Wild Things!

by Betsy Bird

  Pushcart Debate: Critics Loved ’Em, We Hated ’Em

  BETSY: Island of the Blue Dolphins never did it for me. Actually, if I’m going to confess everything and lay my soul bare. . . um. . . OK, I could never get through it.

  PETER: What?

  JULIE: Honestly, my very bad memory precludes me from recalling a middle-grade novel I was forced to read but hated. I remember reading Where the Lilies Bloom and seeing the film adaptation. Growing up in Tennessee as I did, I recall my older brother teasingly calling me “Mary Call” all the time — in his best Appalachian accent. However, what I remember most vividly was being assigned Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and being thoroughly mesmerized. That doesn’t answer the question, but hey. . . any opportunity to mention that phenomenal book by the great Mildred D. Taylor.

  PETER: I was ten when The High King won the Newbery, so I figured I should read it. I still remember slowly turning page after page, forcing myself to soldier on, even though I didn’t have the slightest clue who the characters were or what they were doing. I h-a-t-e-d it. Fifteen years later, I tried again — and couldn’t turn the pages fast enough. I l-o-v-e-d it. In fact, I read all five Prydain books in two days, even rushing to the store just before closing to get one of the volumes that wasn’t available at the library. Guess I’m a slow learner.

  ROUNDING OUT THE CENTURY

  The “new age” of children’s books also brought a new frankness. Nowhere was this more obvious than in the work of Judy Blume, whose novels touched on topics such as integration, divorce, and, most controversially, preteen and teenage sexuality. For a period of time in the seventies and eighties, the name “Judy Blume” seemed to be synonymous with “children’s books.” She received so much fan mail that she even published Letters to Judy, in which she responded to readers’ questions with wit and wisdom.

  Perhaps it’s unfair to include Blume in a roundup of “Critics Hate ’Em” books. In truth, many of her books were met with respectable, if not rave, reviews. But the few critics who hated Judy’s work really hated it. Their complaints had nothing to do with the sexy subject matter per se. Canadian critic Michele Landsburg objected “not to Blume’s frankness, but her bland and unquestioning acceptance of majority values, of conformity, consumerism, materialism, unbounded narcissism, and flat, sloppy, ungrammatical, inexpressive speech.” Whew! British writer David Rees also complained that the “triviality of her thinking is matched by the sheer shoddiness of her English.”

  Suddenly the Judy Blume phenomenon was over, and kids had moved in a completely new direction. Series books were hot again, and Ann M. Martin’s Baby-Sitter’s Club and Francine Pascal’s Sweet Valley High series were all the rage. Where the Blume books were notable for their PG-13 subject matter, these two new series were wholesome enough for a church picnic. Millions of copies sold before the fervor died down.

  Next came R. L. Stine. Once a children’s humor writer known as “Jovial Bob Stine,” the author had turned to horror fiction for teens (the Fear Street series) and elementary-age children (the Goosebumps series.) Slick, commercial, valued as much for their creepy cover art as their formulaic, end-every-chapter-with-a-cliff-hanger gimmick, the books were handed around among grade-school boys and girls as avidly as their ancestors passed around Rover Boys and Cherry Ames books. Critic Patrick Jones noted that “while Stine’s young fans devour his work, adults (parents, teachers, librarians, critics) have devoured Stine. His books are attacked, assailed, insulted, and banned. As paperback originals, his books are infrequently reviewed and the notices are far from glowing.” Jones goes a bit far in his praise, saying, “He is not just a writer; he is, with apologies to Howard Stern, bucking to become the King of All Media.”

  The next big trend was Harry Potter. Unlike the recent forgettable series fads, Harry Potter actually had the endorsement of most critics, though some editors and reviewers for children’s literary publications privately confessed that they never did make their way through the entire series of books. One big difference between Harry and, say, Goosebumps is that this time adults were along for the ride, lining up just as avidly as their children for the next Potter volume at midnight book-release parties.

  KIDS HATE ’EM, CRITICS HATE ’EM, BUT ADULTS WUV THEM

  In recent years, many parents have become fans of children’s books.

