A Boy and his Ursine: Fictional Bears Throughout Culture

by Jillian Butler, Ampersandology

This post is dedicated to my friend Adam, whose love of bears and bears-related topics inspires me almost every day (...that he mentions this passion). 

While I never forgot that Lord Byron owned a pet bear, I did forget the reason he got it. 


It was because Cambridge wouldn't let him get a dog. Badass. He later suggested that the bear apply for a college fellowship. Badass. His ultimate goal was to make the bear his best friend. MOST BADASS OF ALL. 

Loose interpretation of the event. 

I wish Childe Harold's Pilgrimage had been about Byron and his bear roaming the English countryside and solving mysteries.  Not only would that make a much better poem, it has serious sitcom potential: like The Odd Couple, but with BEARS! 


Bears represent so much more than the last thing you'd want to meet in the woods. Especially in children's literature and film, bears become a great example of the place in the imagination where fear meets anthropomorphism: look no farther than the high quantities of "friendly" bears to tell us how much we like to paint the scary corners of our fears in bright colorful polka dots. 


Indulge me, if you will, to take a look back through the greatest bears of pop culture history. 

Baloo (The Jungle Book)

Troubling racial messages aside, Disney's The Jungle Book features one hep cat in the form of Baloo the bear. He sings, he dances, and BOY. Does he love honey. Some of the most bizarre imagery of my youth came from watching Baloo eat a mouthful of bees. Is honey delicious enough to warrant a tongue full of bee stings? The question haunted me so I didn't put on my food until age 17. Regardless, this laissez-faire attitude is what puts Baloo on this list: the "Bare Necessities" is less a runaway pop hit and more an anthem of a strangely-spartan hedonism.





In the original Kipling work, Baloo was basically the exact opposite of his screen portrayal. He was stern, and often used beatings and other punishment methods to get through Mowgli's thick human head. That backwards stiff has no business on this list. One stiff and disciplined, the other carefree and hip. Makes you think of the Wakefield twins, really. 

Paddington Bear

Let me tell you, it is HARD to pull off red and blue without looking like the political split down American soil. Paddington Bear does that and then some, managing to get himself adopted by humans and conforming to a charming British befuddlement. 

Smokey the Bear 

Did you YOU leave fire unattended in the forest? Yeah, I didn't think so. I sure didn't. Mostly because I don't ever go in the forest, but ALSO because of Smokey's simple, elegant threat against my well-being.

Fozzy Bear (The Muppet Show)

A beloved fixture from my youth, I still can't pinpoint why Fozzy Bear is so charming. Is it his fuzzy, over-sized digits? Perhaps it's his little cravat, making him both clownish and fancy in one fell swoop? Personally, I think it was the deep level of pathos he carried with every lame duck of a joke; he's a clown who's not funny, giving whatever laughter he earns the slight tinge of sadness. He's that one uncle who thinks you'll still laugh at the same joke you liked when you were two. Those guys are hard to shake. I know what a cow sounds like, Uncle Geoff. I'm 25. God.  

Sleeping Bear (Legends of the Fall)

Skip ahead to 1:20 to see the only bear that has EVER bested Brad Pitt. 

Bear Grylls

Convince me this man is real. You can't. I saw him use his own bloody fist as bait! BAIT! There is so much wrong with that sentence that it doubles back into right. Though I know at least one person that would disagree with me, Bear Grylls impresses me in the same moment I reach the dictionary to look up the definition of Batshit Crazy (verb, meaning to be foolish or impractical to the point of insanity; intensely involved with LAUGHING AT THE LIMITS OF THE HUMAN BODY). His mother was probably Hera or something, which makes him a demi-god, not a television host. Nice try, Discovery Channel, but you can't fool me twice! 

Wojtek the Bear 

Orphaned as a cub, this real-life bear was adopted by the Polish army and trained to transport ammunition, in addition to eating cigarettes, drinking beer, and --reportedly-- interrogating Nazis. Let me repeat that--this bear supposedly sat himself down across from Nazi spies and asked, "WHAT'S UP, BADDIE?" in Bear. To be fair, it's the move of a brilliant tactician--what wouldn't you tell a bear who's demanding a full confession? What a way to serve your country; did you hear that, Von Trapp family singers? Do re methinks you've been served. 

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Got a favorite bear? Leave it. 

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Bromance Through the Ages

by Jillian Leigh, Ampersandology

Call it a fluke: the oeuvre of Judd Apatow has popularized male friendships in a such a way that called for the resurrection of its handy portmanteau--coined, incidentally, in the late 1990s by Dave Carnie--the bromance. All but unheard a decade ago, the bromance has crept back into the vernacular with a vengeance. 


