5 reasons kids (and ex-kids) should read The Neverending Story

Michael Ende, author of The Neverending Story, apparently so loathed Wolfgang Petersen’s 1984 film adaptation of his novel that he sued for damages and tried to have the film scrapped. It’s a shame, really, that the film didn’t cling more tightly to Ende’s original brilliant concepts.

That being said, however, an entire generation of 80’s kids knows about the story primarily because of the film – and the strains of its quintessentially 80’s soundtrack are sure to evoke nostalgia. For my part, I read the book no fewer than fourteen times as a kid (I kept a tally on the inside front cover), and I took pride in knowing it was published in 1979, the same year I was born.

(I’ve heard that makes me an “X-ennial,” an interesting crossover group that shares more in common with GenX than the Millennials, because we just barely made it through our adolescence before the internet ate childhood forever. But then, we were the early adopters by choice of all things digital, which is very different from the Millennials, who didn’t get to choose.)

Anyway, I digress. Regardless of how we were first introduced to Bastian, Atreyu, Artax, and Falkor, we’re better for it as a generation. It’s a healthy story, and it’s got tremendous relevance for today’s kids. Here are 5 reasons why every kid – and former kid – should read* it:

*And they should probably see the movie, if only as a path to solidarity with their parents’ generation and exposure to the phenomenon of the synthesizer-rich 1980s movie soundtrack genre.

1. It affirms the imagination.

A central theme of The Neverending Story is that our imagination is more than a luxury – it’s crucial. As “The Nothing” devours Fantastica, we learn that it’s the product of dwindling human dreams and fantasies: a sort of meteorological nihilism, if you will. The terrifying Gmork sums it up nicely in an unsettling discussion with Atreyu, making it clear that there are some very dark forces at work (“the Manipulators”) a legion of demon-types who seek the ruin of mankind by the death of our collective innocence, something Ende implies is rooted in imagination, hopes, and dreams. In fact, those who grow up and forget their dreams become ‘lies’ if and when they come to Fantastica. Pretty scary stuff. Kids need to know that their imaginations are more than distractions. Kids need to have their dreams, hopes, and interior wanderings affirmed as valuable and productive – even if they aren’t practical. Kids need to know that it isn’t all just Nothing. Sadly, in an era when suicide is a leading cause of death among teens, it seems there must really be som​ething to the idea of the Nothing.

2. It’s a genuine celebration of diversity, without labeling itself as such.

The word ‘diversity’ has been so effectively co-opted by the DEI industrial complex that even to use the word evokes political waves. But get past that: This novel emphasizes (and, I think fosters) an authentic appreciation for diversity that goes beyond platitudes.

The story is fundamentally rooted in the vital importance of conversion, change, and the richness that comes from immersing oneself in the unknown with people (and creatures) who are different from oneself. Only by embracing the unfamiliar and taking risks can Bastian himself grow and develop; indeed, only by a willing departure from the familiar is Fantastica* renewed and rebuilt.

* No, that’s not a typo. In the movie, the realm of imagination and dreams is called ‘Fantasia,’ like the Disney musical. But in the book’s English translation, it’s Fantastica.

3. It’s a unique concept in storytelling.

A story within a story isn’t entirely unique, but Ende takes it deeper on many levels. After the opening scene, which is a sort of preface (though not labeled as such), there are 26 chapters. Each one begins with the corresponding letter of the alphabet, artistically rendered in a full-page plate (see photo of my original, very-well-loved 1983 copy, above. It’s the start of chapter 11, which begins with the letter K).

Then there’s the color scheme. Sadly, mass-market paperbacks can’t reproduce the original two-color interior print (red and green) that graced the original production. Instead, they fall back on a workable but inadequate substitute: the use of italics. But get a kid a higher-grade printing of the book, and he or she will discover a beautiful, full color foray into a unique form of storytelling that embraces duality at every turn. Even in black and white, the duality is, of course, still striking. In fact, the ouroboros symbol of “AURYN,” which decorates the cover, is all about duality and the cyclical interdependence of diverse but co-dependent ideas, elements and characters. What a great invitation to kids to immerse themselves in the realm of imagination!

4. It’s a rich, accessible allegory.

“The Tortise and the Hare” is my go-to example of allegory: a story that uses symbolism to convey a thematic message. Lord of the Flies takes it up a notch in novel form, going deep and dark with the good-and-evil allegory. But The Neverending Story is a feast of symbolic riches in keeping with the ‘neverending’ motif of imagination. It’s nearly impossible to list the figurative interpretations of various characters, locations, and actions. The point is, though, that just about every kid who’s over the age of eight or nine will be able to delve deep into at least some these symbols, varied as they are. Somewhere in there, there’s something for every kid to relate to. And it’s accessible in the sense that the writing, while sophisticated, maintains a clarity and simplicity that won’t nudge out less-than-stellar middle-school readers.

5. It’s simultaneously challenging but hopeful.

This one’s vital, and so I’ve saved it for last. I don’t think I truly understood why this is so important until later in life, but I know that it’s part of why I appreciated this story so much as a kid. I couldn’t have explained it then, but I’m pretty sure I sensed it the way kids can sense things: The Neverending Story is a blunt, challenging portrayal of childhood free of the sappy, patronizing baloney that belittles the depth and complexity of kids in so many contemporary books and movies. However, it manages, despite this, to provide a clear and unequivocal message of hope in an era when so many kids abandon it at far too young an age. Maybe the authenticity of this hopeful message is enhanced by the fact that it isn’t laced with cuteness. There’s nothing cute about it. (That’s probably part of why Ende despised the film adaptation, which is too cute by half.) There’s some hard, ugly stuff about life in the story. It doesn’t pull any punches. I think kids of a certain age really appreciate that honesty – that lack of conciliatory, nothing-can-offend-anyone-because-it-might-hurt-them baloney that marks so much of today’s culture. Kids see through that stuff.

So, there you go. If you’ve never seen the movie or read the book, I recommend you do both. Or, if you did a long time ago, consider picking it up again. And then, if there’s a kid in your life in middle school or high school, pass the story along.

In some ways, it’s more relevant than ever.