In this blog post, I’ve summarized my reflections on A. A. Milne’s essays, focusing on how they begin with ordinary daily life and trivial stories and expand into a world of fantasy, humor, satire, and paradox.
Lighthearted and Humorous Essays
In the 20th century, many essayists emerged in Britain, and newspapers and literary magazines devoted considerable space to publishing their essays. Alongside contemporaries such as Gardiner and Lynde, Alan A. Milne was a writer who published so-called “periodical essays” in these newspapers and magazines. Although he produced works in various genres—including novels, plays, children’s stories, and nursery rhymes—it seems fair to say that he best demonstrated his talent in the field of essays, given that his essays remain among his most widely read works even today.
Alan A. Milne was born in London on January 18, 1882. After attending Westminster School, he went on to Trinity College, Cambridge. He showed a keen interest in writing even during his college years and served as an editor for the student magazine ‘The Grantor’. After graduating from college in 1903, he debated whether to become a schoolteacher or go to India to work as a civil servant, but ultimately chose the path of a writer and returned to London with grand dreams of making it in the literary world. He rented a room on the banks of the Thames, near Fleet Street—where newspapers and magazines were concentrated—and the reason he chose this location was intriguing. He reportedly needed to be nearby in case ‘Punch’ magazine contacted him to offer an editorial position, and he also intended to “set his talent ablaze” in the nearby waters of the Thames. The frequent use of the phrase “setting the Thames ablaze” in his early work, ‘The Secret Document’, gives a sense of the aspirations and ambition he harbored for his writing at the time.
He began his writing career as a freelance contributor. At the time, the literary sections of London’s eight evening newspapers served as a competitive arena where aspiring writers tested their skills. He would send his manuscripts in the morning, then head to the ABC Café in the afternoon, where, with a pounding heart, he would buy a copy of the evening paper to see if the piece he’d submitted that morning had been published. There were days when he would find his work in print and feel as if he were flying high with joy, but most days he had to return home looking forward to the next day. Over the course of that year, his total earnings from writing amounted to a mere 20 pounds. “Far from setting the Thames ablaze,” his savings account ran dry, and he was forced to move into a cheap second-floor room in Chelsea. The following year, he earned 120 pounds, and in his third year, 200 pounds, allowing him to settle into a somewhat stable life. Then, in February 1906, he received a call from ‘Punch’, to which he had occasionally submitted manuscripts, and, to his surprise, the position of deputy editor was waiting for him. While working as an editor at ‘Punch’ from 1906 to 1914, he regularly published his own essays.
In 1913, he married Dorothy de Selacourt, and when World War I broke out in 1914, he enlisted in the army and was deployed to the Western Front. Before leaving for France, he wrote the novel ‘Once on a Time’ at a boot camp; he adapted it for the camp theater, which sparked his interest in playwriting. He wrote three plays during his military service and published his first collection of plays in 1919. After being discharged, he left ‘Punch’ and moved to Sussex to devote himself fully to writing. From then on, he continued to publish collections of plays, as well as novels, essays, children’s stories, and nursery rhymes.
Among his essays, the collections published later are particularly noteworthy, more so than the early sketches and conversational pieces he published in ‘Punch’. ‘Not That It Matters’ was published in 1919, ‘If I May’ in 1920, and ‘By Way of Introduction’ nine years later, in 1929. His first essay collection, ‘Not That It Matters’, is a compilation of pieces written before and after World War I; the works are not necessarily arranged in chronological order, and he adopts an attitude that leaves it up to the reader to determine which came first and which came later. The book’s title also derives from a closing remark that reflects this attitude. The title of his second essay collection, ‘If I May’, can also be understood as a response to the unexpectedly favorable reception of his first book—a sort of “Well, then, why not publish another one?” Both essay collections consist of pieces originally contributed to newspapers and magazines that were later revised and compiled.
Daydreams Born from the Trivialities of Daily Life
What struck me most while reading Milne’s essays was how he began his stories with the most ordinary and trivial things. It is said that he once wrote an essay a week, sitting before a blank sheet of paper on a set day, biting the end of his pen as he searched for inspiration. Yet the world he observed required no particularly grand subject matter. Everything from goldfish in a Sussex pond and stories about the forests of Malacca to Columbus’s crossing of the mid-Atlantic and a lunch in Chiside—all the ordinary things one might encounter in daily life—could serve as material for his writing.
This attitude is also connected to his view of the essay. He believed that if he continued writing this kind of essay until he had enough for a book, it would eventually be compiled into a volume, and he found it astonishing that such personal anecdotes could become a book in their own right. He explained that while one might initially think he was simply writing about goldfish or a hairpin, once the piece was finished, one would discover that the goldfish or the hairpin had actually revealed some deeper truth to him. Thus, his essays felt like the most “personal” form of writing—one that speaks most directly about the author himself among all literary genres.
Most of the subjects of his essays are extremely ordinary things seen, heard, or encountered in daily life. He remembers even a trivial article he happened to read in a corner of a newspaper or a passing conversation overheard on the street, then embellishes and reconstructs the stories behind them through his imagination. In a sense, he applies the techniques of a novelist to his essays, creating a sort of “story mix.” Yet the reason these pieces remain essays rather than novels is clear: the starting point of the stories is actual events from the recent past, and even when he partially constructs the plot, it serves merely as material to reveal the theme. Above all, the author’s unique personality—which is what makes an essay an essay—shines through in every corner of the text, sometimes intensely, sometimes subtly.
