I was thrilled to see this topic in the NY Times book blog. Though most comments to his post seem to disagree with him, thinking kids books should not be rated, that to do so is some horrible form of censorship.
I don’t see that at all. I see it as censoring the censors. Ha! Their ridiculous standards and values have ruled over our kids for far too long in an insane monopoly– I’m raging about the MPAA again. I know the MPAA doesn’t rate books, but they set a standard of what is “good” and what is “bad” that everyone seems to follow along with.
I’m not sure if Buchsbaum would agree or disagree with my major complaint that the typical censor/ rating types are not sensitive to or even aware of or don’t believe things are damaging that I think are damaging and vice versa. His complaints seem to be with with adult themes and content finding their way into teen books.
Buchsbaum does rightly point out, anyway, that ratings are a guide, not censorship. Who has the time to read every kids book? See every movie? Examine every toy etc. I created this blog so parents could have some kind of resource to know about some alternatives out there to all the sterotypes the general media programs to our kids 24/7.
Phaedra is an adult play that I went to see last night with another adult, and this is supposed to be a blog about kids media, but I have to write about this play for the sake of womankind. But before I do, I want say– I had a great time going out–Moms, you’ve got to do it. Grown up time! Whoo-hoo! No cartoons! And spending time with my friend, having a glass of champagne at the Huntington Hotel was lovely. The play was well acted and engaging, but it got me so mad. I did try to imagine it in its time, before feminism blah blah blah.
It was a play about Greek mythology– what did I expect? Well, Greek mythology often illustrates the world in flux, before male domination completely took over, so often a powerful woman or two slips through in her full glory of female power as a goddess or a queen or heroine or something. Right before I went, I heard this play was about an older woman falling for a younger man, so I assumed, I wouldn’t be watching yet another Hollywood movie scenario of older man paired with nubile ingenue, that I was going to get a glimpse of female sexual empowerment.
But, no. The damn Greeks did not come through for me, and I was a philosophy major and should’ve known better. The play is by Racine, who I bet even by French/ Seventeenth century standards wasn’t the most progressive guy in town. It was obviously, also his interpretation of an ancient story, which, should we say, would differ from my own take on it if I were a famous playwright myself instead of blogging about famous playwrights.
Phaedra, the star of the play is totally humiliated and degraded for allowing lust to exist in her heart. It destroys her and her family and her lover. She is married to Theseus but falls in love/lust with his son, Hippoltytus. Another thing that annoyed me about the play, by the way, is the supposedly over the hill Theseus was way hotter, more charismatic, and a better actor than his stringy haired son, moping aound in his ill-fitting baggy leather pants. Nonetheless, Queen Phaedra confesses her love to this son, gets rejected by him (read major, pathetic humiliation here, moaning all around the stage, twisting her hair, punching her breast) and then Phaedra lets her husband beleive that Hippoltytus raped her (a popular, contemporary “myth” women have to deal with every day which is an issue I have with letting my complaints go b/c of the time). Theseus then curses his innocent son, who loved an innocent young woman, and the son soon dies. End of play– the theme being, repeated by most characters, that reason is good/ strong while love/lust is weak and bad.
I know the Greeks have done a lot of great things for civilization such as creation of goverment etc, but my (not orginal) beef with them is their central philosophical tenet of dualisms, popularized and further institutionalized, of course, by Descartes. Basically, the Greek philosophers believe: (1) the mind and body are separate (2) the mind/ reason is good, true, stable, immortal (3) the body is weak, defiled, emotional, untrustworthy, mortal (4) The way we understand and experience the world can be sorted into these dualisms. Guess which category those gender polar opposites, man and woman fall into? Answer of course: man– mind, reason, good; woman– emotion, body, bad
Here is what I think: the mind is part of the body (and located throughout the body– modern science now supports that if you care). Emotions are intelligent. The world does not separate into simple oppositions as former president, George Bush, would have liked, and maybe if we had not all been so influenced by the dualistic Greeks, we wouldn’t have so unanimously agreed to fight a complex war with a multitude of factions and tribes we can’t even understand. And, finally, just one more thing about the damn Greeks, their dualisms, and my re-occuring eating disorder theme– belief in these dualisms is why we are so messed up about food. Just listen to your body! It’s smart. Not some stupid calorie/ fat gram reasoned, researched, fact supported chart, which has no idea who you are or what you need. Let your body guide you and stop being at war with it. We are all going to die. Not sure how to deal with that, but that’s the real struggle underneath all of this, right? Did Rousseau– of noble savage fame– write any plays???
