The Tale of Tales

What is the story of the three little pigs? The tale of Luke Skywalker? Holden Caulfield? If you walk into a movie without knowing what it is or who’s in it, and the first scene shows an American cowboy winning a gunfight, how does the rest of the movie proceed? You know the answers to all of these questions.

Stories are the skeletons supporting our understanding of the world. I think we tell stories to children to teach them…stories. They’re already mentally prepared for the structure of stories (I think), and the more they hear and see, the more they incorporate stories into their play. I think our minds are built for stories. The well-known “memory palace” approach to astonishing feats of memory is a way of putting a story around what you’re trying to remember. It’s not much of a story, but entering a building and placing a thought or a memory in a particular room that’s in a particular part of the building — that’s a rudimentary story.

Even in commerce, stories play a huge role. One way to sell a product — maybe the only way (I know very little about sales) — is with a story. The story of the customer once they have the product. Or the story of the product itself. Slogans like “think different,” “the quicker picker upper,” “a diamond is forever,” “the happiest place on earth” work because they’re tiny snippets of stories, and you fill in the details when you hear or read them.

I think we’re always awash in what Salman Rushdie called “the sea of stories.” We swim in that sea, but not the way we really swim — we’re more like fish; we can breathe in the sea of stories. We have to. We’re built that way.

Every Picture Tells a Story…except when it doesn’t

As a writer, and very much a word guy rather than a picture guy, I often take issue with received wisdom like “a picture is worth a thousand words.” It’s not. Words can be immensely more communicative than pictures, and the only time you need a thousand words is when the picture is by a master of that medium, and the writer is decidedly not a master. Pictures certainly have their place; don’t think I’m trying to deny that. There are some pictures that really do communicate more powerfully than any matching words could. That original “blue marble” photo of the earth from the moon, for example. The photo of the Hindenberg zeppelin in flames. The photo from Vietnam of Thich Quang Duc, a buddhist monk, who set himself on fire.

And yet…for every powerful image I’d say there’s a set of words of equal power, and what the words convey is more complex and nuanced then anything in an image.

Then there are images that aren’t trying to be powerful, exactly. They can just be beautiful, in a completely different way than words (which can also be beautiful). Beauty in words is something we learn to recognize and appreciate, but I wonder if it’s the same with pictures. A particular style of beauty can be learned, of course, but maybe there’s some sort of nearly-universal baseline that anyone might appreciate regardless of what they know. There’s the golden ratio, of course (1.618:1). Supposedly when something you see — even a face — comes close to having components in that ratio, it’s more likely to seem beautiful. There’s symmetry too; supposedly humans prefer things — and faces — that are more symmetrical.

So maybe there are unlearned aspects of visual beauty. What could be innately beautiful aspects of words? Maybe their rythym when spoken? And maybe certain kinds of sounds — maybe the ones similar to the noises we make to comfort babies. After all, babies have hardly learned anything, but having dealt with a few of them, I’m pretty sure some sounds work better than others to please them.

Beauty in written words, though, must have to be learned. I think Norman MacLean’s writing in A River Runs Through It is very beautiful indeed, but there are so many things contributing to that, it’s hard to argue that it’s anything like universal. But still, the last lines in the book hit me every time I read them.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. 
I am haunted by waters.” 

Tales from the Forest

It was cold in the forest. Everyone had grown their winter fur, except for the birds, who were always explaining how feathers were so much better than fur. Even so, the birds admitted it was cold. Beaver’s pond was frozen over, and he had to come out three times every day to break enough ice to get in and out of his house. Magpie had moved to what she called her winter house, which was inside a hollow tree. And the wrens were nowhere to be found — Squirrel, who knew them the best, said they had all gone south on a vacation trip.

There were a few who didn’t seem to mind the cold, though. Dog, who always complained about the heat in midsummer, said she liked it, and enjoyed telling everyone the stories about her great-great-great grandmother who had pulled some sort of wagon or something in some far-off place where it was always cold and snowy. It had always sounded unbelievable to Hare, although things that Dog said usually turned out in the end to be true.

And one day, as Hare and Dog were strolling down the path back to Dog’s house at the edge of town, they were surprised to see someone else who didn’t mind the cold.

“Bear!” said Hare, “I haven’t seen you for ages! What brings you down from your mountain?”

