Good Books, Bad Books

Kiddie Lit Criticism for Yuppie Parents

A Sad Story
Let my life serve as cautionary tale for serious parents everywhere. You don't want your child to turn out like me. Why, I make barely $100,000 a year and I'm sad to say I have only one degree and that from the sort of school where after you leave the line to apply for admission (and write a check) you get in the line to register for classes. They didn't even wait to see if the check bounced.

And how did this sad state of affairs come about? How did an obviously brilliant individual like me become such an underachiever? Simple. My parents, bless their well-intended hearts, were unenlightened, were not the sort of parents we see today, were not, in short, yuppie parents. They practiced Benign Neglect. They did their thing and I did mine. They never had a clue where I was, who I was with or what I was doing. Can you believe that? Well, in their defense, play dates had yet to be invented. Kids had to manage their own schedules, which, as we know today, is beyond their cognitive ability. Needless to say we ran wild. We were completely disorganized. I blame this for my lack of success, for being nothing but a software engineer and not even an M.D. or Ph.D. much less a Nobel Laureate. I feel I could have been somebody if only my parents had tried harder.

But they had “better” things to do, off working or whatever. They had no notion of quality time. If only they had read to me, things would have worked out better. Nowadays we know that the most important thing a parent can do is cuddle up next to their children and read to them. Just as much as they want. Yes, it's a hardship, yes, it should qualify you for sainthood, but if you can't can't recite “Green Eggs and Ham” from memory you're falling down on the job. Naturally, you can't just read any old thing. God forbid! Whatever you read to them you stamp with your approval so you have to be careful. If there's one thing we know about kids it's that they're impressionable so make the right impression or you'll end up with just another schlump like me. And how, I can hear you asking, are you supposed to tell a loser book from one that will help your little one grow up to be a happy, fulfilled, incredibly successful member of society? Learn how to tell good books from bad books, that's how. Which brings me to this essay, a first attempt at establishing a methodology for critiquing children's picture books. Our format is simple. I have randomly selected a few books from my daughter's collection. We will examine each and then consign it to either the good books pile or the bad books pile.

The Cat in the Hat, by Dr. Seuss
In this book, the mother scarpers off one rainy day leaving her quite small son and daughter home alone. One thinks, of course, of notifying Protective Services, but, hey, this is just fiction, okay? At any rate, the kids are bored until a cat the size of Michael Jordan pops in wearing a great crooked red and white striped hat. No cause for alarm, however, as the cat is a regular goodtime Charlie. He just wants to have fun, which is laudable in and of itself, though it would appear a necessary adjunct to his brand of high jinks is a great thumping mess. Now kids have nothing against a good mess. They're fun to make, and require no maintenance. The only downside, as far as a kid is concerned, is his parents inexplicably object.

So the boy in the story, bored stiff, would just as soon fall in with the cat's intent, but he's held back by the disapproval of his mother, tiresomely represented by a pet fish. Please to note the symbolism. What could be more amoral and contemptuous of civilization than a cat, and what more apt nag and wet blanket than a cold fish? This is nothing short of a fight to the finish between the id and the superego, culminating when the ego, aka the boy, decides the issue by curbing the cat after that worthy has unleashed a pair of pint-sized manic mavens of mayhem called Thing One and Thing Two who blow through the house like a tornado and ultimately bump the head of, gasp, the sainted mother's bed. Well, enough is too much.

In plain English, the boy, torn at first between his wish to have a good time and his wish to please dear old Mum, decides, after glimpsing the depths to which untrammelled gratification sinks a fellow, in favor of law and order.

So, good book or bad book? On the one hand, this is a story of growth, a story of becoming socialized and asserting one's ego. On the other hand, Mom, the fish, civilization and the superego win too completely. Why, the cat even helps tidy up the mess. The boy completely caves. Tell you what. Let's rip the book in half and put half in the good pile and half in the bad pile. Eat your heart out Solomon.

Lucille, by Arnold Lobel
Lucille is a farm horse who one day gets it into her craw that she is dull and dirty. Perhaps she is going through adolescence or menopause, we don't know. By stunning coincidence the farmer's wife has come to the same conclusion, but where Lucille has only a vague feeling, the farmer's wife has a plan. She decides to humanize Lucille. I think Mr. Lobel has failed to mention that the wife is off her meds. She buys Lucille high-heeled shoes, a frilly dress, and a hat, though where one might discover such habiliments for the horsy set goes unrevealed. Next, Lucille is displayed at various farmer's wives' get-togethers and is expected to be just another one of the girls. But a horse is a horse of course and at a tea party she knocks over a few silly women, then runs back to the farmer (and where has he been?).

