Today (20 Oct. 2018) would be Crockett Johnson’s 112th birthday. In commemoration of that event, here is the second of two posts for you! The first was an interview with the author and the publisher of the new satirical book Donald and the Golden Crayon. The second — below — is a Harold collection featuring an afterword by me!
Just last month, HarperCollins published three Harold stories at roughly twice their original size in Harold’s Imagination: 3 Adventures with the Purple Crayon. Which 3? Well, Harold and the Purple Crayon (1955), of course. That is followed by Harold’s Fairy Tale (1956), which in turn is followed by the final of the seven Harold books, Harold’s ABC (1963).
And after that,… a brief, illustrated afterword from yours truly. It includes Crockett Johnson’s first published cartoon, photos of Crockett Johnson, a photo of his nephew Harold Frank (for whom Harold is named), and more! It’s also my first time writing non-fiction for a younger audience. I hope you enjoy it!
Crockett Johnson birthday posts from previous years
Crockett Johnson Tells the Story of Money (20 Oct. 2017). A look at the very first children’s book that Johnson illustrated — Constance Foster’s This Rich World: The Story of Money (1943).
How to Read Harold (20 Oct. 2016). A short excerpt from a book I’m working on — How to Read Harold: A Purple Crayon, Crockett Johnson and the Making of a Children’s Classic.
Harold is 60. So is his purple crayon (20 Oct. 2015). On the occasion of Johnson’s 109th birthday, tributes to Harold from Lane Smith, Bob Staake, and others.
Harold Around the World (20 Oct. 2014). Harold and the Purple Crayon has been published in many languages. Here are some of the covers.
Today (20 Oct. 2018) would be Crockett Johnson’s 112th birthday. In commemoration of that event, I have two — yes, two — posts for you! The first is an interview with the author and the publisher of the new satirical bookDonald and the Golden Crayon. Enjoy!
“In the middle of the night, Donald woke from his terrific sleep and cried out ‘Covfefe!’”
So begins Donald and the Golden Crayon, the first book-length parody of Crockett Johnson’s classic Harold and the Purple Crayon (1955). It’s a reminder that, prior to his Harold books, Johnson was best known as the cartoonist behind the satirical comic strip Barnaby (1942-1952), whose five-year-old title character resembles a slightly older version of Harold. Barnaby’s garrulous trickster of a fairy godfather, Mr. O’Malley, was the vehicle for most of the strip’s satire — a much more likable con-artist than the Donald who stars in this book.
Donald and the Golden Crayon spins a tale that combines the tone and sentence structure of the Harold books with the malevolence and pettiness of Donald Trump. Near the book’s end, Donald is “tired” and so “made a cozy little place to sleep” (that strongly resembles St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square). Inside, “His room was beautiful, just beautiful. It had beautiful golden curtains, a tremendous golden statue, and a wonderful golden bed. It even had a steamy golden shower.” Trumpian adjectives bounce around in simple, Johnsonian sentences.
To me, the book reads as mockery of “President” Trump. This two-page spread (above) includes a statue of a Roman soldier brutalizing another man, and a reference to the alleged pee-pee tape — which also features in the book’s title, and the pseudonym P. Shauers. Earlier pages reference Donald’s racism,…
show Donald ignoring flood victims will displaying his ignorance about climate change,…
have Donald pollute the water,…
and so on.
Last week at the Frankfurt Book Fair, I talked with the book’s publisher, Pete Schiffer. He assured me that the book was not taking a side on Mr. Trump. Explaining why he was drawn to the book, he said, “we liked that the book framed a lot of the commentary without being positional.” So, I asked…
Me: What do you mean “without being positional”?
Pete: I mean that there isn’t a position taken. It’s just the facts given. One can read into it in any direction they would like by piecing the facts together in different ways.
Me: So, you say “not positional.” I would imagine that fans of the title character may find this less enjoyable than opponents of the title character. But that’s not your take on it?
Pete: They could. Depends on what perspective they’re coming from.
Me: Really?
Pete: They could come behind it and say “Yes this is the way that things are and the way they should be” and get behind it.
Me: Really?
Pete: People have all different opinions, and I’m not one to put any words in their mouth.
Me: So, your take on this is that it’s somewhat apolitical, as a book. It doesn’t really take a side. It’s representing a moment, and that’s all. Or am I putting words in your mouth?
Pete: No, you’re not. The intention is not to take a side — to put the facts out as they are and let people decide for themselves.
Me: I know it’s only just out, but has the response confirmed that? Has the response confirmed your goal?
Pete: With people that we’ve shared it that are leaning in one direction or another, that is the response we’ve had so far is that.
Me: Interesting. The response you’ve had so far is that —?.
Pete: Depending on one’s position, they read into it based on their position.
