On Disney Versions of Stories and Tales:
Originally posted on Tue, 21 Feb 1995 by Perry Nodelman
I have to agree with Jane about the blood frigidifying effect of the
idea that children or adults prefer the Disney versions of Pooh or
Jungle Books to the originals. But I can't say it surprises me. Those
Disney people know how to push all the right buttons, conform to all
of our most conventional expectations, and tell us all the things
that everything else in mainstream popular culture tells us we want
to see and hear. Meanwhile, Milne and Kipling are busy playing the
nasty trick of being different, distinct in tone and content--annoyingly
surprising. The real issue, it seems to me is this: a lot of people,
children and adults both, know how to like Disney; a lot fewer people,
children and adults, know how to like Pooh and Kipling. That doesn't
mean Pooh and Kipling are bad--and I suppose that equally it doesn't
mean that Disney is bad either. But it does mean that educators at
all levels have an obligation to try to help people have access to
a wider range of pleasurable experiences--that if we want people to
share our own pleasure in Pooh, then we have to think of ways of teaching
them how to do it. This means, of course, that a taste for a variety
of different literary experiences is not innate, that it does have
to be learned. Furthermore, learning it means a little
bit of unlearning. In my children's lit class recently, a group
of students did a presentation on ideological implications in Disney's
Snow White and Alladin. What most intrigued them was not how much
they found in these movies to object to in terms of gender and ethnic
stereotypes and such (which was a whole lot), but how hard they
found it to get into a critical mode while responding to these movies.
Their entire life and their entire earlier expereince of Disney
had prepared them to just sit back, absorb, and be delighted. I
think that's dangerous, and it's an attitude that needs to be unlearned
both before people can like Milne and Kipling and before they can
stop being manipulated by these stereotypes.
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On The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
This is a reaction to many other posts on this title in CHILDLIT
listserv, originally posted on Mon, 27 Feb 1995 by Cathryn M. Mercier
So much of this discussion revolves around the like/dislike of THE
CHOCOLATE WAR and that often centers around the novel's "depressing"
ending. I simply don't agree. While I long ago gave up the notion
that young adult fiction requires a hopeful (if not a happy ending),
I find the ending of The Chocolate War quite hopeful. The novel
ends with Obie denying Archie the chocolate bars Obie has always made
sure he has available. A small change? absolutely, but one which proceeds
tightly and logically FROM THE NARRATIVE rather from my feelings about
the novel. Actually, I find the strongest support for the novel to
come from young adults' reaction. Shouldn't they dislike this view
of the world? Shouldn't they be "disturbed" by it? Shouldn't they
want to reject it? Part of what Cormier accomplishes in this novel
is effecting reflection, perhaps even change, in young adult readers.
I think we as adults often miss that end of it and too easily grasp
(or dismiss) the grim portrayal of the world. Remember, this is a
work of fiction; therefore, the author makes significant choices about
what to include and what to exclude to achieve an artistic whole.
Our job as teachers is to lead students beyond their reaction to that
whole and into an understanding of it. Not one of the comments on
this list so far has addressed Cormier's symbolism, his use of language,
his wide cast of characters (we so easily get focused on Jerry and
Archie that we lose sight of Tubs and Goober and others) -- all of
whom play a role in the complexity of the novel and its portrayal
of the complexity of human beings. Whenever I think
of this novel, I can't help but think of the playwright Ibsen who
kept a scorpion in a jar on his desk to remind him that his job
was not to "please" his audience but to sting them into some kind
of realization about their world and/or about themselves. Doesn't
The Chocolate War do the same?
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A Little of the Early History of Children's Lit.
Originally posted on rec.arts.books.childrens by Beth Kevles, Re:
Der Strewwelpeter, on 1 March 1995
When you look at early children's literature, it's important to remember
a few things: 1. Children weren't seen as significantly
"different" from adults until about the 19th century. They were,
instead, part of the socioeconomic unit of the family. Laws didn't
distinguish between children and adults until nearly the 20th century,
for example. (For more on the role of children in the family, I
recommend "Pricing the Priceless Child", which is a fascinating
book.) There seems to be a correlation between the development of
a distinction between adults and children (societally speaking)
and the development of books and stories aimed specifically at children.
(Remember, kids used to grow up on the Bible and Pilgrim's Progress,
assuming they were taught to read. Then quickly on to the classics
in Latin and Greek.)
2. Child mortality was about 50% until the 20th century (roughly.)
Children dies frequently of disease and accident; it wasn't a safe
world. Hence stories that scared the living daylights out of children,
but taught them not to pplay with matches, were probably well worth
reading. The emotional health of the child was far less important
than the physical well-being/survival of the child. Also, since
so many children did die young, and since the period was rather
more religious (helffire and damnation) than our own, it made sense
to encourage children to be good by showing the glories of heaven
(good children died young in the stories, and were mourend) and
the dangers of hell (bad children died horribly and suffered eternally.)
People who viscerally believed this stuff probably thought the health
of the immortal sould of the child far more important than, again,
the child's emotional well-being. (I had a good reference for this
stuff, but I can't recall the title at the moment. I'll try ot find
it in case anyone is interested.)
In any event, those frightening and moral stories are not
ones to which I'd subject a child today, but I understand why people
did a century or two ago. 50% child mortality ...
