the last temptation of grover
It starts out happy, but just you wait.
I’m quoting a lovable, furry blue monster here, because lately I’m noticing touchstones from the earliest years of my life:
“SHHHH. Listen, I have an idea. If you do not turn any pages, we will never get to the end of this book.
And that is good, because there is a Monster at the end of this book.
So please do not turn the page.”
In a moment of pure formalist muppet metafiction, breaking the fourth wall back in 1971, Grover’s noticed the title of the book they’re in. And now they’re fighting for their life. Their about to spend the next 16 pages trying to stop you from turning the page. They use rope and wood and bricks and begging and their own cuteness, to no avail. They do get to the end of the book, and somehow everything’s okay.
Is this a silly premise for a kids’ book?
Or a powerful multipurpose therapeutic metaphor?
Really, it’s both, and it works on at least a couple of different levels.
Here’s one level: The monster is some inevitable thing. There’s nothing Grover can do to stop the reader from turning the pages—just as you’re not going to avoid that math test, or booster shot, or performance review, or bumping into your toxic ex at the mall someday.
The drama/conflict/agony of Grover turns out not to be meeting the monster. The pain of it all comes from their struggle to stop it from happening. For us, most pain turns out not to be some inevitable thing that is almost never as bad as we build it up to be. The pain of it all comes from the avoidance, and the worrying we do while we’re avoiding.
What if Grover could relax, accept that the monster is coming, and prepare for it?
It would be a boring book and I wouldn’t blog about it.
But Grover would be a happier person.
Hard to see this in our own lives, but hilarious and obvious in a kids’ book.
Here’s another level: The monster is you. Which [spoiler alert] is what we learn at the end of the book. Grover spends all those pages fearing something outside themself, something they’re powerless over, something dangerous. I’m going out on a limb to guess that you’ve spent a few pages of your life feeling powerless over something dangerous that was really just you.
Not actually beyond your scope of control. Not actually menacing. We talk about getting in our own way, or having an inner saboteur, or being our own worst enemy. And we feel trapped by that monster. “I don’t know how to stop doing this to myself!”
What if Grover could see that they’re not powerless over the monster because it’s themself?
Again, not super-entertaining. Saccharine and obvious.
But so much less stressful for Grover.
Hard to see this in our own lives, but hilarious and obvious when it happens to Grover.
None of this is complicated, and you didn’t need this exegesis, although honestly I’m tempted to spend way more words going into something you already understand. But it seemed important to show you this book. And to admit that a strategy I use all the time in my life is to recognize myself as lovable, furry old Grover. I notice I’m either wasting time and energy avoiding something unavoidable, or acting powerless over something that’s just me.
And when that happens, I don’t use as many words as I have in this blog post. All I have to say is,
“Hey Jay, it’s the monster at the end of the book.”
“Well, look at that! This is the end of the book, and the only one here is . . .
ME.
I, lovable furry old GROVER,
am the Monster at the end of this book.
And you were so SCARED!
I told you and told you there was nothing to be afraid of.
(Oh, I am so embarrassed.)”