  Unfortunately, most aren’t fans of any of the brilliant and challenging books that have been published for children in recent years. Instead, they fawn over three picture books that author Jane Yolen has lumped together, calling them “The Triumvirate of Mediocrity”: The Rainbow Fish by Marcus Pfister, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, and Love You Forever by Robert Munsch.

  Imported from Switzerland, The Rainbow Fish tells the cautionary tale of a beautiful fish (the illustrations are emblazoned with glittery foil) who learns a lesson about vanity and discovers happiness. Blogger Leila Roy of bookshelves of doom perhaps said it best: “It’s another one of those horrible, horrible books with a horrible, horrible message that is horribly, horribly written and illustrated yet is horribly, horribly popular.” We should add that it’s especially popular with those who are attracted to sparkly things.

  Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree is one of the most wildly popular picture books of all time and, arguably, the most polarizing book of children’s literature. Short story short: There’s a boy. There’s a she tree. She gives him everything she has until she’s a stump. Then he sits on her. Silverstein once said of the book, “It’s just a relationship between two people; one gives and the other takes.” Many folks would argue that it’s much more.

  Critical interpretations of the book vary widely, as Eric A. Kimmel once noted. Ministers hold it up as a model of Christian self-sacrifice, while feminists criticize it as promoting the exploitation of women, particularly mothers. Kimmel’s view is that these interpretations “are contradictory, telling more about the reader than the book. . . . Uncle Shelby’s only comment is that it is a story about a tree and a boy. One suspects him laughing in his beard.” And perhaps laughing all the way to the Big Bank in the Sky, since the book has been continually reprinted since its 1964 publication and sells so well that its publisher, Harper & Row (now HarperCollins), has never released it in paperback form.

  The Giving Tree: Those Who Would Water It with Praise

  “Good or bad, it tells something so innately human that it just can’t be ignored. Like all the best books for children, the truth is laid bare on its pages for all to see. Some don’t like what they see. Some do. . . . I think it’s a beautiful book.” — author-illustrator Jeremy Tankard

  “I loved it because it was so sad . . . . I remember everything swinging into a much more mournful or quiet mood whenever that book was read. . . . It seemed important to me at that time to share a book that brought us all into our sadness, our sense of loss, however large or small it was, however petty our own sense of having given and given or taken and taken. It deepened our humanity.” — author and poet Naomi Shihab Nye

  “I am passionate about The Giving Tree. It is truly how I aim to live toward my family and friends. Remember, the tree was happy.”

  — YA author Lorie Ann Grover

  “Reading The Giving Tree today, I squirm. As a mom in an age when people seem almost to worship their kids, the text is disturbing to me. But. . . I remember loving it as a kid. I have no memory of ever thinking it was anything more than a story about love and support. I wanted to swing in those branches and eat those apples. So, as an author, I find the book difficult. It serves as a reminder that kids read books differently from parents.” — author Laurel Snyder

  The Giving Tree: Those Who Would Chop It Down with a Buzz Saw

  “I reread The Giving Tree when I was considering having children. I have cats.” — author Cynthia Leitich Smith

  “When I was younger and more soppy, I think I saw it as sad and rather noble and possibly a metaphor for parenting or something like that. Now that I am older and
more surly, I tend to think the kid’s an ingrate and the tree needs to maybe take some classes and meet other trees.” — author-illustrator Ursula Vernon

  The Keeping Tree, an artist’s response to The Giving Tree, by Amy June Bates

  Image Credit 12

  “I find The Giving Tree a bit maudlin and unsettling, because my dislike of the child for being a grasping, selfish stereotype is offset by my dislike of the tree for being a hopelessly self-destructive stereotype. I want to give both of them a reality shake. The sentiment expressed in the story is genuine, but the story is cloyingly sentimental. When it comes to Mr. Silverstein, I love his song ‘A Boy Named Sue,’ and — as sung by Johnny Cash — the song is brilliant. The humor in that father-son relationship song is just what The Giving Tree is missing.” — author Jack Gantos

