The Moomins may look like hippos in aprons and top hats, but they’re more than just adorable characters from children’s books. Over the decades, these gentle creatures have become part of a living mythology – one that drifts across time, borders and generations.

Created by Finnish-Swedish author Tove Jansson in the 1940s, the Moomins live in stories that blur the lines between fairy tale, folk wisdom and quiet philosophy. And perhaps that’s the secret to their enduring appeal: they resist being pinned down.

Unlike traditional children’s characters tied to a tidy moral or neat storyline, the Moomins meander literally and metaphorically. Their world is one of seasonal migrations, long silences, floods, comets and unexpected departures.

This is part of a series of articles celebrating the 80th anniversary of the Moomins. Want to celebrate their birthday with us? Join The Conversation and a group of experts on May 23 in Bradford for a screening of Moomins on the Riviera and a discussion of the refugee experience in Tove Jansson’s work. Click here for more information and tickets.

Moominvalley isn’t a safe haven – it’s a landscape shaped by change. In that sense, Jansson’s stories echo something far older than modern literature: the mythic rhythms of Nordic storytelling, where time loops, endings blur and characters return in altered forms.

A myth that moves

The Viking sagas, for instance, were not written down at first but passed from voice to voice, reshaped with each telling. They weren’t concerned with tidy endings or moral clarity. Characters disappeared and reappeared. Time looped and fragmented.

Similarly, Jansson’s stories don’t build to a climax. They wander. One book might end with a mystery, a quiet mood or a long silence. It’s a narrative style that feels strangely modern – and yet deeply ancient.

Jansson herself resisted giving her stories a single message. In letters and interviews, she said she disliked moralising and preferred ambiguity. “A good story,” she wrote, “has no need to be explained; its truth lies in its telling, not in its conclusion.” That idea – of a truth that doesn’t depend on being pinned down – is at the heart of what makes the Moomins mythic.

Of course, myths evolve. And the Moomins have evolved spectacularly. After the books found international success, the characters were adapted into Japanese anime, Nordic theatre, British radio and global branding campaigns.

Each version tells a slightly different story. In Japan, the Moomins became symbols of warmth and nostalgia – gentle mascots of a simpler life. In the UK and US, early translations softened the melancholy and existential tones. More recently, new editions and critical reappraisals have returned to Jansson’s deeper themes of loss, solitude and transformation.

The many lives of the Moomins

This global journey has parallels with the evolution of Viking mythology. Once oral stories shared around fires, Norse myths have been repackaged for everything from national pride to Hollywood action. Like the Moomins, they’ve become flexible cultural symbols – used and re-used in ways that often have little to do with their original context.

But unlike the fierce warriors of Norse myth, the Moomins are gentle, uncertain creatures. They worry. They drift. They don’t fight monsters – they reflect, explore, adapt. In Moominland Midwinter, Moomintroll wakes from hibernation to find the world cold and unfamiliar.

His journey isn’t about conquering the landscape, it’s about learning how to live in it. That emotional honesty resonates with readers of all ages. It also reflects something uniquely Nordic: an existential awareness of solitude, change and survival.

Folklore, loneliness and the Groke

One character, the Groke, captures this beautifully. She’s a shadowy figure who creates frost wherever she walks. She’s not a villain, she’s just lonely. Children often fear her, but readers grow to understand her.

She recalls Nordic spirits like the huldra or tomte – ghostly beings that live in the forests, blurring the line between human and otherworldly. In Jansson’s hands, this folklore becomes a way to explore anxiety, estrangement and the human need for warmth.

The Moomins’ refusal to settle – geographically or philosophically – also speaks to today’s world of cultural fluidity. Jansson was from Finland’s Swedish-speaking minority and grew up between languages, cultures and post-war upheaval.

Her books reflect that liminal identity, and they’ve found a home among readers who don’t always fit neatly into one place. That might be why the Moomins are particularly popular in countries dealing with identity shifts or cultural nostalgia.

A myth for a shifting world

As with all mythologies, there’s also a commercial side. The Moomins are now a global brand, with theme parks, merchandise, museums and a thriving fanbase. Some of this has softened their original complexity.

But even through plush toys and animation, something essential remains: the feeling that these characters, like the stories they inhabit, can’t be reduced to one message. They are always slightly mysterious, slightly out of reach.

In a world that often demands quick answers and strong opinions, the Moomins offer something gentler: ambiguity, openness and quiet reflection. They remind us that not all stories are meant to be solved with a neat conclusion. Some are meant to be returned to – revisited like familiar places in the mind, reshaped each time we arrive.

That’s what makes the Moomins mythic. Not just their age or popularity, but their ability to change – and to change us – with every retelling. They invite us to wander, like Snufkin, and to sit still, like Moominmamma.

They show us that myth isn’t just about gods and monsters – it’s about living with uncertainty, embracing return, and finding meaning in the stories that help us feel at home in the world.

Steve Nash works for Leeds Beckett University.