MOOMINTROLL AND FRIENDS
To many foreigners, Finland seems a strange and remote country. When they think of it, they imagine a largely empty landscape: snow-covered forests, gray rocky shores, icy lakes, and freezing rivers pass before their inner eyes to the accompaniment of the melancholy tone poems of Sibelius. Some, though, have another, more friendly and intimate vision of Finland. Because they know the stories of Tove Jansson, they imagine the country as bright with songbirds and flowers, and inhabited by fantastic and delightful creatures: the Moomintroll family and their sometimes charming, sometimes eccentric and difficult neighbours, so different from us in appearance yet so much like people we already know.
Today, Moomins are famous almost all over the world; those adventures have been translated into thirty-three languages. In Finland there is now a Moomin World theme park, and in England the troll family are the stars of a comic strip and a television series. There is even more than
Tove Jansson, the creator of Moomins, who died in July 2001, was probably the best-known writer in Finland—not only for her children’s books, but for her stories and novels for adults, one of which is set in an upmarket retirement home in Florida. She was also a successful artist who illustrated her own work with deceptively simple line drawings. Because of this we know exactly how her characters looked to their creator, something that is rare in stories for children past kindergarten age.
Jansson was born in 1914 of Swedish-speaking parents who had settled in Helsinki. Both were artists; her father, Viktor, was a well-known sculptor. Her mother, Signe, was a gifted illustrator who also designed two hundred Finnish stamps, and a famous storyteller. Tove Jansson inherited their talents. At fifteen she entered art school; later she studied in Germany, Italy, France, and London. Her first, brief Moomintroll story appeared in 1945. It was followed the next year by Kometen kommer (The Comet Is Coming), the first of nine full-length Moomin books. Jansson, who never married, spent part of each year in Helsinki and the rest on a remote and beautiful island in the Gulf of Finland, where her family had gone in the summers since she was a small child. The summer island appears both in her adult stories and in Pappan och havet (Papa and the Sea) (1954).
The author of the only book about Tove Jansson in English has compared the world of Moomintrolls to the Hundred-Acre Woods of A. A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh . There is something to be said for this connection, though Jansson, by her own account, did not read the Pooh books until long after she had created Moomintrolls. Perhaps the resemblances between the two series are the result of what a folklorist would call polygenesis: similar human situations tend to produce similar stories.
Tove Jansson’s characters, like Milne’s, are highly individual creatures, part humanoid and part animal and part pure invention, living in a remote and peaceful rural world. Jansson’s simple language, comic gift, and down-to-earth relation of odd events all recall Milne; and so does her love of the countryside and the high value she places on affection and good manners. Like Milne, she is a humanist; and also like him, though she writes for children, she deals with universal issues.
Some of Jansson’s characters also recall Milne’s. Her hero, Moomin, shares with Winnie the Pooh his good nature, love of adventure, and innocent trustfulness. Though on first glance Moomin suggests a toy hippopotamus, his plump, pear-shaped torso, short legs and arms, stand-up ears, and quizzical expression also make him look rather like E. H. Shepard’s drawings of Winnie the Pooh. Perhaps, though, it is not so much that they resemble each other as that both of them look like small children.
In Tove Jansson’s earliest books Moomin, like Winnie the Pooh, has a small and timid companion. Moomin’s friend is called Sniff, and somewhat resembles a kangaroo or bandicoot. Sniff, however, is a less attractive character than Piglet. He is self-centered and dazzled by wealth, and in later books he becomes less prominent and finally disappears.
Misabel, who appears in Farlig Midsommar (Midsummer Night's Peril) (1954), initially seems like a female version of Eeyore/Igor. (“Everything’s gone wrong for me, simply everything,” she declares on her first appearance.) But whereas Eeyore/Igor remains perpetually gloomy, Misabel’s self-dramatization of her own unhappiness is eventually transformed into theatrical talent, and she becomes the leading lady of a floating theater. In Tove Jansson’s books, unlike Milne’s, it is possible for characters to change.
There are also important differences between the Moomintroll world and that of Pooh. The setting of Milne’s books is limited: a few acres of Sussex downs and woods (the Hundred-Acre Woods). The Moomintroll landscape, on the other hand, stretches from the Lonely Mountains in the north and east to the villages south of Moomin Valley and the remote islands of the western sea. The world of Moomins is also less sheltered than that of Pooh. It contains parks and orphanages and prisons and astronomical observatories, lighthouses and telephones and fishing boats. It is much subject to natural disasters: not only floods and high winds (which also occur in Milne), but violent snowstorms, deadly cold winters, earthquakes, the eruption of a volcano, and a near-collision with a comet. The difference between the climates of southern England and Finland is also reflected in the books. Tove Jansson’s characters spend a lot of time simply trying to keep warm and dry.
