I think someone missed the school bus.

Author: Schultz
Translator: Wang Yan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-01-01
Features: For Snoopy, who was born in 1950, his last major turning point as a person (dog) occurred in 1960. He bravely stood up and no longer walked on all fours without dignity. He began to think independently and was no longer the appendage of that round-headed little boy. He found that sleeping on the roof better allowed him to showcase his talents, and even if he fell, he could say such famous lines as, "Life is often rudely awakened from a good dream." Over the next 40 years, Snoopy contentedly embraced the role of "the greatest little dog in the world." Except for rare occasions, he generally believed that "dogs" were indeed a species unrelated to himself. And he was the World War I pilot, the meticulous writer, the cool dude strolling around on Sunday afternoons, a verbose lawyer—though his activities rarely went beyond the backyard, his followers were merely four foolish birds, and his camping dream was simply to eat some instant white cake. Yet none of this hindered him from going to the moon, organizing large-scale military offensives, or having a few drinks in a Parisian tavern. In short, apart from his deep-seated hatred for cats, he lacked any trace of being a "dog," and Charlie Brown had to despairingly endure his companion's arrogance, heartlessness, and determination. Look, even when starving at night, Snoopy still displayed a baronial dignity and pride. Over the past few decades, at least 350 million people worldwide have followed his life daily, yet it has never affected his nonchalance. For 50 years, American Charles Schulz had been drawing Peanuts comic strips nonstop, idolizing Picasso but still hoping to push him into the ranks of immortal artists—a one-sided wish. Moreover, for many years, this unassuming old man's greatest desire was simply to be accompanied by these little men and dogs. The daily comic strips could not carry the true pursuit of intellect and emotion. He inherited the serialization tradition of Balzac, Alexandre Dumas, and Charles Dickens, but apart from talent, the form and space he had were much smaller. On those idle afternoons, those disheartened and lonely nights, there was nothing more comforting than reading about Snoopy. You watched these little guys' troubled childhoods, frame by frame—Charlie Brown mourning over football and kites, a little dog facing the eternal dilemma of wanting to be everything but ultimately being a dog. Within the small frames, though the plots were ordinary and repeated endlessly, you never grew tired of them, just as Snoopy never refused another plate of cookies. What is it that entices us? Since the late 1960s, Schulz had intentionally limited Snoopy's shine, for this little beagle was incredibly charming and even guided the development of the comic. From Charlie Brown's frustrations, we saw the reality of life, the helplessness and mediocrity we faced, but Snoopy turned everyday life into a series of real adventures: a dry swimming pool became the English Channel, a pointed roof became a fighter jet, and all the residents of Peanuts Village became Snoopy's supporting characters, their reason for existence being to highlight this unique little dog. With sunglasses on, Snoopy, like the blind Borges, practiced the idea that "strong imagination creates reality." Schulz preferred Charlie Brown, while Snoopy carelessly shone brilliantly. Please put on your flying helmet, and we will follow our comic hero on an exciting adventure. Look at him—he truly is an amazing little dog.