by Graeme Stirling
To follow on from Father’s Day, the best and worst dads and variations on the father figure rule, we go full one-eighty and take at two landmark fictional worlds where the protagonists – willingly or otherwise – got by without one.
To follow on from Father’s Day, the best and worst dads and variations on the father figure rule, we go full one-eighty and take at two landmark fictional worlds where the protagonists – willingly or otherwise – got by without one.
The Outsiders – S.E. Hinton (SPOILERS! This is a recommended read, proceed at your peril)
The first is a gloomy work penned by a girl of just sixteen and published around the same time she became a legal adult. S.E. Hinton first began work on the household coming-of-age novel The Outsiders when she was still in junior high school and, since it was the 1960s, was advised by her publisher to use her initials rather than put off misogamist would-be readers with her full feminine name. After all, it’s hardly the sort of thing they would have expected from a young lady at the time (though looking at the young adult output from female authors these days, times have certainly changed).
The Outsiders follows the exploits of Ponyboy Curtis, a schoolboy of fourteen from a rough-around-the-edges family in Oklahoma. He and is brothers are all members of the self-titled Greasers gang, cared for by the eldest since their parents’ death in a car crash. He spends little time under the wing of his siblings and spends most of it wandering the streets with his best friend Johnny, daydreaming about books and movies.
Things take a dark turn when Johnny, attempting to save Ponyboy from a mugging gone awry at the hands of three middle-class Soc gang members, stabs and kills one with his pocket knife. For the next few days, they hide out in an abandoned church reading Gone With the Wind and, of course, Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost, inspiring the stay gold quote that is close to the hearts of the book’s fans. A guilt-ridden Johnny later redeems himself by saving a group of children after the church catches fire, only to be mortally wounded by a falling beam. Following his death and the suicide of another of the gang, Ponyboy returns to school and, warned by his teacher over failing grades, channels the experience into an English essay.
This is by no means a cheery book, nor are many of those inspired by it – there are heavy similarities between Curtis and Holden Caulfield, from his cinematic musings to the more subdued anecdotes of his brother’s death and the suicide of a classmate leading to a disastrous end at school – but it is a hopeful one. We see lessons learned, an impressive degree of social commentary and depth of thought from a teenaged author and, most importantly for today, a young, dangerously lost character making his way through the worst adversity of his formative years without the aid of a father figure and with little in the way of a social structure to keep him safe. Ponyboy showed readers from all backgrounds that, though some of us have a far greater fight, everyone has a fighting chance.
The first is a gloomy work penned by a girl of just sixteen and published around the same time she became a legal adult. S.E. Hinton first began work on the household coming-of-age novel The Outsiders when she was still in junior high school and, since it was the 1960s, was advised by her publisher to use her initials rather than put off misogamist would-be readers with her full feminine name. After all, it’s hardly the sort of thing they would have expected from a young lady at the time (though looking at the young adult output from female authors these days, times have certainly changed).
The Outsiders follows the exploits of Ponyboy Curtis, a schoolboy of fourteen from a rough-around-the-edges family in Oklahoma. He and is brothers are all members of the self-titled Greasers gang, cared for by the eldest since their parents’ death in a car crash. He spends little time under the wing of his siblings and spends most of it wandering the streets with his best friend Johnny, daydreaming about books and movies.
Things take a dark turn when Johnny, attempting to save Ponyboy from a mugging gone awry at the hands of three middle-class Soc gang members, stabs and kills one with his pocket knife. For the next few days, they hide out in an abandoned church reading Gone With the Wind and, of course, Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost, inspiring the stay gold quote that is close to the hearts of the book’s fans. A guilt-ridden Johnny later redeems himself by saving a group of children after the church catches fire, only to be mortally wounded by a falling beam. Following his death and the suicide of another of the gang, Ponyboy returns to school and, warned by his teacher over failing grades, channels the experience into an English essay.
