Missed Arrows

  There is this scene in the Tim Burton movie Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children which struck out at me: the scene where the villain, Mr. Barron, played by Samuel Jackson, is pursuing the lead character, Jake, and the latter keeps trying to shoot him with arrows and missing every time. Mr. Barron finally gets exasperated and says, "Jake, when are you going to realize that shooting arrows is not your peculiar talent?" The premise of the movie is that each child has a special talent or skill that makes them supernormal: one child is able to make inanimate objects come to life, while another can set fire to things simply by touch, and still another can lift very heavy objects with her bare hands. It's only later that Jake is able to use his own special seeing abilities to avoid the dangers of the monsters in the movie and save himself in the process. But in the beginning, like most mortal humans, Jake doesn't know what his talent is that makes him 'peculiar' or different from everyone else. He is even told at one point by one of the older boys, Enoch, that perhaps he doesn't have any talent at all, and doesn't belong to the 'gifted' others. This movie, in its own magical way, speaks to the faith that we wish we had in our own unfolding character or fate, and even to know that we have special abilities that others don't possess.
   I recall when I was a teenager, I went through a phase where I was quite fascinated with stories about beings who have supernatural abilities, which set them out from other humans. I at one point wanted to be part of my high school's 'gifted' program, and even became despondent when I wasn't identified as gifted in that way. Meanwhile, I became quite interested in science fiction stories and novels which spoke about these special out-of-the-norm abilities. A.E. Van Vogt was one such writer, and so was Olaf Stapleton,who wrote a book called Odd John, as well as Arthur Clarke's Childhood's End. Most of these books tried to show how human prejudice tends to react to exceptional abilities with fear and even persecution, as though there were a hidden moral 'economy' in which one mustn't be 'too' good for one's good.
       And somehow these books carried with them the hope that these exceptional powers would redeem the world: they had a religious, eschatological feel to them. In recent years, I have wondered if perhaps all of these books are simply showing a very similar archetype of what Jung has called the 'puer' or the magic, eternal child who is forever young. We all admire this kind of figure because, in her or his youth and inquisitiveness, they are able to see what others don't see due to their ingrained habits, responsibilities and customs. When a person gets older and faces illness or simply the hassles of daily existence, this puer being sometimes seems farther away from reality and very difficult to relate with indeed. I sometimes wonder how these magical books would be written from the perspective of the older figure who has gone beyond the eternal innocence of such a magic child. Are they jealous of the child for having so much vitality or life in her or him still? Or do they have something to contribute to the puer's eternity: a kind of grounding in the magic of everyday existence that the puer desperately needs?
     Somehow, I think more work needs to be done to reconcile these different views. I almost feel that societies have a special responsibility to bring these soulful qualities of the puer spirit into everyone's life, no matter what their abilities are. At the same time, the puer soul needs to find a ground to stand upon. Otherwise, it will have many missed arrows, and many of the dreams we have about who we are never quite come to fruition.
      As I get older, I am not so enthralled by the odd-john stories, because it becomes harder for me to believe that the child-genius will redeem all of the world, no matter how great their powers are. It is not possible for any single person to do that, actually: it seems that it takes everyone to be able to create a better world, and this means having a very clear mind about people's strengths and weaknesses. When I see a strength, I can celebrate it for sure, but I should also be willing to carry the burden of another's weaknesses, to help them and support them to improve in those disowned parts of themselves. And I should always feel that everyone has a special, peculiar ability of their very own, and there is no special, exclusive club for that.