Looking past our differences, specifically exoskeletons

One of the essential elements of our science-fiction-and-fantasy-obsessed culture is the understanding of what constitutes a monster. Most of these popular stories involve a monstrous entity in some capacity, from V’ger in Star Trek: The Motion Picture to the half-friendly aliens in District 9. But as all of these characters function entirely differently within their respective stories, how can they be considered as being in the same category? Is Shrek really all that similar to Predator? The definition of a monster stems from a category crisis—that is, an apparent inability on the part of observers to adequately rationalize the subject—and this fundamental alienness is an essential part in relaying Roald Dahl’s primary message of friendship regardless of difference in James and the Giant Peach.

Jeffrey Jerome Cohen’s essay “Monster Culture (Seven Theses)” offers a handful of well-constructed and validated arguments regarding the definition and importance of the monster in our culture. Although it might not be the most important element of the entire essay, Cohen’s discussion of the monster as “category crisis” is the most pertinent to James and the Giant Peach. Epitomized best in this passage, Cohen’s assertion is that

[b]ecause of its ontological liminality, the monster notoriously appears at times of crisis as a kind of third term that problematizes the clash of extremes—as ‘that which questions binary thinking and introduces a crisis.’¹

Here Cohen defines the monster as a creature of contradiction, possessing certain qualities traditionally considered mutually exclusive and thereby presenting a challenge to properly understand to those who attempt to categorize it. Humans think in categorical terms—something is either good or bad, black or white—and when a construct appears which transcends this “binary thinking,” as Cohen phrases it, the object in question is a monster. But what are the implications of monstrosity upon a group of characters like the insects in Dahl’s novel?

In Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach, an essential theme is that of difference—or, rather, the insignificance thereof—in that despite their being from different species entirely James and his newfound insect companions form a meaningful and lasting friendship. James is a lonely and troubled boy at odds with his environment, having no friends or positive social relationships to speak of. Through the course of the story he finds a community of true friends in the unlikeliest of places, proving that uniqueness or otherness should be no obstacles to friendship. However, as Cohen would have predicted, upon first laying eyes on his soon-to-be-compatriots James struggles to categorize them:

The creatures, some sitting on chairs, others reclining on a sofa, were all watching him intently. Creatures? Or were they insects? An insect is usually something rather small, is it not? A grasshopper, for example, is an insect. So what would you call it if you saw a grasshopper as large as a dog? As large as a large dog. You could hardly call that an insect, could you?²

Although at first James is skeptical of his ability to even communicate with the other characters, they become fast friends as a testament to the unimportance of strangeness. The insects represent a profound alien nature of the sort James has never encountered before—they’re about as strange as you can get without becoming ridiculous. And yet despite these seemingly insurmountable differences James and his fellow co-pilots of the peach are able to find some common ground and mutual interests, thereby crafting their powerful friendship.

Dahl’s magically altered insect humanoids and James’ reaction to them are textbook examples of Cohen’s thesis that monsters challenge binary thinking. James at first tries to categorize the alien beings as “creatures,” then “insects,” then specializing his second categorization by adding that they’re as “large as a large dog.” Even then, having settled on something like a working definition, he continues to second guess himself, putting the question of categorization up to the reader. Encountering a group of giant insects with human qualities such as speech, cognition, and footwear would present a crisis to any right-minded person, and James is no exception with his initial panic and futile attempts to rationalize the phenomena he’s witnessing. James’ acceptance and eventual admiration of this otherworldly strangeness is the hallmark of Dahl’s work and a story arc which fits comfortably within Cohen’s analysis of “monsters” and society’s reactions to them.

Dahl uses the monster figure to prove in his children’s novel that differences between two characters, no matter how large they appear, should be obstacles to their forming a friendship. Just look at Chewbacca and Han Solo, Dahl would argue to his preadolescent audience, and tell me that you couldn’t get along just fine with the comic-book-reading nerd who sits in the back of your classroom. At least you’re the same species, for Pete’s sake! This sort of thinking can be applied across the board, in political realms of race relations and racism, and against ideas such as class structures and classism. This is a universal theme applicable all over the map, and it just goes to show you that maybe even Predator could be as amiable as Shrek. But, to be honest, probably not.