Donald and the Golden Crayon is apolitical? It’s true that irony does depend upon a community of readers who share the ironist’s understanding of the subject. So, I could see how fans of 45 might enjoy simple sentence structures and spare illustrations that depict their hero’s cruelty, racism, and ignorance. While I could imagine readers not getting the satire, I am skeptical of the claim that the book does not take a side. Happily, the publisher very kindly put me in touch with Mr. P. Shauers himself, and we had the following conversation via email.
Nel: In talking with Pete (your publisher) at the Frankfurt Book Fair, I was struck by his comment that he sees Donald and the Golden Crayon as essentially apolitical. He said that both critics and fans of Mr. Trump have enjoyed the book. Your chosen pseudonym and the book’s mimicry of Mr. Trump’s sentences led me to interpret this as a more politically engaged work — specifically, as more anti-Trump than pro-Trump. So, let me ask you. Would you describe Donald and the Golden Crayon as more of a fond homage to Mr. Trump or more of a sustained mockery of Mr. Trump? Or how would you describe the book’s political leanings?
Shauers: Oh, it’s a mockery. I think what my publisher was talking about is that everything in the book is factual, based on real quotes or events. So, in that sense it is neutral, but the way Donald is portrayed is definitely meant to have him come off as cold and cruel as possible. I’m very anti-Trump. I’ve never been too political, because I often don’t really get what’s going on. I don’t understand global economics, how deficits work, or what tariffs are good or bad. But with Trump, it’s his daily cruelty and nastiness that gets me. It’s the lying and bullying and company he keeps that motivated me to draw this book.
I made an odd connection while working on this…when I was in middle school, I was bullied pretty non-stop for a few years. And no matter how bad it got, the school never did much about it. It made me feel as if the grown-ups weren’t doing their job, and if they wouldn’t make the bullying stop, who would? I’ve been experiencing the same powerless feelings how since the election. So I fight back with paper and pen.
Nel: Who do you see as the audience for Donald and the Golden Crayon? (Adults only? Some children? Conservatives? Liberals? Crockett Johnson fans?)
Shauers: I see the audience as adults who are not fans of Trump, and possibly need a good laugh. I don’t kids will really get what’s going on with it. While making the book I have met some conservative people who are sickened by Trump, and they have found the book to be humorous. Which goes back to what the publisher was saying that both sides could enjoy it. I don’t think any fanatical MAGA’s will enjoy it, in fact we’re hoping for some negative press from the deplorables. I do hope the picture book community finds the book funny.
Nel: If you don’t mind my asking, how do you identify, politically? (If you do mind my asking, then just skip this question.)
Shauers: I’m a liberal, and find myself getting more and more so as I get older, and I see what’s going on these days. I was raised in a really conservative, white town and the racism and narrow-mindedness I saw growing up left a mark on me. I moved to NYC when I was 18 as I couldn’t get out fast enough.
Nel: Though his politics are largely invisible in the Harold books, Johnson’s earlier work had more of a satirical edge — Barnaby, most famously. Do you know the Barnaby comics? Did they at all influence your decision to draw upon the Harold books in your parody?
Shauers: You know, I’ve read some Barnaby, but not in a long time, and only a bit of it. I don’t really “know” it. It’s been on my radar to reinvestigate it again.
Nel: What influenced your decision to choose the Harold stories as the vehicle for your satire? I ask because this is the first book-length parody of any of Johnson’s works.
Shauers: The idea to use Harold as a base for the parody came up last year. It seems that there were some attempts to make some new Harold books, and my agent had thrown my hat in the ring as a writer/illustrator. I didn’t get the project, and I don’t know what happened to it. While I was thinking about it, the similarity between Harold and Donald popped into my mind, and I knew Trump signed everything with a golden sharpie, so that was the stepping off point.
I looked at Harold closely, and was thinking about how he makes the world as he sees it, and makes it up as he goes. Which is what Trump does, and it just seemed to click. If you have to think too hard about connections within a parody, it’s not working.
Nel: In your book, what motivated the choice of Donald’s Pulp Fiction/mobster suit? Black (instead of Harold’s white jumper) so that you could stick to a limited color palette (as Johnson did)? Visual allusion to Trump’s mob affiliations? Something else?
Shauers: Hah! The mob connection never crossed my mind. I tried a blue suit/red tie, which is much more his style, but it wasn’t minimal enough. I really wanted it to feel like a Harold book, and they only use different values of purple, and shades of black. I did keep his little footy pajamas, and they were very fun to draw.
Nel: If Harold met Donald, what would Harold do (or draw or say)?
Shauers: Yikes. Let’s keep all the children away from Donald.
Nel: Your publisher said that the “P. Shauers” pseudonym was simply to avoid any confusion between this book and your many (over 40!) children’s books. Are there other reasons for the pseudonym? Is it say, easier, to write about Mr. Trump under the guise of a pseudonym? Have you any plans to reveal your true identity?