Now, whereas the moral of "The Cat in the Hat" was choosing growth and maturity over impulse, the moral of "Lucille" is "Don't aspire". You can't fight city hall. Lucille is unhappy with her lot, but instead of deciding for herself what should be done about it, she not only allows the patently deranged farmer's wife to lead her to the trough, she then drinks the koolaid. Of course, the ludicrous result to the ludicrous plan would be well and good if only it gave rise to a good ending, such as the farmer, seeing Lucille's discontent, might agree to spruce her up a bit and occasionally take her on a junket. Indeed, this solution is suggested by the final picture where we see Lucille, sans shoes and dress but sporting her hat, cheerfully pulling the farmer along in his wagon. The text, however, fails to make the point and so it's off to the bad pile for this one.

Scuffy the Tugboat, by Gertrude Crampton
Scuffy is a toy tugboat who is miffed at being in dry dock in the toy store. He yearns for the briny deep. So the owner takes him home for his son, who floats him in the tub. Which sends Scuffy into such a snit that, on the morrow, they launch him in a tiny brook. Anchors aweigh! Off scuds Scuffy, shunning all pleas to come about. This is more like it, he thinks. Well, the stream becomes a creek, and the creek becomes a river, and we all know what happens next don't we? Scuffy has several adventures along the way, is scared from time to time, but manages just the same. At the river's mouth, however, the vastness of the ocean panics him into a fervent wish to be rescued, which he is, in a stunning deus ex machina, by the store owner and son who just happen to be standing at the farthest end of the farthest pier. It's back to the bathtub for our hero, where we finally see him saying, "This is the life for me!"

This again is a story like "Lucille", where the protagonist is dissatisfied and wants something better. Unlike "Lucille", however, what Scuffy wants is what every child wants: to grow up a bit. Scuffy the wee tugboat wants to be Scuffy the big self-sufficient tug boat, and his human "keepers", to their credit, give him that chance by graduating him from tub to stream. Unfortunately, they then screw the pooch and let him get completely off on his own. Nevertheless, Scuffy does extremely well, considering, and deserves some credit. Wouldn't it have been a happier ending though if, instead of finding himself back in the tub, he were put back into the stream or maybe a nice pond with some frogs and a few small turtles? Looks like another one for the bad pile.

Love Helps You Grow, by Hedvig Johnson
Next we have a real gem. "Love Helps You Grow", is an especially ironic title in the "Rose-Petal Place" series. Our story opens with some dreadful poetry about the new day dawning, so you can tell right off that no effort was spared. Sunny Sunflower and Orchid visit Rose-Petal. Greetings are exchanged, then Sunny asks Rose-Petal if she likes her new dress. Turns out Rose-Petal's fondness for the dress borders on the unseemly. Maybe she's running for office. The two get so immersed in their mutual love-fest that they don't notice Orchid skulking away with her feelings hurt. We see Orchid sitting on a mushroom, "sobbing and sniffing, and brushing the tears from her eyes with her little clenched fists." How's you gag reflex? She complains that Rose-Petal always compliments Sunny but never says anything nice to her. Boohoo.

Enter the villains of the piece: Horace Fly, a stereotype the NAACP should consider suing over and Nastina, an irascible spider who lives in a trash heap and is clearly the best part of this book. Orchid pours out her grievances to Horace, who says he'll get Nastina to help her get even. Nastina, that criminal mastermind, wants nothing more than to get rid of all those twee flowers and after getting a load of Orchid, Sunny, and Rose-Petal, who can blame her? She induces Orchid to drink an evil potion and call a meeting of all the flowers but Rose-Petal and Sunny. With Nastina and Horace peeking through the weeds, Orchid airs her grievances. The more she whines, though, the more she shrinks, until finally she is the size of an ant. Get it? Jealousy belittles. Or was it the evil potion? That part's a bit unclear. Maybe jealousy only belittles with the aid of an evil potion. Whatever.

