“No it isn’t, not always,” I answered.
“How can you tell?”
“That’s easy. When the people who love you change, when they leave you, when they die, it hurts more than knives, and arrows, more than Long Tom blowing you to pieces. It just hurts.”
And then a coldness descended like a mask across his face. “When you die I won’t be hurt one bit,” he said. “I hate you, James. I wanted you to be my friend and you changed. You grew up!”
“I’m sorry, Peter. It happens to us all. Most of us, anyway. Besides, what you just said sounds a bit like Love to me.”
This was the final straw. Cecco had just been disemboweled by Curly and lay on the deck in operatic agony. Peter swooped down and plucked the sword from his belt. Before I could respond he swished it through the air and cut me deep. Blood welled from my chest. “Peter, please,” I begged, but he swiped again, cutting low this time, clipping my side. The wound, I feared, was mortal. It was only now, as Death approached me, that my senses grew acute. I could hear the gentle tick-tick of a watch beating like a heart smothered in cotton. She had followed me here, all the way from Long Tom, and now she was offering me sweet repose. And so it struck me: at this point in the game I was simply a pawn.
There was no other way left—I had to give Peter his victory.
I backed to the ship’s rail, the tip of Peter’s sword pressed against my throat.
“Prepare to die, O most terrible of men!” Peter hissed.
I uttered a prayer, for Eton and the boys and for children everywhere, then threw myself over the side.
Like a mother cradling the fall of a child tossed from a burning building, Daisy caught me in her open jaws.
* * *
What happened next is exactly what I expected. Peter crowed his triumph and ordered all the boys back to the Underground Home. (My crew, during this, were wise enough to feign death, and lay about the ship in positions of extreme rigor mortis.) Wendy protested Peter’s command, and when Peter objected she began to cry and all the boys felt bad for her and agreed to fly back to London that very night, and the rest is, more or less, history. The Darling children returned to Number 14, Kensington Park Gardens, the other boys found their separate ways back to their parents, none of the children remembered anything of what had happened, and Scotland Yard declared the case closed. The one thing that no one commented on was the fact that, although the year of their return was 1898 and all the children had been missing from between two and seven years, not one of them had aged. Thus it was that five-year-old Curly was at first three years younger than his younger brother Fred, and so forth and so on. By the day’s end, however, all had caught up with themselves and aged properly. (Tootles sprouted a silky beard and mustache in a matter of hours!) Still, everyone was happy to have the families reunited, so nobody bothered much about the details. Everyone was happy, that is, except for the Darling family, for Mary and George had separated by this point. Still, they were overjoyed to have their children again, and Michael and Jack at least had no memory of their parents having lived together, so they were happy enough.
I learned all of this very much after the fact, and here is how that came to be:
* * *
Daisy returned with me to Long Tom, carrying me gently in her jaws. It was a journey of days, during which time I drifted in and out of consciousness, but all of that salt water did wonders for my wounds so that, though I bear the scars to this day, Peter’s attack did not prove fatal.
I rested on Long Tom for several months. Daisy saw that I was fed, bringing a daily supply of fish to me, and the occasional bird or turtle egg.
Eventually the Roger, once again under Starkey’s command, returned to Long Tom, and, oh, the celebration that followed at our reunion! We had a glorious evening of Talent and Entertainment, held on the island itself, and even Daisy seemed to enjoy herself, especially when Skylights pretended to be her and Black Murphy pretended to be me, and Skylights picked up Black Murphy and gave him a big kiss and carried him off into the sea, from which they soon returned, soaking wet.
The next morning Starkey offered me the captaincy again, but I declined. I did not wish, I told him, to be responsible for anybody else for a long, long while, though I did have one request to make of him. I retrieved from the Captain’s Quarters the Cotswold Cottage, and brought it with me back to Long Tom. After a week in their happy company, I bid my crew farewell. They were off to explore the archipelago one more time, and promised to return in a few months. But I knew that I would never see them again.
* * *
Within a week or so after they departed, I began preparing Daisy for the inevitable. I told her every day how much I would miss her, but said that she could not come with me, as pets of her size were not welcome where I was going. She lay in my arms at night (or at least as much of her as would fit, which wasn’t much), and I said that I would always live inside her, a presence as real as my father’s watch, and that she would forever live inside me. Finally, on a beautiful evening, as Peter’s Liana winked at me from the horizon, I peppered myself with Flying Sand and held her close one last time.
“I love you,” I whispered to her. I like to think that as much affection as a crocodile can have for another being, Daisy had for me.
Mortality, I decided, was far preferable to its alternative. I wanted to grow old, and to change, and to suffer loss, and to learn new things, and to be human once again. I longed for everything that wasn’t Peter Pan.
* * *
The year had become 1905 by the time I returned, and Peter Pan was the talk of the London stage. I could not bring myself to see it, and to this day I am glad that I have not added that pain to my life. I did read the book when it came out several years later, and found it execrable. Michael, I believe, was the Scotsman’s main source, and he had been barely more than an infant at the time of his transportation.