Shauers: I used a pseudonym because I have been writing and illustrating for children since 1995. I didn’t want any librarians to think this was for kids, and I didn’t want any right-wing nutjobs to go after my books in any way. It just seemed easier and cleaner. Recently, I had a school librarian scold me for talking politics while on my “real name” Twitter account. She said she was very offended and wouldn’t buy any of my books. So, I’m glad I chose to use P. Shauers for this. Plus, it’s an easy gag. (David Milgrim used Ann Droid on his Goodnight iPad for the same reasons.)
If you enjoy political commentary in the guise of a children’s book, you’ll enjoy Donald and the Golden Crayon. It’s a clever parody, and its thin-skinned satirical target not only lacks a sense of humor, but hates to be mocked by others. So, let us continue to mock him.
Finally, if you’re an American citizen reading this, please vote! The restoration of our democracy depends upon you.
Crockett Johnson birthday posts from previous years
Crockett Johnson Tells the Story of Money (20 Oct. 2017). A look at the very first children’s book that Johnson illustrated — Constance Foster’s This Rich World: The Story of Money (1943).
How to Read Harold (20 Oct. 2016). A short excerpt from a book I’m working on — How to Read Harold: A Purple Crayon, Crockett Johnson and the Making of a Children’s Classic.
Harold is 60. So is his purple crayon (20 Oct. 2015). On the occasion of Johnson’s 109th birthday, tributes to Harold from Lane Smith, Bob Staake, and others.
Harold Around the World (20 Oct. 2014). Harold and the Purple Crayon has been published in many languages. Here are some of the covers.
I wrote this for Kansas State University’s Department of English blog — we were asked to write about what we did over the summer. But I wrote a little more than the blog needs. So, we’re running an excerpt on the English blog, and I’m printing the full version here.
“Being a professor means you get the summers off!”
— frequently expressed misunderstanding
“HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa…. And no.”
— response from professors to this misunderstanding
Writing of the work I did this summer risks losing an (admittedly small) audience after this first sentence. But making academic labor visible helps correct the common (and false) impression that professors do not work in the summers. As is true of many jobs today, there is no clear boundary between work and not-work. Technology allows us to bring work with us everywhere, and creates the expectation that we do just that. Also, academic labor doesn’t really break down into discreet parts. Professors think, write and edit (articles, books, grant proposals, letters of recommendation, committee reports), evaluate manuscripts (of articles and books), prepare for class and grade student papers where and when we find the time.
At the risk of causing your eyes to glaze over, here’s a paragraph on some of the work I did this summer. (Feel free to skip ahead to the next paragraph.) I built my fall on-line Literature for Adolescents class: each week, I created two weeks of curriculum (4-6 video lectures/sets of discussion questions, 2 quizzes) and did related preparation (including reading the books, refining the recurring journal assignment, creating grading rubrics, etc.). I wrote the introduction to a special issue of the Children’s Literature Association Quarterly on Refugees, Migration and Diaspora in Children’s Literature, and edited the 6 essays that will appear in that issue. I wrote a new Afterword to the forthcoming paperback edition of my most recent book — and presented a version of that afterword at a conference in San Antonio. With my two co-editors, I worked on editing the second edition of Keywords for Children’s Literature, which has about 60 contributors. We co-editors occasionally met via Skype (my two co-editors are based in Canada and in Denmark, respectively), and we began writing that book’s introduction. I studied German with a tutor, in preparation for fall research in Germany (where I am now). I reviewed a book manuscript for a press, at least one article for a journal, and three dozen applications for an award. I drafted an invited talk I am giving in Stockholm in November. I appeared on a podcast and spoke with a few journalists. Since the waning attention of my remaining reader is doubtless about to evaporate, I’ll end the work chronicle here.
I am very lucky to have a job I enjoy, and to do work that I find meaningful. But interesting work is still work: indeed, the fact that we derive meaning from our work risks refashioning labor as leisure. “Hey, we may work 60 hours week, but at least we like what we do! Many people work many more hours, dislike the work, and are paid even worse!” But that is a dangerous line of thinking. It insists upon gratitude for lesser degrees of exploitation, when we should instead demand that all work receive respect, appropriate compensation and adequate vacation.
Though it violates the American belief that everyone work all the time (and must feel guilty if they do not), I have been making an effort to do less — and to actually take some time to spend with friends and family. In May, I attended my 30th high school reunion and visited family and friends in New England. In July, Karin and I went to New York City, where we saw three excellent and very different plays: Spongebob Squarepants: The Musical (a delightfully absurd, whimsical spectacle about the [possible] end of the world), Cypress Avenue (a disturbing mixture of comedy and Greek tragedy that satirically takes racism/prejudice to its most extreme), Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Parts 1 and 2 (fun, effective melodrama, magnificently staged and costumed). In August, I accompanied my mother to a family reunion in Switzerland, where we saw relatives from the UK, South Africa, and (obviously) Switzerland. My family is very spread out geographically, and so we don’t get to see each other often: I in particular very much enjoyed catching up with one cousin whom I had not seen in over three decades.