Another and perhaps central difference between Milne’s world and Jansson’s is that the Pooh stories depict an ideal society of friends, while the Moomin tales portray an ideal family. And whereas Milne’s world is ruled by a male, Christopher Robin, Moomin Valley clearly centers around Moominmama.
Milne’s model for the world of Pooh, apparently, was the all-male boarding school run by his father. All his characters are male, with the exception of the fussily maternal Kanga, who can be seen as the school nurse or cook/lunch lady, or matron (the Smurfette principle in action). Jansson’s stories, on the other hand, contain many strongly individualized female characters. It must be admitted, however, that this is true mainly of her later books. In the first two tales of the series, the only female besides Moominmama is the timid and featherbrained Snorkmaiden. Though she is fond of Moomin (whom she almost exactly resembles except for her fringe of hair and honey eyes), the Snorkmaiden is mainly interested in her own appearance and in clothes and jewellery.
In the later Moominland books, however, there are several independent, brave, and attractive female characters, including the Mymblas (mother and daughter), Little My (daughter to the elder Mymbla and younger sister to the younger Mymbla), and Too-Ticky (inspired by Tove's own muse and ladylove Tuulikki, as seen below). Instead of displaying the stereotyped vanity and flightiness of the Snorkmaiden, they are more rational and detached than the male characters. Little My, especially, is almost frighteningly cool. In appearance she resembles a plump little girl with a ginger topknot, and though brave, resourceful, intelligent, and psychologically perceptive, she is not especially affectionate and seems to have no need for other people. She also has no illusions about herself. In Trollvinter (Trollwinter) (1957), when a little squirrel freezes to death, Moomin remarks that Little My doesn’t feel sorry. “No,” she agrees. “I can’t. I’m always either glad or angry.”
Too-Ticky, another semi-human character, though as independent and practical as Little My, is more complex. Tove Jansson has said that Too-Ticky was based on a close friend, muse, and even ladylove, the artist Tuulikki Pietilä, whom she met in 1950 when she was feeling overworked and depressed. It was Tuulikki, she says, who taught her to have a more relaxed attitude toward life and to take things as they came. This is what Too-Ticky teaches Moomin in Trollwinter, when he leaves the cozy house in which his parents are hibernating, per moomintroll habit, and ventures out into the Finnish winter for the first time in his life. With Too-Ticky’s encouragement he gradually begins to enjoy himself: he learns to ski and sees the Northern Lights.
When the first book in the series, Kometen kommer (The Comet is Coming) (1946), appeared, Finland was just emerging from the dark years of World War II, during which the country was invaded by Russia and occupied by Germany. It is perhaps no surprise that the book tells of a difficult and dangerous time. In the course of the story, Moomin and his friends discover that a huge comet is approaching the Earth. Gradually the rivers and oceans dry up; the world becomes hotter and hotter yet darker and darker; there are tornadoes and plagues of grasshoppers. What keeps the story from being frightening or depressing is Moomin’s optimism and love of adventure, and his confidence that whatever happens, Moominmama will be equal to it.
In this book, as in those that follow, Moominmama is the stable center of the story. She is the perfect mother: always kind, understanding, giving, and forgiving, an unending source of warmth and love and food. It is she who solves problems, gives advice, comforts the distressed, and generally holds the family together. Mama believes that “all nice things are good for you,” and wherever she is, even on a desert island or in the midst of a disaster, there is lots to eat and drink: raspberry cordial, pancakes with homemade jam, birthday cake, blueberry pie, coffee, and sandwiches. Tove Jansson has said that Moominmama is based upon her mother, Signe, whose stories were the beginning of the Moomintroll tales.
Moominmama cares not only for her family but for any stray creature that wanders onto the scene. In Det osynliga barnet (The Invisible Child) (1995) she takes in the title character Ninni, an orphan girl so badly abused by her aunt that she has become invisible. Moominmama, with the help of her grandmother’s old book of Household Remedies, gradually cures her. In Pappan och havet (Papa and the Sea) she also manages to overcome the hysteria and confusion of a former lighthouse keeper who has had what seems like a nervous breakdown, and is described as “not a human being at all . . . more like a plant or a shadow.”
Moominpapa (based obviously upon Viktor Jansson), on the other hand, is a somewhat ambiguous figure. Though he is an excellent craftsman, he is somewhat dreamy and self-preoccupied. He has a continual need to feel important, to be recognized by the world, and to think of himself as in charge. This leads him first to write his memoirs—published as Muminpappans bravader/memoarer (Exploits/Memoirs of Moominpapa) (1952)—and later to insist that the whole family leave Moominvalley, and the mainland in general, and go to live on a small island far out in the ocean.