But the play did grant me one blessing in disguise: it allowed me to find Wendy again.
She had just turned twenty, and was living with her father, who was not well. George and Mary, long separated, had sold the house at Number 14, so that when I showed up at the door I was greeted by a total stranger. The publicity surrounding the play, however, allowed me to learn both of their new addresses. Mary had told the press repeatedly that the play was, of course, a fiction and nothing more, born of her sons’ friendship with the author. Shortly before the play’s premiere, George contracted a cancer of the jaw.
His illness was slow and debilitating, and when I appeared on the scene he was nearing the end. I sat by his bedside, holding his hand and reading to him when necessary. He could not speak, but was fully aware of who I was, and I consider it one of the great honors of my life to have been present at his deathbed. Wendy was there with me, and each of us held one of his hands, and because he could not speak his last communication was a smile that was nothing less than beatific.
Mary refused to see me, and I cannot blame her. I was the cause of the deepest sorrow of her life. She too succumbed to cancer, less than six years later. Michael died in the war. Jack, who also served and suffered terribly from shell shock, became a publisher, and has promised me that this little tome will see the light of day, once I’m finished.
I, in the meantime, found a job as a clerk. My sinister handwriting had improved with time until, if I wrote carefully, my penmanship was as much a thing of beauty as it ever was. I lived in a small rented flat in Southwark, and my income was sufficient for all my needs.
Wendy married, and mothered two lovely boys and a beautiful girl. I was godfather to all three. In my sixty-fifth year I had a minor stroke, and Wendy and her husband (James!) offered to take me in. I resisted, but another attack made me unemployable, and so I surrendered.
I have lived with them for many years now, and Wendy has kindly taken dictation during these past few months, as I reminisced.
And what of Peter? I do not know. One night, quite recently, I awoke from a sound sleep to find a boy standin
g over my bed, examining me closely. Was this a dream? Perhaps. Nothing came of it. I closed my eyes and opened them again, and he was gone.
Daisy, I’m confident, ticks on.
I still have the Cotswold Cottage and its precious contents, should I ever wish to visit my dear croc again. But I think not. I’m content with the regular ticking of time, and don’t wish to jump around in it anymore.
And so, dear reader, I bid you farewell.
Peter’s story will live on, as long as children are “gay and innocent and heartless.”
Time will remedy that.
My tale is over and, like all human tales, must soon be forgotten. It must.
FINIS
Postscript
James Cook, author of this manuscript, passed away in July 1940, during a bombing raid in the Battle of Britain. Only a few months earlier, according to his half-nephew Jack Darling, he had captained a small boat in the Dunkirk evacuation, in spite of his poor health. This information was gleaned from The Times’ obituary, which, due to the war effort, was extremely brief. The manuscript itself was never published, for reasons I cannot explain. Very few individuals knew of its existence, presumably, until its rediscovery in a small American college library by myself, when I was perusing the stacks for another book. I was employed by the library at the time, and when I showed the manuscript to the professor in charge of the collection, he told me to “keep it if you find it interesting.” I did. It was very worn and the handwriting faded and quite difficult to read. I therefore took it upon myself to “restore” several sections, and any resulting confusions or doubts that you, dear reader, might have, I take full responsibility for.
Where James Cook is buried I do not know. I only know that he chose Death over Eternity, Change over Certainty, and Pain over Happy Oblivion.
We all should be so fortunate.
—John Leonard Pielmeier
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, thanks must go to Hook’s “little Scotsman.” The good Captain may despise him; I bow to this remarkable writer. I grew up with Peter and his story; it was the first book I learned to read, though truthfully it had been read to me so often that I simply recited it word for word while turning the pages, so that what my mother took as a four-year-old’s precociousness was really just a trick of memorization. My first play (age seven) was the story of a boy named Jack—who flew. (I too flew at times, though I can do this now only on very special occasions.) Then, shortly after my thirtieth birthday, I saw an eye-opening production of What Every Woman Knows. Immediately I went to the local library and found a Collected Plays, which I devoured. Following this, I spent time on an artist-colony island where I read Andrew Birkin’s moving and fascinating J. M. Barrie and the Lost Boys. I visited Scotland and the birthplace. I wrote a play about the man. I was in literary love.
Scholars, in my opinion, often misunderstand Barrie. He was not a boy who refused to grow up; he was a boy who grew up too quickly. There is a photo of Barrie playing Hook with the Llewelyn Davies boys: he identified not with Peter at all but with the sad, softhearted Captain.
My thanks extend to others: to my friend and one-time TV agent Brian Pike, who was so supportive both professionally and personally of the earliest draft. My good friend Tracy Strong read it next, the first person (after my wife) to understand what I was trying to accomplish. My friend Thomas Donahue followed, and my friends Richard Kollath and Ed McCann, and David Rintels and Vicki Riskin, and all appreciated the humor, and the narrative, and the crocodile. My British friend David Oakes read it hunting for Americanisms; hopefully they are as invisible as Tink. All of these good people gave me confidence in the work and belief in myself, something which all writers need, and which I seem (at times) to be particularly short of.
