Looking Back with Button Eyes

Coraline horrified me as a child. So much, that I purposed never read Neil Gaiman again. Years later, I read Neverwhere and he immediately became one of my favorite authors.

I decided to revisit Coraline this year. I spent my read trying to dissect what it was that upset me as a child. I mean, it’s intentionally creepy. The heroine, Coraline, is a self-proclaimed explorer who finds a hidden door in her old house. It leads to an alternate version of her life, with an “other mother” who has buttons for eyes. The other mother invites Coraline to live in this new world forever. All she must do is allow her other mother to replace her eyes with buttons.

But I remember it being more than the danger and suspense of the plot that unsettled me. The feeling went deeper, into a dark place I feared to explore as a child.

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picture by pointblizzy

She seemed lonely to me, forgotten and ignored. She had no friends her age to play with and the adults dismiss her frequently throughout the story, even when she’s in danger. Her interactions with her father reinforced the story’s atmosphere of abandonment. He always seemed to have his back to Coraline when she spoke to him.

Enter the other mother who is eager to meet all Coraline’s needs, including Coraline’s desire for affection. But the intensity of the interest is unsettling, stalker-like. A silent watching and waiting, that quickly turns dangerous.

“It was true: the other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother’s button eyes, Coraline knew that she was a possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, whose behavior was no longer amusing.”
~ Neil Gaiman, Coraline

Back then, Coraline read like the story of a girl offered the choice of living as outcast or prey. That is what made the book true horror to me. Ghosts fade in the daylight and demons can be exorcized, but if everyone abandons you, then loneliness is always.

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illustration by Chris Riddell

I often describe my childhood as silent. I combated my loneliness by retreating behind the door of my imagination, where I lived my hours in daydreams of closeness and acceptance. I had a whole other family in my mind, whose button-eyed gaze never looked through me. I wasn’t superfluous to them; I was loved.

Coraline disturbed me because I would have traded my eyes for buttons. In some ways, I already had.

During my reread, I paid close attention to how her real parents treated her and saw that they weren’t as neglectful as I’d remembered. There is, however, enough repetition in the text of her father turned away and of her desire for physical touch, that I don’t blame my younger self for picking up on it. It’s difficult to filter out the part of a story that speaks directly into your life. What encourages me most now is how, despite his neglect, she turns to his wisdom to cope with the oncoming darkness.

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illustration by Chris Riddell

Coraline’s story is actually about how bravery comes from fear. Fear is essential to bravery, for without fear, bravery has no purpose. This is a lesson Coraline learned from her father. He helped her choose to face her fears by walking back into the claws of the dark.

“‘Because,’ she said, ‘when you’re scared but you still do it anyway, that’s brave.'”
~ Neil Gaiman, Coraline

Coraline’s parents may have denied her the closeness she needed, but she was still able to learn from them, lessons essential to her survival and maturity. Dysfunctional, even broken, families have something to give.

My childhood will remain silent. But now, in the family I’ve chosen to be part of, I can fight to fill the rooms with love. I know the mistakes of yesterday because I lived them and braved their shadows alone. And as Coraline reminded herself that she was brave many times before she believed it, I will preach the pain of my past to myself again and again until it makes me stronger.

I will be brave. No, I am brave.

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Christmas Card Blues

Christmas cards, like so many other things around the holidays, seem to have an etiquette all their own.

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I’ve never understood the whole, card for card thing. People are thrown into an absolute panic if they get a card from someone who they didn’t send one too. You’d think they were wedding invitations and not once a year correspondence with people you don’t even call every decade.

And I’m never more conscious of how dysfunctional my family is, until I start trying to address my cards. Like, do I send one to my uncle’s current live in girlfriend? And do I send it to his home address and risk his ex spouse throwing it away in a fit of anger? Do I send one to my recently exed-aunt who hated almost everyone in the family or will that just look like I’m rubbing it in her face? I addressed one card, now already in the mail, to Mr. and Mrs. His-Last-Name, only to remember, after it had been mailed, that the Mrs. very specifically did NOT take his name when they married. Eventually I just throw up my hands and say “what the heck it’s just a card goshfriggindanggit” (or something to that effect) and put on the stamps.

All these land mines of potential family ire, often make me dread the summer family get togethers, where Aunt Myrtle will sniff resentfully at me because I sent one to Uncle Fred and Cousin Holly, but forgot her. But I’ll just do what I always do, smile and apologize. What else can I do? It’s just a card. It’s just a gesture. And I don’t know about you folks, but I’m human and prone to make the occasional mistake.

So here’s a picture of me and my crazy christmas smile for you lot who did not get a card from me, and even to the others who did.

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Happy Christmas Everyone!
With love from Me.

© Rachel Svendsen 2015