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Literature and Morality
(Fri, 2 Jun 1995) by Peter F. Neumeyer
Early on, as a happy, lively kid, I was powerfully moved by literature--so
much so that I drifted sort of mindlessly through college just reading
good books. After a time, the (sponsoring) U. S. Navy caught on and
stopped supporting my self-indulgence, but I just kept on, all the
way through graduate school, always thinking (and now telling students)
that English is the only major for which, actually, you don't have
to know anything. All my life, essentially I stayed
the same kid I was then. For many years, I taught literature solely
because I wanted to pass on to other people (of any age) the utterly
transforming thrill I felt. It was like what Mole and Ratty experienced
when they saw the Piper at the G. of D. And some students caught
the bug from me; and many didn't.
Those who did understood--had learned, that is--that the
excitement in "Paradise Lost" all comes from Satan, not from Jesus;
in "Othello," Iago tends to steal the show; that Cain is more engrossing
than Abel; that there's as much to write about Grendel as about
Beowulf; that King Arthur 's a pallid bore; that the Pardoner and
the Wife of Bath are a lot more exciting than the benevolent Knight;
that Hoban's Manny Rat is unforgettable, that Toad's more memorable
than Mole, and so on and so on.
In other words, some of the students were learning that Literature
does something quite different vis a vis life and vis a vis their
own minds--something quite different than to affirm pulpit platitudes.
Essentially, profoundly, some came to understand, Literature, ambiguous
as it may be, was deeply moral by its nature. It was moral because,
by its nature, it was an attempt to comprehend humankind's engagement
with the universe. THAT'S what was to be understood about literature.
Some never did understand that point. The least comprehending (students
and parents, both), for example, condemned "King Lear" because it
was a "downer," and "Catcher in the Rye" because it contained the
word, fuck--not seeming to get the point that the obsessive compulsive
Holden spends his life trying to "save the children" and himself
by expunging callous violence.
But, by and large, the job--my job in all that teaching,
and I think YOUR job too--is, very specifically, to instruct your
students and library clients in HOW LITERATURE WORKS, what it does,
the manner in which it engages life just as life actually is--and
heaven knows, life exists complexly, inscrutably, paradoxically,
and exasperatingly. (You certainly shouldn't major in Literature
if you don't have high tolerance for ambiguity.)
The attempt to establish (for children only? or for adults
too?) a literary canon the explicit or implicit values of which
are irreproachable is, I think, misguided. It's based on complete
misunderstaning--misunderstanding of what literature is, and how
it engages the issues of our existence.
Of course Perry Nodelman and others are wholly correct as
they put into play their own finely honed and scrupulous moral discriminations
as they read--say, a pretty vicious Dante, a depraved Celine, or
an innocent Bannerman. Of course any one of us is pained when the
Stanford Law professor, Charles Lawrence, describes the kinship
he felt with "the tragic and ugly hero" of Little Black Sambo as
his classmates laughed at him, and he wished he could disappear.
But in the Internet conversations, I sense that often the discussion
begins with moral-political screening. And ends there too. If so,
that's too bad for the children.
Yes, Literature is an Example. But it's not a simple one,
even for cihldren; it's not facile and platitudinous. It's merely
the most true (Keats) rendering available to us of the Life we humans
have on this planet, in its wonder and awfulness and indefinableness.
Literature aspires to Understanding. Not to preaching.
I tried to make this point here ages ago regarding the book,
"Ben's Trumpet." The point that there's something to do with Literature
other than to niggle.
AND--finally, that point--what it is about literature that
can transform your life--that is what we can and should actually
teach to children--at any age, in some manner. ("We begin with the
hypothesis that any subject can be taught effectively in some intellectually
honest form to any child at any stage of development." Jerome Bruner,
PoE, 33.) Just how we actually go about enriching the lives of children
and adults by opening this door to awe and to wonder to them--that's
the special expertise of the best teachers and librarians, isn't
it.
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Sylvester and Animal Characters
Linnea Hendrickson, 14 Sep 1996
Poor Sylvester. He may be sorry he didn't stay a rock. I suspect that
the objections to Sylvester and to other books of Steig's bear out
the "eye of the beholder" theme, that much of what we find in books
is what we expect to find there. I've heard of objections
to magic in several of Steig's books. The Amazing Bone has been
held to frighten children. Feminist me never noticed that Sylvester's
mom waited on the men in the family. And she cried! Heaven forbid!
We all know that women don't do those things any more.
There are countless other aspects of Steig's books that should
be condemned. The fox is maligned in Dr. De Soto, suggesting that
some animals (people?) are inherently evil. Look at the peril Brave
Irene faces, just to get a frivolous dress to someone in time for
a ball! Is this the kind of consumer-oriented capitalist value system
we want to promote to our children?
Obviously, I could go on and on. My favorite Steig book is Caleb
and Kate, in which the husband is transformed into a dog. While
I found it hilarious, my husband was not amused. So much depends
on the perspective we bring to the books.
As far as the policeman pigs go, it might be interesting to explore
this further. Why were policemen called pigs? And why did both Steig
and Sciezska/Smith portray them that way? Think about what animals
you would choose to be policemen: chickens? alligators? dogs? cats?
mice? sheep? donkeys, horses, elephants, wolves, foxes? mosquitoes?
What does the casting of animals as characters say about those characters,
about those animals, about us? Here's your weekend assignment: take
any children's book with animal characters and change the animals.
What happens? Have fun! See you next week. Let's see, if we make
Officer Buckle a dog, and Gloria a small girl, and the school children
cats and monkeys, and the teachers -- what shall we make the teachers???
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