How is it that I did not remember that the Grinch in the book is not green? Picking up Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas for a holiday-time re-read, I found that that realization was what really struck me. There is green in the book, of course – the back cover and the spine are green, and Dr. Seuss’s name on the front cover is green, and there are jagged green accent marks around the picture of the Grinch on the cover. But the Grinch himself? White, with red eyes. Somehow, that changed the way I experienced the whole book.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas was originally published in 1957. In the 60-plus years since its publication, it has become a familiar part of the North American Christmastime holiday ritual – in part, no doubt, because of Chuck Jones’s 1966 television cartoon feature How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, with Boris Karloff starring both as narrator and as a very green Grinch. The music alone influences how we look at and think of this particular Christmas story: “You’re a mean one, Mister Grinch/You really are a heel/You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel…”
Strange to reflect that that song is nowhere to be found in Dr. Seuss’s original book. Indeed, the book was making a powerful impression upon children and parents alike for the nine years when there was only a book: no TV adaptation, with no songs. Perhaps that happened because Dr. Seuss’s poetry has a musicality of its own.
At its growing-three-sizes heart, How the Grinch Stole Christmas is a drama of reclamation, like other Christmas classics from Charles Dickens’s novella A Christmas Carol (1843) to Frank Capra’s film It’s a Wonderful Life (1947). The formula for this sort of reclamation drama is a familiar one by now: a character – whether his name is Ebenezer Scrooge, or George Bailey, or The Grinch – finds himself lost in moral darkness as Christmas draws near.
Against the backdrop of a society-wide celebration of a Christmas holiday that is mainly or exclusively secular (with the religious origins of the holiday alluded to only briefly, or not at all), the protagonist is eventually infused with the spirit of the season – often though not always through the intercession of one or more interlocutors who somehow embody holiday cheer – and goes forth spiritually renewed, as a better and more compassionate character.
And so it is with How the Grinch Stole Christmas. As I trust we all know by now, the Grinch is a furry humanoid creature that lives in the hills outside of Who-ville. For reasons that are never made altogether clear – a kind of “motiveless malignity” akin to Coleridge’s description of Iago from Shakespeare’s Othello – the Grinch hates the local residents, the Whos, and particularly the way the Whos celebrate Christmas. Determined to stop all the things he hates about Christmas – the children playing with their toys, the feasting, the singing – the Grinch determines to “stop Christmas from coming” by stealing the whole holiday, lock, stock, and tinsel, from every single Who in Who-ville. Spoiler alert: things do not go according to grinchy plan.
Returning to this book after many years away from it, I was struck by a number of things – aside from a distressingly non-green Grinch. Most of the lines of poetry are so familiar, from repeat viewings of both the 1966 TV cartoon and the more recent film adaptations from the years 2000 and 2018, that I found myself focusing in on some of the lesser-known lines. I was struck, for example, by the way Dr. Seuss described the Grinch “Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown/At the warm lighted windows below in their town.” The accompanying visual shows the Grinch at the mouth of his cave, grimacing down at four vaguely pumpkin-shaped Who houses. Everything is snow-white, cold white, except for the red of the Grinch’s eyes and the red of the lighted windows in the Whos’ warm houses. One feels the frozen exile of the Grinch – both the cold winter temperatures outside, and the even more bitter coldness of the Grinch’s tiny heart.
Against those images of the Grinch’s bitter loneliness, his absolute isolation, it makes sense that he obsesses endlessly about the Christmas fun the Who’s will be having – a two-page spread in which he envisions the chaos of Who children with tennis rackets and hockey sticks and big bass drums and toy trains and jack-in-the-boxes, under a bunting that bears the words “MERRY MERRY”; another two-page spread that shows the Whos assembling for their holiday feast at a table shaped like a giant reversed letter “S” under a huge wreath adorned with the words “MERRY MERRY”; and a final two-page spread that shows the Who’s standing in a circle, joyfully singing. I find myself putting these images together with an oft-overlooked line from this otherwise widely-quoted and universally known text: “Why, for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now!”
“Fifty-three.” Interesting. Dr. Seuss, born in 1904, was 53 years old when How the Grinch Stole Christmas was published in 1957. We all know the pressure that the Christmas holiday puts on us to be “MERRY MERRY,” regardless of the difficulties and misfortunes that may be unfolding in our lives at any given time. We are besieged with media-generated images of perfect happy families enjoying perfect merry Christmases, in a way that’s enough to remind the rest of us that we don’t achieve that sort of holiday perfection. Is that not enough to bring out the Grinch in anyone?
I think it was a remarkable act of intellectual honesty on Dr. Seuss’s part to make the Grinch his own age, to identify on that level with the Grinch – to suggest, gently and subtly, that there’s a little bit of the Grinch in all of us.
I was also struck by two images that one sees in one of the most crucial moments from the book – the moment when the Grinch, in his first act of Christmas thievery, is caught in the act by “Little Cindy-Lou-Who, who was not more than two”, who understandably wants to know why “Santy Claus” is taking the family Christmas tree up the chimney. As the Grinch invents his lie about fixing a broken light on the tree, he closes his red eyes; and with his red eyes closed, he looks much more benign, remarkably like the Cat in the Hat. Perhaps Dr. Seuss is making a point regarding how easy it is for all of us to practice deceit; a Grinch can, quick as a flash, seem to become a Cat in the Hat, even a Santa Claus. It is all a matter of whether the listener sees only what he or she wants to see.
We know, of course, that the Grinch undergoes a change of heart. Standing with his ill-gotten gains atop Mount Crumpit, listening in hopes of hearing lamentation and weeping from the Who’s who have had all their Christmas presents stolen from them, the Grinch, “with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,” finds that the Who’s are not crying, but rather singing. Christmas, he learns, “doesn’t come from a store”; his tiny heart grows three sizes. “And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,/He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light”. Gifts returned, roast beast carved, Christmas saved – all is well.
Or is it? A couple of Christmas seasons ago, I was at a Hallmark store in Gainesville, Virginia, picking up some stocking stuffers. The clerk complimented me on my Christmas tie, and I expressed a hope that customers were behaving well in spite of the stress of the holiday season. “Most,” the clerk said with a weary smile. “We do get some Grinches.” Being a Grinch is a choice that is all too easy for us to make; and all of us, through a harsh word, an unkind remark, a thoughtless gesture, have stolen a little bit of someone else’s Christmas at one time or another. There is, as stated above, more than a little bit of the Grinch in all of us. Dr. Seuss, in How the Grinch Stole Christmas, reminds us not to let our own hearts grow “two sizes too small.”