The Magician's Elephant

From the first sentence, readers are drawn into the magical fairy-tale-like atmosphere of The Magician’s Elephant. In these opening chapters, readers meet Peter and learn about the challenges in his young life, including his search for his sister and his desire for the truth. DiCamillo begins establishing themes of coming of age, the importance of hope and truth, and the need for authentic connection. Yoko Tanaka’s evocative black-and-white illustrations complement the novel’s solemn but gentle mood and reflect the novel’s symbolic use of light and dark.

Although The Magician’s Elephant does not begin with the classic fairy-tale opening, “Once upon a time,” the line “At the end of the century before last” has the same effect. DiCamillo immediately establishes a fairy-tale quality to the novel, presenting the story as happening long ago, relative to the reader’s sense of time rather than a specific event. Similarly, Peter’s use of the money for the fortuneteller calls to mind the fairy tale “Jack and the Beanstalk,” when Jack trades his cow for magic beans. Other fairy-tale characteristics will appear as the novel continues. The elephant’s magical appearance is a characteristic of fairy tales, but it also suggests overtones of magical realism. While the elephant is unexpected, the fact that she was magically produced goes unquestioned by the townspeople: Magic is considered normal, something that simply happens in the everyday world.

DiCamillo utilizes simple sentence structure and a straightforward yet poetic style that quickly engages the reader. She incorporates figurative language to create images in readers’ minds, elicit emotion, connect them to the story, and convey meaning. The description of the fortuneteller reading Peter’s hand is a good example: “She examined it closely, moving her eyes back and forth and back and forth, as if there were a whole host of very small words inscribed there, an entire book about Peter Augustus Duchene composed atop his palm” (4-5). Readers envision both the mystique of the fortuneteller’s ability and Peter’s depth of character.

The novel’s third-person narrative perspective allows the all-knowing narrator to stand outside events, sharing the thoughts and feelings of all characters. Readers immediately empathize with Peter and the challenges he has already faced and overcome in his young life. At 10 years old, orphaned Peter is mature for his age. He is more of a caretaker for the one-footed, irascible, confused Vilna Lutz than Vilna Lutz is for him. Vilna Lutz is determined to make Peter a soldier, and Peter has unquestioningly internalized what he believes a soldier to be: honorable, “brave and true” like his father. Peter shows this honor when he confesses the truth to Vilna Lutz about spending his florit on the fortuneteller. Peter is respectful and dutiful, but he is beginning to question the world around him, developing the Coming of Age: Making and Facing Truths theme.

Peter faces a crisis of betrayal. Believing that Vilna Lutz has been lying to him about his missing sister is a blow to Peter’s trust. Lying is something soldiers do not do, and what Peter now believes changes his feelings toward the old man. Peter begins to see that the fortuneteller is correct—that the truth is always changing. Peter vacillates between hope and despair, ultimately deciding that despair is emotionally easier to endure. He feels helpless to find the elephant and convinces himself that, in fact, the elephant could not help in his quest. Peter gives up.

Other characters in the novel also lack hope and initiative. Madam LaVaughn and the magician are locked in an infinite loop of accusation and non-apology: Hans Ickman observes that neither says what they mean. The two exemplify separation and isolation, rather than meaningful connection and communication. The importance of authentic relationships, or Finding Where You Belong: Being Known and Loved, is one of the novel’s central themes. Peter is separated from his sister. He cannot communicate his true feelings with Vilna Lutz, who is feverish, obsessed, and deceptive. Hans is separated from the “beautiful things” in his life, like his family and the name of his little white dog. The elephant is separated from her family, the place where she belongs.

The Eastern-bloc-like city of Baltese is perennially cloudy, grim, and cold, adding to the atmosphere of hopelessness. Both beggars and pigeons sing sad songs. No one expects anything special or exciting to happen in their lives. Leo Matienne is one of the few citizens who retain a sense of wonder and believe in the impossible. He ponders the deeper meaning behind the arrival of the elephant, as opposed to being bogged down with practicalities. Leo demonstrates both hope and positive connection. His heart “sings” with questions of possibility. The heart is a symbol of hope and emotion: Peter’s heartbeat fluctuates wildly as he learns about and yearns for Adele.

While darkness permeates gloomy Baltese, there are moments of light. Light illuminates truth and genuine emotional connection, in memory or the present. Hans remembers his white dog’s joy and his own wonder as the dog leapt the river, recalling “her white body set afire by the light of the sun” (48). Streetlamps make a shining path that leads Leo to his loving wife and home. In Peter’s memory of his parents, the lamps are lit in the garden, and his mother seems to glow in her white dress. Brightness, whiteness, and light contrast with the darkness of isolation and despair.

Similarly, Yoko Tanaka’s chiaroscuro illustrations evoke the novel’s somber, repressed mood, but also its glimmers of humor and hope. Tanaka’s realistic shading of black and white and gray creates evocative contrasts between light and dark, giving readers a sense of melancholy but also of beauty and magic. Tanaka commented about The Magician’s Elephant that “the writing is so poetic, and the atmosphere, dark, but warm, is one that I feel so comfortable working in” (inside back cover).