Nastina, no stranger to racketeering, offers to restore Orchid to her normal size – for a price. A very reasonable one, if you ask me: all the flowers must leave the garden. Alas, this happy ending is averted by Rose-Petal who proposes to overcome jealousy with love, since love is stronger than anything, a statement often met with, yet loose around the edges. Fortunately, however, we needn't test this hypothesis since Rose-Petal does in fact not attempt to use love to overcome jealousy, but rather that time-tested, ever popular tactic of repression. "Push jealousy away," she tells Orchid. Dontcha just love it? There's no question of why Orchid's feelings are hurt, or how they got hurt, or even if they should be hurt. Just push the feelings aside. And push Orchid does, grimacing and gasping as if she were practicing Lamaze until, surprise of surprises, she begins to grow. I guess Nastina's potion has worn off by now. In the end, Nastina clouts Horace on the noggin and says, "They're all so sweet they make me sick!" Amen sister. This one's so bad it deserves a pile of its own.

Rollo and Juliette, by Marjorie Weinman Sharmat
The title characters are cats and the best of friends. One day, though, Rollo stands Juliette up. She finds him hanging out with an old friend. She dumps ketchup on him, so he pours iced tea all over her. They don't speak for days, then both begin to wilt. Finally, Juliette calls Rollo, says "Hello", then hangs up. Rollo, evidently delusional, imagines that Juliette is contrite, and goes to her house where he stands under her balcony (get it?), and spews a lot of folderol about how he realizes how sorry she must feel, how she misses him, etcetera, etcetera. Justifiably enraged, Juliette douses him with lemonade. Rollo, oh Rollo, whyfor art thou such a schmuck? So the feud continues until one day they meet and look into each other's eyes, and suddenly all is well again. On the final page we see them frolicking at the beach, and are told that they have fought only 34 more times since then. Oh yes, this is certainly a wonderful solution to the problem isn't it? Can you say "divorce"? This story doesn't even make an attempt at a solution. Not once do the characters even remotely approach discussing the issues. Examining nothing, they learn nothing, and hence repeat the past. 34 more times to date. Rollo remains thoughtless, inconsiderate, and selfish; Juliette remains a cantankerous female lacking the self-esteem required to dump Rollo and hookup with someone who's less of an ass. Alack, noble bard, one more for the stinker pile.

Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak
Let's kick this off with a small experiment. Ask your little one two questions. First, "What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?" The second, "What are you afraid of?" My daughter's answers were textbook. The worst thing was when she broke her arm, but she's afraid of "bears, wolves, and lions". Don't be surprised if yours also answers the first question with an actual experience, but the second with wild animals they have never actually encountered. This is called displacement. Is your child really afraid of lions and tigers and bears oh my? Or large, powerful, shrewd, competent beings who happen to control their lives? Hmm. What happens when you need protection from your protectors? Children (okay, adults too) split and displace. They split the good mommy from the bad mommy and then dress her in a bear suit, leaving a sainted parent and some totally unrelated, unpredictable wild beast. Watch the process in these two stories by my daughter:

"Once upon a time, when I was outside by myself, I saw a wolf. When I saw that wolf it gobbled me up. But it opened its mouth and I crawled out. When I crawled out just then my Mom called me. 'Why do you have blood all over you?'"

"Once upon a time, I was playing outside by myself. Suddenly, there was a rain storm. And then a big lion went scratching toward me and scratched and scratched and scratched me all over the place. And my Mom called out from the window, 'Why do you have scratches all over you?'"

These two stories are fascinating for two reasons. One, my daughter wrote them; two, they illustrate my point brilliantly. In both we see the child is outside by herself, that is, she is trying out her wings. She's growing, mastering, daring. Of course, lots of times when she does this in actuality, say, when she decides to redecorate the living room with chocolate cake, she runs into a certain problem: the Bad Mommy, alias, in these two stories, the wolf and the lion. And just to stress the point that the beast is not, repeat not, Mommy, we see Mommy appearing in both stories and professing no knowledge whatever of what happened to her daughter. These are eminently healthy stories. The child, unlike us oh so nuanced adults, is unable to encompass the many-sided mother, and so splits her in two, displacing the "bad" half onto a notoriously bad animal. Okay, okay, I take back the crack about nuanced adults. Now can we get on with "Where the Wild Things Are"?

Our hero is Max, who looks to be about 5. He's in a wolf suit and up to no good, like any self-respecting wolf. His mother calls him a "WILD THING", and Max replies, "I'LL EAT YOU UP!" He is consequently sent to bed without supper, probably for shouting in all caps. At any rate, Max is in stir, and what's a fellow to do? How does a powerless small person with big, powerful impulses handle a clash with parental authority? Why, splitting and displacing, of course. Weren't you listening? But Max is no piker. He doesn't just displace, he disPLACES. He turns his room into a forest, and then sails across an ocean on a long voyage to where the wild things are.

