First and Last Words
The first words out of the unnamed narrator’s mouth are that he does not like that Sam-I-Am. The very last words of the book are that same narrator gushing over Sam with a bucketful of thanks. Over a remarkably short period of time, the narrator has undergone a very dramatic ironic reversal of opinion toward Sam. In fact, the irony cuts so deeply that even physically-speaking, the big guy at the beginning barely even resembles the big guy at the end. It is almost as if they are two different people.
The Big Irony
The big irony of the story, of course, is the one on which the entire premise of the narrative turns. The big guy who doesn’t like Sam-I-Am at the beginning has no intention of trying his green eggs and ham. He then proceeds to spend most of the book telling Sam the multitudinous ways he will not try eating the food. Only, of course, to finally break down, eat it and express what seems to be on its appearance a very heartfelt and genuine appreciation for the taste. Without that ironic reversal, there really is no book at all. Or, at the very least, it is one substantially unrecognizable.
A House or a Mouse?
Sam’s marketing technique is effective. Let there be no question about it. Still, despite being effective, it is pretty weird, right? Specifically, it is weird in an ironic sort of way. Sam’s alternative methodology of salesmanship begins by asking a question is ironic because it really just doesn’t seem to need to be asked: “Would you like them in a house?” Of all the hypothetical scenarios he tosses at the big guy, this one is beyond lame.
The level of irony is then immediately—right in the next scenario—turned all the way up eleven. He doesn’t know if he likes green eggs and ham under any circumstance because he’s never tried it, but it just seems pretty likely that if he does turn out to like it, he would enjoy eating it in a house. Duh! Just as likely is that even if does turn out to like the food, he probably won’t enjoy eating with a mouse because, after all, the overwhelming majority of people don’t like to share their meal with a mouse.
In the Dark
Ironically, the best place to eat green eggs and ham is probably in the dark where you cannot even tell that the food is green. After all, it is likely the color of the food which is the big turn-off for most people, including the big guy. Sam could probably have done a better selling it under the cover of darkness except for another bit of irony here: the green looks positively glowing in the illustration, thereby rendering it even more unappetizing that it had been during all the outside-in-the-daytime scenarios.
The Needless Reversal
As stated, changing the ending so that the buy does not provide the big ironic reveal of actually liking green eggs and ham would mean a completely different book than what Seuss gave us. But different doesn’t always mean lesser. A case could conceivably be made that having the big guy not surrender to the sales pressure to the point of tasting the food and finding he likes it might have made the point even stronger. After all, Sam has won this battle long before it ends.
The point of advertising is only partially about the selling the product. It is at least equally—and possibly more—about selling the brand, the marketing, the commercial, the jingle. It is about creating a memory of a tagline like “Where’s the Beef” that can last well after the last time a hamburger was actually purchased. Sam has won because even before the big guy breaks down and tastes his product, the big guy has been reciting back to Sam, word-for-word, the advertising script. The ultimate victory comes when the surrender to the sales pitch result not just in liking the food, but launching immediately into a recitation of every scenario Sam pitched, almost as if the food and the advertising are irretrievably and irrevocably linked.