I of course worked during these vacations — but not as much. For instance, during the family reunion, in the hour before others were up and in the hour after they’d gone to bed, I worked on the introduction to the second edition of Keywords for Children’s Literature. So, yeah, despite my efforts, I find myself unable to let a day pass without doing any work. (This is a problem, I know.)
So, in sum, I had a great summer — busy, productive, interesting. I even managed a healthier balance of labor and leisure, though should still strive for more of the latter. I hope you all enjoyed your summers and are having an invigorating fall semester, and that you’re able to manage the right combination of hard work and necessary rest.
Images:
Cover to Was the Cat in the Hat Black?: The Hidden Racism of Children’s Literature, and the Need for Diverse Books (Oxford UP, 2017), designed by Lucas Heinrich.
“Rose” from the collection “Grown Up Flowers” by PLAYLAB, INC. (2018), hosted by The Avenue of the Americas Association & Rockefeller Group, 1221 Sixth Ave, NYC. July 2018.
Photo taken by Linda Nel. Lac de Moiry, Grimentz, Switzerland. August 2018.
Recent conversations with family and friends have challenged my assumption that most people remember early childhood. I now wonder if it is mostly creators and scholars of children’s literature — the people who, admittedly, I talk to most often — who recall their formative years most clearly.
My earliest memory dates to my crib days. I remember the mobile that hung above my crib. I liked the shapes. Watching them rotate fascinated me. I lay on my back, looking up at them.
My earliest narrative memory dates to 2 years old. I woke up from an afternoon nap in what was either my crib or a bed with bars on its sides: one of the long sides faced the room, and the other faced the wall. My teddy bear had what we called “googly eyes” — each pupil is a black disc inside a larger clear circular disc. When you moved the bear, the pupils would jostle around. However, the eyes had come loose. My picking at them made them looser. As I picked at them further, they came off.
Teddy was now eyeless. I was sad. My carelessness had blinded him.
So, with Teddy, I climbed over the bars of the crib, and dropped to the floor. Quite likely, I threw Teddy to the floor first, and then climbed over the bars second. I remember thinking that if mommy saw that I was sad, she would be more sympathetic and would respond with urgency — swiftly finding a way to restore Teddy’s sight. (Perhaps the eyes could be stuck back on?)
From the vantage point of adulthood, I now know that she would have been sympathetic even if I were not crying. But the two-year-old me drew upon my sadness to manufacture tears.
When her crying son arrived with his eyeless Teddy, mommy proposed a fix. She would sew new eyes for Teddy. You can see the result in the photo at right. That’s me, at about the age of three, with my good friends and confidants Teddy (whose new threadymade-eyes seem already to have come a bit unraveled) and Panda.
At the time, I thought of this incident as “when I got my memory.” In my copy of My Book About Me (in which the young reader answers questions), under “What is the first thing you remember?” I wrote “When I got my memory.” That opaque sentence fragment refers to the Teddy Incident, although only I knew that.
I then thought of my life as before acquiring memory and after acquiring memory — as if the beginning of memory happens all at once. After the Teddy Incident, I had memories. Prior to the Teddy Incident, I had no memories.
This early understanding of memory derived from the fact that after that day, I remembered what had happened on the day previous. Two days later, I looked back on the previous two days and found that I could remember both Teddy’s temporary blinding and events of the following day. Three days later, I looked back on the previous three days and learned that I retained bits of all three days — though I cannot now recall anything that happened on the latter two days. At the time, I could and it was a revelation: I had gained the capacity to look back and reflect on my past! And it all began with the Teddy Incident — when I got my memory.
Yet I did have even earlier memories, but — in my childhood mind — they were mere impressions and not actual memories. A real memory had some narrative, or perhaps a sharper emotional content. For me, those “real” memories began with sorrow over my accidentally, briefly blinded teddy bear, and my mother’s compassionate response.
I have many other memories from my earliest days. Do you? Or is it unusual for memories to extend back that far?
As I say, perhaps such extended memories more commonly afflict people who write and study books for young people. Maurice Sendak* once noted that his “needle [was] stuck in childhood.”
So is mine.
* Pictured above, late in his life. I neglected to note the source of the photo, but I used it in my tribute to him, the day after he died. On this blog, there are quite a few posts tagged Maurice Sendak. Why not peruse a few?
In honor of Ruth Krauss’s 117th birthday (today, which she would have celebrated as her 107th birthday), here’s a photo you likely have not seen before. It appeared in the May 12, 1951 issue of the Herald Tribune Book News, which described Krauss’s latest book (I Can Fly, illustrated by Mary Blair) as follows: “Very small girl pretends to be every sort of creature. Amusing rhymed text, beautiful full color. For 3 to 5 years.” I don’t know when the photo was taken, though I think it is roughly contemporaneous. She has this hairstyle in the 1940s and 1950s. I do know that I have never seen this photo reproduced anywhere else.