“Good day, Hare,” said Bear, who was always polite. “Hello, Dog. It’s a pleasure to see you both again. I must say, Hare, that my visit to this part of the forest is the state of provisions in the mountains. I’m sad to say, Hare, that the larders cannot be described as overflowing near my habitual abode. I consider it to be a consequence of the currently emaciated reports from the thermometer. Thus I have repaired to lands more moderate in elevation in the hope that the availability of quality victuals might be found to be more favorable.”

Hare wasn’t entirely sure what Bear was talking about. This was usually what happened, but luckily Dog, who was very good at listening to words, could tell Hare was stumped. So she whispered, so quietly that only Hare’s excellent ears could hear: “it’s so cold there isn’t anything to eat in the mountains, and Bear is hungry.”

“Oh, of course,” said Hare, “it’s cold around here…”

“The temperature is just right, thank you,” said Dog.

“…but there’s plenty to eat,” continued Hare. “My usual gardens are frozen solid, but I have a whole bag of sandwich-makings at home. I just found them yesterday, in back of the market.”

“Bear,” said Dog, “if you wait at the edge of the forest, Hare and I will fetch you some groceries. It might not be a good idea for you to go into town right now. In the daytime, I mean.” Dog knew a lot about the humans who lived in the town, and thought they might be frightened of Bear, because they didn’t know that Bear spent most of his time in the mountains in quiet meditation.

“Oh my,” said Bear, “such assistance is far more than I had expected, and I fear it’s far more than I deserve, Dog. Perhaps there is a boon or favor I might bestow upon you in return?”

“Well,” said Dog, thinking fast, “do you know any good stories, Bear? It’s always nice to listen to a story.”

“Indeed, my dear friend,” said Bear, “I am well acquainted with numerous narrative sagas; dramas that have been related by my familial ancestors and by my acquaintances as we gather for a shared repast during the alpine twilights. I should be delighted to impart these epics to the best of my oratorical abilities.”

“Bear says he has some good stories to tell us,” whispered Dog to Hare.

“What sorts of groceries would you like, Bear?” asked Hare.

“I shall throw myself entirely at the mercy of chance and fortune,” said Bear. “As I find the considerable cornucopia of comestible compounds all entirely acceptable thanks to the expansive scope of my omnivorous palate.”

“Bear says whatever we find will be okay,” whispered Dog. “He can eat anything.”

“And a lot of it,” whispered Hare back. “I remember the last time Bear visited, he set a record by eating thirty-seven sandwiches.”

“OK,” said Dog to Bear, “we’ll be right back.” Dog and Hare set off toward the back of the market.

The back of the market was where everyone in the forest knew they could find nearly anything they needed, from the plastic bags Magpie had shown them how to use to the ingredients Hare used to make his famous sandwiches. There were big boxes there next to a sign Hare knew said “t-r-a-s-h”, which meant that nobody else wanted it. And that meant they could help themselves. At least as long as they didn’t leave a mess. Dog had explained that leaving a mess was a Very Bad Thing in the town, and could get you into trouble.

Knowing how much Bear could eat, Dog and Hare found some plastic bags so they could carry more. Then they set about filling the bags with food. They found loaves of bread, a bag of apples, and plenty more — including one bag of white things that was partly open. It had a very sweet smell that Dog noticed first.

“Oh, look at this,” she said, “I think these are called ‘mushmelloos’. Bear will love these; he has a sweet tooth, you know.”

“What’s that?” asked Hare. “There’s something wrong with Bear’s teeth? Should we just look for soft food?”

“No, a sweet tooth is what you call it when somebody loves sweets,” said Dog. “Remember how much Bear likes honey? Honey is sweet, and these mushmelloos smell even sweeter than that. I’m taking them to Bear.”

It didn’t take long until their plastic bags were bulging with food. They looked around and carefully cleaned up anything they’d dropped, then trotted off to where they’d left Bear. They found him right there, sitting and humming to himself with his eyes closed.

“Ah, said Bear, opening his eyes, “you have returned posthaste, my friends. I was just passing the time in contemplation and meditation, as is my wont during my sojourns in my elevated aerie. I find such a practice hones the mind, sharpens the senses, and rejuvenates the body and spirit.”

“Bear was just waiting for us,” whispered Dog.

“We brought as much as we could carry,” said Hare, handing bags of food to Bear. “I hope you like it, Bear.”

