Wild Things!

by Betsy Bird

  By 1926, the children’s book industry was energized and making a real impact on society. Fine books, brilliantly written and well produced, were making money for publishers. Libraries were thriving, with more and more “children’s rooms” opening across the country. The Horn Book was setting a benchmark for children’s book criticism. And every year, to great fanfare, the Newbery Medal was bestowed on a distinguished book. This would be a great place for a “happily ever after” ending, with a final note stating that children everywhere developed a taste for only the best literature had to offer and embraced publishing’s finest offerings wholeheartedly.

  Not quite.

  According to historian Leonard Marcus:

  In 1926 the American Library Association, conducting a survey of children’s reading preferences, questioned thirty-six thousand children in thirty-four cities about their favorite books. Fully 98 percent of those responding named a book by a single author, Edward Stratemeyer.

  Yes, despite now having a vast array of fascinating new books written just for them, often available for free just down the road at the nearest library, kids were still devoted to the slick, the commercial, the faddish, the sensational. Critics hated ’em, but kids seemed to love ’em.

  Many librarians were no doubt shocked by the ALA’s report and probably wondered how any child could prefer Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher over, for instance, the latest Newbery winners, Tales from Silver Lands by Charles J. Finger and Shen of the Sea by Arthur Bowie Chrisman. What made young people keep going back for another Hardy Boys volume when there were so many better options available?

  In truth, it’s possible that many children enjoyed both pulp fiction and the more refined works now being issued by the children’s departments of Macmillan and Doubleday. There were different pleasures to be found in each genre. What the pulps offered was high drama within the comfort and safety of the “formula” story. They offered familiarity. They were cheap enough that children could actually own them. And we can’t forget the allure of “forbidden fruit”; what could be more appealing to a young person than reading a book that is frowned upon by adult authority figures?

  Over the years, many have asked, “What harm is there in allowing young people to make their own choices in reading? Why shouldn’t they read only what they like?” These questions are usually answered with the old “food analogy”: If we let young people eat only what they like, many would subsist on a diet of nothing but cheeseburgers and hot-fudge sundaes.

  As a counter-argument, it doesn’t quite work to equate excellent books with broccoli and liver and other unappealing foods that should be choked down, even if you don’t like ’em.

  Though the publishers, librarians, and critics of children’s books obviously couldn’t “force feed” their offerings on uninterested kids, they could at least produce and identify the best literature possible in hopes that the children would eventually come to the table.

  CRITICAL ATTENTION

  In 1946, some twenty-two years after founding The Horn Book magazine, editor Bertha Mahony Miller had this to say about criticism:

  Art flourishes where there is sound critical judgment to examine and appraise. The critic must, first of all, have a real point of view about his subject. The essential point of view grows out of acquaintance with the best children’s books past and present, and also with the world’s best literature for everyone. This point of view — this measuring stick — must also bear some relation to children themselves and their reaction to books today. The critic should have experience of sharing books with children or of seeing them choosing and reading books for themselves. It is a truism — and yet it does not seem to be generally understood — that criticism is just as importantly concerned with pointing out excellence as weakness.

  Children’s book criticism has always played an important role in library purchasing; it has assisted parents and educators in guiding children’s reading; it has brought attention to quality books that might have been ignored or lost in the increasing number of volumes published each year; it has shamed authors for creating inferior works and encouraged other writers to aspire even higher. It has not always, as we’ve pointed out, had much effect on what children themselves choose to read.

  Only a handful of periodicals are dedicated to children’s book criticism. Each of these publications has its own character and voice. Reviews are signed in some periodicals but appear anonymously in others. Over the years, all of these publications have begun rewarding “stars” to the most outstanding books they review, an angle that brings added attention to both the book in question and the journal itself in subsequent advertising (“Starred by Booklist! Starred by The Horn Book!”). Owing to the subjective nature of reviewing (yeah, everyone’s a critic. . . but not everyone agrees!), an occasional book receives a sextet of stars from the six top review journals or appears on all six year-end “best” lists.

  For Your Review

  Because of the sheer number of books published every year, most journals only review recommended books. The “big six” review journals are:

  The Horn Book, which began in 1924, is the only American children’s book periodical to publish in-depth criticism.

  Kirkus Reviews, begun in 1933, is notable for publishing reviews several weeks or months before their official publication date. Many children’s authors have complained that Kirkus reviews are unfairly harsh, though critic Roger Sutton refutes that claim with, “I think what people had trouble with was the fact that Kirkus was no coddler.”

  School Library Journal began as Junior Libraries in 1954, featuring articles on books, reading, and librarianship, as well as reviews of children’s and young adult books.

  Publishers Weekly, founded in 1872, also publishes early reviews. Children’s book news and reviews are only one small section of this full-service magazine, much of which is devoted to adult literature.

  Booklist, an official publication of the American Library Association, was begun in 1904 and also covers adult and children’s books.

  Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books was launched in 1945 and is a review-only journal affiliated with the Graduate School of Library and Information Science at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.

  Other publications of interest are the New York Times Book Review; Voice of Youth Advocates (voya), which focuses on young adult books; and The Horn Book Guide, which provides capsule reviews of nearly every trade book published for children.

