Sir Philip Pullman, Knitting Cat Costumes and Fleeing From God…
I don’t believe in fate, but if I did, I would tell you that divine intervention brought Philip Pullman’s work to me exactly when I needed it, flying on the wings of a Nationwide Current account.
As an atheist, anti-authoritarian boy in the late 90s and early 2000s I did not encounter many narratives or role models I could latch onto. Children's books were often thinly-veiled moral stories, referencing allegories in the Bible and reinforcing socially acceptable ways of behaving. The Chronicles of Narnia, for instance, struck me as a vapid retelling of Jesus’ life, but as a lion... the Lion King, too, seemed to be a vapid retelling of Jesus’ life, but as a lion. The chocolate-box world of Harry Potter was fine, but the goody-two-shoes act wore thin pretty quickly. Despite being a child, I didn’t want to be spoken to in a voice developed for children - I wanted to be addressed with all the complexities and nuances of being human. This is what I found From the His Dark Materials trilogy.
For everyone, growing up is a wrestling match between our own instincts and the diktats of society. I was simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the human world. It seemed to hold so much opportunity, yet every hoop I found myself jumping through felt so contrary to my instincts; school, work, social life. Every step I took forward seemed to be the wrong one, and so I spent most of my childhood hopping, skipping and doubling-back. My instincts told me to French knit elaborate costumes for my cats; make epic drama videos starring my guinea pigs; steal shiny things, such as my Grandad’s WWII medals, and hide them under the floorboards; they told me to make up stories and push-back on authority. I would have preferred planting vegetables in a field than playing football on one. Suffice to say, I often didn’t fit in. And as I grew older, I realised that my instincts would attract me to all manner of things, and people, that I was not “supposed” to be attracted to. Children's books had done nothing to prepare me for being unconventional and I found myself deeply troubled.
By the year 2001 I had discovered Bjork and I got a paper-round to save up for her album, Vespertine. I was 13. My mum helped me to open my first bank account and about a month later I received a mysterious package; it was a signed, first edition copy of The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman. As if by magic! Unbeknownst to me, Nationwide had entered me into a prize draw for opening my account - and from all the hundreds of thousands of people who opened current accounts that year, I had won.
I was never good at reading or writing, I could never decide which hand to hold the pen with, and tried to read and write everything back-to-front. My mum said I had extreme “left-handedness” and till the age of around seven my work could only be deciphered with a mirror. So I was terrified at the size of this novel. But I borrowed my brother’s copy of Northern Lights and began to read the trilogy. The heroine was a young girl, Lyra, who fought and lied and did all the things children are never supposed to do, but all the things which we would have wanted to do. But she was also brave, spoke truth to power and questioned everything. Her family life was dysfunctional, the Church sought to persecute her, she was pulled and twisted between classes, and most of the adults she encountered told her that her instincts were wrong - yet she kept going - on her own terms. For the first time ever I enjoyed reading, yes, I struggled, but I pushed through because the narrative compelled me to. Lyra was bringing me with her on her rebellious but righteous adventures.
The truth is that as a child I was full of mischief, and I saw myself in Lyra. But the truth is, also, that I suffered with a deep and burning shame, because of the ways in which I was different. In the third book in the series, The Amber Spyglass, I read about the angels Baruch and Balthamos. They were refugees from God, who had forbidden them to love one another and so they were fleeing from his tyranny. At this point in my own life I was finding myself attracted to men, and as I read about the angels, a feeling of being acknowledged swept over me. It was a tiny section of the trilogy, and if you blinked you would have missed it… but for me it was a powerful moment, and for the time it was incredibly trailblazing for a “children’s book”. I wouldn’t admit any of those shameful feelings until I was an adult, six years later, but children need a semblance of acknowledgement and I certainly wasn’t getting it from Narnia. Of course, Sir Philip Pullman maintains that he is not a children’s writer, and puts that perception down to marketing rather than his work.
Impassioned, I reviewed Northern Lights for coursework in English class and received my first ever A grade in that class. And once I had received that grade I began to believe I might be able to achieve other good grades. Before long I was boosting my grades in all classes, and that’s when I realised that University may, in fact, be accessible to me. The books spoke to me in a language I understood, and that opened up something wonderful.
A friend of mine used to quote his Anthropology professor at me; “if you want to change society, write a children’s book.” When I think about the impact this book has had on me, I can't help but believe Philip Pullman’s work has touched a generation of free thinkers and storytellers.