To be sure, dropping casual mentions of one's bromance with another is bordering on trendy -- from the Apatow-produced Superbad or I Love You, Man, (which, truly, was a full-throated ode to the underlying romance of male friendships) through to the man love solidarity on display every week on shows like House M.D. or latter-day Scrubs, its pop culture temperature has transformed the love that didn't bother to speak its name into something that every male treasures or wishes he had. 


Is it a sign of the times? I'd like to think so. Until one looks at the definition, gleaned from the most reputable of sources for all thing pop cultural, Wikipedia: 

bro-mance: (noun) a close but non-sexual relationship between two (or more) men, a form of homosocial intimacy. See also: man crush.

Oh, I see you there, you tricky little thing. You little homosocial. 

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Ah, the homosocial: mental lubricant for any grad student worth his or her salt and fur-raiser of anyone who just wants to watch crappy 1950s biker movies in peace, goddamnit. It was the product of feminist scholars who, by and large, examined the remarkable solidarity and affection that existed in male friendships--and sidenote, the homosocial prompted theorist-with-chops Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick to posit in 1985's mind-bending Between Men that...

...the oppressive effects on women and men [create] a cultural system in which male-male desire became widely intelligible primarily by being routed through nonexistent desire involving a woman. 

So basically, in all these stories the men funnel their man love through to lady love just so the world keeps spinning its hetero-axis. And suddenly, the plot machinations of Closer make a whole lot more sense. 

Nowadays, of course, it's adorable to see George Clooney and Brad Pitt joke about meeting each other at a bath house. Man love, bromance, boy crush ---call it what you will, but its stuff is no longer the tormented undercurrent of cultural taboo. Now, it's practically fashionable to openly embrace your gooey guy on guy feelings. 

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But the central point of my post? Is that bromance is nothing new. And these johnny-come latelys owe a hell of a lot to these trailblazers in the turbulent world of men loving men -- mostly platonically but also kind of...not. 

Plato & Socrates

Bromance Heyday: 469 - 399 BC

It’s the classic love story – just a boy and his mentor. In his youth, when Plato was the ancient Greek equivalent of those guys who devour Simple Plan one day and Kurt Cobain the next, he’d listen to anyone in an effort to iron out his world view. But he soon joined the horde of young men who would follow Socrates around and hinge on his every word. And once Socrates took him on as a student, all bets were off, and Plato predictably turned his attentions to what chewed up Socrates’ time—namely, what made one’s life virtuous.

Compared to some philosophers out there, this is a positively tame doctrine, but it was enough to get the old boy killed. Socrates was put on trial for impiety (disrespect of the gods) and corruption of youth, and ultimately sentenced to death. Waste of good hemlock if you ask me. 

After his mentor’s death, Plato became a one-man army for preserving the Socratic teachings. You see, Socrates had never written down any of his teachings or philosophic methods down on paper. In fact, Plato's efforts are probably the only reason we know who this hemlock-scarfer is today.  Now that is devotion.  

Arthur & Lancelot

Bromance Heyday: sometime in the late 5th to early 6th century

Perhaps one of the more tragic tales of bromance is the story of King Arthur and his bravest knight, Lancelot du Lac. 

So long story short, Arthur inherited the title of king by divine right, and set about creating a utopia where all men were equal and all the castle tops were bright blue. It was no easy feat, given that knights were more given to the pillaging and raping side of the coin than the traditional chivalry we think of today. YAY HISTORY! But Arthur triumphed, creating the Round Table, a gathering of knights so noble and courtly, with none so noble as the greatest knight in the land, Lancelot du Lac. 


Legends vary, but Lancelot basically came to Camelot intending to devote himself in servitude to Arthur, who he saw as a fair and just leader. They were besties in the truest sense of the word, and all the other knights were jealous of the attention and favour that Arthur showered on him. And no wonder: word had it Lancelot was raised by the mystical Lady in the Lake. Quite awkwardly, Lancelot also held the honor of the Queen's Knight, which basically meant that all his heroic deeds were abstractly done in her name and also, that every time she went and got herself captured (which was often) Lancelot was the one who saddled up to go rescue her. 


Why was this awkward? Because Lancelot and Queen Guinevere were totes in love. Their affair was one of many factors that ultimately crushed the dream of Camelot, rending the kingdom apart by the seams when their betrayal was exposed. Arthur ultimately forgave them, but no one ended up happy: Lancelot became a hermit, Guinevere chopped off all her hair and became a nun, and Arthur ended up dead by his illegitimate son's hand. 


That...well, that sucks. Moral of the story? Keep it in your pants, people. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley & Lord Byron

Bromance Heyday: 1816- 1822

In a letter dated April 26, 1821, Byron wrote to his good friend and fellow poet, P.B. Shelley, (emphasis mine)--

 You want me to undertake a great Poem - I have not the inclination nor the power.  As I grow older, the indifference - not to life, for we love it by instinct - but to the stimuli of life, increases.  Besides, this late failure of the Italians has latterly disappointed me for many reasons, - some public, some personal.  My respects to Mrs S. 

