Funny Things Are Everywhere

In the last two weeks, I’ve been rereading a lot of books that I’ve read many, many times – some probably fifty or even a hundred times. The grandkids are in the house, and I’m talking about classics by Dr. Seuss. My favorite book of his is One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. The two anonymous kids from The Cat in the Hat return for this one. In their first book, the Cat teaches them how to have fun, while in the second, he teaches them how to clean up after all that fun. The first tells a lesson some kids need to hear, and the second teaches a lesson all parents wish their kids would learn sooner. But One Fish, Two Fish teaches a lesson that many kids, I fear, never learn: how to stop and enjoy the wonderful world around us. “From There to Here, From Here to There, Funny things are Everywhere.”

The book sticks with fish at first: fish of different colors, and fish of different sizes. “This one has a little star. This one has a little car.” And then the message begins. “Say! What a lot of fish there are!” I love that word “Say!” Besides having an old-fashioned ring to it that reminds me of something my dad would say, it expresses all the wonder and delight of serendipitous discovery.

After some more fish, this time experiencing a variety of emotions, the kids start telling the reader about the fantastic creatures that live in their house: the Ying who likes to sing, and the Yink who links to drink pink ink, the Gack, the Zans, and the Zeep. My favorite part, though, has nothing to do with either fish or special pets. He’s an independent, unnamed creature who shifts the narrative voice to describe himself in first person:

My hat is old,
My teeth are gold.
I have a bird
I like to hold.
My shoe is off,
My foot is cold.

My shoe is off,
My foot is cold.
I have a bird
I like to hold.
My hat is old,
My teeth are gold.
And now my story
Is all told.

I love the way the description lines up with the guy’s picture, describing him from head to foot as the lines run down the page. I love the way the fellow stands on one hand to describe himself in reverse order on the next page. I love the mysterious bird who appears perfectly content to be held. I love the way his beard comes not from his chin, but from a melding of two long sideburns. I love wondering why he has an old hat if he can afford gold fillings. I love the way he calls his description a story when it isn’t a story.

But I also love the rhythm of the poem. I have always laughed at the third couplet and instinctively slow down when I read it. When I was a kid, I didn’t understand why it sounded so humorous to me, but I think I do now. The first four lines all end in voiced blends: a sustaining, liquid consonant (l or r) followed by the voiced d. By comparison, the fifth line dispenses with the liquids and ends with the breathy double f. That sudden, unvoiced fricative just makes me want to stop and laugh at the matter-of-fact way this guy turns what should be a momentary situation into a feature of his character. He only tickles my funny bone more by following it up with a line expressing cheerful acceptance of the discomfort in his foot. Why doesn’t he just put his shoe on and warm up that foot? Because his shoe is off. That’s not a descriptive “is,” it’s an essential “is.” The shoe is off not out of choice; it’s off because it is a shoe whose identity is one of being off. It’s as if he had said, “My head is bald” or even “My knee is a joint.” That’s just the way it is, and this guy celebrates it, decades ahead of the era of self-expression.

Thanks, Dr. Seuss. I may not have a Zans for cans, but you helped me enjoy the mysterious world around me. Funny things are everywhere!