I know that it has been a long time
since I've written a blog entry, and I am sorry for that. I've missed
these informal chats about children's literature.
I couldn't let today go by without some
acknowledgement of its significance. 100 years ago today, Beverly
Cleary was born. It's really hard to imagine the world of children's
literature without her. If she had only written the adventures of
Ralph S. Mouse, she would have made a significant contribution to the
world of children's literature.
In
actuality, though, Ms. Cleary's genius was not her adroit treatment
of anthropomorphic mice. It was her ability to understand what it
felt like to be a child that defined her impact on children's
culture. The spirited heroine, defying expectations and staking her
own claim to adventure, has been a staple of children's literature for
more than a century and a half. Whether Alice Liddell, Dorothy Gale,
Wendy Darling, or Lucy Pevensie, there has been no shortage of
adventurous young women in children's literature. Ramona Quimby was
something entirely different. It is easy enough to project a
childlike sense of wonder onto other heroines in children's
literature. However, there was no need to project childlike
sensibilities onto Ramona. For adult readers, she reminds us of what
it feels like to be a child; for readers who are children, she simply
is a real child.
This
is one of the truly strange aspects of children's literature,
generally. For most other oppressed groups, the literature of that
group is produced by members of the group itself. Children's books
are written by adults. Adult sensibilities are enthroned in the
books. Even when children's literature avoids the moralistic and
openly pedagogical, children's books authors often have a difficult
time divesting themselves of their adult perspectives.
Beverly
Cleary has this uncanny ability to view the world as a child. Being
a child is not easy. Adults don't understand your problems. They
dismiss your feelings as being “childish.” They fail to see your
perspective as legitimate, and they see your protestations as,
somehow, cute.
Re-reading
Cleary's book as an adult serves as a sort of wake up call. When
Ramona laments that Mrs. Kemp doesn't like her, because adults are
supposed to like all children, she is letting adults know that
children are more observant and sensitive than we credit them as
being. This isn't Ramona's failing; it's ours. When her father
jokes that he doesn't know any “Nosmo King,” it should be obvious
that we don't place enough respect on the perspectives, feelings, and
thoughts of the children in our lives. They care about the adults in
their lives, even if we don't care enough to see that. When Howie's
uncle teases her and finds humor in her remonstrations, we remember
the frustrations of being a child who has to deal with adults who
just can't seem to get it. At times, we were all like Ramona learning
the national anthem, wondering what a “dawnzer” is and why is
sheds a “lee light.” The world is a mysterious, confusing place,
and it is made all the more frustrating when those around us act as
though they understand it, as we struggle.
I
have, in the past couple years, had the privilege of watching a child
pick up Cleary's books. There is something magical about the
experience. You are simultaneously reminded of what it felt like to
be Ramona, and comforted by the idea that Ramona is still there to
show children that someone understands them. There is someone who
remembers what it feels like to be a child and is working to let
children know that their perspectives matter. Ramona can be angry.
She can throw a tantrum. She can let the adults in her life know she
isn't being treated fairly. She can think like a child, and, more
importantly, she can remind adults that, in certain ways, that is a
superior way of engaging with the world. It doesn't dismiss the view
of the child as being ignorant or (perhaps more perniciously) as
innocent. Ramona isn't innocent. She is a person making her way
through the world. She gets angry. She speaks up for herself and
others. She cares deeply about her family and friends, and she
refuses to be quiet about their welfare. She is a perfect role model
for children; she shows them the ways in which they are entitled to
engage the adult world. She is the perfect role model for adults;
she shows them the legitimacy of the child's feelings and encourages
them to remember what it felt like to be a child.
I feel
incredibly fortunate. I got to grow up in a literary landscape in
which Beverly Cleary featured prominently. Moreover, I got to raise
my own children in a world with that tiny literary glimmer that
legitimized their perspective and encouraged them to voice their
frustrations. On her 100th
birthday, I only wish we could have another century with Ms. Cleary.
If I can't have that, I'll just be thankful that there is at least
one adult out there in the world who remembers what it's like to be a
child and is willing to speak for and to them.
I will always feel
the inner need to Drop Everything And Read.
Also,
Ramona was right. The first bite of an apple is always the best
bite.