  Book reviewing is, by its very nature, a highly subjective field, and it’s best never to rely on the opinion of one magazine but to get a consensus from a variety of sources. . . or read the book yourself and form your own opinion. After all, only the year’s greatest book or the season’s worst stinker will get across-the-board cheers or jeers. . . and even then, there’s often a dissenting voice.

  Despite her unquestionable importance to the field of children’s books, Anne Carroll Moore is sometimes remembered not for the thousands of books she reviewed accurately and fairly, but for the handful where she got it wrong. Particularly when those books are now considered “classics” and part of the children’s literary canon.

  Written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Clement Hurd, Goodnight Moon is now acknowledged as one of the great picture books of all time. Nearly everyone loves it. Well, everyone but Anne Carroll Moore. To be fair, Goodnight Moon wasn’t a hit until decades after its publication. Few at the time would have pegged it for the greatest read-aloud bedtime story. Moore also wasn’t a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books, her dislike of series fiction perhaps influencing her appreciation for the language.

  But Moore’s most memorable missteps concern E. B. White’s classic children’s novels Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web.

  Actually, it was Moore herself who originally encouraged E. B. White to attempt a children’s book, not knowing that he’d already begun writing one. During Stuart Little’s seven-year gestation, she unceasing
ly sent the author encouraging letters. It must have come as quite a shock to both White and Moore herself when she finally read a galley of Stuart Little and lamented that a book had never disappointed her more.

  Moore tried to persuade editor Ursula Nordstrom to stop publication and sent a similarly themed fourteen-page letter to White and his wife. The book, however, became a critical and popular success. One might think that Anne Carroll Moore would have realized that perhaps White’s writing style was not for her. Sure enough, when E. B. White’s second children’s book, Charlotte’s Web, was released, Moore noted in the pages of The Horn Book that she found the book “hard to take from so masterly a hand.” That year’s Newbery Medal went to Ann Nolan Clark’s Secret of the Andes. (The book’s biggest secret? How did it ever win a Newbery — especially over Charlotte’s Web?) Some say the choice was made because libraries were making a concerted effort to celebrate multiculturalism at that time. Although, according to Anita Silvey’s 100 Best Books for Children, “many believe that Moore played a critical role in keeping the gold Newbery seal from adorning the cover” of Charlotte’s Web, which, at least, did end up as a Newbery Honor.

  So, in the end, Miss Moore may have been disquieted by children whose bad taste led them to books like the Rover Boys and Tom Swift series. . . but there were also a few times when Miss Moore’s own taste could be called into question.

  Just One Word Wrong

  E. B. White managed to write a trio of novels that may not have pocketed the Newbery but remain among the best-loved children’s books of all time. Yet it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

  Stuart Little: The story of a talking mouse who lives with a human family in New York is now widely regarded as a classic, but back in 1945 the book was originally met with great disapproval from many parents and librarians. You see, in the first edition of the novel, Stuart Little was “born” to Mrs. Frederick C. Little. But if you pick up a copy of the book today, you will discover that the opening paragraph of the first chapter now states that “Mrs. Frederick C. Little’s second son arrived.” Yes, ahem. Arrived. White’s story was that, after the book’s release, New Yorker editor Harold Ross popped his head into White’s office to yell, “God damn it, White, at least you could have had him adopted.”

  Charlotte’s Web: Discussions of White’s second children’s book inevitably come back to the fact that this novel, which many claim is a flawless work of fiction, lost the 1951 Newbery Medal to Ann Nolan Clark’s Secret of the Andes. Though he did receive a Newbery Honor for Charlotte’s Web, schoolchildren across the country decided to console him. Wrote one young child, “I’m very sorry ‘Charlottes Webb’ [sic] did not win the Neberry [sic] Award. . . . My library teacher, Mrs. Roberson, voted as hard as she could for ‘Charlottes Webb’ [sic] to win the Newberry [sic] award, but failed. But, I’m glad it at least won the Wilder award.”

  The Trumpet of the Swan: Nor did White get any recognition from the American Library Association for his final children’s book. In a 1971 letter to a friend, White joked, “I just heard that ‘The Trumpet of the Swan’ failed to win the Newbery Award, and that the award went to a book — hold your breath — called ‘The Summer of the Swan,’ published by Viking. How’s that for a near miss? I just got one word wrong!”

  WHAT KIDS LOVED AND CRITICS HATED IN POSTWAR AMERICA

  Life for baby boomers growing up in the postwar era probably wasn’t as idyllic as Father Knows Best and The Donna Reed Show would have us believe, but it was certainly a less scary time than the war years that preceded it or the revolutionary sixties that were yet to come. But even during this generally calm and quiet time, there was concern about what children were reading.

  The rise of Little Golden Books was an issue. Leonard Marcus states that while readers loved these picture books with the shiny gold spines because they were “affordable, visually appealing, and ready at hand,” there was concern when “librarian critics, who prided themselves on being cultural gatekeepers and guardians of the nation’s youth, suddenly realized that in the case of Little Golden Books, [critics] had been factored out of the equation. No wonder their anger was palpable.” But kids loved these books, and Marcus’s Golden Legacy: How Golden Books Won Children’s Hearts, Changed Publishing Forever, and Became an American Icon Along the Way contains reminiscences from such contemporary children’s luminaries as Avi, William Joyce, and Amy Schwartz, recalling the important role that Golden Books played in their childhoods.