The story of this move is recounted in one of Tove Jansson’s best and most perceptive books, Pappan och havet (Papa and the Sea). The story begins one afternoon, when
Moominpapa was walking about in his garden feeling at a loss. He had no idea what to do with himself, because it seemed everything there was to be done had already been done or was being done by somebody else.
He does not enjoy or even practice his hobbies any longer. As Tove Jansson puts it,
Moominpapa . . . had got his fishing-rod on his birthday a couple of years before and it was a very fine one. But sometimes it stood in its corner in a slightly unpleasant way, as though reminding him that it was for catching fish.
Moominpapa, like many suburban fathers with a rather meaningless job, or none at all, is bored and depressed. He consoles himself by going into the garden and looking at his family reflected in a crystal ball, which
made them all seem incredibly small, . . . and all their movements seem forlorn and aimless.
Moominpapa liked this. It was his evening game. It made him feel that they all needed protection, that they were at the bottom of a deep blue sea that only he knew about.
When he declares that they are all going to move to the island, Moominmama accepts it philosophically. “Now the proper thing to do was that they should begin an entirely new life, and that Moominpapa should provide everything they needed, look after them and protect them,” she thinks. In fact, once the family reaches the island and moves into a deserted lighthouse, it is Moominmama who looks after everyone and solves the problems that arise, though Moominpapa does finally catch some—indeed, far too many—fish.
Living on the island is difficult, especially as the weather turns colder. Moominpapa becomes bewildered and confused, even mildly paranoid. Moominmama does her best, but sometimes she has to retreat into the garden she has painted on the walls of the lighthouse. The book ends happily, but it is reassuring to learn that eventually the family will return to Moominvalley.
One of Tove Jansson’s most remarkable creations is her gallery of strange and eccentric characters, many of whom, in spite of their odd appearance, are familiar human types. The strangest species in Moominland are the Hattifnatteners—mobs of pale, anonymous beings (electric ghosts) who resemble stalks of white asparagus with rudimentary arms and hands, and eyes for only facial feature. They cannot hear or speak to Moomin and his friends and family, and are “interested only in traveling onwards, as far as possible.” The Hattifnatteners irresistibly suggest mobs of packaged foreign tourists, and it is not surprising that at one of the times when Moominpapa is feeling especially restless and dissatisfied at home, he goes on a voyage with them. During a thunderstorm they suddenly come to life by a strike of lightning and start swaying back and forth, and Moominpapa becomes disillusioned. “They were heavily charged but hopelessly locked up,” he thinks. “They didn’t feel, they didn’t think, they could only seek.”
The Hemulens, on the other hand, represent established authority, organization, the adult world. They look like larger, more rectangular Moomins in human dress (though all Hemulens, both male and female, wear skirts). They are officials, policemen, park-keepers, and managers of orphanages. Some are oppressive and hateful, others merely pathetic. The Hemulen in Sent i november (In Late November), for example,
spent the whole day arranging, organizing and directing things from morning till night! All around him there were people living slipshod and aimless lives, wherever he looked there was something to be put right, and he worked his fingers to the bone trying to get them to see how they ought to live.
Nevertheless he is chronically tired and bored, and feels “that days passed without anything of importance happening.” Other Hemulens do not try to organize anyone, but are obsessed with collecting butterflies or plants or stamps, and none of them are any help about the house or in times of trouble.
Fillyfjonks also seem to represent adult authority, but of a less oppressive kind. Most of them are female, just as most Hemulens are male. Fillyfjonks, who slightly resemble greyhounds, tend to be silly and fussy, to fear dirt and insects. They are house-proud, attached to their possessions and constantly cleaning. They rigidly observe the rules of polite behavior, and often invite relatives and acquaintances they really dislike to meals. But sometimes, at these depressing social events, the mask slips:
“We are so small and insignificant,” [one Fillyfjonk suddenly whispers to a guest] “and so are our teacakes and carpets and all those things, you know, and still they’re so important, but always they’re threatened by mercilessness. . . .
“Tornadoes, whirlwinds, sand-storms. . . . Tsunamis that carry houses away. . . . But most of all I’m talking about myself and my fears, even if I know that’s not done. I know everything will turn out badly. I think about that all the time.”
