What is it about playthings coming to life that tugs so hard on the heartstrings? If you’re not wearing a mask of hot tears by the end of The Snowman or Toy Story 3, you’re made of stronger stuff than me. It’s partly the depiction of childhood innocence – that heart-wrenching purity of toy-based joy – but it is also because these stories tend to be about loss: the Snowman melts, the stars of the toybox are discarded. To be alive is to feel rejected, ignored, passed over, and to ultimately die and be forgotten. This is already humanity’s sorry fate – can we at least spare the teddies?
The Velveteen Rabbit, a charming children’s book by Margery Williams published in 1922, is a particularly affecting entry in the toys-become-real sub-canon. It tells the story of a stuffed bunny given to a little boy for Christmas, who, during a playroom tête-à-tête, is told by the wise Skin Horse, a large toy horse on wheels, that he can become real if he is loved enough by his owner. The little boy duly does fall for him and declares him to be real. But one day, when the child takes him outside to play, our supersoft friend meets some flesh-and-blood rabbits, and develops an itch to become real real. Later – when the devastated rabbit is cast away, having been the boy’s most treasured companion during a bout of scarlet fever – his wish comes true.
