The Great Journey and the Discovery of Treasures: A Guide to “Treasures”

What are the most pre­cious things in life, and where are they? How can we find them? These are ques­tions we often have to ask. Many sto­ries begin with this point, a jour­ney of dis­cov­ery, both tan­gi­ble and fig­u­ra­tive, that inevitably leads to bumpy paths. While there are often sur­pris­es, even with­out the 81 tri­als and tribu­la­tions of the pil­grim­age to the West, there are still numer­ous hard­ships and dan­gers. In the end, per­haps the object is found, or per­haps it is sim­ply an open-end­ed promise, inspir­ing and moti­vat­ing the lis­ten­er to pur­sue their own search…

Yuri Shuli­vaz’s clas­sic pic­ture book “The Trea­sure” and Paulo Coel­ho’s famous nov­el “The Alchemist” tell sim­i­lar tales of quests. Both ulti­mate­ly find the trea­sure, right at the very start­ing point, right beside the pro­tag­o­nists. But if one does­n’t embrace dreams, fol­low their inner inspi­ra­tion, and embark on a mag­nif­i­cent jour­ney, the chance to dis­cov­er the trea­sure near­by is lost for­ev­er! Does­n’t this sound like a para­dox? But after read­ing these sto­ries, you’re left con­vinced.

Trea­sures by Michelle PuseyThe orig­i­nal French title lit­er­al­ly trans­lates to “Guc­ci’s Grand Jour­ney,” seem­ing­ly telling a sim­i­lar sto­ry, yet also seem­ing­ly dis­tinct. Illus­tra­tor Peg­gy Neal’s illus­tra­tions depict the Guc­ci fam­i­ly, a species of rodent that lives on trop­i­cal seashores, sub­sist­ing pri­mar­i­ly on a diet of nuts. This species of rodent may be unfa­mil­iar to most Chi­nese read­ers, but the back cov­er blurb reveals it’s an agouti, a species of rodent pri­mar­i­ly found in trop­i­cal Amer­i­ca. Larg­er than a typ­i­cal mouse, it resem­bles a rab­bit, but lacks a tail and ears. They pos­sess an intrigu­ing trait: amne­sia. Despite dili­gent­ly col­lect­ing seeds and fruit, peel­ing them, and bury­ing them for lat­er con­sump­tion, they often for­get where they buried their pre­cious food upon wak­ing! — The sto­ry of Michelle and Peg­gy’s col­lab­o­ra­tive pic­ture book begins with the agouti’s dev­as­tat­ing amne­sia. Pret­ty infor­ma­tive, isn’t it?

Guc­ci’s amne­sia is tru­ly dev­as­tat­ing. With his grand­fa­ther aging and his moth­er car­ing for his younger sib­lings, he’s respon­si­ble for sav­ing food for the fam­i­ly. But after hiber­na­tion, the for­est they live in is rav­aged by a storm, leav­ing no food avail­able. And Guc­ci has com­plete­ly for­got­ten where he buried his stash! In such a sit­u­a­tion, life-sav­ing food is the true trea­sure. With no oth­er options, led by his moth­er, the Guc­ci fam­i­ly embarks on a “great journey”—at least for the agouti.

Michel Pous­si is a best­selling French author, rank­ing sec­ond in France in terms of sales in 2018. How­ev­er, he’s not a chil­dren’s book writer; his forte lies in thrillers and sus­pense, often in the real­is­tic detec­tive genre. This pic­ture book sto­ry, from his 2015 book, “She’s Not My Moth­er,” is actu­al­ly a short sto­ry set with­in the thriller. It’s one of sev­en bed­time sto­ries that the three-and-a-half-year-old pro­tag­o­nist, Mar­rone, hears repeat­ed­ly, and per­haps the most impor­tant of them all. The pic­ture book is for­tu­nate to have the renowned Peg­gy Neal as the illus­tra­tor. Peg­gy is not only an illus­tra­tor but also a ver­sa­tile design­er, spe­cial­iz­ing in print, toys, appar­el, and even unique inte­ri­or design. Hav­ing trav­eled exten­sive­ly, includ­ing sig­nif­i­cant time in South Asia and South Amer­i­ca, she seems to have a par­tic­u­lar fond­ness for the vibrant, vibrant col­ors of the trop­ics, result­ing in a warm and exot­ic style. Through Peg­gy’s illus­tra­tions, the sto­ry elic­its no hint of hor­ror, but instead a vibrant, endear­ing, and humor­ous atmos­phere, mak­ing it impos­si­ble not to miss the Guc­ci fam­i­ly’s jour­ney.