Lucy and I finally braved the crowds, motivated by a week of being trapped inside by storms, to visit the planetarium at the Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. Lucy is obsessed with Saturn and has been begging me to take her for months.
We saw a show called Journey to the Stars. Settling back in my seat, listening to the narration, there was something distracting about the voice. And then I realized– it was a female voice. I am so used to watching these epic nature films accompanied by a booming, authouritarian, voice of God type (what we call in talk radio, where I used to work– a three ball voice. Gene Burns, if you know who he is, has one. Casey Kasem too, James Earl Jones, of course.)
“Journey to the Stars” is narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. It’s wonderful. My only complaint is the planetarium is not a planetarium, its not a dome, it’s a half dome, more like an Imax theatre, in fact, just like an Imax. What’s up with that?***GGG***
At first glance, Ladybug Girl doesn’t appear to be the most original of heroines. She’s pictured on the book’s cover in the same frilly-stiff red tutu that two of my daughters wore last halloween, cloned by half the girls in San Francisco; the other half dressed up as butterflies or fairies, only differenciated by tutu/ wing coloring. (Though now, I hope my third daughter shows the same obsession because the costumes cost me $60 each.)
But there is something special about this Ladybug girl. First, full disclosure, my standard bias: as I mentioned in my Princess Hyacinth review– as a brown-eyed, brown haired kid, reading obsessed and deluged with golden haired blue eyed beauties, I give extra originality points for the, still rare, kids’ heroines with alternative coloring.
But there’s something truly wonderful about this story, and something that I never thought of before. This book shows that a girl’s obsession with ladybugs (and by proxy, butterlies) though packaged in the mainstream world as a gender stereotyped attraction to patterns and colors–is, at its heart, a love for bugs, for the outdoors and the creatures of the earth.
Ladybug Girl wanders around her backyard (another great thing about this book is it shows how our overscheduled kids handle free time; one of my favorite scenes shows Ladybug Girl, before making her decision to go outdoors, in her room overflowing with toys, frowning, arms crossed, saying, “There’s nothing to do.”) When Ladybug Girl is playing outside with her dog, she gets muddy and wet, splashing in shark-infested puddles, spying on other creatures including her big brother, buiding stone forts, and rescuing bugs.
Reading Ladybug Girl reminded me of my daughters, and the many ways they have shown me their fascination with bugs and insects (and tiny frogs–ugh) and how it’s not an interest I’ve ever encouraged or reinforced with toys, games or my own excitement– except by buying them silly frilly costumes.
I’ve often discovered Lucy and Alice quietly spying on long-legged spiders they find in the bath or mesmerized by fuzzy, slow-moving bumble bees flying low in our backyard. And their favorite thing to do, every time we leave the neighborhood park, is to visit the “ant tree,” where a trail of ants march up and down the trunk. The girls each let an ant crawl onto their finger, and then they literally love that ant to death. Then they cry and ask me to bring it back to life.
I’ve never once bought the girls the ant homes marketed to little boys, or insect puzzles, or rented A Bug’s Life, or asked them if they wanted to go dig for potato bugs when we had nothing to do–even after Lucy brought one home from school in a tiny cardboard box complete with a bed and play area.