In 1951, Krauss was the author of one massive hit — The Carrot Seed (1945), illustrated by Crockett Johnson (also her husband) — and The Happy Day (1949), which won a Caldecott Honor for Marc Simont’s artwork. Of her other seven books from that period (1944-1951), only The Backward Day (1950, also illustrated by Simont) and Bears (1948, illus. by Phyllis Rowand) are remembered today. And Bears is known primarily for Maurice Sendak’s re-illustrated version, published in 2005.
Also in 1951, the 50-year-old Krauss met the 23-year-old Sendak (pictured above), who was then an F.A.O. Schwarz window display artist who had illustrated two books for Harper. The meeting would transform both of their careers. He would illustrate eight of her books, often spending weekends at her Connecticut home, where she and Johnson — as Sendak says — “became my weekend parents and took on the job of shaping me into an artist.”
Their first collaboration was the cultural phenomenon A Hole Is to Dig (1952, from which you can see a two-page spread, above this sentence). Their second was A Very Special House (1953), which won Sendak a Caldecott Honor — his first of many. They would collaborate on eight books between 1952 and 1960. More importantly, their collaborations officially launched Sendak’s career as the great 20th-century artist for children.
Krauss could not have known any of that when this photo was published. Nor could she guess that, though she and Sendak would later have a bit of a falling out, he would come to visit her during her final year of life. Because he needed to tell her how much she meant to him. And to kiss her goodbye.
This photo of Ruth, sitting cross-legged on the grass, captures her youthfulness — a youthfulness that allowed her to lie convincingly about her age well into her old age. It also evokes her affinity for children: she liked to sit with them, and listen as they told stories. Because she treated them as her equals, children accepted her into their community. They would talk or play, and she would listen. And take notes.
There are many posts on this blog tagged Ruth Krauss or Maurice Sendak. In honor of her birthday, why not read a few? And, of course, you can learn more about them both in my biography of Krauss and Crockett Johnson — check it out of your local library today!
Source for press clippings (at top of post): Betty Hahn, wife of Ruth’s cousin Richard Hahn and a very important source for her (Ruth’s) early years, sent me these. Thanks, Betty! Source for photo of Sendak in his 20s: The year before he passed away, Maurice sent me a scan of this photo for use in my bio. (I’d asked for a photo of him at the time he met Ruth.)
1. The Trump regime feels threatened by crying children because they — and all refugees — refute the Trumpist/fascist lie that humanity depends upon citizenship.
2. As Hannah Arendt wrote of refugees, they “have lost all distinctive political qualities,” “lost all other qualities and relationships—except that they [are] still human.”
3. Refugees and asylum-seekers embody our shared humanity. They prove that humanity does not depend upon nationality. They prove that Trump is a liar and a bigot.
4. We already have ample proof that he is both liar and bigot, but my point is that Trumpists fear refugees because (to paraphrase Agamben) they expose the fiction of nationhood.
5. Refugees and asylum-seekers expose the immorality of basing human rights on nationhood, and challenge not only nationalism but the nation-state itself.
7. We should not be fooled by yesterday’s photo-op. Trump will continue his cruelty. He will keep separating families. He has NOT changed his policy. Don’t take my word for it. Read the text of his executive order. https://t.co/PNdpWlwVfT
8. It affirms the policy of “detaining alien families together where appropriate and consistent with law and available resources” — notice that “together” is qualified by “where appropriate” and “available resources,” thus allowing more separation.
9. Note also that “Alien family” means a “person’s alien child or alien children” and “alien child” means people under the age of 18 who are “not a citizen or national of the United States.”
11. And there are NO provisions for reuniting children with their families. The U.S. government is not even tracking them. (How is an infant supposed to find its mother or father?) #FamiliesBelongTogetherhttps://t.co/ABFR4QBaBX
14. Call your senators and congresspeople. This is the Capitol Switchboard number: (202) 224-3121. Or, better, call the local office: https://t.co/zKOYKukIg8
21. As @sarahkendzior says, “Do not accept brutality and cruelty as normal even if it is sanctioned. Protect the vulnerable and encourage the afraid.”https://t.co/o4AJ04O3pz
22. Long-term advice. Remember to VOTE in November, and know that the recent #SCOTUS ruling will make it harder for you to vote. So check the laws in your state, and be prepared to fight for your right.https://t.co/bx1LzCIFlZ
25. Why not send a formal complaint now?
Attention: Office Information and Evidence Unit, Office of the Prosecutor
The International Criminal Court
Post Office Box 19519
2500 CM The Hague
The Netherlands
or EMAIL: otp.informationdesk@icc-cpi.int
or FAX: +31 70 515 8555.
This fall, I am teaching English 545: Literature for Adolescents on-line for the first time. That is, this is the first time I’m teaching the course on-line. It’s the umpteenth time I’ve taught the course, and the second time I’ve taught on-line.