Now, about these wild things… On the cover and throughout the book we see a goodly number of them but if you pay attention and count their appearances you will find two that are clearly more significant than the others. They make more appearances, they are in the most important pictures, and they are always front and center. Why, it's almost as if the others were merely camouflage. One of these is male, one female. They are two to three times the size of Max. Unlike the other wild things, they are humanoid. Hmm. Parents tend to be one of each gender. Parents tend to be two to three times the size of their 5 year old. Parents tend to be humanoid. What a coincidence.

When these ogres gnash their teeth, roll their eyes, and show their claws, Max is unimpressed. "BE STILL!" he shouts, and tames them with a magic trick: he stares into their eyes without blinking. Naturally, they make him king, and a good time is had by all until Max sends them to bed without any supper just to show them who's who. Having his fill of ruling the roost Max decides to hit the trail. The wild things beg him to stay, saying, "we'll eat you up - we love you so!", but Max is adamant. He sheds his wolf suit and sails back to his room where he finds his supper waiting for him, still hot. Let's hear it for civilization.

Before moving on to our verdict, however, we need to address the failed coping strategy in this book: incorporation. Max starts out wearing a wolf suit. The wolf is fierce, independent, potent, things Max is not but would like to be. Perhaps wearing a wolf costume will confer these attributes? No, the mother is still more powerful than Max despite his disguise. Next Max tries to incorporate the mother, saying he'll eat her. But that doesn't work either, gets him into solitary. Nor does it work for the wild things when the shoe is on the other foot and Max is the power in the land. It is only by splitting and displacing that Max succeeds, when he sheds his wolf skin and returns home, a triumph of the ego.

Our verdict then? Not only does the hero win, not only does this story have the rich symbolism of "The Cat in the Hat", it's a veritable "How-to" book for splitting and displacing. And if you read it to your child they will understand what's what and that you endorse the whole idea. By the way, stories like "Cat in the Hat" and "Where the Wild Things Are" work subliminally. Don't ever explain them!

Frog and Toad, by Arnold Lobel, vs. George and Martha, by James Marshall
Finally, we are fortunate to have two series that we can compare. Frog and Toad are friends, George and Martha are friends, and the stories relate various episodes in their respective friendships. Before we even get to the stories, however, we notice one significant difference. George and Martha have proper names, while Frog and Toad bear the names of their species. Until we read the stories we can't make any guesses about what George and Martha may be like, unless they are as upstanding and boring as the Washingtons, but not so with Frog and Toad. What do you think of when you meet a character named "Fox"? Or "Hare", or "Tortoise", or "Wolf"? Now try "Toad"? Don't you think of a squat, brown, bumpy blob that wallows in mud and gives people warts? "Frog" though, is sleek, green, and definitely a cut above. With aught to go on but their names we see that one is quite the respectable little fellow, while the other, well, the less said the better. Of course the clever author may have set us up to teach us not to make such stereotypical judgments, mightn't he? Oh yes, wouldn't that be clever? Wouldn't that be grand? Wouldn't that teach us not to judge a book by its cover? Well, on to the stories then, to see. What's your money on?

Here, we find one obvious difference right off the bat. George and Martha are into everything from ballooning to tightrope walking to learning French. Hardly a story goes by that we don't see them up to their ears in one endeavor or another. Frog, too, fares well enough in this regard. He likes gardening and sledding, for example, though as we shall see these are not his preferred pastime. Toad's prime activity, however, is sleeping. He's in bed or headed for bed in nearly half the stories. He also makes a list, has a few tantrums, and feels sad a lot. Even when Frog gets him to go swimming he sabotages the outing by wearing an absurd bathing suit. Toad is not a fun guy. It's not looking good for that lesson about book covers.

An apparent similarity between the two series is the fact that several plots in each center on practical jokes. There is, though, a clear distinction. George and Martha give it to each other pretty equally. Usually it's George who starts things, but Martha can more than hold her own. With Frog and Toad, however, Toad never tries to fool Frog, con him, or play him any sort of trick at all. It's all one-way traffic. Sometimes it's for Toad's own good, as in "Spring", when Frog uses the calendar to trick Toad out of bed. Sometimes it's just for Frog's own amusement, as in "The Hat", when he gives Toad a hat that's too big, then tells him to think big thoughts and maybe his head will grow. Sometimes it's subtle, as in "The Letter", when he writes Toad a letter to make him feel better, then gives it to a snail to deliver. You'll never guess what happens. Yes, turns out snails are glacially slow and it takes forever to deliver the letter. Frog is oh so surprised. Go ahead, knock him over with a feather.