Reading this story about a bored girl freely playing outside and getting dirty made me think of how many times I’ve warned my daughters not to get messy, as if it were the most horrible thing in world. I’m thinking, of course, that I’ll have to wash their clothing or they’ll track mud through the house. But Ladybug Girl taught me to mellow out and not get so worked up. (I’m not even a neat freak– far from it, and it was still hard for me to let it go) We have a backyard, always in flux, always muddy; there’s a hill they call a mountain they love to climb and dig around in. Now I just let them, stopped worrying so much about them fallling (into what? more mud) Now they climb and explore far more bravely, both at home and in parks. They ask me to take them on hikes.
I also hope that letting then get messy when they play outside, and really acting like it’s no big deal takes back some emphasis from the frequent visual reaction they get: “What a beautiful dress you are wearing!” They love to get special attention for anything, of course, but hopefully exploring and getting dirty can be more fun than even that.
A final cool thing about the book– and I think this is the author’s winking about the generic costume featured on the cover: the illustrations on both the front and back inside covers show Ladybug Girl is in a variety of costumes including a pirate, ballerina, witch, movie star, artist, astronaut, unicorn, pilot etc; the point being, of course, girls can be anything. I’d love to get a blow this up and frame it. ***GG***
(P.S. The extra ladybugs in the photo are pistcachio half-shells Lucy painted for a math counting school project)
Lola is smart, mischevious, and my kids totally relate to her big issues of refusing to go to bed, go to school, or eat a tomato. The series theme (and book titles) often feature Lola’s passionate complaints about the her life, similar to the Junie B. Jones series, but somehow, instead of coming off as a horrible, intolerable brat as Junie B. does, Lola is appealing. The reason is because readers experience Lola through the eyes of her older brother, Charlie, who loves and admires his troubling sibling.
Each book begins: “I have this little sister, Lola. She is small and very funny.” Though this brother-sister dynamic is sterotypical of kids books– elder brother guides his younger sister, his name always comes first (see my Magic Tree House post) Charlie is an especially kind and perceptive caretaker. He’s such a great older brother that, for the longest time, I assumed he was a girl. I didn’t even wonder. Which is remarkable for me because I’m supposed to be so hyper-sensitive to this stuff.
Charlie looks just like Lola– same shaggy hair, tiny nose (looks like three tiny fingers pointed downwards) and dark, almond eyes. It was my husband who broke the news. After a brief debate and looking carefully at the pictures, I had to concede– Charlie is, in fact, a boy. His jaw is slightly broader than Lola’s, he’s always in pants (Lola’s shown in a dress), he has a best friend named Marv; they play soccer together and walk Marv’s dog. Charlie does nothing in these books explicitly girlie.
Though my husband was right, I have to assume the author, Lauren Child, intended some gender ambiguity with the name choice and giving the two kids such a similar look. Charlie is always pictured in a shirt that reads “Charlie,” I think so kids can tell them apart. If any of you had similar questions about Charlie, let me know.
The collage type illustrations are beautiful and compelling. (Lauren Child also ilustrated a book we have of Pippi Longstocking and wrote and illustarted a version of The Princess and the Pea.) The text in all Child’s books is always visually interesting, in different sizes, bold face and italics, words swirling into loop de loops.
I liked this series so much that I kept buying new books but became disappointed. I think Child must have sold the series. Later books are more like slogans (recycle!) than stories, include pages of stickers, and large seals on the cover urging readers to watch Charlie and Lola on TV. ***GG***
I have a mixed reaction to Fancy Nancy. What bothers me is obvious– she’s fancy. On the covers, Nancy is always wearing a tiara, high heels or ballet slippers with lacey socks, several beaded necklaces, and multi-colored bows in her hair. The book jackets actually sparkle, showing Nancy surrounded by butterflies or poodles, and the titles, always in pink, purple, or rainbow lettering include: Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy, Fancy Nancy, Bonjour Butterfly etc. The covers make this series look like books in drag; they are so crazy girlie in their appearance that if a boy were to venture to pick one up, I could imagine a parent snatching it away in fear, the way I’ve seen them do when their sons reach out to push toy strollers or snap barettes in their hair.
