‘Once upon a time’ revisited

Two Pigs
by David Bouchard (illustrated by Christine Battuz)

Vancouver, Midtown Press, 2025
$21.95 / 9781988242606

Reviewed by Brett Josef Grubisic

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“The Three Pigs” hovers at the edge of Two Pigs. It’s acknowledged, certainly, but not exactly held in a warm embrace. While both tales begin with “Once upon a time,” Two Pigs veers from the path of its famous ancestor. Let’s look at this another way, the book seems to propose. 

Two Pigs did make me smile, I noticed; while reading the slim volume, I guffawed at least once. In contrast, “The Three Pigs” is sturdy and practically-minded. It sharpens my awareness of brick as an advantageous building material.

The Victorian fairy tale offers a lesson about planning ahead, anticipating hardship, and coping with adversity (or in Bruno Bettelheim’s Freudian perspective, teaches a child about the shortcomings of living in accordance with the pleasure principle and alters them to the indisputable value of living in accordance with the reality principle). In Two Pigs, not so much.

Translating his Deux cochons (2009), Victoria-based Métis author David Bouchard (Out of the Shadows) begins the book with a wink: “Once upon a time, and it wasn’t all that long ago, there were two little pigs. The next line: TWO pigs — not three — TWO! Did you hear me say three? No, I said two.” As the story continues in a magenta-hued typeface Bouchard adds asides in electric orange that will amuse adult readers and kids alike. 

In keeping with expectations: pigs, comfortable in houses. Not a mention of straw or brick, and which is the wiser choice for a swine with ambitions for a long life.

Instead: a furry villain that shows up on a bitterly cold night: “a wolf stood shaking at the door of piggy #1.” Um, no, not quite. “Truth be told,” Bouchard’s aside whispers, “and we can keep this between us, it was not a wolf. It was a hungry coyote who fancied himself tougher than he really was.” 

“This is my story,” the narrator adds. “If I want to call him a lion, I can!”

Mixing vivid, searing pinks and reds and an eye-relieving aqua with a riot of loud, fabric-like patterns, illustrator Christine Battuz creates a wonderland on every page. Battuz’s pigs are porky, bulbous, and cute; reminiscent of an anteater, the coyote poseur is likewise adorable. Lacking fangs to bare, he appears as threatening as… well, an anteater. 

Per usual, the fellow does huff and puff. Playing checkers inside and snacking on cake, the pigs take for granted that the wolf will not hurt them because he cannot. They mock him instead, for breath that reeks. 

Soon enough the pigs are playing cards with their friend, a brown bear. Pleading now, the wolf wannabe asks for help: “I am freezing. Please open the door so I can….” Turns out, this predatory bully only wants friends. As Two Pigs ends, the companionable foursome play Monopoly under a wintry crescent moon. 

Followers of Bettelheim might say the book celebrates frivolity and dares to suggest that there are no shortcomings to living in accordance with the pleasure principle. Or, worse, that it ignores the reality principle, with its nasty surprises. 

Together at a table and playing Monopoly, a bear, two pigs, and a coyote pretending to be a wolf might suggest something terribly unrealistic and impractical to credulous young minds. 

I’m not convinced. As a child, I knew nothing of the reality principle or the importance of planning for adversity, and so “The Three Pigs” meant as much to me as “Hansel and Gretel,” “The Ant and the Grasshopper,” or whatever episode of afterschool cartoon I’d happened to watch on any given day. 

In other words, my mind didn’t really consciously pause about the lessons and wisdom that media was supposedly imparting to me. A wolf huffed and puffed, a forest witch made a house of candy, something about a lion with a sliver in its paw, Shaggy and Scooby ate a footlong submarine sandwich and accidentally solved a mystery, Aquaman telepathically communicated with a dolphin that he later rode to fight agents of O.G.R.E., and Marcia got hit in the face with a football… day after day, story after story after story. 

I enjoyed and absorbed them all, but feel confident now in saying that they weren’t formative aspects of my moral development (whereas, my mother’s sudden death and my father’s subsequent marriages, violence, and alcoholism… don’t get me started.)

Two Pigs, though. Amusing, funny, stylish and terrific to look at, and, simply, pleasurable. Plus, for adults reading the book to a young audience, the irresistible opportunity to give voice to two pigs, a bear, and a whiny, shivering coyote “who fancied himself tougher than he really was.” It’s a win for everyone. 

Whenever he finishes it, Cull will be Brett Josef Grubisic‘s sixth novel. He assigns, edits, and posts fiction, poetry, and children’s lit book reviews for BCR; occasionally, he contributes reviews as well. [He’s recently written about books by Alice Turski, Louise Sidley, K.J. Denny (ed.), Sonali Zohra, Carrie Anne Vanderhoop, Kristen Pendreigh, Sam Wiebe, Maureen Young, Daniel Anctil, and Adam Welch for BCR.]

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The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an on-line book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

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