There are also many characters in Moominland who do not represent a species. There is, for instance, the Muskrat, who announces that he is a philosopher (an illustration shows that he has recently been reading or pretending to read Spengler). The Muskrat spends most of his time in a hammock, waiting for other people (usually Moominmama) to bring him lunch. “It’s all a matter of thinking,” he says. “I sit and think about how unnecessary everything is.” When the Muskrat absentmindedly sits on Moomin’s birthday cake, he is unaware of it. “I don’t bother myself over things like cakes,” he says. “I don’t see them, taste them, or feel them in any way, ever.” The accompanying illustration, however, shows the Muskrat consuming a large piece of squashed cake.
One of the most remarkable things about Tove Jansson is her sympathy for her most unlikable characters. In Sent i november (Late November) (1971), the last and most complex installment of the series, a Hemulen and a Fillyfjonk move into the Moomin family’s deserted house while they are away on the island. The Hemulen tries to play the part of Moominpapa, with limited success, especially when he insists on teaching everyone to ski. The Fillyfjonk, who doesn’t really like children, attempts to replace Moominmama. Though Jansson makes fun of the Hemulen and the Fillyfjonk, she also pities them and even seems to respect their clumsy efforts. By the end of the series, Jansson has gotten to the point where she can sympathize even with her most difficult and frightening creation. This is the Groke, a strange, large, dark, long-haired, mound-shaped aubergine creature with huge staring eyes and a big nose and a sickening grin, that seems to represent depression and despair. The Groke is a kind of walking manifestation of Scandinavian gloom: everything the Groke touches dies, and the ground freezes wherever she sits. If she stays in one place for an hour, the soil beneath her becomes permanently barren. “You felt that she was terribly evil and would wait for ever,” Jansson says in one of the earlier books.
But even the normally self-centered Sniff can sympathize with the Groke. “Think how lonely the Groke is because nobody likes her, and she hates everybody,” he says. At first the best anyone can do is get rid of her temporarily. But finally, in Pappan och havet (Papa and the Sea), it is Moomin himself who tames the Groke. He comes with a lantern every night to the beach where she sits freezing the sand and making “a thin sound, something like humming and whistling together. . . . after a while Moomin felt that it was inside his head, behind his eyes.” One night he sees the Groke dance, swaying “slowly and heavily from side to side, waving her skirts up and down until they looked like dry, wrinkled bat wings.” When she leaves afterward, the sand where she has sat is no longer frozen. Perhaps Tove Jansson is saying that we must become familiar with our darkest moods, and even encourage them to express themselves.
A final and very interesting Moominland character is Snuffkin, one of the most human-looking figures in the books. He is a solitary fellow with an old green hat and a harmonica who seems to represent the artist—perhaps Tove Jansson herself. Snufkin is Moomin’s best friend, but he is not always around due to his migratory habits. He goes south in the winter, and sometimes he prefers to be alone and think of tunes.
On his first appearance, in Kometen kommer (The Comet is Coming), Snuffkin is an anonymous wanderer; but later he (like Tove Jansson) has become locally famous. In one story, “The Spring Tune,” his creative efforts are disrupted by the arrival of a fan, a small, fuzzy, wide-eyed creature called, perhaps not accidentally, “the creep.” “Just think of it,” the creep says. “I’ll be the creep who has sat by Snuffkin’s camp-fire. I’ll never forget that.”
When Snuffkin, becoming impatient with the adulation, remarks, “You can’t ever be really free if you admire somebody too much,” the creep does not hear him.
“I know you know everything,” the little creep prattled on, edging closer still. “I know you’ve seen everything. You’re right in everything you say, and I’ll always try to become as free as you are.”
Snuffkin winds up naming the creep Titiyoo, endowing him with a small yet powerful gift of significance.
In the last story of the series, in Sent i november (Late November), Snuffkin, who has been searching for a new tune, is lying in his tent trying to fall asleep. But he cannot stop thinking about the other characters in the story.
Whatever he did, there they were in his tent, all the time, the Hemulen’s immobile eyes, and Fillyfjonk lying weeping on her bed, and Toft who just kept quiet and stared at the ground, and old Grandpa Grumble all confused . . . they were everywhere, right inside his head.
Some authors cannot forget their characters even after the book is finished. Perhaps this is how Tove Jansson came to feel in the years when she tried to turn to adult fiction, but found herself instead writing a final, brilliant Moominland tale.
Although this week’s episode was cute and had some good comedic moments, despite this episode focusing on Elena, I felt it was really shallow. The only thing we got out of her is her understanding and kind nature, both we are already aware of, and how she has the strength to not be pressured in going against her morales— regardless of what is at stake. This was highlighted when Prunce was pressuring Elena to grab the pen and go instead of actually trying to communicate to the aliens why they needed it. I liked that they did this because it shows us how because of his desperation, Prunce can be a hypocrite when he is fuelled by his own selfish desires.
