Santa Claus (Photo courtesy of Damian Flanagan)

       By Damian Flanagan

       Recently, my 9-year-old daughter mentioned in the kitchen that as a homework assignment she had been asked to come up with an original story about Christmas. My 13-year-old son suggested, "What about a child who meets Santa Claus?"

       "Great idea!" I interjected from a nearby table, while looking up from some accounts books. Only then did I realize that I had misheard the suggestion -- I thought my son had said, "a child who eats Santa Claus" and was quite disappointed that he had something less absurdist in mind.

       At first hearing, you might think the idea of a Santa Claus who gets scoffed a little outlandish, but stay with me, I think it could be the ultimate missing ingredient from the Christmas story.

       I'd like to prove that if we could just make Santa Claus himself edible, the one thing missing from the spirit of Christmas would be complete. I've long been fascinated by the debate that took place during the First World War in Australia between Norman Lindsay and his friend Bertram Stevens. Lindsay was a quirky character -- an original thinker and a prolific artist and writer, particularly known for his paintings of ladies in erotic poses.

       Norman Lindsay

       Lindsay's art might sometimes be questionable, but when it came to understanding the minds of children Lindsay showed supreme insight. While Lindsay's friend Bertram Stevens argued that fairies were the thing that most seized a child's imagination, Lindsay countered that no, actually it was food which consumed the greater part of a child's interest. "Infantile concepts of happiness are based on the belly," Lindsay declared.

       I know that when I was a small child, the idea of escaping to a land where doughnuts grew from the trees, fudge could be picked from bushes and the river flowed with chocolate was just as potent in interest to me as any land filled with dragons and knights. It's no coincidence that Roald Dahl's most famous story concerns a vast, mysterious chocolate factory.

       Lindsay himself set out to prove his argument by writing "The Magic Pudding" -- where the hero is a walking, talking dish from which characters take spoonfuls that are magically replenished. The story became a defining, most iconic childhood story of Australia.

       But it's not just in Australia that the ability to eat the hero is central to winning over a childish appreciation. In Japan, the hero of the most overwhelmingly popular series of children's stories is after all a character called "Anpan Man," created by the animator Takashi Yanase in 1973.

       Takashi Yanase with his characters Anpanman, right, and Baikinman. (Mainichi)

       As everyone in Japan knows, "Anpan" is a "Sweet Bean Paste Bun," a popular children's treat, and the main character is a walking, talking bun. In his very first story, he visited a boy who was starving and offered himself to be eaten. Over time the stories evolved to include a host of other regular characters who are also edible, with names like Curry Bun Man or White Bread, who act as foils or sidekicks to the central delight of "Anpan Man." The great villain is "Baikin Man", literally "Bacteria Man," assisted by his dastardly "Mould Men."

       You can now visit entire museums in Japan devoted to "Anpan Man," the books have sold over 80 million copies and been turned into all kinds of manga, anime and movies. Anpan Man has been merchandised to the nth degree and generated total sales of an amazing $45 billion. Survivors of the 2011 Tsunami in Japan noted that the most comforting music they heard in the wake of the devastation was the familiar "Anpan Man" theme music, beloved since childhood.

       Perhaps if Father Christmas could reveal his rotund tummy to actually be made of Christmas cake and encourage children throughout the world to tuck in and take a slice whenever they bumped into him, we could achieve a final fusion of fantasy and limitless eating desires that most defines childhood.

       In my Christmas of the future, we won't be leaving mince pies for Santa as he comes down the chimney, we will be waiting with our spoons and forks to gobble him up as soon as he appears.

       @DamianFlanagan

       (This is Part 42 of a series)

       In this column, Damian Flanagan, a researcher in Japanese literature, ponders about Japanese culture as he travels back and forth between Japan and Britain.

       Profile:

       Damian Flanagan is an author and critic born in Britain in 1969. He studied in Tokyo and Kyoto between 1989 and 1990 while a student at Cambridge University. He was engaged in research activities at Kobe University from 1993 through 1999. After taking the master's and doctoral courses in Japanese literature, he earned a Ph.D. in 2000. He is now based in both Nishinomiya, Hyogo Prefecture, and Manchester. He is the author of "Natsume Soseki: Superstar of World Literature" (Sekai Bungaku no superstar Natsume Soseki).

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