One thing I learned from teaching on-line this past spring: Build the entire course before the term begins. And, yes, I learned that because I failed to do it. So, I am building it now. This week, I finished the curriculum for the first two weeks. In case others may find it useful, I’m sharing that below. (Scroll down.)
A word or two about what’s not in this blog post. Missing are the ensuing discussion, my responses to students’ responses, quizzes, my responses to the quizzes, the full syllabus, and resources on the course’s Canvas site. In other words, this is a partial representation of those first couple of weeks.
Here are the main literary texts we will read:
Laurie Halse Anderson, Speak.
M.T. Anderson, Feed.
Kristin Cashore, Graceling.
Cherie Dimaline, The Marrow Thieves.
Nancy Farmer, The House of the Scorpion.
Kiese Laymon, Long Division.
E. Lockhart, The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks.
Malinda Lo, Ash.
Walter Dean Myers, Monster.
Benjamin Alire Saenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.
J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye.
Francisco X. Stork, Marcello in the Real World.
Angie Thomas, The Hate You Give.
Jacqueline Woodson, After Tupac & D. Foster.
Ibi Zoboi, American Street.
There will also be a few versions of “Cinderella” (both in preparation for Malinda Lo’s Ash and to get students thinking about the “YA” in many fairy tales), and a few secondary texts, all of which I will either link to or provide a pdf (available via Canvas). I’m really excited about the novels, three of which are from 2017 — and thus I’m teaching them for the very first time. I’m also teaching Ash (2009) for the first time.
I never teach a class exactly the same way twice. I’m always trying to improve. Now that I’m teaching on-line, I am also trying to improve my skills as a creator of videos! That learning curve is represented below: the second video is (I think) the weakest, and video #1 has some strengths but needs snappier editing. By three and four, the edits are improving. And the fifth (the first one on E. Lockhart’s Frankie Landau-Banks) is the best thus far.
WEEK 1
week #1, discussion #1: Intro.
I’ll repeat the questions from the video below.
1. What’s your name? And what do you prefer to be called?
2. Where are you from? And where are you located now, while you’re taking this class?
3. Here are our course’s objectives. Listen to them because at the end, I will ask you (A) which of our course objectives are you most looking forward to meeting? And (B) which objective do you think will be the most challenging for you?
This class will introduce you to a range of literature for adolescents, and develop your critical skills in reading these works. We will study works that feature adolescent characters, depict experiences familiar to adolescents, and are taught to or read by adolescents. We will approach these works from a variety of critical perspectives (including formalist, psychoanalytic, queer theory, feminist, Marxist, historical, postcolonial, ecological) — perspectives that many high schools want their teachers to know. In summary, this course will be about different kinds of literature read by young adults, approaches to thinking about this literature, and adolescence’s relationship to power. We will develop these skills via writing a once-weekly journal, participating in class discussions, taking a weekly quiz, and completing these and any other assignments on time.
Now that you know the course’s objectives, (A) which of our course objectives are you most looking forward to meeting? And (B) which objective do you think will be the most challenging for you? (C) Do you have any other objectives? If so, please list them.
4. Your adolescence is very likely far more recent than mine. And yet I know that high school and college are different — that you have very likely changed at least a little since high school… and possibly quite a lot. So, my third question is this. Describe your adolescence in one word. And why do you choose that word to describe your adolescence? The why is important.
5. Have you taken an on-line class before?
Format for answer: VIDEO
week #1, discussion #2: Adolescence, YA Literature, and… J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye (through Chapter 10)
Part I: Adolescence & YA Literature
Repeating (below) the questions from the video (above) —
1. What is adolescence?
2. What are the social characteristics of adolescence?
3. Drawing on Lee Talley’s essay, what is “Young Adult”?
Format for answer: TEXT
Part II: J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye (1951), through Chapter 10
Those two questions I asked you on day 1 — now is the time to answer them.
1. On page 1, Holden tells us “I had to come out here and take it easy.” Where is here? From where is he narrating this story? And how do you know? Beyond the quotation I called your attention to, offer a supporting quotation or quotations from the text that tells you where he is when he is telling the story (as opposed to where he is when it happens).
2. Once more, M.H. Abrams’ classic definition of the unreliable narrator:
The fallible or unreliable narrator is one whose perception, interpretation, and evaluation of the matters he or she narrates do not coincide with the implicit opinions and norms manifested by the author, which the author expects the alert reader to share. (A Glossary of Literary Terms, 6th ed., p. 168)
And… I asked you to track Holden’s unreliability. So. offer a couple of examples where you see the narrator’s perception in tension with those “implicit opinions and norms” of the book.
Format for answer: TEXT
Questions to think about for next class (not this one) —
1. Symbols! This is why English teachers like the book. Holden keeps returning to ideas and objects that he invests with significance — this is how he conveys his emotional truths. The red hunting hat. The question of where the ducks go in the winter. The “Little Shirley Beans” record. Childhood (his own and his sister Phoebe’s). And, of course, the title of the novel itself. So, my question is this: track a symbol. Where does it recur and why? That is, what does it mean?
