Little monsters

The humorist W.C. Fields considered that someone who detests animals and children cannot be entirely a bad person. Let's focus on children, in the section of the abominable and monstrous. In Martin Amis's novel London Fields there is a memorable child, especially for his parents, who cannot get him out of their heads for a second. This is the dangerous Marmaduke whom Amis describes as a strangely sturdy 18-month-old child. The little angel screams at the top of his lungs with the constancy of calamities, sleeps about five minutes a day, has a fixation with knives and bites like a shark.

Marmaduke represents wild infantile monstrosity taken way too far; more common is that of the tyrannical child. While dedicated to celebrating the gluttony that is a good hotel breakfast buffet, I observed the machinations of a frightful child of about five years old who was with three women at a neighbouring table. The little monster had a disturbing fixed serpent-like stare, without blinking. He realised I was looking at him and engaged me in a firm staring duel until, frightened, I gave up.

He didn't stay quiet for a second, spoke loudly, in a categorical manner and demanded perpetual attention, which his mother and grandmother granted him with painful haste. But the third woman, whom the little tyrant called Aunt Tere, was his challenge. He would address her and order her to go bring him more things from the buffet, but Aunt Tere ignored him like the plague. This attitude of refusing servitude, even though the mother and grandmother servants flew to fulfil his whims, upset the little brat. It was likely that the irreducible Aunt Tere spoiled his domination game, which is only fully triumphant when the monster succeeds with all available prey.

An education in terms of normal firmness, without need of a whip, should be sufficient to avoid forging a tyrannical child. The despotic tone with which he addressed his mother revealed that the odious brat was very poorly educated. Things are more difficult when a child is bad, truly bad. I remember an old friend who told me long ago that he had reached the harsh conclusion that his teenage son was a bad person, that these weren't whims of a difficult age, and that he feared he would do something serious.

He confessed that he began to realise an incipient darkness when his son was small and, upon refusing to eat, would tell his mother with expectant coldness: "Cry, cry then I'll eat." Sometimes I've wondered what became of my friend's son; whether he made a career in crime or politics or both.