There’s something incredible about Christmas and pop culture. While there have been hundreds of stories told annually, there’s very little permanence. Niche groups may find a movie or song that speaks to them, but the culture writ large doesn’t seem likely to adopt the characters on a level that would make them icons. Think about it. What wholly original character so far in the 21st century has created a sustainable presence? I’m sure there are some that have permeated in the short term, but please ask yourself: have they gained popularity on par with Santa Claus or any reindeer? Even Blitzen has more of a legacy than, say, a single Hallmark Channel original. There is still time for that to change, as I’m sure that KFC movie will be a masterpiece.
So that is why there’s something amazing about The Grinch. When he originated in the pages of Dr. Seuess’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” it really felt like this fluke. He was a character who hated the holiday season, and the idea of sabotaging a beloved time of year is tempting for the more cynical crowd. Still, when you compare that to any character from the 21st century, you begin to understand how much of a miracle this ascension was. Not since Ebeneezer Scrooge has a figure so defiantly loathing life in December been culturally accepted. The Grinch is shorthand for somebody who’d rather sneer than join in the festivities. Sure there are others who want to plug up their ears as well, but he did it best.
Of course, the whole career of Dr. Seuss is fascinating. I am unsure if this is a distinctly American thing, but it does feel like everyone will have a passing familiarity with him by the time that they are seven. By that point, you’ll be able to have your own spin on “Green Eggs and Ham,” reciting the plot of “The Cat in the Hat” as you dress toddlers in Thing 1 and Thing 2 shirts. I can’t say that I’ve read most of these stories in years, likely decades. I don’t even know if I own a copy of them. And yet, I’m able to recall the language clearly.
It’s in part because these stories keep getting passed around in one form or another. You’ll find Dr. Seuss quotes popping up as these whimsical anecdotes about tolerance. It’s also because these characters have become endearing to the point of being parodied on The Simpsons and getting his own musical. Who wouldn’t want to have some form of this career? I’ve never been able to write convincing children’s literature, and here he is creating the most prosaic bounce house imaginable. When you enter his work, you have a safety and trust in his language that flows beautifully off the page. The artwork is just as captivating, and the whole experience is one that I hope to capture in my writing. Maybe not in the sense of a “Go Dog Go,” but that my order of words will endure beyond my own existence, inspiring minds to pick up a pen and write clever rhymes.
In that respect, I understand what has made him a durable figure in pop culture. Nostalgia as a concept is difficult to overcome, if just because that fondness is always desirable. In cases like Dr. Seuss or Mister Rogers or Charles Schulz, there is such a clear innocence that keeps the outside world from feeling horrible for awhile. This isn’t to say that these creators ignore it, but adjust it to its juvenile core, finding core emotions that exist beyond convoluted reasoning. Dr. Seuss makes you laugh when you read his work in part because it’s silly, but also because it might be true. He teaches you how to deal with core values in life, and it makes sense that this nostalgia would want to be passed down for generations, especially with a language that flavorful.
Even within this construct, it’s amazing to see that “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” has somehow become one of his most popular works. Of course, it’s one of his most novel concepts in his entire career. So long as there has been Christmas cheer, there has been a need to act out against this. How does one do so without diving into a whole psychological evaluation of this Grinch? There needs to be something universal enough that appeals to kids, and I think there’s plenty to love in the small motifs that Dr. Seuss uses to convey this divide. He makes this fantasy world of Whoville able to feel far richer than our own world, what with those fentoozlers or whatever language he uses.
That’s the best part. It’s one thing if Dr. Seuss outright attacked the Christmas establishment. There is enough in the real world that one could connect to and feel that bitterness. Of course, there is a risk of it becoming dated, even if one could argue that the depiction of the holidays hasn’t changed all that significantly since the book’s release in 1957. Sure, there are different societal norms, but the desire to light up trees and buy the best gifts remains the same. By fictionalizing it with such vivid imagery makes you realize in a clearer way that, yes, tinsel and giant inflatable snowmen are all a bit silly. Why do we give in to this crass, overzealous pageantry?
That is how The Grinch sees the world, and it’s the easiest way to convey a disconnect. The imagery is so loud and flamboyant with purpose, something that is lost on anyone satirizing Dr. Seuss’ work. You’re supposed to have vivid feelings when you read those fictional words, both filling you with awe at their creativity but also repulsion at the idea that anyone would want a fentoozler. Then again, why are we so bitter about them having such fancy things that we couldn’t possibly understand?