Bear looked and sniffed through the bags. When he came to the mushmelloos he perked up and sniffed again. “Can it be true?” he said. “Can fortune have smiled so extravagantly on this unworthy ursine as to bestow upon me this most singular of delicacies?”

“Bear likes mushmelloos,” whispered Dog. But Hare already knew that, watching Bear lovingly pop a marshmallow into his mouth and roll it around with his tongue. Bear closed his eyes again and smiled. “Mmmmm,” said Bear.

“I understand that part,” whispered Hare.

It took Bear a little while to finish all of the marshmallows. He ate just one at a time and went slowly “so as to facilitate maximal gustatory sensation,” he explained. After that he ate three loaves of bread, a dozen apples, and several cans of vegetables, which he opened by using his claws like a can opener. Hare hadn’t seen anyone do that before, and he was quite impressed.

When Bear had finished, there were still a few plastic bags full of food he hadn’t gotten to yet. “Ahhhh,” he said, sitting back with a satisfied smile, patting his belly. “That was a superbly satisfying supper, my friends. Shall we now retire to a suitable venue so that I may relate the adventurous apologues and anecdotes alluded to in our agreement?”

“Bear says he’ll tell us some stories and where do we want go,” whispered Dog.

“Someplace warmer,” said Hare.

Dog knew just the place and explained to Hare where it was. Then Hare raced back deeper into the forest to tell everyone he could find about Bear’s visit and the stories, and Dog took Bear to the place she’d thought of.

It turned out to be a barn. It wasn’t far from where Dog lived, and it was nice and warm because it was full of hay. It was also full of Jake and Ralph, the two horses who lived there, and Masie and Hortense, the cows, and Robert the pig. To Dog’s surprise, it was also full of Ma and Pa mouse and the mouse children; they were visiting their cousins because of the cold. Dog was also surprised to find Magpie perched in the rafters; she was visiting her friend Oliver, who was a barn owl and lived there. Dog made the introductions — not everyone who lived in the barn had met Bear before — and explained that Bear was going to tell stories. Everyone liked stories, so there was an excited murmuring while they waited for Hare to arrive with whoever else he could find.

While they waited, Bear ate some more of his groceries. Then Hare arrived and everyone turned their attention to the door to see who had come to listen. Hare had found Squirrel, Fox, Otter, Muskrat, Hedgehog, Raccoon, and Beaver. “I couldn’t find Porcupine,” he explained. “She wasn’t at home. Or at least she didn’t answer her door.”

“She might be asleep,” said Magpie. “Porcupine can sleep for a long, long time when it gets cold, you know. It’s called ‘hide-a-nation’ because, um, you’re hiding while you sleep, and, er…well that’s what it’s called.”

“I think it’s called ‘hibernation’,” said Dog.

“I’ve heard about that,” said Fox. “Some can and some can’t, the way I understand it. If there’s a cold winter ahead, if you can, you eat as much as you can hold — so it lasts while you’re snoozing — and you just go to sleep until it’s over. I’d do it myself if I could, but as they say, some can and some can’t.

“Oh dear,” said Beaver. “I think we’ve found someone who can.” He pointed.

Bear, who had finished the rest of his groceries, was sleeping peacefully next to a big pile of hay. They poked him once or twice but he didn’t stir a bit.

“How long did you say this hibernation lasts?” asked Dog.

“The whole winter, sometimes,” said Magpie. “At least while it’s very cold.”

“I guess we’re going to have to wait to hear Bear’s stories,” said Raccoon.

“This,” said Otter, “is hilarious!” He started laughing. Otter’s laugh set Muskrat off too, and the two were shooed into a far corner of the barn to lean on each other’s shoulder, laughing so hard they cried.

“I guess there’s only one thing to do,” said Dog.

“What’s that?” asked Masie the cow.

“If Bear is going to be asleep for a while,” said Dog, “we’d better cover him up so he’s hidden and the humans won’t notice.”

“I told you it had to do with hiding!” said Magpie.

It took the whole pile of hay to cover Bear up. Then they found that Robert the Pig knew lots of stories too, so everyone from the forest stayed in the barn where it was warm and where there were stories. They stayed so long that Dog and Hare went back out to get more groceries, and Hare made sandwiches for everybody. It turned out to be an excellent way to spend a cold day.