You would not be reading this book without the kindness of my friend George Birnbaum. Over dinner one night I complained to him that I could not find an agent to represent the book, let alone a publisher. He introduced me to his agent-friend Jeff Schmidt, who offered to read the book, and who fell in love with it in a way that all agents should fall in love with all books they agree to represent. Jeff promised me that he would find a publisher, and he did.
That publisher was Scribner, and the editor who bought it—the wonderful John Glynn—has guided me through the process of publication with the sure hand of a Pan teaching a Hook to fly.
All of these I thank. Each one is “first and foremost.”
But the first and foremost–est is my wife. Irene O’Garden is the best writer I know, and I aspire to some day be as good as she is. Poor Hook never found a partner, best friend, or lover; I am fortunate to have found all three in this amazing woman. Thank you, my Darling.
And thank you, readers. You too are “first and foremost.”
—John Leonard Pielmeier
A Scribner Reading Group Guide
Hook’s Tale
John Leonard Pielmeier
This reading group guide for Hook’s Tale includes an introduction, discussion questions, and ideas for enhancing your book club. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.
INTRODUCTION
In the tradition of Gregory Maguire’s Wicked and John Gardner’s Grendel, Hook’s Tale allows Peter Pan’s legendary nemesis to finally set the record straight. With debut novelist John Leonard Pielmeier at the helm, Hook explains how he has been unjustly demonized, and why Peter Pan himself may be Neverland’s true menace.
TOPICS AND QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. The opening scene is of a nightmare during which James Cook murders a family of birds that are attacking him. Why do you think the author begins the story with this image? How are nightmares of “innocent intent” different from other nightmares?
2. When the reader first meets James Cook’s mother, the impression is that she is weak and unwell. Why is his mother’s constitution significant to Cook’s character? How are women portrayed throughout the rest of the novel?
3. The author takes readers through a series of painful events in Cook’s childhood. Do you think this is to elicit sympathy for Cook? If so, why do you think the author wants readers to connect with Cook in this way? Which scene, in your opinion, was most effective in making readers feel sympathy for him?
4. On page 16, readers meet Smee for the first time. How is the Smee in this book different from Smee in the animated Disney version of Peter Pan? Which other characters are drastically different in this version, and how so? Peter? Tiger Lily? The Darlings?
5. Cook is fixated on nicknames. What power do nicknames like Hook, Gin, and Old Carlyle have? On page 22, Cook suggests that his publisher will insist on using “Hook” in the title of his book. Why do you think he feels this way, and why do you think he dislikes his nickname so much? Why does he refuse to call Peter Pan by name until he must?
6. The narrator drops clues for the reader, such as “In time I learned the truth” (page 44). Why does the narrator feel the need to warn the reader? Do these hints build suspense?
7. On page 52, Cook discovers that no one ages on the archipelago. What were some of the other stipulations about life in Neverland? Were any of them new to this version of the story? Did this portrayal of Neverland feel more real to you than other depictions?
8. John Leonard Pielmeier, the author of Hook’s Tale, has written many successful plays, television movies, and miniseries, including Agnes of God, Gifted Hands, Choices of the Heart, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, and the award-winning screen adaption of Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth. How do you think his background influenced the style of this novel?
9. What did you think about Cook and Peter’s initial encounter on page 67? Discuss the nature of their friendship as it develops.
10. On page 85, Cook says, “Besides, we were boys, and boys cannot love.” What do you th
ink he means?
11. Why do you think Peter wants a shadow so badly? Why did Cook feel naked when Peter stole his shadow? How did this act change their friendship? What does the shadow symbolize?
12. On page 120, Peter is upset that Cook is leaving him to be with Tiger Lily. What does this scene represent?
13. Why do you think Cook is unable to see Tink? Do you think Tink is real, or is she a figment of Peter’s imagination?
14. Discuss Doctor Slinque’s role in Hook’s Tale. How did this new character impact the narrative?
15. How did Cook’s relationship with his father change throughout the book? What did you think of Cook’s ultimate revenge?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
1. Read J. M. Barrie’s original play Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up from 1904 or his novel Peter and Wendy from 1911. Compare and contrast Barrie’s original vision with Pielmeier’s vision for Hook’s Tale.
2. Watch the musical version of Peter Pan starring Mary Martin from 1954. Discuss how Hook’s Tale adds to the story.
3. Consider the narratives of other famous villains in literature: Lord Voldemort, the White Witch, Professor Moriarty, Mrs. Danvers, Iago, Count Dracula, Lady Macbeth, Uriah Heep. How might some of their stories be retold?
About the Author
© JORDAN MATTER
John Leonard Pielmeier’s successful plays, television movies, and miniseries include Agnes of God, Gifted Hands, Choices of the Heart, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, and the award-winning screen adaption of Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth. He has received the Humanitas Prize (plus two nominations), five Writers Guild Award nominations, a Gemini nomination, an Edgar Award, a CAMIE Award, and a Christopher Award. He is married to writer Irene O’Garden and lives in upstate New York. Hook’s Tale is his first novel.
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