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By Jack Moseley
By the milk-light of moon,
All that was lost, is revealed.
But where have we come, and where shall we end?
Beckons through the leaves,
As autumn colors fall.
Into the Unknown, by Patrick McHale
As we return to the enigmatic realm of autumnal Kentucky, I am finding myself subconsciously drawn back to a vision of mystery; a moonlit visage of days gone by. Manning the helm of this voyage is a certain piece of media, one that has captivated my wandering mind ever since my first viewing: Over the Garden Wall. I will try my best to outline the story in a vague sense, focusing on the abstract notions of the work, while also avoiding direct spoilers for those who have yet to watch this masterpiece (and I highly recommend that you do).
At the time of writing, Over the Garden Wall has just turned 7 years old. An animated miniseries that consisted of only 10 brief episodes, Over the Garden Wall is marvelous, and frankly miraculous to be seen in its self-contained form. These days, perhaps more than ever before, it seems rare for any form of media to both succeed and remain in its initial form. We’ve watched well-rounded shows run on for years; critically acclaimed musicals turn into CGI freakshows; even treasured books are grotesquely made into money-grubbing blockbuster films. And yet this series continues to thrive, unadulterated in its original form—living on as a nearly perfect representation of the modern fairytale. To this day, the series is widely regarded as one of the best animated works of our time.
To summarize, the series follows the journey of two brothers as they traverse a land known as the Unknown. The show opens with a scene of the two brothers finding themselves lost in a dark wooded forest, and the story follows them as they make their way home. The audience doesn’t know how they got there, and seemingly, neither do they. As they wander the Unknown, they meet many interesting characters, many reminiscent of common folklore such as the Brothers Grimm fairy tales, and other general facets of Americana. Wirt is the older brother, the kind that is melodramatic and pessimistic, but also charismatic, intellectual, and introspective. However, he does represent many darker traits. He is often shown to be selfish, dismissive of his brother, and complicit; often resigned to whatever fate awaits him; approaching the world with intense apathy, despite the needs of those who rely on him. Greg—perhaps the antithesis to Wirt—is the younger, outwardly ignorant brother who often serves as comedic relief in the series. Nevertheless, Greg is generally seen to be the smarter and more responsible of the two brothers, and in my opinion this is predominantly thanks to his upbeat, optimistic attitude.
As lovable and interesting as the characters are, I’ve always felt that the land of the Unknown is the crowning achievement of the show. When you are watching, you are immediately immersed into a land that is both shockingly familiar and supernaturally otherworldly all at once. The Unknown is represented as an autumnal dark wooded forest. I have read that the artists originally based the show off of old fall postcards from New England in the early 1900’s—and watching the show, that is the perfect description of what I was feeling. Elijah Wood, the voice actor for Wirt, once said, “If the show were played on a record, it would be done on an old phonograph.” This combination of familiarity and otherworldliness creates a setting that has not only a sense of foreboding darkness and evil, but also a warm, bright feeling that feels distinctly comfortable and idealized. It really feels like somewhere you would want to get lost in; a place filled with both adventure and peril. As much as the Unknown is a place of mystery, it is equally a place of familiarity; there’s an uncanny feeling that you’ve been here before. ‘Children getting lost in the woods’ is perhaps one of the most recognizable categories of fairy tales (think Hansel and Gretel), and this plot device serves to culturally ground the show. Regarding the story, we may be just as lost as the characters, but contextually, culturally, we are very much at home. The show is ingenious in this respect, as it seems to be the natural continuation of many aspects of folklore in our society.
The Unknown is a place of transition, a place defined by a kind of illumination. The question of identity is a common thread in the series. In episode 4, titled Songs of the Dark Lantern, Wirt and Greg find themselves seeking refuge from turbulent weather in an old, quaint tavern. Inside, they meet a variety of people who are known not by their names, but by their character archetypes; the Tavern Keeper; the Butcher; the Toymaker; and the Highwayman. Led through song, the people of the tavern eventually begin to ask who Wirt is. Initially confused by the question, Wirt tells them his name, but they want to know who he actually is. And… Wirt doesn’t know. Wirt does not know who he is. The people of the tavern first try to label him as the Young Lover, and although he strives for love, it doesn't fully describe him. They eventually settle on labeling him as the Pilgrim. Interestingly, this alone tends to align the show closely with Dante’s Divine Comedy, furthering the thread of cohesion between the show and popular culture. Similar to Dante the Pilgrim, Wirt’s journey could also be described as one of forming one’s adult identity, taking responsibility, and understanding the world. The Unknown is a place of change; a place of personal growth. As a freshman in college, I find myself deeply resonating with this concept of transition. I’m at a point in my life where the junction of independence and responsibility is constructing a tumultuous, winding road—one that I’m not quite sure how to navigate yet.
Throughout the show, the audience is responsible for changing the Unknown from something fearful, into something hopeful. We each have a choice, whether to feed the fear, or to face it, and take responsibility in our lives. For Wirt and Greg, they chose the latter—allowing them to survive their perilous journey into the Unknown. In the Unknown, certainty is traded for ambiguity and subtlety. Just as you think you might know your path, something prevents you from moving forwards.
The lantern can only light the road so far. As we return to reality, these stories serve to shape that reality, and will always have their place in the continuity of our society. I advise you all to treasure these tales, and make them each your own.
Jack Moseley is a McConnell Scholar in the class of 2025. He is studying political science and chemistry at the University of Louisville.