The Child Thief

Author’s Note or An Ode to Peter Pan
Like so many before me, I am fascinated by the tale of Peter
Pan, the romantic idea of an endless childhood amongst the magical
playground of Neverland. But, like so many, my mind’s image of Peter Pan
had always been that of an endearing, puckish prankster, the undue
influence of too many Disney films and peanut-butter commercials.
That is, until I read the original Peter Pan, not the watered-down
version you’ll find in the children’s bookshops these days, but James
Barrie’s original—and politically uncorrected—version, and then I began to
see the dark undertones and to appreciate just what a wonderfully
bloodthirsty, dangerous, and at times cruel character Peter Pan truly is.
Foremost, the idea of an immortal boy hanging about nursery windows
and seducing children away from their families for the sake of his ego and
to fight his enemies is at the very least disturbing. Though this is fairly
understandable when you read in “The Little White Bird” (Peter Pan’s first
appearance) that as an infant he left his own nursery to play with the fairies
in the park, but upon his return found the windows barred and his mother
nursing another little boy—just the sort of traumatic event to leave anyone a
bit maladjusted. Rejected, Peter returned to the fairy world and apparently
decided things would be a bit more fun if he had a few companions. And,
not being one to worry on niceties, he simply kidnapped them.
But what happens to these children after that? Here is a quote from the
original Peter Pan: “The boys on the island vary, of course, in numbers,
according as they get killed and so on; and when they seem to be growing
up, which is against the rules, Peter thins them out; but at this time there
were six of them, counting the twins as two.”
Thins them out? Huh? What does that mean? Does Peter kill them, like
culling a herd? Does he send them away somewhere? If so, where? Or does
Peter just put them in such peril that the crop is in need of constant
replenishing?
That one paragraph forever changed my perception of Peter Pan from
that of a high-spirited rascal to something far more sinister. “Thins them

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out”—the words kept repeating in my head. How many children had Peter
stolen, how many had died, how many had been thinned out? Peter himself
said, “To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
There is certainly no lack of bloodletting in Peter Pan: pirates
massacring Indians and so forth, but those are adults killing each other—
nothing new there. Much more intriguing to me is that murderous group of
children—the Lost Boys. With them, Peter Pan has turned bloodletting into
a sport, has taught them not only to kill without conscience or remorse but
also to have a damn good time doing it. At one point the boys proudly
debate the number of pirates they’d just slaughtered: “Was it fifteen or
seventeen?” And how can any child not enjoy such lines as “They fell easy
prey to the reeking swords of the boys.” Or “He lifted up one boy with his
hook, and was using him as a buckler, when another, who had just passed
his sword through Mullins, sprang into the fray.” Nothing like a good
spilling of entrails to liven things up. And more chilling is Peter’s ability to
do all these things—the kidnapping, the murder—all without a trace of
conscience: “‘I forget them after I kill them,’ he (Peter) replied carelessly.”
Once I pondered these unsettling elements I began to wonder what this
children’s book would be like if the veil of Barrie’s lyrical prose were
peeled back, if the violence and savagery were presented in stark, grim
reality. How would children really react to being kidnapped and thrust into
such a situation? How hard would it be for them to fall under the spell of a
charismatic sociopath, to shuck off the morality of civilization and become
cold-blooded killers? Judging from what goes on in modern gang culture,
and seeing how quick teens can be to define their own morals, to justify any
action no matter how horrific, I believe it wouldn’t be that hard.
And these thoughts were the seeds for The Child Thief.