny mole, I would be a wealthy, wealthy woman!

But let up begin with the saga of Treehorn. To be honest, I chose this book because it was illustrated by Edward Gorey. He of the Grisleyhorn Nasties or whatever they were called... I love his weird animation at the beginning of Masterpiece Mysteries. I thought this book would have a bit of a dark side. And I was not disappointed.

Treehorn is shrinking. At first his parents pooh-pooh his concerns, but eventually they begin to blame him for his smallness. His school principal monologues at him about helping with his problems in the most ineffectual way. He is getting no support on the whole WTF-is-happening-to-me? Question. Luckily his tininess allows him to locate a game under his bed that appears to have made him become miniaturized, he takes another couple of turns and is, blessedly, back to his normal size. Oh magical games, from BIG to JUMANJI, you are constantly screwing with kids who are just looking for a good time.

According to the Publisher's Weekly review, this book is about children being ignored by the adult world. I suppose those were the days. Now children are being obsessed over by the adult world. I guess that makes this particular gem from 1971 a bit outdated.

As far as who Florence Parry Heide was, her wikipedia page assures me that not only was she 50 shades of awesome – She was beloved for organizing a fourth of July parade in Kenosha, Wisconcin every year (a patriot!) - but she also wrote at least 2 other Treehorn books! Edward Gorey, also dead, was quite famous and you can't swing a dead cat on the internet (And how beautifully would he have illustrated that!) without finding someone who is exultantly talking about him. In addition, I believe there might be a museum in his honor someplace in western Mass.

THUMBELINA is a little girl sprung full formed from a barley-corn/tulip hybrid flower into the life of a lovely woman who longed to have a child and even paid a witch a schilling to give her advice on how to get one. You think this is child trafficking? Just wait!

First Thumby is stolen by amphibians to be the (child) bride of a toad prince who can only say “Brekke-ke-kex!” At the very least his parents should get him some speech services and stop obsessing about getting him an interspecies wife.

Then she enslaves a butterfly to help her escape and ends up with a field-mouse who seems nice, but is in fact going to pimp her out to a mole. If not for the Lazarus-like resurrection of a underground swallow, she would be Mrs. Mole right now. And not to be gross, but that mole was, like 10 times her size.

Eventually, she ends up over some mountains with some flower spirits and the king of the flowers gives her his crown because she is so beautiful and she marries him about 20 minutes after meeting him. And he changes her name to Maia because Thumbelina is an ugly name. Which it kind of is, but still, how about asking her if she wants a new name before just decreeing it?

Several things are gross about this. First and foremost, she is just born and still sleeps in a walnut shell cradle when this whole marrying-her-off debacle begins. She has no skill set outside of being pretty and able to sing a little bit, and yet she is the Taylor Swift of pond, wood and fairy-land.

Second, her adoptive mother, who loves her so much, is never mentioned after she disappears. That poor woman probably has Thumbelina's picture on tiny little milk cartons all over Denmark and at the end, her name is changed. They will never find each other again. Sad.

Third, Thumbelina is worried that the butterfly who rescues her from the toad mafia is tied to the leaf that they used as a getaway car and you never find out if the butterfly escapes. Leading me to believe that it died in service to Thumby. RIP, butterfly.

Fourth, the swallow leaves the King of the Flower Spirits and his newly named arm candy in their, whatever, magic area, and goes to Copenhagen and blabs this whole half-assed story to Hans Christian Anderson. And he makes a mint off it.

Finally, there is a big bug called the Cockchafer, who grabs her off a leaf, leading to her eventual incarceration by the field-mouse madam. Yes, you read that right, a Cock-chafer. As in, it chafes cocks. Which we all know are male chickens. But still...

You know Hans Christian Anderson, he who brought us the tale of THE LITTLE MERMAID, the fairy tale that teaches us that if we have to give up our voice and our ability to breathe underwater to get a man, it's totally worth it. Even if it feels like our former fish tail is being sliced by a knife with every step we take on land – just do it! You need a man!!! I am not going to even link to his wikipedia page or his museum. Bite me HCA. Bite me in Danish...

As for Adrienne Adams, she seems perfectly nice and her pictures are pretty. But they can't save this torrid tale of treachery and disempowerment. My future granddaughters will get to look at the pictures as I tell the tale of a tiny badass who topples a toad crime empire, brings a dead bird back to life as she defies a power-mad rodent and his hench-woman, and finally takes over a kingdom badly in need of a new monarch after the reign of a wishy-washy figurehead with zero impulse control. I can't wait!