  Next came the battle against comic books — and this fight went all the way to the U.S. Senate.

  Comic books were at their peak of popularity at that time. According to Amy Kiste Nyberg’s Seal of Approval: The History of the Comics Code, “more than 90 percent of the children in the fourth, fifth, and sixth grades reported that they read comics regularly, averaging at least ten comics a month.” Nyberg adds:

  From the outset, symbols of social authority over childhood and children’s reading, particularly teachers and librarians, defined comic book reading as a problem. They expressed fears that the comic book was leading children away from better literature and creating a generation of semi-literates. . . . Adults’ concern stemmed in large part from fears that children’s culture, especially the control of leisure reading, had escaped traditional authority. Adults believed that children’s free time should be spent in constructive activities that would improve their mental and physical well-being.

  Constructive activities such as “sensible exercise, or the study of sea-animals or plants”? Ah, the more things change, the more they remain the same. And it’s fascinating that the complaints about children reading unsavory books and comics are always couched in terms of “fear.” One wonders if these authority figures were actually afraid for their children. . . or becoming afraid of them. Whatever the case, local groups soon began speaking out against comic books, which led to state and then national attention. Before it was over, hearings concerning the link between comic books and juvenile delinquency were presented before the Senate Subcommittee to Investigate Juvenile Delinquency. Oh, Little Dot, what hath you wrought?

  The crusade against comics resulted in comic-book publishers adopting the “Comics Code,” in which they promised “to publish comics magazines containing only good, wholesome entertainment or education, and in no event include any magazine comics that may in any way lower the moral standards of those who read them.” The Comics Code remained extant and still appeared on the covers of many comic books through the sixties, seventies, eighties, nineties, and even some of the twenty-first century, despite the fact that the furor over children and comics ceased to be a national concern by the end of the fifties.

  One wonders what the children’s book critics from the postwar era would do if they returned today and saw how comic books have been accepted into mainstream culture to the point that graphic novels are now winning children’s literature prizes. And would they look back at Little Golden Books and celebrate the early published work by artists such as Garth Williams, Alice and Martin Provensen, and Richard Scarry? Or would they simply roll their eyes and take out a rubber stamp stating “Not recommended for purchase by expert” and obstinately pound it on the covers of these books?

  CONFUSION FOR CRITICS

  The sixties and seventies were an unsettling time for both the world and children’s books. The old guard was moving into retirement or dying off. Children’s books were changing with the times. And, while critical opinion on books has always varied, looking back at that period, it appears that it was even hard to reach a consensus on some books.

  How could a kid-pleasing eventual Newbery winner such as Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time have been rejected by a reported twenty-six publishers before a smallish press finally took a chance on it in 1962?

  The following year, School Library Journal editor Lillian Gerhardt publicly declared that she wanted Emily Cheney Neville’s It’s Like This, Cat to win the Newbery Medal. She was roundly spanked by other critics, who told h
er it was against decorum to stump for the Newbery. (She responded that she was going to go back and select her Caldecott choice next.) Meanwhile The Horn Book had such a lackluster opinion of Neville’s novel that they didn’t even bother reviewing it — and it wasn’t the last time they’d ignore a book that went on to win the Newbery.

  Harriet the Spy also came along in this era — and some critics didn’t know what to do with her. Some of the reviews were positive; some were not. George Woods, children’s book editor for the New York Times Book Review, despised the book and wouldn’t allow his own children to read it. And this really cut into the novel’s readership, considering the man had fourteen children! To Woods’s credit, he allowed another writer to review Harriet the Spy for the Times, and her opinion of the book was quite positive.

  George Woods was also involved in another controversy in 1971 when John Donovan’s young adult novel Wild in the World received such diametrically opposed opinions that he decided to print positive and negative reviews side by side in the New York Times Book Review. It was a daring and notable experiment, and it’s surprising that, in the decades since, none of the children’s review journals have initiated a point/counterpoint review column in which two reviewers debate a controversial book.

  The sixties and seventies ushered in what is often called the “new age” of children’s books, but there were plenty of “old school” books published during that era as well. Beloved by critics, imported books such as The Little Fishes by Erik Christian Haugaard, Young Mark by E. M. Almedingen, Dark Venture by Audrey White Beyer, Flambards by K. M. Peyton, The Intruder by John Rowe Townsend, Beyond the Weir Bridge by Hester Burton, Tristan and Iseult by Rosemary Sutcliff, and Unleaving by Jill Paton Walsh were honored year after year by the Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards, then went unread by kids. Which isn’t to say these were bad books. They’re certainly not. In fact, some are stunningly good. It’s just that. . . most kids hated them. If you’d like to read one of these for yourself, they’re right over there. Sorry about the dust. Oh, and please be careful you don’t crack the spine of that book. . . . It’s never been opened before.