2. By the end of the novel, what (if anything) has Holden learned? And what’s next for Holden?
3. In addition to finishing the novel, I’ve also asked you to read my “7 questions we should ask about children’s literature.” Pay particular attention to the first of those 7 — What does this book present as normal? Apply that question to the novel, following up with these more specific questions that I have borrowed (and slightly modified) from Nathalie Wooldridge:
What or whose view of the world, or kinds of behavior does the book present as normal?
Why is the book written from this perspective? How else could it have been written?
What assumptions does the book make about age, gender, race, class, sexuality, and culture (including the age, gender, race, class, sexuality, and culture of the reader)?
Whose perspectives does the book present? Whose perspectives does the book silence or ignore?
4. Why has this novel become such a cultural touchstone? Should it be a cultural touchstone? Indeed, should it be on this syllabus? That last question is not a trick question. First of all, I’m always changing this syllabus, and I don’t always include The Catcher in the Rye. Second, you should question what’s on this syllabus. For this class, there are millions of books to choose from. Should Catcher in the Rye be among these 15?
Again, these last 4 questions are for next time.
week #1, discussion #3: J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye (to end)
Answer the question that corresponds with your group number. Post your comment, drawing on examples from the book — remember the importance of close reading. Quote from the text to support your arguments. And then please respond to at least one other person in your group — ideally to two or three. Post your initial comment before the due date (end of Friday) for this discussion. If your responses to others’ occur after that, it’s OK — the discussion will still be enter-able for a week after the due date. Try to chime in as soon after the deadline as you can. I realize that we are all having a conversation asynchronously. Do your best.
1. As I say, I think all the symbols are why English teachers like the book. Holden keeps returning to ideas and objects that he invests with personal significance — this is how he conveys his emotional truths. He’s not likely to say, directly, “I’m afraid of adulthood” or “I miss my brother Allie” or “I feel vulnerable.” No, he’s going to put on his red hunting hat. He’s going to wonder about where the ducks go in the winter. He’s going to search for and then carry around the “Little Shirley Beans” record. He’s going to talk about childhood (his own and his sister Phoebe’s). And, of course, his fantasy of becoming a catcher in the rye So, I asked you to track a symbol. Where does it recur and why? That is, what does it mean?
2. By the end of the novel, what (if anything) has Holden learned? And what’s next for Holden? Holden talks about wanting to be a catcher in the rye: “Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around — nobody big, I mean — except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff” (173). He talks about pretending he’s a deaf mute, living in a cabin near the woods (198-99, 204-05). He tries to erase all of the fuck yous realizes he can’t: “If you had a million years to do it, you couldn’t rub out even half the ‘Fuck you’ signs in the world. It’s impossible” (202). People keep “asking me if I’m going to apply myself when I go back to school next September. It’s such a stupid question, in my opinion. I mean how do you know what you’re going to do till you do it? The answer is, you don’t. I think I am, but how do I know? I swear it’s a stupid question” (213). That he asks himself this question at the end tells us what? Will he apply himself? Will he follow Antolini’s advice to learn from other writers?
3. So, I also asked you to read my “7 questions we should ask about children’s literature” and to pay particular attention to the first of those 7 — What does this book present as normal? Apply that question to the novel, following up with these more specific questions borrowed (and slightly modified) from Nathalie Wooldridge:
What or whose view of the world, or kinds of behavior does the book present as normal?
Why is the book written from this perspective? How else could it have been written?
What assumptions does the book make about age, gender, race, class, sexuality, and culture (including the age, gender, race, class, sexuality, and culture of the reader)?
Whose perspectives does the book present? Whose perspectives does the book silence or ignore?
I am asking you these questions because I want you to think critically about this novel and all novels we read. You do not need to agree with or like or enjoy each novel on the syllabus. I ask that you make an attempt to understand each work, but I also invite you — I encourage you — to raise critical questions about each work — backing up your critique with examples from the book.
4. Finally, a big question: Why has this novel become such a cultural touchstone? Should it be a cultural touchstone? And should it be on this syllabus? As I said last time, that question is not a trick question. (1) I’m always changing this syllabus, and I don’t always include The Catcher in the Rye. (2) You should question what’s on this syllabus. Of the millions of Young Adult books we could read, should Catcher in the Rye be among the mere 15 on the syllabus? Key here as in all questions is defending your answer with examples from the book.
Format for answer: TEXT
Don’t forget: journal entry due Sunday night!
Next time: E. Lockhart’s The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks. Its placement next on the syllabus is not accidental. So, you might consider her novel as being in conversation with Salinger’s novel. What would Lockhart’s book say to Salinger’s book? Each book features a protagonist inclined to rebel — against what does each protagonist rebel? And what does each protagonist accept? You might compare/contrast a bit as you read.
