The twins Anna-Rose and Anna-Felicitas rename themselves Christopher and Columbus before they even leave Liverpool, a decision that sets the tone for the entire novel. Huddled on the second-class deck of the liner St. Luke, they watch the Mersey slip away and decide they are discoverers of a New World. The narrator immediately establishes their dual identity—'very German outside and very English inside'—and their precarious status as refugees, aliens, and orphans. Elizabeth Von Arnim's prose is brisk, ironic, and fond of cataloguing discomforts: the cold, the gray sea, the threat of submarines, and the absence of parents. Yet the twins themselves remain remarkably calm, even cheerful, a contrast that drives much of the early comedy.

The Twins' Voice and Self-Invention

From the first chapter, the twins speak in a distinctive, almost choric unison. They finish each other's sentences, share the same fair hair and Baltic-blue eyes, and refer to themselves as 'we' as naturally as breathing. Their decision to adopt the names Christopher and Columbus is presented not as a childish game but as a deliberate act of self-definition: 'It's very pleasant to go and discover America. All for ourselves.' The narrator notes that Anna-Rose suggested it, being the elder by twenty minutes, but the twins are otherwise nearly indistinguishable. This collective identity becomes a shield against their helplessness. When they later arrive in California and are described as looking 'cherubic' and 'unruffled,' their serenity seems less naivete than a practiced refusal to be overwhelmed. Von Arnim gives them a voice that is polite, slightly formal, and unexpectedly firm—as when Anna-Rose interrupts Mr. Twist's business talk with 'How unfortunate to have to be dead on a day like this.'

Mr. Twist as Reluctant Guardian

The excerpts introduce Mr. Twist, an American who becomes the twins' de facto guardian after the death of Mr. Dellogg. His characterization is built through small, telling details: he stands up and holds chairs for the twins, a courtesy they love because 'it makes one have such self-respect.' He is 'terribly worried' about their future, yet the twins remain placidly absorbed in the California scenery. Von Arnim uses Mr. Twist as a foil for the twins' unworldliness. His 'great idea'—apparently to put them to school—is met with their own plan, which 'seemed to think of us rather than we of it.' The comedy lies in the mismatch between his practical anxiety and their serene detachment. Mr. Twist's perspective also grounds the story: through his eyes, we see the twins as 'two cherubs' who might be 'impervious' to reason, and we sense the larger problem of their situation—orphaned, German-born, adrift in wartime America.

Setting as Emotional Barometer

Von Arnim uses setting to reflect the twins' inner state with precision. The opening scene on the Mersey is deliberately gray and comfortless: 'dirty water,' 'mist,' 'gray, uneasy, dreadfully wet sea.' The threat of submarines beneath the waves literalizes their danger. Once they reach California, the landscape shifts to 'sea shining across the road through palm trees' and 'exquisite distant mountains.' The twins immediately call it 'heaven,' and their faces take on 'the Californian look, a look of complete unworriedness.' This transformation is not merely scenic; it signals a psychological shift. The hotel verandah, the grapefruit, the waffles—all contribute to a sense of suspended reality. Yet the narrator undercuts the idyll with Mr. Twist's dry reminder that Mr. Dellogg's death 'has of course completely changed' their situation. The tension between the beautiful setting and the unresolved problem of the twins' future gives the early chapters their particular energy.

Narrative Irony and the Refusal of Pathos

Von Arnim's narrator maintains a consistent ironic distance, never allowing the twins' plight to become sentimental. When the twins remember their seventeenth birthday—'no cake, no candles, no kisses and wreaths and home-made poems'—the narrator adds the wry aside 'but then, as Anna-Felicitas pointed out, to comfort Anna-Rose who was taking it hard, you can't get blood out of an aunt.' The humor is dry, understated, and entirely in the narrator's voice. Similarly, the description of the twins as 'two wretched little Germans who were neither really Germans nor really English' is immediately followed by their calm decision to be Christopher and Columbus. The narrator reports their emotions without endorsing them, leaving readers to gauge the gap between the twins' composure and the gravity of their situation. This technique prevents the novel from becoming a tearjerker and instead invites readers to admire the twins' resilience while smiling at their obliviousness.

Readers coming to Christopher and Columbus for the first time will find a novel that balances comedy with genuine unease. The twins' optimism is both endearing and troubling; Mr. Twist's worries are real but often comically deflected. Pay attention to the way Von Arnim uses the twins' dialogue to reveal character—their polite formality, their unexpected stubbornness, their refusal to be drawn into adult anxiety. The excerpts suggest a story that moves between England, New York, and California, but the real journey is the twins' negotiation of identity and independence. The novel rewards attention to its small, precise details of gesture and setting.