The titular bear in Old Bear by Kevin Henkes has a prolonged hallucinogenic hibernation experience. In his head, he’s a cub again, experiencing all of the seasons in psychedelic intensity: he naps in a giant spring crocus, noshes on enormous, autumnal fish, watches a technicolor winter starshower, and basks in the glow of a summer daisy sun. When he finally wakes up on a stunning spring day, he can’t believe he’s not tripping dreaming. It’s confusing to children when you cry at the end of this book — it’s not a sad story, but, even though flowers are blooming and the world is new again, Old Bear is no longer a cub. Old bear is, well, old. So yes, I can finally pull my jorts out of storage, but also: death is coming for us all!
Even in the best of times I’ve been known to have a bit of a gothic temperament1. My look is not goth (I dress like Calvin’s mom), but I deeply relate to the vibe: negativity is my bag, baby! You could chalk this up to depression and Ashkenazi genes, but also — spring just sucks. Particularly this spring, and probably all future springs. The things that once made this season special (hope, renewal, fresh start etc etc) are all now tainted by climate change and fascism. The beauty now seems disingenuous and sinister. And yet….it is all we have.
I cannot say it better than Ivana Bodrožić in Sons, Daughters (translated by Ellen Elias-Bursac)2 when the protagonist Lucija recalls this outdoor experience:
The plant world was insufferable with the burgeoning of life, midges rammed themselves mindlessly, frantically into my eyes and mouth, huge rabbits came all the way down to the road, the smells in the air were so honeyed that they dizzied the mind and stoked aggression, but from beneath the splendor of abundance came the reek of decay.
An exquisite illustration of spring/summer’s duality3: the extravagance and the horror. Like love itself: all-consuming and unqualified, its potency excruciating. We can’t love without simultaneously grieving, love is grief. Such is spring, a hopeful season with a dark, persistent shadow. It’s goth!
Goth is over the top and theatrical. It’s dead serious, but also in on the joke. Instead of pretending everything is OK, let’s lean into this campy despair like we’re 14 again, replaying The Queen is Dead until the CD disintegrates, holding on to optimism as only young bears can.
xxx Mir
And not just because my BUTTRESS IS FLYING, HONEY!
I am so jazzed to hear you've already read it Miriam!!! Tell me what you thought?! xox