Another thing that never ceases to best reflect a divide among cultural ideas is geographical isolation. The design of Whoville is one that is cloistered with houses, where telephone wires connect every house. It is likely that everyone wakes up every day, opens the door, and waves a friendly salute to the world as they smile back. Everyone may have an assimilated feel, but there is a community that feels claustrophobic, constantly finding someone there. To the more introverted-minded, there’s a good chance that this is already frustrating. To everyone else, it conveys just how much pressure is on everyone to feel happy all the time.
Then there’s The Grinch, who is divided by mountains and forests. He is on a perch up high, looking down and judging. They have no way of reaching him. Behind him is a cave, itself cavernous and empty in ways reflective of his soul. Dr. Seuss makes sure to comment on how his heart is “two sizes too small,” as if there’s some defect that keeps him from recognizing the joy of the world below. It could be that he’s always been distant from everyone, that he’s never had a reason to be loved. Again, Dr. Seuss does a great job of implying so much that enlivens the reader’s imagination. It allows them to sympathize with him in ways that the film versions frankly lack.
What makes the story impressive is that it can be a read of Seasonal Affectation Disorder (S.A.D.). It’s the idea that a change in weather or environment can impact one’s emotional core. There could be something traumatizing that is triggered because of the Christmas season. When you’re happy and in a crowded world, it’s hard to notice that loneliness. Depression sucks, and The Grinch clearly has some toxic thoughts driven from his inability to relate, to feel like his own opinion matters.
In some ways, he’s no different from The Joker. Without turning full-on homicidal, the story is ostensibly about trying to destroy all that’s good in the world. A depressed person can only see the darkness of that cave, far from where anyone can reach him. They want to see that around the world, refusing to engage with happiness and unity. If everyone else experiences disappointment, then maybe they’ll get close to understanding The Grinch’s internal struggle. It’s selfish, finding him lashing out to make the world as empty as his soul. After all, why else would his heart be so small?
To Dr. Seuss’ credit, everything is presented with these wonderful details. There is never a point where the reader isn’t captivated, watching him plan his schemes. You want to see if he’ll get away with it, and watching him crawl through Whoville to do it is a lot of fun. It subverts what we think of in stories like “Twas the Night Before Christmas” and makes them delightfully evil, reflecting the desperation of a sad person to be recognized. They’re acting out in the hopes that someone will have this magical answer for them. It is why Cindy Lou-Who comes across as this captivating figure, a childlike innocence seeing a sad man and finding a way to get to the core of his frustrations.
By the end, it’s intriguing to note how his heart grows those sizes. Just when he thinks that he’ll be happy disposing of Christmas (joy), he finds something astounding. It was never about the material wealth, but the sense of community. They’re practically singing together, regardless of gifts. Something switches over in him and he learns the follies of his ways. Sure, it’s all a bit basic and the jump from S.A.D. to Whoville acceptance is steep, but it works as this idea that lashing out doesn’t change anything. It’s only when doing good that one can hope to celebrate Christmas and experience joy.
I know this is rudimentary and likely more psychologically complex than what Dr. Seuss likely intended, but it is what makes The Grinch such a universal figure. He’s someone that has a distinctive vision, capturing this divide between the world and our own internal struggles. It’s a reason that as a writer, he was brilliant. The longer that you sat with the books, the more that they revealed to you. There are layers to “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” and it makes it more sustainable than those sneering Grinch shirts that they sell. Sure, it’s fun to be naughty but it’s also asking how everyone can be better for each other and make things better.
I won’t go into too much detail about the various adaptations, though I greatly prefer How the Grinch Stole Christmas as animated by Chuck Jones and featuring Boris Karloff singing “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” (a holiday standard if you ask me). To me, it was straightforward and captures the essence of the story in whimsical detail. I can’t say the same for director Ron Howard’s version (which is repugnant) or the Illumination Studios one (which is middling). For me, adding more detail was not what this story needed. Making him nastier does not make him more endearing. If anything, it is a crass misuse of a character by turning him into something macabre, which he’s not.
I’m amazed at how The Grinch continues to be one of the most essential Christmas characters of the 20th century. Rarely has there been a figure that appeals to so many different types of people. With a live musical that just aired on TV, it doesn’t seem like he’ll go anywhere. He’ll continue to find ways to speak to our deeper anxieties, our need to break free of our own struggles and remember what’s so great about this time of year. It isn’t the presents or music. It’s about recognizing family and welcoming strangers into your life, to know that among the silly tapestry is a need to belong. That is a feeling that will never go away no matter how hard you try.
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