Oh, Mary

When I was a kid, one of my very favorite books was Mary Poppins by P. L. Travers. I really can’t explain it or defend it. And now, with the same misguided love, I am sharing the books with my almost-6-year-old, Maria. We’ve read Mary Poppins and Mary Poppins Comes Back. And now, God help us, we’re reading Mary Poppins Opens the Door. What’s my problem? Mary Poppins is a conceited, rude, lying S.O.B. who cannot be counted on and who comes and goes with the weather.

The woman cannot walk past a mirror, shop window, or frog pond without taking in her own appearance. “The sight of her face gleaming between two water lilies always gave her a pleasant feeling of satisfaction and contentment.” Fine. But, “She thought it was such a lovely sight that she wished there had been a dozen of her or even thirty.” Thirty? Dang, Mary.

She constantly berates the children. “’I’ll thank you,’ said Mary Poppins, giving [Michael] a terrible glance, ‘to let me do the talking.’” And how about this little exchange with Jane:

Mary Poppins was flicking her feather duster round the furniture.
“Off to a funeral?” She enquired as Jane appeared.
Jane looked sulky and did not answer.
“I know somebody who’s looking for Trouble. And he that seeks shall find!”
“I don’t care.”
“Don’t Care was made care! Don’t care was Hung!” jeered Mary Poppins, putting the duster away.
“And now—“ she looked warningly at Jane. “I am going to have my dinner. You are to look after the little ones and if I hear One Word—“ She did not finish the sentence but she gave a long threatening sniff as she went out of the room.

Dang, Mary! “Don’t care was Hung”? First of all, I think you mean “Hanged.” Secondly, what does that even mean? Thirdly, if it means what I think it means, is that anything to say to a child?

There’s a starling that comes to visit the children’s nursery and sits upon the windowsill. We get the impression that the starling and Mary have known each other for a long time. She can speak his language. One day he says to her, “Not so young as we were. Eh, Mary Poppins?” She replies, “I don’t know about you—but I’m quite as young as I was, thank you!” Very pleasant and easy-going, this gal.

Mary Poppins has magic up her sleeve. Yes, she can clean up the nursery spit-spot with a wave of her hand just like in the Disney movie, and she pulls loads of stuff out of her humble-looking carpetbag. She also leads the children into one adventure after another. Maybe they take a trip around the world or go up to the stars to meet the constellations or go to the bottom of the sea for a birthday party. But always, always after coming home to the nursery, when the children are talking about the great time they had wherever they were, she’s nothing but “What do you mean?” and “I know of no such thing!” and full of withering looks. She’s a great one for withering looks. She invented withering looks.

And, to top it all off, she leaves unexpectedly. Poof! Gone into the clouds the same way she came. End of book. Then she comes back, and Mrs. Banks, being a full partner in this codependent relationship, takes her in gratefully, lest she be forced to raise her own children. Another book. More adventures. More denial, confusion, invalidation. Poof! Cloud time!

So why do I like it? When I was little, I liked it for the adventure. You never knew where she was going to take you. I loved that Mary Poppins’ apron smelled of starch and toast. I loved that she could talk to the animals and tiny babies and the sunshine. I liked watching out for anyone that she did like or show respect to. Talk about giving a character credibility. If Mary Poppins is respectful to him, he must be something. Like the ancient snake in the zoo that they visit on the night of her birthday. He’s apparently her cousin, and they’re all lovey-dovey. Also, being with Mary Poppins is like having a backstage pass. On these magical adventures, when the other beings or animals or creatures find out that the Banks children are with her, they get the best treatment, too. Mary is power. I know that’s messed up.

So Maria and I plow along, sometimes looking at each other and saying, “Dang, do you believe her?” But we don’t question it too much or look for Trouble, because after all, he that seeks shall find.