The Berenstain Bears Change Their Minds (Courtney McKinney-Whitaker)
I took my first formal children's
literature class in my final semester of undergrad. I went on to earn an MLIS
in Youth Services, to work as a children's librarian, and finally to get an MA
in English at one of the few schools in the country that treats the study of children's
literature like a valid academic discipline. I know that while librarians and academics
would like the general public to believe that they are unshockable and never
clutch their pearls, in fact they do, all the time.
And nothing causes said pearl clutching
more reliably than the mention of a (horrors) didactic book.
Didactic
is a word that is regularly spat with scorn in the halls of academia and in
the secret spaces of libraries, though it must be said, less so by those who
regularly work with children.
Much of the history of children's
literature to about the late 19th century can be summed up in that
word: didactic. Meant to teach a
lesson. Lewis Carroll references it in Alice:
It was all very well to say "drink me", "but I'll
look first," said the wise little Alice, "and see whether the
bottle's marked "poison" or not," for Alice had read several
nice little stories about children that got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts,
and other unpleasant things, because they would not remember the simple rules
their friends had given them, such as, that, if you get into the fire, it will
burn you, and that, if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it
generally bleeds, and she had never forgotten that, if you drink a bottle marked
"poison", it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
The example of books regularly held
up as didactic in every one of these
programs was that classic series The
Berenstain Bears. Now, I loved The
Berenstain Bears as a child. I reread them in high school when I was
helping my mom put together thematic units for her kindergarten class, and I
still loved them then.
But a well known risk of grad school is
that it can turn you into an insufferable know-it-all. I began to sneer at didactic books, too.
Until I became a mother and my
daughter had her own opinions, very early, about the books she liked. And until
I learned that I could attempt without success to teach her various concepts
all day every day, wasting my time and hers, or I could just read her a book
about our current issue/phase, and she would get it immediately.
I began to feel a great deal more
empathy for those mothers of the pre-child friendly past who needed to teach
their children that fire will burn and knives will cut and poison will kill
without actually having any of those things happen right in front of them.
When my daughter was nearly three,
we moved across the country. I was looking for books about moving and
discovered The Berenstain Bears' Moving
Day, which was new to me. She and I stayed with my parents for two weeks
while we were between houses. I rediscovered my old copies of The Berenstain Bears. She loved them.
She still does. I loved them. They were fun. We both loved visiting the tree
house down a sunny dirt road deep in Bear Country. In fact she loved them so
much that now I have to keep steering her away from the newer ones, which,
whatever you think about the evangelical takeover of the series, are clunkers
to read. The quality of the illustration has also gone way downhill. The originals
had, dare I say it, lessons AND literary quality.
In library services to children, we
sometimes talk about putting "the right book in the hands of the right
child at the right time."
Sometimes, that book is didactic.
*clutches pearls
and faints*
"I could attempt without success to teach her various concepts all day every day, wasting my time and hers, or I could just read her a book about our current issue/phase, and she would get it immediately." The amazing power of books...
ReplyDeleteIt's totally true! I think she'd rather read it in a book than take my word for it, which is a position I totally support.
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