                                                        Yours ever. 

                                                                        BYRON 

P.S. Could not you and I contrive to meet this summer?  Could not you take a run here alone? 

Since their meeting in 1816, when the two poets rented neighbouring houses on the shores of Lake Geneva, Byron and Shelley had provided inspiration throughout the often tumultuous years of being a bad-ass pirate son and adulterous pretty boy (respectively). Their personalities complemented the other, for the most part -- where Shelley was imaginative and reclusive, Byron was forceful and gregarious. Their meeting, among other things, coaxed Shelley through a rather vicious case of writer's block and encouraged Byron to take his pen (and talents) a little more seriously. 

But their passion was halted abruptly and tragically by Shelley's accidental drowning--his boat overturned in rough seas and his body was found with a book of poetry. According to John Trelawny's juicy account, when he stood on the beach reflecting on Shelley's funeral pyre, Byron was so overcome he  leapt into the sea, yelling furiously that the fickle waters should take him next. Spent, he then retired to his coach, and was soon making his girlfriends dress up like choir boys to soothe his grief. 

Sherlock Holmes & Dr. Watson

Bromance Heyday: 1887-1927

Okay, check this: the whole set-up of the Sherlock Holmes story was that his Girl Friday and faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, lived with him and went on most if not all of his adventures through the underbelly of 19th century London. That's pretty bromantic in itself, but it gets even better. 


More importantly, Dr. Watson was the one who chronicled their adventures in a series of  "pamphlets", thus explaining the existence of the tales and lending credence to the idea that Holmes was a real guy. Holmes was supposed to be way too cool for school to bother with such trivial matters, and in fact, kind of made fun of Watson for doing so. But Watson did it anyway, becoming Holmes' unofficial biographer in the process. 


Yes. That's right. Doc Watson was such a lovestruck fanboy that he was writing fanfiction about his boss. 


Considering that everyone and their dog thinks of Sherlock Holmes as this bad-ass Victorian dandy with a keen deductive eye, who snuffs cocaine and has a "profound knowledge" of everything from botany to paperback horror stories, Watson did right by his subject. Watson seemed to be nursing one hella mancrush on Sherlock, describing his employer as a formidable bare-knuckle fighter, an expert swordsman, a trained boxer AND a master singlestick...whatever that means. Those aren't words you throw around lightly. The 2009 Guy Ritchie update notwithstanding, the bromance of Holmes and Watson was as touching as it was low-key.  

F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway

Bromance Heyday: 1925 - roughly 1930

The most tempestuous of all bromances, Fitzgerald and Hemingway met in Paris in April of 1925. They moved in the same circle, affectionately nicknamed 'the Lost Generation', though at the time of their meeting Ernest's best work was in front of him and Fitzgerald's was reaching its apex with the publication of The Great Gastby. The two fell into a fast friendship, despite the disapproval of Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda... whose personality can be rather accurately described as sugar-coated TNT. Fitzgerald was dead-set on helping Ernest reach literary greatness, and put his considerable celebrity and know-how to work. 


But all was not well in bro-land. The two were famous for their disagreements, which could turn sour quickly and go on for days. And they disagreed on plenty: for one thing, Fitzgerald was a cheap drunk, and for Hemingway, this was a major character defect. From Steve Newman's account of their meeting: 

Fitzgerald was getting drunk, awfully drunk, and on just three glasses of champagne. Hemingway realised Scott could not take his drink, that drink made him ill and turned him into a small, well dressed monster.

In addition, Hemingway and Zelda hated each other something fierce. Ernest would accuse her of keeping him drunk so that he couldn't work, and Zelda, volatile on a good day, was convinced Ernest had seduced her husband and lured him into an affair.  Also, Hemingway was a bit of a bully, churlish and imposing exacting standards on his companions, while Fitzgerald crumbled under social pressure with drink and frivolity. 


Alas, it was not meant to be. In 1930, the Fitzgeralds abandoned their Paris playground when Zelda was admitted to a sanatorium in Switzerland for treatment of her schizophrenia. The friendship appeared to dissolve after that, with Hemingway and his mustache going on safari in East Africa before joining the Spanish Civil War, all the while pumping out the great novels of his career.  F. Scott faded into churning out hated grunt work in Hollywood, while his former tutee soared into the annals of literary fame. By the 1930s, the bloom was definitely off the rose of their friendship, transforming the two into bitter rivals that met only a handful of times throughout the 1930s. In fact, Hemingway would notoriously, and likely unfairly, depict F. Scott as a drunk, snivelling lout in his autobiographical last work, A Movable Feast. But the brilliance of their friendship lives on in infamy, though it burned out too fast in reality. 


