What’s in a name if you inspire a renowned story? This week in 1897, Peter Llewelyn Davies was born. Davies and his brothers were eventually taken under the wing of James Matthew Barrie, a Scottish writer best known for authoring Peter Pan, or, The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up.
In 1897, Barrie befriended the Davies family, and began using his knack for storytelling to entertain George and Jack, the eldest sons. Initially, Barrie told the boys that their baby brother Peter could fly, since babies originated as birds. Eventually, this tale grew when George and Jack were mystified to learn that one of the fictional baby boys did fly away.
Unlike Barrie’s famous Peter Pan, baby Davies did grow up. After surviving the trenches of the First World War, Davies began to despise his status as Peter Pan’s namesake.
Davies sneered at Peter Pan, calling it “that terrible masterpiece.” This might seem harsh, but the association haunted Davies. He was publicly identified as Peter Pan; in fact, after his suicide, media reports of his death referred to him as “Peter Pan.”
Upon learning about this disaster, I was not surprised. There is at least one other instance of a father figure’s literary legacy souring his son’s life. Christopher Robin Milne was the basis of Christopher Robin in his father’s Winnie-the-Pooh stories.
Initially, Milne appreciated that he and his stuffed animals were featured in the books. However, once he entered school, Milne’s peers would mock him for his association with the stories, which were a household name by that time.
Much like Davies before him, Milne began to look at his father’s fiction bitterly. Milne’s annoyance with his link to Winnie-the-Pooh became full-blown hatred after serving in World War II.
In fact, Milne believed that his father had exploited him with his fictional counterpart, and seldom visited him, even as the elder Milne was dying.
So what can these stories teach us today? If anything, they remind us that writers should be careful with the origins of their creations. Davies and Milne were particularly obvious cases of an author’s reputation ruining his muses’ lives.
Today, this is even more pressing. In a wired world like ours, it’s easy to tarnish a name. As the only person around with my exact first and last name, I always separate my public presence from my activities on more anonymous sites.
But as an author, there’s even more to learn. In high school, my creative fiction was often inspired by my real life — blatantly so, in fact.
While venting about the latest guy to break your heart might work for Taylor Swift, the more positive intentions of Barrie and the elder Milne clearly backfired. We should think our own fiction’s implications through; we could save our inspirations a life of unwanted attention.
Moriah Krawec is a freshman studying journalism at Ohio University and a columnist for The Post. Has anyone written a novel about you? Email Moriah at mk141811@ohiou.edu.
