Hello Gentle Reader,
“Parabola: The Search for Meaning,” often shortened to “Parabola,” was one of those wonderfully curated publications. A quarterly publication which explored the nature and history of mythology, folklore, and their ancient and continued attempts to define and delineate some meaning to existence, the world, and the undefinable concept of the human condition; but also, their continued inspiration and parabolic employment in literature and beyond. It was lovingly published by the not-for-profit organization, The Society for the Study of Myth and Tradition. Contributors included renowned writers and poets such as: Robert Bly, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Pablo Neruda, Ursula Le Guin, and Italo Calvino; in addition to academics with expertise in the Jungian discipline of psychology, ecology, folklore, philosophy and a myriad of other subjects. “Parabola,” however, didn’t draw them in for their literary talents or their scholarly integrity and academic acuity; but rather they were framed within the perspective of ‘The Seeker,’ continually traveling, wondering, and pondering in awe and curiosity of the human condition, and the need and capacity to create myths, stories, and narratives in order to explain, frame, and order not only their existence, but understand it in relation to the greater world and by extension the universe. A unique feature of each issue of “Parabola,” was how each issue sought to concentrate and ruminate on a particular subject. For example, the first issues defining theme in 1976 was “The Hero,” subsequent subjects and themes covered were, “Magic,” “Rites of Passage,” “Inner Alchemy,” “Mask and Metaphor,” “Holy War,” “Guilt,” “Words of Power,” “The Knight and The Hermit,” “Liberation & Letting Go,” among a plethora of a back catalogue full of eccentric subjects. The publication’s themes were eclectic, expansive, and inspiring, in addition to being multifractional, whereby they could be examined and re-examined from a myriad of perspectives and angles. Unfortunately, “Parabola: The Search for Meaning,” became yet another casualty to a changing publishing industry as it clangs through time, and its final issue was published in April of 2025. The final theme was “The Mystery of Time.” An early and frequent contributor to the magazine was the writer, P.L. Travers, who is fondly remembered and beloved for being the creator and writer of the famous “Mary Poppins,” series of novels.
As a writer, P.L. Travers maintained a distant relationship to the idea of children’s literature, going so far to refuse and refute all attempts to classify, categorize, or characterise her work as that of a children’s writer. Travers went so far as to publish an essay in The New York Times titled: “I NEVER WROTE FOR CHILDREN,” (in all capitals for added effect). In the essay, Travers hovers over the subject of children’s literature, but rather than land a punch or mount a reasonable defense of why she is not a children’s writer, she instead skirts the issue as much as possible, and in doing so adds further fog and uncertainty to the already amorphous identity that children’s literature encompasses. P.L. Travers is less interested in assembling a case to fend off and is far more interested in conjuring an exasperated sense of mystique. Whereby, logically, if the subject cannot be defined, how can she be charged with dabbling in it? When Travers decides to rapier into the realm of polemics, she’s pointed in her flèches, accusing publishers and booksellers of being the real culprits for the need to delineate literature between the realms of adulthood and children; expressing further exasperation when books are placed into age groups:
“[. . .] I see books labeled for “From 5 to 7” or “From 9 to 12,” because who is to know what child will be moved by what book and at what age? Who is to be the judge?”
While Travers is thankful that some children have indeed found her books and were kind enough to read them, she maintains she never wrote with them as the intended target audience. A point further illustrated when P.L. Travers invokes other children’s writers from Beatrix Potter to Lewis Carol and Maurice Sendak. In particular, Travers summons forth Beatrix Potter’s own defense and annoyance at being defined and equally dismissed as a children’s writer: “I write to please myself!” P.L. Travers remains, however, not necessarily offended in the continued review and appraisal of her work as a writer of children’s literature, but rather how demeaning this is not only to her as a writer, but also to children or adults who decide to enjoy the work, and engage with the sense and spirit of being ‘childlike.’ Regardless, P.L. Travers maintains the position she is not a writer concerned with the literary habits of children; but instead, a practitioner and devotee to myth and folklore. No different then The Brothers Grimm and the Ancient Greek orators. What saves Travers from entrenching herself into an indignant position is her attitude towards children and their readings. Rather then being disdainful and dismissive of the book’s children read or are interested in reading; Travers instead decries the malpractice of editors, publishers, and booksellers attempts to corral them into predefined notions of age-appropriate material, the aptly aforementioned labels: ‘From 5 to 7,’ or ‘From 9 to 12.’ Travers rather encourages and supports children having the agency and curiosity to explore all books that they want to read and to enjoy them as is. After all, children like all people are interested in stories and if the story is entertaining enough, compelling enough, or thrilling enough, they will happily appropriate it for their own enjoyment, and as far as Travers is concerned no greater compliment can be provided to a writer. Ultimately though, P.L. Travers perceived literature as a dragon’s hoard of treasure, vast and unmanageable, which just so happens to lack any sense of curative objective. What unites it as a whole is an appreciation for language and the ancient act of storytelling.