  “I often wonder how popular this book would have become if the gender roles had been reversed. . . . Would those people who read the book as a tribute to unconditional love still defend it if a female protagonist were chopping the ‘limbs’ off a male tree? . . . Or, as I suspect, would an editor have turned the book down ipso facto, suggesting that the author get some help?” — author David Elliott

  “Really, I just wanted the story to end with the boy chopping the tree down and the tree falling on the boy, thereby making the boy the inaugural recipient of the Darwin Award.” — author Laura Purdie Salas

  Love You Forever is named by many adults as their all-time favorite children’s book. Our response: “And you worry about what your kids are reading?” This particular book works to best show a mother’s eternal devotion to her child (“I’ll love you forever and like you for always”) and includes a scene in which she climbs through her adult son’s bedroom window at night to chant the title phrase. Here’s what Jane Yolen has to say about the book: “You may adore Love You Forever, but I hear it as a story about an overbearing and smothering mother who infantilizes her son and can only tell him she loves him when he is fast asleep.” We’re glad that an author of Jane Yolen’s stature is willing to take on this book. It’s such a divisive title that bashing it leads only to consternation. A general defense is that you should not speak ill of the Canadian classic, since Robert Munsch wrote the story after his wife had two miscarriages. Yet that fact alone is far more touching than the story itself. Though it began with only the best intentions, the final product is that rarest of rare beasts: a picture book written by adults for adults. Child readers need not apply.

  Another Effing Book That Only Adults Will Love

  In general, children’s books that appeal mainly to adults — such as the aforementioned Triumvirate of Mediocrity — are sloppy, sentimental, and “aww”-inspiring. But in 2011, a new kind of picture-book-for-adults hit the market. It was called Go the Fuck to Sleep. Accompanied by pastoral images, the soothing words have the lilt of a lullaby:

  The cats nestle close to their kittens now.

  The lambs have laid down with the sheep.

  You’re cozy and warm in your bed, my dear.

  That is, until you get to the last line of each verse:

  Please go the fuck to sleep.

  Of course the whole thing is a joke, a novelty book. Yet sleep-deprived parents elevated this volume to the top spot on bestseller lists, meaning it is now in thousands of homes. And something tells us that somewhere tonight a sniggering babysitter or a very confused great-grandmother is reading this book to an unsuspecting toddler. And somehow the once-funny joke begins to feel a little sad.

  SO, WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

  Surveying this chapter, it sounds as if there is an insurmountable gulf between children’s book critics and the kids themselves. If the critics hate a book, kids will love it. If kids hate a book, the critics will love it. But that’s only part of the truth, part of the time. Actually, there’s a broad range of books that are enjoyed by both kids and critics. Children have proven to be amazingly flexible in their reading, and it’s not unusual to see a young reader go from Diary of a Wimpy Kid to Johnny Tremain to a comic book to the latest Newbery winner. And regarding those Newberys, even critic Anita Silvey — in an article titled “Has the Newbery Lost Its Way?” — wondered, “Has the most prestigious award in children’s literature lost some of its luster?” Ms. Silvey, the former publisher at Houghton Mifflin and former Horn Book editor asked a variety of people in the field that question and reported the following:

  Book critics and reviewers offered the harshest critiques. “Recent Newbery committees seem dismissive of popularity, a quality which should be an asset,” said one reviewer. “They appear to be hunting for a special book — one with only a few readers, rather than a universal book,” offered another. “They search for a book that makes the committee powerful, because they were the only ones to think of it,” reasoned a critic. When asked what she didn’t like about these titles, one reviewer responded, “There is so little right about these completely forgettable books.”

  Silvey’s article caused quite a firestorm in the children’s book field. Horn Book editor Roger Sutton stirred things up further by writing a blog about the issue, which called Anita Silvey “all wet.” And past Newbery committee chair Nina Lindsay offered a rebuttal titled “The Newbery Remembers Its Way, or ‘Gee, Thanks, Mr. Sachar,’” which stated, “In my experience, Newbery committee members are not ‘dismissive’ of popularity, but neither do they count it among the ‘assets’ in the criteria for a distinguished book as defined by this award.” Silvey’s defenders suggest that she wasn’t necessarily condemning the award with her article, but instead asking questions and asking her readers to ponder them as well. They remind us that during her tenure as Horn Book editor, she kept a copy of that magazine’s negative Charlotte’s Web review close at hand, as a reminder that critics don’t always get it right and that one should never become too complacent in one’s opinions.

