Book 8: Le Avventure di Pinocchio (The Adventures of Pinocchio, 1881-83)

"Pinocchio," it turns out, is a fairly big and complex book — not the kid-sized read I thought I could breeze through in half an hour. It's also darker and more surreal than I had imagined. The fairy who watches over Pinocchio, for example, has blue hair and may or may not be dead. She's the "Blue-haired Fairy." In the Disney movie, the "Blue Fairy" is simply a good-lookin' blonde in a blue dress. Go figure. In the movie, Jiminy Cricket plays a prominent role, not only as the narrator but as the conscience of Pinocchio throughout. In the book, Pinocchio murders the interfering cricket immediately because he wants him to shut the hell up.

Pinocchio is a little shit. I don't mean he's merely ornery either. I mean he's a total selfish bastard, whom you don't even feel sorry for when he sleeps too close to the fire and burns his wooden feet off, rendering him immobile. The original drawing of him by Enrico Mazzanti, at left, is far more suggestive of his knavery than Walt Disney's cuddly depiction. Why does Geppetto bother to make this ingrate a new pair of feet? Can't he see Pinocchio will use them not to walk to school like a good little boy but to wreak more havoc? It's textbook codependency.

It's a shame we can't read an original source with our minds absolutely clear of the subsequent, more wildly popular, incarnations. One becomes unduly focused on comparisons — Why was this element left out? Why was that added? Why is this character so different? Why, to provide a specific example, is this profoundly Tuscan setting given an almost Swiss feel in the movie? — instead of just appreciating the original text, which in the case of "Pinocchio" is a truly bizarre and garish dreamscape, rife with sadism and fear, fantastic characters and absurd situations, not the least of which is a puppet who cannot be controlled, even by his own creator.

Carlo Collodi, a journalist from Florence, wrote "Le Avventure di Pinocchio" in the early 1880s as a serialized fairy tale in Italy's first newspaper for children. It was a morality tale about how people — not just children — should behave. They should work for their money rather than expecting handouts or miracles. They should not be the pawns of the rich, nor the dupes of the greedy. They should take care of their relatives. They should be grateful for the good things in life. They should value education. They should be generous. In the original serialized version, Pinocchio is unable to mend his ways and is actually hanged for his failures. There's some nice kid lit for you.

Collodi's editors got him to revisit this outcome, and he ended up adding several chapters, giving us the beloved ending of the wooden puppet whose eventual goodness turns him into a real boy. And presumably he grows up, unlike the Anglo boy par excellence Peter Pan, to be a real man, whose nose — can we assume? — stays the same length whether or not he tells lies.

Apparently the story of Pinocchio did not become an astronomical best-seller until it was translated into English a decade later. Thus Collodi, like many a writer, died never knowing that his creation became one of the most recognized fictional characters in the world. When the movie came out in 1940 — it was only Disney's second full-length feature; the first was "Snow White" — Pinocchio became a household word, and "When You Wish Upon a Star," from its soundtrack, a madly popular tune.

The movie has its own charms — Geppetto's fantastic cat Figaro, for one, who does not appear in the novel — and it does pay homage to Collodi by using the framing device of his book. Jiminy Cricket is seen opening the lavish, heavy tome titled "Pinocchio" to begin his tale, signaling to the audience that the source material is something venerable and antique, i.e., a piece of writing.

My favorite thing from the book may be the "phlegmatic snail." (Do words like "phlegmatic" even appear in children's literature these days? I hope so). The snail is like a lady-in-waiting to the Blue-haired Fairy. Pinocchio shouts up to the fourth-story window where she's sitting. He needs help immediately. She says sure, she'll be right down. Nine hours later she opens the door — vividly illustrating a "snail's pace" and giving Pinocchio a lesson in industry and patience.

Note: When I was looking up information about Collodi, I came across a really interesting article in the New York Review of Books about how Collodi's "Pinocchio" helped shape a national identity after the Italian city states in the mid-19th century unified into the country now known as Italy. "Pinocchio" illustrated something all the diverse regions had in common and could thus rally around: an "irreverent and skeptical pessimism."