This is by no means a cheery book, nor are many of those inspired by it – there are heavy similarities between Curtis and Holden Caulfield, from his cinematic musings to the more subdued anecdotes of his brother’s death and the suicide of a classmate leading to a disastrous end at school – but it is a hopeful one. We see lessons learned, an impressive degree of social commentary and depth of thought from a teenaged author and, most importantly for today, a young, dangerously lost character making his way through the worst adversity of his formative years without the aid of a father figure and with little in the way of a social structure to keep him safe. Ponyboy showed readers from all backgrounds that, though some of us have a far greater fight, everyone has a fighting chance.
The Adventures of Tintin – Hergé
On now then to a sunnier example. This lighthearted comic book / graphic novel series might not seem like serious news but, aside from being hugely successful, it’s a landmark in the study of the science of fiction. Much like the Hardy Boys and their brilliant yet hopeless dad (embed link?), Tintin has been prodded and pondered over by academics, reviewers, readers and writers examining the formula that makes the heroic Tintin so universally relatable.
Tintin himself has no parents that we know of, nor does he appear to have any siblings, extended family or even a second name with which to track them down. Despite his extremely youthful appearance and status as a rank-and-file reporter, he lives alone in comfortable lodgings and seems to have near-limitless disposable income to fuel his investigative adventures across the globe, accompanied only by his thoughtful dog. His other friends include a demented old sea captain, an equally demented inventor and two conveniently useless policemen, whilst his antagonists include murderous villains, drug-dealers and slave traffickers armed with machine guns.
Far from being a gloomy, gritty character, however, Tintin couldn’t seem much more comfortable with his lot. He is an innately cheerful and optimistic young man who, even in his gravest moments of danger, never seems more than mildly worried.
It is this passive nature and inexplicably vague circumstance that, according to many, have made the plucky Belgian with the Fairy Liquid baby quiff so popular for so long – he is essentially a blank character onto whom young readers can impose themselves, unhindered by backstory, family or much in the way of personality and thus able to place themselves at the heart of every great adventure. Whilst Harry Potter’s messy family history and complex relationship with his mentors is compelling stuff, he will always be the hero he was drawn to be and for whom readers can merely root. Tintin, on the other hand, equally dad-less, rich and without apprehension, will forever be the fearless face, voice and vessel of the young bedroom adventurer.
On now then to a sunnier example. This lighthearted comic book / graphic novel series might not seem like serious news but, aside from being hugely successful, it’s a landmark in the study of the science of fiction. Much like the Hardy Boys and their brilliant yet hopeless dad (embed link?), Tintin has been prodded and pondered over by academics, reviewers, readers and writers examining the formula that makes the heroic Tintin so universally relatable.
Tintin himself has no parents that we know of, nor does he appear to have any siblings, extended family or even a second name with which to track them down. Despite his extremely youthful appearance and status as a rank-and-file reporter, he lives alone in comfortable lodgings and seems to have near-limitless disposable income to fuel his investigative adventures across the globe, accompanied only by his thoughtful dog. His other friends include a demented old sea captain, an equally demented inventor and two conveniently useless policemen, whilst his antagonists include murderous villains, drug-dealers and slave traffickers armed with machine guns.
Far from being a gloomy, gritty character, however, Tintin couldn’t seem much more comfortable with his lot. He is an innately cheerful and optimistic young man who, even in his gravest moments of danger, never seems more than mildly worried.
It is this passive nature and inexplicably vague circumstance that, according to many, have made the plucky Belgian with the Fairy Liquid baby quiff so popular for so long – he is essentially a blank character onto whom young readers can impose themselves, unhindered by backstory, family or much in the way of personality and thus able to place themselves at the heart of every great adventure. Whilst Harry Potter’s messy family history and complex relationship with his mentors is compelling stuff, he will always be the hero he was drawn to be and for whom readers can merely root. Tintin, on the other hand, equally dad-less, rich and without apprehension, will forever be the fearless face, voice and vessel of the young bedroom adventurer.
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