In the pic­ture book’s nar­ra­tive, this jour­ney of search­ing for food and shel­ter seems like a dif­fi­cult adven­ture, but in the pic­tures, it’s incred­i­bly romantic—quite inter­est­ing, quite allur­ing, to say the least. This is the unique charm of pic­ture books: the text and the pic­tures each tell a sto­ry: chil­dren typ­i­cal­ly look at the pic­tures while an adult reads the text, and the result­ing “third sto­ry” is clos­est to the sto­ry they ulti­mate­ly absorb. Of course, the child’s own rich imag­i­na­tion will fur­ther refine it.

Like “The Alchemist,” the end of a great jour­ney is where it began. How­ev­er, Michel’s sto­ry is remark­ably inno­v­a­tive: instead of find­ing their old “trea­sure” buried at the start­ing point, the Gooch fam­i­ly dis­cov­ers a new for­est, where new trees, sprout­ed from the seeds Gooch had for­got­ten, are laden with fruit—even more new trea­sures! This inge­nious out­come isn’t the author’s design; it’s actu­al­ly these seem­ing­ly insignif­i­cant species, the agouti, that serve as the “for­est gar­den­ers” of the equa­to­r­i­al region. Their dili­gent bury­ing of fruit, then for­get­ting to dig it up, helps the for­est regen­er­ate. The for­est becomes more beau­ti­ful and fer­tile, and the agouti fam­i­ly has an inex­haustible sup­ply of food.

There­fore, read­ing pic­ture books like this is tru­ly a delight­ful expe­ri­ence. The sto­ries are beau­ti­ful, the images are beau­ti­ful, and they are very infor­ma­tive. They make you mar­vel at the won­ders of nature. At the same time, you may also gain some unique insights into life, such as the trea­sures and pur­suits in life. This kind of read­ing is a won­der­ful jour­ney in itself, isn’t it?

But what’s even more fas­ci­nat­ing about this sto­ry is that it’s actu­al­ly from a thriller detec­tive nov­el! How could that be? Aren’t you curi­ous at all? I can’t spoil the sto­ry of the mur­der­er in that nov­el, but I can tell you that this lit­tle sto­ry fits per­fect­ly with­in the nov­el, not only advanc­ing the plot per­fect­ly (the stuffed ani­mal the pro­tag­o­nist con­stant­ly holds is none oth­er than Guc­ci the agouti) but also pro­vid­ing a bril­liant metaphor. The nov­el begins like this: A three-and-a-half-year-old boy named Mar­rone sud­den­ly announces to every­one at kinder­garten that the moth­er he lives with every day isn’t his! Of course, no one believes Mar­rone, dis­miss­ing him as a tem­po­rary men­tal ill­ness. How­ev­er, the child psy­chol­o­gist who comes to help Mar­rone believes him and is sur­prised to dis­cov­er that Guc­ci the stuffed ani­mal is actu­al­ly telling him sto­ries. “The Trea­sure” is the first sto­ry.

From a child devel­op­ment per­spec­tive, chil­dren under the age of four or five are, at least in terms of their abil­i­ty to retain mem­o­ries, much like the agouti in the sto­ry. For exam­ple, a three-month-old baby may only retain mem­o­ries for a week, while a three-year-old may only retain mem­o­ries for six months. Con­se­quent­ly, adults often lack a clear recall of events before the age of four or five, rely­ing on pho­tographs or rec­ol­lec­tions from elders to recon­struct those mem­o­ries. But the ques­tion aris­es: if chil­dren are so eas­i­ly for­get­ful, why do adults con­tin­ue to engage in ear­ly child­hood edu­ca­tion?

I think this short sto­ry clev­er­ly answers this ques­tion and offers a won­der­ful metaphor: child­hood is the most impor­tant trea­sure in a per­son­’s life. Think of it this way: when chil­dren are very young, the words we say to them, the sto­ries we tell them, the pic­ture books we read them, the poems and nurs­ery rhymes we recite, the music we share, the games we play, the car­toons we watch, the mean­ing­ful expe­ri­ences we have, and so on, are like seeds. For chil­dren, most of these are for­got­ten, buried deep with­in their con­scious­ness, and even when they look back as adults, they may not be found. But those seeds will even­tu­al­ly grow into a new for­est, with trees full of new fruit, just like Guc­ci the Agouti’s trea­sure.

How­ev­er, there is a more impor­tant rev­e­la­tion: in order to har­vest these “trea­sures”, we must help chil­dren embark on a great jour­ney, to con­stant­ly explore and pur­sue, while care­ful­ly pro­tect­ing those around them, cher­ish­ing the present, and firm­ly believ­ing that those trea­sures will qui­et­ly bloom one day (espe­cial­ly when we for­get why one day).

Such rev­e­la­tion is suit­able for both chil­dren and our­selves.

Ajia …
Writ­ten on2020Year2moon9Bei­jing