Books like Moominland Midwinter

The human world is a huge mess that somehow survives the day. I don’t know how it happens, and I’m not sure that all our (un)concerted efforts to help it survive don’t just further complicate things and make that daily survival less and less possible. My attitude in these matters is generally that of a cynical Taoist – a profound faith in things as they are functioning “perfectly” in enormous rhythms of time wedded to an understanding that most humans only make things worse. If pressed my explanation would be that collectively we see a new day every day due to an inherent survival mechanism of such incredible complexity that even our brightest brains can’t understand it. If pressed I would also add that this survival mechanism is beyond the reach of our brains, which itself is part of that very survival mechanism, as our brains would invariably muck it up irreparably if given access. Brains muck up enough already, and what they can’t muck up they often try to ruin for everyone. Even our very own brains try to muck up our very own lives. For instance, some brains are wont to tell their soul/body vessels that in the face of such muckity-mucked-up global complexity to seek solace or refuge or even wisdom in the simple is irresponsible; that complexity must be confronted with complexity; that it is our duty as primates on the intellectual pinnacle to figure out every last detail of our infinitely long queue of problems, and to come up with solutions, before we can enjoy the simplicity of our gods-given natures; that we need to read complicated adult books rather than so-called children’s books as a means of understanding our conditions. Just as I don’t know how we survive, I don’t know why we continue to operate under the directive of seriously flawed adult logic and over-educated instruction manuals when the clear-eyed (& anarchic) wisdom of childhood (& even old age) is intuitively the better course. Children and the elderly aren’t in the game, and they’re the wiser for it, though of course there are exceptions - demonic kids and avaricious old folks.Which brings me to Mooninvalley, where I now live. I feel lucky that I can read these books for the first time as an adult. Sure, it would be nice to have read these as a youngster so that as they were directly affecting (& effecting) my development they were planting themselves in my being’s very marrow; but to read them as an adult is potentially even more affecting as there are so many mental/emotional rigidities to overcome, so much intellectual scar tissue to flex out, and so many more grey clouds and mucky accretions to pierce in order to see the Sun as if on the first day of creation. Which is not to say that Tove Jansson aspirations are so lofty, as from what I can tell her main intentions were to entertain and delight while embodying her philosophy of natural magic, clear-sighted pragmatism, anarchic creativity, and self-sufficiency through the simple complex of her cast of wildly diverse characters.Life in Moominvalley is simple, though complicated enough to engender stories worth telling, and though it’s a remote utopia of sorts it’s essence is capable of resonating within the hearts and minds of those people still receptive to a wisdom that can be both simple and true. And just as I don’t really care to know how we as a species continue to survive, I don’t really care to over-discuss my life in Moominvalley. I prefer to just live it. And I should stop talking before anyone mistakes me for Garrison Keillor.