What Are The Main Themes In The Princess And The Frog 2009?

A children’s manifesto – ‘I Like Myself!’ is a joyful celebration of kid-sized self-empowerment. Written and illustrated to convey unshakeable self-love via some very unusual and humorous differences (covering yourself in spots, having a warthog’s nose for example), this charming little book asks kids to declare their love of all things ‘me’. This is so much more than accepting differences; it’s actively celebrating them in an enthusiastic manner. The wild, exciting, often-chaotic world of illustrations beautifully mirrors that of a kid’s imagination, which lends credence to the book’s delightfully natural message of confidence – and of learning how to tap into it – via laughter.

A lot of what stays with me from Beauty and the Beast is its take on loneliness. In the story, Belle is not a sapery or sorry character for being different. In fact, her solitude or aloneness is the source of her power. She finds joy in her own company, and can therefore see the potential in the Beast when so many others cannot. I also find that the Beauty and the Beast’s enchanted objects (i.e. Lumière and Cogsworth) teach a very important lesson: even in broken things there is life to be rediscovered. The story is not just a love story; it is also a story about finding home in unexpected places.

‘M Is for Mama’ is unusual in that it tries to make parenting look good, whilst at the same time trying to find the wonder in it. The themes of ‘competing priorities’ and ‘the art of surrender’ particularly hit home. Who hasn’t folded washing only to have their toddler ask to go and look at the stars minutes later? There are also plenty of ‘me too!’ moments, such as the one where the mother loses her temper and then feels terrible, and the odd sense of pride when your toddler finally stops biting. But what the book does best is to make you feel less alone in the beautiful struggle that is parenting.

One of the most openly childlike films ever made, Ponyo is the kind of movie I want to watch on a sleepy weekend morning, all wrapped up in a blanket with tea. The heart of the movie is the very pure relationship between Ponyo and Sōsuke, and it is expressed not through grand declarations of love, but through the concrete actions of saving each other’s lives, sharing food, and trusting each other. The movie expresses a profound theme of simple, grounding love that makes the chaotic world around us feel steady. On the surface, Ponyo is a simple story about a fish-like creature who wants to become human, but it is also a deeply rich exploration of the theme of identity and transformation. Ponyo wants to become human not because she wants to rebel against her father, but because she is trying to figure out who she is. Along the way, the film raises many questions about the nature of autonomy, and how we choose our own paths in life. One of the things that really resonates with me is the balance of the movie: between the sea and the land, magic and reality, childhood and adulthood. It’s interesting to see that Fujimoto has a ‘fear’ of humans, and a pretty typical Miyazaki anxiety about the environmental consequences of human actions and the easily-tipped-over eco-system. But Ponyo’s huge transformation of the tides to save her dad has so much resonance as to how small an action can have HUGE consequences, that it never feels like the movie is lecturing you about this. Rather, it is a wonder to behold, an alive, ancient, sometimes mischievous, and mostly kind and gentle ocean. And the way the rest of the family is portrayed as well, in relation to Sōsuke and Ponyo is also really wonderful. The calm, practical and kind Lisa is a great example of the restorative powers of care and trust, showing how parents and guardians can model the best of behavior to their children in the simplest way. However, it is the more recent repeat viewings that have revealed further depths to the film. Firstly, the emotional, true-to-life depiction of the relationship between Ponyo and Sōsuke is amazing, as is the way the film champions simple, grounding love. Secondly, there is the outstanding way in which adult responsibility is balanced against the magic of the sea. This must be the way that all environmentally aware films should be – present in the story, yet never didactic or preachy. In addition, one cannot fail to be struck by the sense of family and care that is at the heart of the film. The simple, selfless love that Sōsuke’s mother, Lisa, shows to her son and to Ponyo is wonderful, as is the depiction of responsible, compassionate adult behavior. As a result, this is a film in which parents and other adult family members are positively represented. The way in which Ponyo’s desire to become human leads to huge environmental problems also adds depth to the film and serves as a powerful warning about the potential consequences of human actions.