Throughout her life, P.L. Travers earned the distinction and reputation of being described as a serious and sharp writer, equal to a fire-breathing dragon crowned with curls, who did not suffer fools kindly. She was not the sing-song nanny, defying gravity by sliding up bannisters, utilizing a spoonful of sugar to soften the harshness of reality. No, that tinseled whimsical abomination (by Travers view) was the product of the commercialized imagination of Walt Disney and his film adaption of Travers’ beloved “Mary Poppins.” Speaking of which, it is no secret that P.L. Travers hated what had been done to “Mary Poppin,” with the film adaption, bleaching away the darker elements of the Edwardian nursey and the sharper characteristics of the titular nanny, and replacing them with an over confectioned frivolous showgirl. It comes as no surprise that this would be the first and only film adaption of the series in Travers’ lifetime. It has been resurrected as a musical, which Travers characteristically laid out stipulations for; while a film sequel was released, it is considered an original continuation of its own, not another adaption. It’s difficult to imagine Travers warming up to either of them. The damage was done though, when people hear or think of “Mary Poppins,” in any fashion they imagine a whimsical and charming character, rather than the stern but kind and orderly nanny Travers had created. Regardless, “Mary Poppins,” remains P.L. Travers most famous work and creation. The character, novels, and the film adaption inevitably made her a wealthy woman during her lifetime. Despite this, Travers maintained that her preoccupation as a writer was far more interested in folklore and mythology, which predated the publication and popularity of “Mary Poppins.” This is further supported by the fact that during the Second World War, and in the employment by the now defunct U.K. Ministry of Information, Travers lived for five years in the United States, and for a period of two summers lived amongst the Navajo, Hopi, and Pueblo peoples, taking an interest in their myths and folkloric traditions. In interviews and articles, P.L. Travers presented herself as more folklorist and scholar of myth, which is what ultimately led me to hunt down her collected essays and reflections on myth, symbol and story: “What the Bee Knows,” which is compiled of essays, articles, and interviews she contributed to “Parabola.”
First and foremost, P.L. Travers is no rhetorician or polemicist. The essays of “What the Bee Knows,” are not distant clinician observations or scholarly studies. They are not the musings of an anthropologist’s investigation gradually piecing together a portrait of a society and culture. Nor are they a detailed report outlining the autopsied ins and outs of the fairy stories and myths after scrutinizing examination. No, quite the opposite in fact. They’re strange and bewildering musings. Where other writers and essayists keep a healthy distance between themselves and their subject; Travers, however, openly acquainted herself with them, becoming drenched and overcome; until ultimately, she is anointed a disciple. The essays unapologetically wade into the esoteric. Often, P.L. Travers’ literary voice became more concerned with evocation and enchanting in orientation; loose and easily overtaken by oneiric interpretations or freefalling into some unconscious and interior fantastical realm or other imaginings or day dreams. The expectation of a severe, pithy, and acerbic no-nonsense writer, were quickly thwarted, when greeted by what could only be described as some performative act, where P.L. Travers conceals herself in the persona of some Madam Zelda figure at a séance table, complete with crystal ball, incense burners and overstuffed cushions. Throughout her life, Travers viewed herself on a quasi psych-spiritual journey, often under the tutelage of individuals and gurus such as A.E. (George William Russell) to George Gurdjieff, among others. Rather than review and analyse her pursuit of abstruse fulfillment, Travers instead indulges into a variety of thematic concerns as if they were writing prompts, revealing some critical thought or literary admissions, in addition to autobiographical details, and more ethereal ruminations of the subject at hand. It’s a mixed bag, and often delighted in being more hermetic than enlightening. By the time I read through the first batch of essays and reached the interview titled: “Where Will All the Stories Go?” It became apparent that the conversation between Travers and Laurens van der Post was exclusively between them, and had no room for an interloper like myself. Truth be told, it’s barely tolerable to read someone engaged in a sermon of the mystical; it is completely indigestible when two individuals hoard the handcar and pump it into the depths of the mines of mysticism, extolling all the minerals, gems, and subterranean surprises, while your stranded at the entrance of the alleged cave of wonders.
“What the Bee Knows,” provides a different facet to P.L. Travers bibliography, one which is always overshadowed by the indomitable figure of “Mary Poppins.” While I had hoped it showed the serious and scholarly talents of Travers, the supposed literary analysis she often insinuated about in her interviews, but instead was met by a writer who seemed far more interested in being swept up in the tempests of the primordial storms of mythmaking, symbol, and story. While they were often interesting at times, one too many veered towards the musings from a psychedelic trip, not necessarily engaging and lacking a concrete structure in which readers can properly orient themselves to the topic at hand. There is no doubt P.L. Travers was sharp and incisive, her interview with The Paris Review presents her as such. While her essay with The New York Times presented her ability to both dismiss the notion of children’s literature from the perspective of a writer who had often been designated one; but rather then offend and dismiss children as readers, Travers in turn defended their own right to explore and read the books they come across, to search out and enjoy the stories that compelled them, regardless if it was deemed age appropriate or other wise. Yet, “What the Bee Knows,” never quite lands with any impact. In abandoning itself to the ethereal otherworldly calls of fairy or the unconscious wellspring, the lack of tether is a disservice, whereby Travers authorial perspective is overwhelmed by the subject matter and is then swept out to some strange sea. “What the Bee Knows,” could have benefited from a concrete clinical perspective, or dialed back the sermons of esoteric occultism and enchantment, the devotional defenses of a fevered disciple, and instead sought a more grounded way to explore an otherwise interesting and compelling subject, that of myth, symbol, and story.
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
For
Further Reading
P.L. Travers, The New York Times: "I NEVER WROTE FOR CHILDREN,"
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