That said, Jane O’Connor, the author, seems to be depicting the princess marketing machine with some irony. In every book, Nancy tries desperately to transform her family into a fancier one. Her mom, dad, and little sister want to appease her, but never pull off the look or lifestyle Nancy is going for: the limo remains the family car, the three star retaurant is actually a diner, Nancy’s fancy shoes make her trip and fall while everyone is watching her.
And here’s the thing about Nancy– I have to agree with some of her choices to enhance her world and make it fancier: words do often sound better in French, a ham sandwich becomes a treat when it comes with a frilly toothpick; sprinkles turn a cup of ice cream into edible art, and “gold” is more poetic than “yellow” (reminding me when I first moved to California, I complained everything looked so brown, and a native corrected me: “We call it golden.”) Nancy’s quest for fanciness illustrates the special skills children have to see beauty and find excitement in the everyday things that grown ups too often experience as mundane. ***GG/S*** Read and engage
Frida is a kid’s book about Frida Kahlo. Need I say more? ***GGG***
The illustrations are luminous and beautiful. I bought this book at the SF MOMA after taking Lucy to see the Frida Kahlo show. Lucy was engaged enough to actually look at the art (she’s a super active kid) though she said it was too bloody. There was one painting she loved of a little girl Frida wearing a death mask. I think that is my favorite Frida painting now too.
In the book, the violent, graphic accident of Frida’s youth is told vaguely enough so kids can relate to it and not be terrified.
I love the book Pirate Girl, starring Molly, another brave, red-haired heroine (an also possibly Irish?) She is in a rowboat, off to see her grandmother, and gets captured by a boatload of pirates who make her clean and peel potatoes all day (sound familiar?)
At first, I was not happy that all the evil pirates were male, but it turns out Molly’s mother is the scariest pirate of all. She has her own boatload of female pirates who all help rescue her daughter. This book deals with three generations of positive, strong, brave female relationships. There are so few females in any pirate stories or pirate toys– and can you even imagine a book called “Pirate Boy”? It would just sound redundant.
I don’t like Junie B. She is such a brat! I know Ramona can be bratty, and I like her, and also that kids love to hear about other kids getting in trouble. There’s a lot of opportunity for that in this series because Junie B is always breaking rules. My kids like Junie B., but she is just so annoying. Even her name– Junie B. Don’t like it.
Also, Junie B. is unattractive– unattractive in the way that your normally adorable kid is when she makes an annoying face at you. Junie B. doesn’t look like a princess, and that’s good, but she’s so often pictured pinching her nose, grimacing, or pouting, especially on the book’s covers. And I think taking her to this level ultimately reinforces the princess look because it makes it seem as if those are your choices: sterotypical girl with flowing hair or a frowning girl sticking her tongue out.
The book covers don’t only feature Junie B at her physical worst, the titles themselves are hard to take: Junie B. and the Stupid, Smelly Bus; Junie B. Jones and Her Big Fat Mouth. Junie B. is always calling something fat or stupid and saying she hates stuff– all words my kids are not allowed to use.
I’m going to give this series a ***GG*** because it is all about a girl, and my kids like it, and like to read it themselves. I don’t!
Love it. This is my favorite new series (new meaning since I was a kid and not including my childhood favorites: Narnia, Laura Ingalls, Ramona etc)
Annie and Jack are a brother and sister who travel through time by way of a magic tree house, always on a mission from Morgan La Fay (who I remember from Camelot though nothing about her historical identity in what I’ve read so far.)
When reading these books, kids get to learn all about history in a fun, compelling way. The author is careful to research facts from the time she is writing about (ancient China, Paris in the twenties etc). She always gets the clothing exactly right too. Both characters are brave and share the central starring roles pretty equally though Jack’s name almost always seems to come before Annie’s. This second billing status may seem like a detail, but if you see how it evolves into Hollywood movies and vastly differing payscales, it’s important to note.
Magic Tree House is great for kids learning how to read; the pacing is perfect. It’s challenging for my six year old but not too frustrating for her. My three year old can follow the plotlines and stays interested, unlike something like The Hobbit which bores the younger one and enthralls the older one. ***GG*** rating
