Of course, the idea that "precocious grown-ups" (for whom the title page of every edition of Eloise insists the book was written) would want to play child was precisely the idea that inspired Thompson to commit her alter-ego to print.

I think she became jealous.

So does Hilary Knight, Thompson's illustrator and collaborator. His pink-splashed black and white drawings of the child Maurice Sendak called, "that brazen loose-limbed delicious little girl monster" provide the punch line to Thompson's allusive, scatting prose. Knight's contribution to a 1996 profile of Thompson in Vanity Fair is an illustration that shows Thompson kicking the chair out from under Eloise to scrawl "I am Eloise" in lipstick on the vanity mirror in the Plaza's powder room.

Knight's illustration may seem a little tawdry. But then again, Knight himself got into something of a tangle with Ms. Thompson over the ownership of Eloise. Their professional relationship effectively ended when Thompson pulled from publication a nearly completed manuscript of yet another sequel; this one was entitled "Eloise Takes a Bawth." In later years, Thompson refused to return Knight's phone calls. Kay Thompson's sense of possession was so strong that she became unwilling to share Eloise, even with the person who literally animated the child in her head.

Here's the thing of it: None of us are Eloise. Not even Thompson, who, when she was 6, was the daughter of a St. Louis jeweler, not a mysteriously absent New York debutante with seemingly endless credit. There was no British Nanny, no turtle wearing sneakers, no dog who looked like a cat and certainly no world-class hotel as a playground.

We're not Eloise, but we wish we were. We want to be her because she speaks to a most irresistible impulse: to be a child who can play with adult toys (room service, ballrooms, hotels in Paris and New York) without having to pay for them. Children love Eloise because she has more stuff than they do and no parents to tell her what to do. Adults love Eloise because she has more stuff than they do and no adults to tell her what to do. Wouldn't you love to be able to order a strawberry leaf and one clam in season for dinner or go to lunch in the Palm Court with toe-shoes on your ears?

The adults in Eloise's world have a considerably more complicated time of it, although Thompson is careful not to overdo her character assassinations. To begin with, there's Mother. She shows up mostly by cablegram. (The one depicted through Nanny's glasses upon arrival in Paris reads: "Koki [her mother's lawyer's chauffeur] at your disposal. Let Eloise do anything within reason.") She has charge accounts at Bergdorfs and Neiman-Marcus. She wears a size 3 1/2 shoe. She's 30. No one mentions Daddy. By my accounting, this makes her a debutante who had a "little accident" at age 24. There is also ample evidence that Mother is something of a kept woman. Eloise's coy asides tell us that "my mother knows the owner." The same relationship applies to her lawyer (with whom she goes to Virginia), her stockbroker and the owners of Maxims and Christian Dior. The people Mother knows make sure that every expense incurred by la petite fille and Nanny are immediately taken care of. One suspects quite a few people who know Mother know her in the Biblical sense.

Nanny, the only physical adult mainstay in Eloise's life, has a weakness for boxing, horse races, Pilsener beers and Johnny Walker straight. By all indications, the only way to deal with a child who steals the air conditioning control switch from the Plaza (and takes it to Paris with her) and spritzes pigeons with seltzer water is through a drunken stupor. Says the observant Eloise of Nanny's drinking,

You cawn't, cawn't get a good cup of tea
they simply do not boil the water
so you have to have champagne with a peach in it instead.

Although Nanny may be rather foggy in the morning, she still manages to take awfully good care of Eloise. When Eloise wakes Nanny in the middle of the night by shining a flashlight in her face, Nanny puts witch hazel on Eloise's toenails. (Apparently, this is absolutely the only way to comfort certain little girls.)

Next page | Madeline may be charming, but Eloise is far more interesting