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Sparkle (2)
It is the 50th anniversary of the seminal work of children's literature, The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster. It felt like the right time to dig out the t-shirt I got when I attended the opera created from the book, the movie version of the story, and line up the three dozen copies of the book we have in various rooms of the house. It felt like the right time to lie on the living room floor, head to head with the twins, like a human flower created out of our body petals, and listen to the audiobook version together. I entertained for the 3000th time finally getting a Milo tattoo on my leg (please, mum, forget that I wrote that last sentence). We are a Harry Potter family and an Alice in Wonderland family, but moreover, we are a Phantom Tollbooth family. My brother made sure of that by gifting the twins their own first copies while they were still in the NICU.
The reason why the Phantom Tollbooth appeals to children is the same reason why the construction of the book appeals to adults. In both cases, it's a tale of the unexpected, the unpredictable, the fact that anything can happen. Milo walks into his room and finds a mystery gift. He starts playing with it and lands himself in an incredible adventure. What child didn't walk into their room every day after reading the book with the knowledge that anything could happen? (Isn't that an enormous thought -- both the good reality and bad reality of the statement.)
The story behind the book itself gives that same sort of hope to writers: anything could happen when we release our projects into the world. Juster never set out to write a timeless children's book. Having his book become this successful is his own personal tollbooth that unexpectedly dropped into his life. It's a reminder that the best adventures aren't the ones we orchestrate, but the ones that we find ourselves in, being led from moment to moment in wonder.
I've told this story before, but it's especially poignant to me on the fiftieth anniversary of the book. I discovered the book when I was in first grade in the school library. I loved it so much that I refused to read the last page, choosing instead to skip it and go back to the beginning. I checked out that book numerous times that year (and even advocated for myself when the school librarian insisted I lost the book. Lost the book! I would never lose something that precious. I grabbed it off the shelf to show her, and she realized with an apology that she had never checked it back in). My own children are now in first grade, and I volunteer in their school library. I have checked that book in numerous times; replaced it on the shelf with care.
It was the book that made me decide that I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to create a character that I loved as much as Milo.
Years later, I was living in Amherst, getting my MFA in creative writing at University of Massachusetts. I owned many copies of the book, but that didn't stop me from purchasing the new 35th anniversary edition. I flipped over the book one night and read that Norton Juster lived in Amherst, Massachusetts. My heart started sounding in my ears -- I lived in Amherst, Massachusetts. I grabbed the white pages (because back then, children, we had to look up addresses and telephone numbers in huge books... if you can believe that) and discovered that he lived 4 BLOCKS AWAY. He was 4 blocks from my commune. 4 blocks that would only take a few minutes to walk.
I polled my fellow commune mates and asked them if they thought I should call him. Even though everyone advised me to wait until morning, I couldn't calm myself down to think clearly. I called him at home around 9 pm, and he answered the phone. Rather than berate me for calling so late, he good-naturedly informed me that I wasn't the first person to call him like this. After I explained how overwhelmed I was -- it was literally like talking to Superman -- I told him