Some stories parallel each other eerily, almost as if the respective authors wrote them just to give me something to compare. Take “The Misunderstanding” and “Alone” for instance. In "The Misunderstanding", George wants to be alone to practice his handstands. Martha gets miffed. She's hurt. She goes home and calls George, tells him she never wants to see him again. Then two wonderful things happen. First, George doesn't cave in. Second, Martha gets engrossed in playing the saxophone, and forgets all about George. These two have lives of their own.

In "Alone", however, when Toad finds Frog not at home, and reads a note saying he wants to be alone, Toad can't stand it. He searches Frog out, finds him on an island, runs home to pack a lunch, enlists a turtle to ferry him to Frog's side. When the turtle suggests that maybe Toad should comply with Frog's wish to be alone, Toad immediately concludes that Frog doesn't want to be his friend anymore. He calls to Frog that he is sorry for all the dumb things he does and says, please be his friend again, whereupon he falls into the river and must be fished out by Frog. We see in this story that Toad doesn't get Frog at all, doesn't realize that Frog wants Toad around precisely because he is so hopeless. Frog needs a foil. When he compares himself to Toad he sees what a fine fellow he is. This is all beyond Toad, who unlike George and Martha, has no resources of his own. Left to himself he would surely go to bed.

Another pair of stories even have the same title: "The Garden". In Marshall's, Martha attempts gardening, but hasn't the knack. To make her feel better, George buys some flowers, and tries to plant them unnoticed in her yard. Martha spots him, however, and is quite pleased, saying she'd rather have a friend like George than all the gardens in the world.

With our little amphibians, though, things are quite otherwise. Frog is an accomplished gardener, and Toad, showing some interest for once, aspires to same. So Frog gives him some seeds, tells him to plant them, and "quite soon" he'll have some flowers. But Toad, it seems, has never noticed that plants grow too slowly to be seen by the naked eye, and suddenly starts yelling at them to grow. Frog hears him and comes to see what's up. And what does he tell Toad when he finds out? "These poor seeds are afraid to grow". Like fine wine this line must be savored. Frog has summed up his chum in those three little words, "afraid to grow", then projected Toad's inner fear onto the seeds. Freud himself couldn't have devised an explanation better calculated to ring Toad's bell. Now Toad understands his seeds, now he resonates with sympathy for them. He reads to them, sings to them, plays them music. And where is Frog all this time? Toad's shenanigans span three whole days, and the two friends usually maintain daily contact. What's more, Frog heard Toad yelling at his seeds before, can't he hear him singing and playing music now? Is he away on business? Is he ill? Is he tending his sick old mother? Or is he lurking in the bushes, laughing himself silly? The author doesn't tell us, but you know what I think.

The piéce de resistance of the “Frog and Toad” series, though, is "The Dream". Toad dreams he's on stage and Frog is in the audience, or rather, Frog is the audience. Toad is introduced as "the greatest toad in all the world", and he displays his virtuosity as a pianist, high-wire performer, and dancer. One wonders if maybe Toad hadn't been reading George and Martha stories that day. After each routine Frog applauds, but grows smaller until he disappears. Like the symbolism of the seeds that are afraid to grow, this is almost too wonderful. Toad apparently realizes on some level that he can grow only at Frog's expense. Indeed, were he ever to get some therapy or meds, and get his act together and grow up to be the self-sufficient, happy and positive person we'd all like our kids to be, Frog undoubtedly would disappear. And wouldn't that be too bad? Fortunately, that doesn't happen. Toad comes to his senses and realizes the gravity of the situation. The dream becomes a nightmare and Toad awakes to find Frog standing by his bed. Thank God.

If it isn't obvious what to do with these books simply ask yourself, “would I like my child to be like Toad?” How about Frog? Or would you rather they turn out like George and Martha? Duh.

Brilliant Conclusion
You can only hope you aren’t too late, that you’ve read this essay in time, while your child is still young enough to salvage. Half measures will not suffice. My daughter's parents didn't realize any of this. We thought all books were good books and we read to her indiscriminately. Recall that all the books reviewed here are from her collection. Yes, in our naiveté, we read “Frog and Toad” and even that heinous “Love Makes You Grow”. In our ignorance we stamped all those books with our approval. Is it any wonder she isn't perfect?