A Century of Cleary

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 100^th 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.