Barrie says of Peter somewhere: “Oh, he was merry! He was as much merrier than you, for instance, as you are merrier than your father.” With all due respect, he could not have made a worse choice of adjective. Merriment is joy grounded in something solid; Peter is certainly gay, but there is nothing merry about him, nor about his world.
Now, I don’t dislike the world of Peter Pan for being magical; if anything, it is not magical enough. The hallmark of a really magical world is that everything matters. One ring - or one word - or one fox - or one talking spider - is not replaceable by another.
Not so in Peter Pan. The prerequisite to being “gay and innocent and heartless” is a kind of anterograde amnesia. We see this in a touching moment when Peter is dumbfounded by Captain Hook not playing fair because he has forgotten ever having encountered injustice before. We also see it, however, in the fact that the pieces of Peter’s world all seem to be disposable.
The Lost Boys are an obvious example: “The boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers, according as they get killed and so on; and when they seem to be growing up, which is against the rules, Peter thins them out.”
Now, I’m sure we’ve all “thinned out” plenty of imaginary friends when we were kids; but that is exactly what made them imaginary, as opposed to magical.
Wendy, too, is replaceable - by her daughter, and then by her grand-daughter. So is Tinker Bell. “Who is Tinker Bell? There are such a lot of them. I expect she is no more.” Even Captain Hook is soon forgotten. “I forget them after I kill them”. Incidentally, Captain Hook has his faults, but at least he remembers his Eton days!
Nor is Peter the only one who forgets. The children start to forget their parents as soon as they leave London and - most poignantly - when Wendy is grown up we are told in passing that “Mrs. Darling was now dead and forgotten”. Adults forget, too, you see.
All this makes Peter Pan far more like our own vague and, ultimately, dreary memories of childhood fantasies than like a real magical tale. No wonder adults like _Peter Pan_ better than kids do. We like to wallow in our own thoughts; _they_ want the real thing.
That said, as adult self-absorbed fantasies go, this one is superb. The language is perfect, the images delightful and there is much that an adult can relate to. After all, each of us has a ticking crocodile of our own.
The bottom line, I think, is that whoever first marketed _Peter Pan_ as a heart-warming children's story did the book a disservice. It is as chilling as it is good.