  Prizes for Good Books and Prizes for Bad Books

  The Newbery and Caldecott Awards honor the best in children’s writing and illustration, but have you ever wished there was the equivalent of filmdom’s Golden Raspberry Awards for children’s books? Once upon a time there was. Back in the 1970s and early eighties, School Library Journal instituted the Huck Finn Pin for “a waste of youngsters’ hard-won reading skills” and the Billy Budd Button for “chainsaw massacres of classics and bibliotherapeutic titles worse than the conditions they were set out to cure.” Awarded annually from 1971 to 1982, the “winners” (and we use that term loosely!) were:

  Billy Budd Button

  1971 / Sesame Street Book of Letters; . . . Numbers; . . . People and Things; . . . Puzzlers; . . . Shapes

  1972 / No More Diapers! by Joae Graham Selzer, illustrated by John Emil Johnson

  1973 / Baby by Fran Manushkin, illustrated by Ronald Himler

  1974 / My Daddy Is a Policeman by Elizabeth Ann Doll

  1975 / Allumette by Tomi Ungerer

  1976 / Norman Rockwell’s Americana ABC by George Mendoza

  1977 / “Will I Go to Heaven?” by Peter Mayle, illustrated by Jem Gray

  1978 / Ms. Klondike by Jessica Ross

  1979 / The Dark Princess by Richard Kennedy, illustrated by Donna Diamond

  1980 / The Wounded Duck by Peter Barnhart, illustrated by Adrienne Adams

  1981 / T.A. for Tots, Vol. II by Alvyn M. Freed, illustrated by JoAnn Dick

  1982 / If You Call My Name by Crescent Dragonwagon, illustrated by David Palladini

  Huck Finn Pin

  1971 / Same as Billy Budd Button winner

  1972 / The Rotten Years by Maia Wojciechowska

  1973 / Bonnie Jo, Go Home by Jeannette Eyerly

  1974 / Young People and Health by Dr. Arthur H. Cain

  1975 / Joyride by Betty Cavanna

  1976 / The Country of the Heart by Barbara Wersba

  1977 / Pardon Me, You’re Stepping on My Eyeball by Paul Zindel

  1978 / The ValueTales series by Spencer Johnson and Ann Donegan Johnson

  1979 /
Loveletters by Susan Shreve

  1980 / The Epic of Alexandra by Virginia Ingram

  1981 / The Tragic Tale of the Dog Who Killed Himself by Richard W. Jennings

  1982 / Hey, Lover Boy by Thomas Rockwell

  It’s unfortunate that the awards ended after a mere dozen years. It would be fascinating to see which books from the eighties, nineties, and this new century might have won. And, since we’ve all seen Newbery books that have fallen off in popularity and critical esteem over the years, it’s very possible that one of those books from the eighties or nineties might have demonstrated an increase in readership or enjoyed newfound critical respect.

  AS WE SAID, EVERYONE’S A CRITIC

  Childhood is a time of constant change. And the field of children’s books must change with the readers it serves. Initially, there was a great disconnect between critic and child. Adults told kids what books were good and kids either accepted those or, to the critics’ horror, grabbed a pulp novel or comic book. Yes, adults still control the show, reviewing children’s books for literary magazines and selecting the winners of the Newbery and Caldecott prizes. But now kids can have a say in which books win awards by voting in any number of contests chosen by child readers. They can blog their own book thoughts online. And, thanks to Amazon.com, that great equalizer, they can post their reviews side by side with adults on Amazon’s website. In 1941, kids didn’t have much opportunity to share their feelings on that year’s Newbery winner, Call It Courage. Now they can have their say online. The book is so dull it takes courage to read it, writes one girl on Amazon.