“A poor, broken-down man.”
Dear Mother’s Indian Uncle is first misinterpreted as one kind of “Indian” when he is, of course, the only kind of Indian. This confusing is further complicated by the self-description of the Uncle in which he refers to himself metaphorically as a poor and broken-down. It is a metaphor which is misinterpreted as quite literally true.
All Good Things…
The bad thing about really exciting adventures is that they cannot go on forever. Eventually, reality must intrude when the treasure is found or the quest is done. Unless, of course, you are privileged by being born rich into a world where you are surrounded by people willing to twist reality to fit your own distorted view. But that’s another story altogether. As for this, once the adventure ends, it is time to bring on emotional equivalent of the metaphorical Captain Bringdown:
“Now it is coming near the end of our treasure-seeking, and the end was so wonderful that now nothing is like it used to be. It is like as if our fortunes had been in an earthquake, and after those, you know, everything comes out wrong-way up.”
Fairytales Do Come True
The story references fairytales—fairies specifically, actually—throughout. There is a Fairy Cab and a witch bear with white fairy fur. And, on at least a few occasions, even purely metaphorical comparisons via simile that bring the world of fairies into the world of reality:
“That was a wonderful day. It was a treasure, and no mistake! I never saw such heaps and heaps of presents, like things out of a fairytale.”
“But the cab went right over the Heath and in at some big gates, and through a shrubbery all white with frost like a fairy forest, because it was Christmas time.”
Gender Construction
In a sign of the times, there is at least one—and you can be sure more than just the one—instance of very non-politically correct gender bias in the book. Not mere bias, but a structuring of expectations and convention which led inexorably to the revolution against the practice which has really ramped up the last few decades:
“‘This is my brother Noel. He is the poet.' Noel had turned quite pale. He is disgustingly like a girl in some ways.
The Moral of the Tale
The moral of the tale—or something closely approximating such a thing, anyway—nearly brings the entire story to a close. Well, there is still another page or two to go afterward, but really and truly, the story concludes with the finality of the essence of the book’s last resonant metaphorical image:
“I can’t help it if it is like Dickens, because it happens this way. Real life is often something like books.”
