Let's fix that.
When Master Cherry, the carpenter, discovers an apparently sentient piece of wood, he's a little creeped out--so instead of cutting it into a table leg, he instead gives it to his friend Gepetto to make into a puppet. No sooner is the puppet carved than he turns out to be a naughty prankster with a very short attention span, a truly impressive level of gullibility, and a nose that grows longer when he lies. The well-meaning but airheaded Pinocchio quickly gets embroiled in a series of dangerous adventures, and his longsuffering friends--his father Gepetto, the blue-haired Fairy who takes him under her wing, and others--suffer as many dangers trying to find him again. It's Pinocchio's wish to one day become a real boy and to make Gepetto and the Fairy proud of him, instead of grieving them by his many foolish antics. But how can a naughty little puppet ever change?
Like no doubt most of my readers, my first experience of this classic children's book was the classic Disney film. It was years ago and I don't remember it very well, but when I read the book as a teen I found it both far more moving and far funnier than I expected.
Pinocchio is a hilarious book. The plot is episodic and rather chaotic, and none of it makes a lick of sense. Pinocchio is a wooden puppet who acts and is treated like a little boy, and nobody finds this strange. Other puppets are treated like puppets, but seem to interact with humans as if human. Pinocchio is a complete blockhead (conceptual pun probably intended by the original author) prone to the kind of silly actions that even children can appreciate as silly, and the adult characters are also pretty outrageous. Mixed in with the surrealistic silliness is a good streak of satire and even some rather black humour--characters are constantly in danger of being eaten, burned alive, hanged, and so on. I don't know how I would have handled it as a child (possibly just fine), but as a teen and later, an adult, I found it completely irresistible.
But there was something more to the book as well, something that hit me unexpectedly hard when I read it as a teen. I suppose many readers today would find the story, like so much classic lit from the 1800s, fairly moralistic. Oh, and it is, and I'll get into why that's a bad thing in a moment. But as moralistic as the story is, it's also convicting. Pinocchio means well, in a ditzy sort of way, but he's enslaved by his impulses and has low sales resistance to any kind of temptation. This time, reading the book, I was struck by how vivid a depiction it is of Romans 7, in which Paul bewails how even the desire to do well and obey the law stirs him helplessly up to sin. Pinocchio's inability to resist temptation not only gets him into one peril after another, and but also causes untold danger and suffering to his parental figures, Gepetto and the Fairy, whom he honestly loves and longs to please. As the book continues, it becomes clear that the one desire of Pinocchio's heart, to become a real boy, will never become fulfilled until he has learned self-discipline.
These religious aspects of the story are certainly intentional. Gepetto, Pinocchio's father figure, is also his Maker. And the insistent description of the saintly Fairy's blue hair seems, even to a Protestant growing up in a secular culture like me, a fairly overt reference to the blue scarf associated with the Virgin Mary in traditional religious iconography. But I was disappointed that in the end, Pinocchio wins his goal simply by learning to turn over a new leaf, empowered by his own innate goodness.
"Well done, Pinocchio! To reward you for your good heart I will forgive you for all that is past. Boys who minister tenderly to their parents, and assist them in their misery and infirmities, are deserving of great praise and affection, even if they cannot be cited as examples of obedience and good behaviour. Try and do better in the future and you will be happy."My inner theology nerd wants to parse out the story in terms of justification and sanctification. After all, while we can't earn our justification, sanctification is something that we can desire and work towards; so if Pinocchio is said already to have "a good heart", then perhaps this is a better picture of sanctification than justification? And to be sure it's as a tale of sanctification that the story has the most power. But having re-read the story, I'm left with the niggling dissatisfaction that no matter how you categorise it, Pinocchio earns his happy ending, on his own merits. That is moralism, in the sense of putting one's faith in good works.
Pinocchio is a messy but irresistible classic, full of things that you'll feel kind of terrible for laughing at. And while I didn't much care for the author's moralistic solution to his protagonist's predicament, I thought the depiction of impulsive sin and suffering was incredibly convicting, even as an adult. I don't know many stories that run the gamut of emotions this flamboyantly from sheer silliness to waterlogged remorse, but somehow, Carlo Collodi makes it work.
Find Pinocchio at Amazon, the Book Depository, Project Gutenberg, or Librivox.