No one ever said bromance was meant to last forever. 

I only lied because it was the easiest way of getting what I wanted.

Really huge news for Literary Troublemakers everywhere this week (formerly the Literary Outlaw Brigade; changed for union purposes). Nicholson Baker is spending all the New Yorker's money and saying it's for ART! Say yes to TROUBLEMAKING! I am so excited right now!

Nicholson Baker has always held a soft spot in the brain where my heart should be; he's non-funny funny, smarter than me and the man loves a tangent like Brando loves the fact that pizza delivers.

Anyway, Baker was writing a piece for the New Yorker on the Kindle. You know, the e-book that bugs me on principle but I have to admit might be pretty convenient? The piece itself is typical Bakerian goodness: insightful and quirky, with just a hint of grandfatherly irreverence! But someone, in this glorious age of shared information, got ahold of the expense report for the article. And by someone, I mean New York Magzaine. God bless the Internet, I say.

And boy, IS IT OUTRAGEOUS...ly awesome:

• A Kindle 2 ($359)
• A Bernard Cornwell novel "about ancient Britain" (probably Stonehenge — $8.76)
• De Quincey's Confessions ($0.99)
• "several versions" of The Jungle Book (most on Amazon are priced at about $1)
• James Paterson's Max ($9.99)
• The Complete Idiot's Guide to Writing Erotic Romance ($9.99)
• Michael Connelly's The Lincoln Lawyer (the paperback and the Kindle version, both $7.99)
• Mari Carr's Tequila Truth ($2.80)
• Konrad Lorenz's King Solomon's Ring ($9.99)
• The Cheese Lover's Cookbook & Guide ($9.99)
• Joseph Mitchell's The Bottom of the Harbor ($13.80)
• A subscription to the e-version of the New York Times ($13.99/month)
• The Algorithmic Beauty of Seaweeds, Sponges, and Corals ($85.40)
• Imaging in Oncology ($287.96)
• Selected Nuclear Materials and Engineering Systems ($6,431.20)

Total: $7,615.83


Of course, I'm not here to make anyone look bad (except you, Hopkins. I'm WATCHING YOU). So I must rush to add that Baker later came to his own defense in the comments section, and it seems it was all just a big understanding:

May I help? Amazon didn't give me or loan me anything. The New Yorker
didn't buy me anything. I bought the iPod Touch and the Kindle 2 myself, as part
of the cost of research. (You can't begin an article by saying "I ordered a
Kindle 2 from Amazon" if the magazine is buying the device for you.) I also
bought some e-books and two mass-market paperbacks. For the expensive e-books I
looked at images that were part of the free downloadable sample. In June I also
bought a Kindle DX, but that one I'll be deauthorizing and sending to The New
Yorker and they'll reimburse me for it.

In other words, what I will eventually "score" for writing this piece
is the payment for the piece.

I'm really happy about owning the iPod Touch. I would never have bought one otherwise, and it's good for reading at night. Also you can store pdf files on a Zumo drive.

I hope this clarifies things.

PWNED, NYMAG! Get your facts straight!

But none of that matters when we could just point out what a massive win this is for the ongoing struggle of Literary Troublemaking to gain legitimacy in a politically correct world. To be perfectly honest, I still prefer my version of the story, where Baker just racks up a huge, outrageous bill and expects the magazine to pay for it...not like a jerk, just like a clueless, socially out of touch writer would. No ill will! No expectations! Just an endearing sort of befuddlement.

The reason I prefer this explanation is not because it makes me indignant, that it makes me think of all the other Literary Troublemakers and their hilarious bad-ass stories, including but not limited to:

• William S. Burroughs' attempt to recreate the William Tell incident by shooting a glass off wife's head; misses apple but not wife.
• The love life of Lord Byron, which was reads like a pamphlet on "STDs and How to Get All of Them."
• Dorothy Parker eating men for breakfast.
• Henry James blowing off America for keeps.
• James Joyce holding a thin veil of contempt for his readers, and most other humans for good measure.
• Ernest Hemingway being drunk at all times.
• F. Scott Fitzgerald being drunk at all times.
• Raymond Carver being drunk at all times but at least getting a book out of it.
• Martin Amis basically being the Mick Jagger of the publishing world.
• Percy B. Shelley inventing the concept of bromance with Lord Byron; depressing his new wife with their ardor.
• Any Marlon Brando story, ever.

I love Literary Troublemakers. Their deeds inspire me. Mostly though, to make trouble. But also art! So really, everybody wins!

Links:

A New Page (Nicholson Baker's New Yorker piece)

Nicholson Baker Runs Up Awesome Set of Expenses For New Yorker Kindle Review (NYMag)

copyright Jill Butler, Ampersandology