When a cultural figure becomes as ubiquitous as Pippi Longstocking, it is easy to assume that her status is merely the result of overblown nostalgia. However, even after years of exposure, Astrid Lindgren’s iconic character continues to live up to the hype. My own journey with Pippi began when I was about seven years old, desperately trying to corral my hair into pigtails that would stick straight out from the sides of my head, mimicking her signature look. At the time, I was reading the books in English translation and watching the classic 1970s television rendition produced by the Swedish public broadcaster SVT, which my mother borrowed on VHS tapes from the Toronto Public Library.
As a child, I did not realize I was watching a dubbed program; I simply attributed the strangely moving mouths to the show being old. I was also unaware that Pippi was Swedish, or perhaps I had not even heard of Sweden at that age. I did not fully connect the character to her national origins until I was in my 30s and began dating a Swedish man. What I knew as a child was that I loved Pippi. I admired her literal strength—such as her ability to easily lift her pet horse—and her independence. She was wild, yet she always remained in complete control of any situation.
Returning to these stories as an adult, a parent, and an instructor of children’s literature, I find the work even better than I remembered. Aside from some old-fashioned, ignorant portrayals of South Sea islanders, Astrid Lindgren remains a master word stylist and storyteller. Her characters come to life with just a few pen strokes, pulling the reader into a narrative that is difficult to leave. Like all excellent children’s literature, the Pippi stories contain layers that only adults can fully appreciate. The classic "coffee party" story is a prime example of this, offering a delightful mockery of middle-class social norms.
In this story, Pippi’s well-behaved neighbors, Tommy and Annika, invite her to a fika hosted by their mother for her polite, middle-class friends. While the children are expected to sit at a small table and mind their own business, Pippi enters the scene with red crayon smeared on her lips, barking military-style orders at herself. The situation quickly descends into chaos as Pippi knocks over the sugar bowl, pushes others aside to pile her plate with treats, and even sticks her face into a pie. The adult ladies, in true polite Swedish fashion, attempt to ignore her, but the hostess eventually loses her patience and kicks Pippi out.
Children love the slapstick, but as an adult, I appreciate the wicked satire. The "polite conversation" Pippi interrupts consists of middle-class women complaining about their servants. When one lady mentions her servant Birgit, Pippi interjects with a rambling, entertaining tale about her grandmother’s servant, Malin. Malin, according to Pippi, was so skilled at breaking china that the grandmother eventually had to do it herself, as she lacked Malin’s practice. Pippi continues these madcap interruptions until she is finally ejected, though she chases the departing guests to add one final detail: that Malin never cleaned under the beds.
Only now that I am making my home in Sweden do I understand how deeply Swedish these stories are. The setting of a ramshackle yellow villa at the edge of a quiet town, the fika gathering centered on conflict-avoidant social norms, and the image of nine-year-olds drinking coffee on the porch are all distinctly local. Furthermore, Pippi represents a specific Swedish attitude toward childhood—one where children are neither coddled nor suppressed, but treated with an affectionate, amused detachment as independent spirits. For me, living in the home of Astrid Lindgren’s singular creation adds a layer of magic to my life. As Sweden’s annual "reading break" for schoolchildren begins, it is a perfect time to reflect on the books that have had a real impact on our lives.
I'd read Astrid Lindgren's Pippi books (in English translation, naturally) and also seen some episodes of what I now know to be Swedish public broadcaster SVT's classic 70s television rendition; my mother borrowed the VHS tapes from the Toronto Public Library.