“A 17th-Century Tale” exemplifies these characteristics well. This work begins with the “Births, Marriages, and Deaths” column in ‘The Times’. Although the gravestones commonly found in rural cemeteries bear only a few lines of inscription, those records reveal the basic framework of a person’s life—when they were born, when they married, and how many children they had. Milne dresses that very framework in the garments of imagination to bring a person’s life back to life. He reimagines the passion, suffering, and perhaps even the tragedy of a human being hidden behind those records.
In “A Whim,” the story begins with just two lines from an obituary notice in a morning newspaper: “Pat, I was alone when you came to see me. You heard me talking to the dog. Please let me know the date and time of our next appointment. Daisy.” This brief sentence serves as the starting point for an astonishingly fictional world. The way such a vast world of imagination unfolds from a single short newspaper ad is reminiscent of the techniques found in a well-crafted short story. Works such as “The Future” and “The Etiquette of Escape” also belong to this category.
No matter how fictional the world he creates may be, the starting point of the story is always a newspaper article from that very morning or a conversation he happened to overhear at a restaurant at lunchtime. I believe this is why his stories feel strangely realistic, even when they go back three centuries or deal with prisons he’s never actually visited and the prisoners locked inside them. This is because, even when he writes about the distant past or imaginary spaces, the starting point remains rooted in the reality of everyday life.
Humor, Satire, and Paradox
Another indispensable feature of Milne’s essays is humor. To this are added satire and paradox. His humor can be described as “quirky,” and it is far lighter than that of his contemporary essayists, Gardiner or Lind. While Gardiner’s essays tend to be didactic, grounded in common sense and discernment, Milne’s writing is playful and at times even whimsical. Yet this playfulness and whimsy contain more than mere jest. This is because an attitude of standing with the weak and the underdog—and rebelling against the established system and authority—lies at its core.
In “The Etiquette of Escape,” he displays an attitude that could be described as sympathy or praise for conditional escape, declaring himself to be on the side of the prisoner. However, the appeal of this work does not lie simply in its affirmation of escape. Rather, he criticizes those who view escape too simplistically. He points out that a slapdash approach—such as friends from outside the prison visiting the prisoner to openly discuss an escape plan—is not the right way to go about it. Ultimately, “escape” and “etiquette” become a relationship of ends and means, and the twisted combination of the two itself becomes a paradox.
In “On Abstinence,” we can also find satire, paradox, and a rebellion against established traditions. He criticizes the way people waste enormous amounts of time, money, and effort under the guise of tradition or plausible justifications, noting that the “triangular alliance” that shaped modern Britain consists of horse racing, hunting, and beer. However, because this criticism is expressed very tactfully and wrapped in his characteristic “quirky humor,” even those who enjoy drinking find themselves bursting into laughter while reading it.
Since Milne was naturally unable to hold his liquor, he earned unflattering nicknames like “teetotaler” or “watery cocoa drinker,” but he sarcastically retorts, “This essay is being written under the influence of wine.” When pointing out the evils of excessive drinking, one might counter that alcohol is by no means the only thing people overindulge in. To this, he retorts that overeating and overdrinking have different consequences. He argues that eating five bowls of rice pudding won’t make one hit on a stranger, nor will eating one extra slice of ham make one so emboldened as to beat one’s wife; however, after drinking five, fifteen, or even fifty bottles of beer, one might feel free to go anywhere—except home. In this way, his satire exposes his opponents’ weaknesses through offbeat metaphors and humor rather than direct attacks.
His rebellion against tradition is even more clearly evident in the work “Thanks for the Offer, but No Thanks.” The “D·W·T Club” is not a real organization but an imaginary club created on the assumption that such a group might well exist. Its members consist of people who have a proven track record of discarding unjust gains or honors as if they were worn-out shoes, and a review committee classifies them as honorary members, regular members, or lifetime members based on their track record. The club’s motto is phrased along the lines of “Blessed are those who know how to refuse.” It is a humorous twist on the British obsession with honor and prestige, which flows so arrogantly.
A Warm Perspective on Ordinary People
While satire, paradox, and an anti-traditional spirit of rebellion are clearly important features of Milne’s essays, I felt that these alone could not fully explain his writing as a whole. Rather, his true strength seems to lie in placing himself among ordinary people and observing them with warm understanding and a sympathetic gaze. He reveals the secrets of life as if confiding in a dear friend. Even as he views the world as a comedic stage, his writing retains an attitude that seems to observe events with a smile on his lips, rather than looking down on anyone with cynicism.
Thus, when reading Milne’s essays, one senses that behind the laughter lies a warm gaze directed at people. He does not simply let things slip by—things that could easily be overlooked, such as trivial news items, passing anecdotes, or a few lines inscribed on a tombstone. He seizes upon these small traces to imagine a person’s life, emotions, and sometimes even tragedy, then reworks them through humor and fantasy. In his writing, ordinary daily life becomes a window revealing a broader world.
In this sense, Milne’s essays cannot be dismissed as merely humorous pieces. Even within his lighthearted banter and whimsical imagination, there is a critical eye toward authority and tradition, alongside a warm heart that seeks to understand the lives of ordinary people. I believe the charm of his writing lies in the fact that, while it starts from reality and moves toward fiction, it never loses its sense of realism; and while it is satirical, it never becomes overly sharp or cold.
Milne was tall and sturdily built; he combed his hair back, though it is said he began to go bald at a young age. His wife was also a writer, and his daughter, Christopher Robin, grew up to become a writer as well. His hobby was golf, and he passed away on January 31, 1956.