I think one of the major themes that support the plot in Peter Rabbit is the theme of routine. The story begins with very specific routine of Mrs. Rabbit going out, telling the children what to do and then them doing their respective tasks. Peter’s choice tears up all of that and causes chaos and danger. The entire middle of the book is this very exciting but also very scary story of Peter’s actions causing so much trouble. In the end Peter is back in bed, the sisters are having supper and life has returned to some sort of order. The children are a little different because Peter lost his clothes and he is ill. I think this theme highlights the importance of having routine in our lives. It shows that routines, such as a mother’s, exist in order to keep us safe and to make life more peaceful. When one person tears up their routine it not only affects them but can cause worry, danger and added work for everyone else. This is how the first and last parts of the book support the exciting but also scary middle.

I first stumbled upon 'The Gadfly' during a phase where I was voraciously consuming classic revolutionary literature, and wow, did it leave a mark. At its core, the novel grapples with the tension between personal loyalty and ideological conviction. Arthur Burton’s transformation into the biting, sarcastic Gadfly mirrors the brutal cost of betrayal—both by others and by one’s own ideals. The scenes where he confronts his former mentor, Father Montanelli, are heart-wrenching; they force you to question whether love can ever outweigh duty. What’s equally fascinating is how Ethel Lilian Voynich weaves in themes of sacrifice. The Gadfly’s defiance isn’t just political—it’s almost theatrical, a performance of suffering to expose the hypocrisy of authority. The ending, where he refuses to show pain during his execution, cements the idea that true rebellion is as much about endurance as it is about action. It’s a book that lingers, like a sting you can’t shake off.

'Puff the Magic Dragon' is a love letter to impermanence. It doesn’t judge Jackie for growing up as much as it does Puff for hanging around as long as he did. Yet, it affirms that childhood, however fleeting, is beautiful in and of itself and should be acknowledges and played and and remembered by us children of grownups. This song always gets me in the gut, particularly at the line “Into his cave once more / Puff of smoke came out and there stood Puff, / No longer pink nor tidy nor bright.” In fact, the line gives me chills every time. Puff isn’t dead in this song. He’s gone into dormancy much like bears do every year. His time of play is over, but wonder is not. It simply awaits the next kid to come along or for that kid to grow up and remember. My take is that we should revisit our Puff’s from time to time – even if it’s just a memory we visit in our heads.

A theme of translation is at work in this novel. The protagonist, Kitoto, is a translator between worlds: between the masses and the elite; between the magical world and the ‘real’ one; between his past self and his present ‘legend’. Translation here becomes a central motif of the novel as Kitoto grapples to make the concerns of the peasants heard by the royal elite and to make sense of the mystical menaces threatening his old friends in terms that they can understand. ‘Might’ here is not about violence; rather it is about being able to bridge the gulf between different worlds of experience and of power. A conduit not a hammer.

The Fourteenth Goldfish is a story at its soul about childhood and its complexities and the consequences of adulthood. Ellie’s grandpa, having been turned into a teenager by science, becomes the focal point of an existential crisis that Ellie must face. Grandpa’s obsession with reversing his aging process leads Ellie to a realization that her grandfather’s search for eternal life may mean missing out on the best part of life right now. What made me laugh in this book was Grandpa’s grumpy-genius shtick. I never knew that a Nobel laureate could throw a fit about the quality of the institutional food served in a university. But in the midst of much humor, there is also much tenderness. Ellie has to learn Science with the same sense of wonder as ‘what if’ as she does with awe and responsibility. She’s not given any easy answers, and the questions that are posed are allowed to keep swimming, much like the Fourteenth Goldfish.

I read this today while drinking a cup of warm tea on a rainy day, and it was very comforting but also invigorating. This book is a straight-forward story of a child who protects an idea of his, has it criticized and then watches it grow. But the subtext of this book is amazing. The fragility of the idea that the child in the story protects is exactly how creativity feels when it’s new. One harshest comment and it can be crumpled up into a ball. I love this book so much because it makes me feel like the child in the story: “What if everyone hates it?” There are two main themes to the book. The first is courage in vulnerability and the second is quiet rebellion in persistence. The book does not portray the doubters negatively, but instead as something the child overcomes. As the child grows in confidence he starts to defiantly declare that he likes his idea. This shift from needing validation to feeling joy is everything. The surreal ending where the child’s idea grows up to be a huge, glowing orb is the moment that occurs for all ideas when they finally click into place for us. We must remember to give our ideas food, shelter and time just as we do living things. Every time I re-read this book I want to grab my old notebooks and start again.