I was an avid reader throughout my childhood. Whether I was tucked away between the aisles of the Scholastic Book Fair, guided by the moonlight filtering through an overseas airplane window, or cuddled up with the dog at a loud and pointless family party, there I was, always reading. As an adult, I look back at my childhood self wondering where all of that magic went. I often find reading to pull myself into these days, especially when facing the horrors of the capitalist hellscape we live in. Where was the version of me that once tore through chapter books in a single afternoon?
So, on a mission to quench my childhood literary thirst, I belly-flopped onto my bed with one of my favorite book series, Magic Tree House, a copy I checked out from the library. (PS: support your local libraries!) My vision focused onto the pages and soon, reality slipped away, and the tree house started to spin. It spun faster and faster. Until everything was still.
Absolutely still.
The Magic Tree House series follows two “ordinary” kids, Jack and Annie, as they travel through tense, yet educational, adventures in different worlds thanks to the eponymous Magic Tree House. In the mainline series, Jack and Annie are thrust into extraordinary quests such as searching for magical mangoes in the Amazon Rainforest, solving an ancient riddle with a Wild West cowboy, or saving a friend behind enemy lines in World War II.
One of my favorites in the series was #1 – Merlin Missions: Christmas in Camelot. On Christmas night, Jack and Annie travel through the tree house to visit their home away from home, Camelot. But a curse had sucked the mirth and life out of the once vibrant kingdom. Faced with missing Knights of the Round Table and the royal Arthurian court frozen in place, Jack and Annie — and us readers! — are the only ones that can set off on the quest to find the Water of Memory and Imagination.
Sure, Magic Tree House, like other childrens’ media, are often known for their educational value. But adversely, the books also promote the magic of reading for peace, for love, and joy. All of these elements only further my desire for that part of my childhood innocence back.
All quests, whether it is as simple as Magic Tree House or world-spanning as Lord of the Rings, thrive on the contrast between where we come from and where we will go. In real life, we are constantly judged by where we come from- our countries of origin, our abilities and disabilities, our wealth… and throughout life these ever-shifting barriers separate us from others. But the concept of the quest is the heart of why we write and tell stories. We are born with a childhood innocence that drives us to imagine everything we want to put our minds to and to remember who we are doing it for.
Jack, Annie, and we as readers are on a quest to find the Water of Memory and Imagination. We are the only ones who can, really — King Arthur had sent his Knights of the Round Table because of their courage, but it is not merely courage that will bring life back to Camelot. Even when faced with the knowledge of monsters and fairy-tale trickers lurking where the Water lies, Jack and Annie jump at the quest anyways because, by Merlin’s account near the end of the book, “he knows you both have a great desire to fight for the good, and he knows you use the gift of imagination very well. Those are two special qualities needed to succeed in any quest.”
Late in the story, when Jack and Annie find the Water of Memory and Imagination, they are accosted by four beastly dragons, the Keepers of the Cauldron. A knight, in this situation, might try to fight with their sword and shield, only to become quickly overwhelmed. Two ordinary children wouldn’t stand a chance! So they did what they had to do; they drank the Water, and their Imaginations got to work. They used the cauldron to create burning branches, stood their ground, and pushed the Keepers back until they became exhausted and retreated.
What might have led them to victory? They were creative by using burning branches, and courageous by standing their ground, but anyone could do that. What makes these two different was that the duo specifically imagines their victory. When Jack imagined the Keepers retreating into their holes, “his fears slipped away” and “he was filled with strength and fury.” What helped them the most was that they imagined their victory; they envisioned it, and they believed in it.
And most importantly, they believe in each other and the people they care about. Earlier in the story, the two are enchanted and trapped in an eternal dance circle, discovering that the Knights of the Round Table went missing because they were entrapped for a while. Jack in particular felt his memory of the quest and of Camelot slipping away almost completely, wanting to dance forever. It took Annie calling out the name of their most beloved friend, Morgan le Fay, to break everyone free from the spell.
It is easy to become swept up in our own vices. We romanticize self-care and “being the main character” to the point where it has become its own industrial complex! But innocence is not just imagination for our own sake. Imagination makes anything possible because humans, together, make anything possible. We read and tell stories not for mere escapism, but because other people in our lives inspired, emboldened, and connected with us, whether someone writes a memoir about their grandmother or makes a post about a kind clerk at the bodega.
As a huge fan of reading as a child, I wrote about my best friend having superpowers in the 3rd grade. I begged my friends to dress up as George and Harold from Captain Underpants in the 5th grade. Through middle school and high school, I would always ask people about their Hogwarts house or their Hunger Games district. These moments will stick with me because these are moments when I yearned for others to be in the story with me and the kind of moments that we should all actively and consistently strive for.
It took me meandering through a beloved children’s book series to realize that the innocence of imagination is not something that is lost and found again, rather, it’s a fire that we dare to keep alive. Whether it’s smoldering ashes, a warmth by the hearth, or a blazing bonfire. The version of me that tore through chapter books in a single afternoon was still inside me after all. Maybe just a smidge burnt out.
By reading, writing, making art, we don’t just find friends and places to explore; we forge them. We have and will always have the power of friendship, of imagination, of peace, love, and joy, within us; we need only to keep the legend alive even as the world spins, faster and faster, until the world becomes absolutely still.
Kindergarten 