WEEK 2
week #2, discussion #1: E. Lockhart’s Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks (2008), through “Broken Date”
1. Let’s start with an exercise in close-reading. How does the novel’s opening letter position you, the reader? (Read the letter that opens the novel.)
A. What are the key words or phrases in that opening letter? Why?
B. What questions does the letter raise about the novel you are about to read?
C. What clues does the letter give you for the novel that you are about to read?
D. And where does the letter position you in relation to the novel’s main character, Frankie Landau-Banks? What sort of relationship does it invite? Are you sympathetic? Unsympathetic?
Sketch out some answers to these questions, referring to specifics in that opening letter — actually quoting them — in your response. Feel free to refer to moments beyond that opening letter, too.
2. What questions does Frankie (and the novel itself) raise about masculinity and femininity? That is, how might it invite us to think critically about the gender roles that we’re encouraged to inhabit — “acceptable” versions of masculinity and femininity? Point to a few examples. And one last question for part 2 of our discussion: If she landed in The Catcher in the Rye or he landed in her novel, what would Frankie say to Holden?
3. What is the panopticon? How does it work as a system of control? And… what might it tell us about adolescence — or, if you like, about Frankie?
Don’t forget to cite specifics from the novel in your answers!
Format for answer: TEXT
week #2, discussion #2: E. Lockhart’s Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, to end
1. Here is a more succinct version of this question than what’s included in the video: Does the novel propose the idea that women/girls and men/boys use power differently? In what ways might it be helpful to think of power as distinctly gendered? In what ways might that not be helpful to understand power as gendered?
Here is the longer version, which I offer mostly for the citations therein. Several times, Frankie notes how the Loyal Order of the Bassett Hounds — that bastion of patriarchal privilege — fosters bonding, “togetherness,” “connection” (see pp. 195, 221, 222). She longs for such a bond herself… but doesn’t get one. At the end, we learn that, while Trish is a “loyal friend,” “Trish’s lack of understanding is a condition of that loyalty” (338). Does Frankie’s lack of a female cohort undermine the feminist critique of patriarchy, expressed elsewhere in the novel? Is it positing that women’s power works differently (a version of Elizabeth’s argument in the debate, pp. 160-165)? If so, does that difference contradict Frankie’s frequent critique of the “double standard” she faces as a girl? Or, whether it is or is not contradictory, might it be positing an alternate form of power?
2. Near the end of the novel, Porter asks, “Why did you do all that, Frankie?” She answers his question with two questions: “Have you ever heard of the panopticon?” And “Have you ever been in love?” (329). What do these two questions tell you about her motivations? And why do you suppose Lockhart does not have Frankie elaborate? Finally, how might these two questions influence our interpretation of the novel?
3. E. Lockhart has said that there will be no sequel to this novel. Her narrator, however, does offer two possibilities for Frankie’s future (336-337): “They sometimes go crazy, these people” or they “change the world” (337). Defending your answer with examples from this book, which future is more likely? Make sure you refer to the final chapter.
Please respond to at least one other comment in your group. As before, post your initial comment before the deadline; your second (and third, etc.) can fall after the deadline.
Format for answer: TEXT
Don’t forget: journal entry due Sunday night, and quiz due Monday night.
For next week, we’re reading Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak (1999). Talk to you then!
Incidentally, I’ve been posting these on YouTube because the Hale Library fire knocked our course infrastructure system (Canvas) for a loop. Its video-sharing apparatus (MyMediaSite) hasn’t been working. So, I decided to use my YouTube channel. I haven’t yet decided if I will post all Literature for Adolescents course videos on YouTube… or just do so until the university’s Canvas site stabilizes again.*
The main downside is that students will be able to see the videos far ahead of two weeks in advance. Following the advice of other on-line teachers, I make visible curriculum for only two weeks into the future. The philosophy behind that is you don’t want a student to rush through the class. They should proceed at roughly the pace of the semester, learning as they go, improving their discussion responses etc. in response to feedback from me and other students. Showing them two weeks into the future allows them to better manage their time — and work ahead if their schedule demands that.
The upside is the possibility that these videos might be useful to other teachers or students of Literature for Adolescents. If you do find any of these useful, let me know. Also, if you spot any mistakes or have suggestions, let me know — though keep in mind that you are not seeing all of the teaching. I will be joining the students’ discussion — typically via text, though sometimes via video. And my responses to their discussion will sometimes result in additional readings — always brief ones, but useful ones.
That’s all for now.
* A public thanks to everyone working in K-State’s ITS, Telecommunications, and all who have been putting in long hours to get the university fully on-line again. I appreciate it! And so do my fellow faculty members!
I became editor of Routledge’s Children’s Literature and Culture series in 2011, when I succeeded founding editor Jack Zipes. He founded the series in 1994, which makes this the longest-running series devoted to the study of children’s literature and culture from a national and international perspective. In my seven years as series editor, I’ve edited 30 or so books that have been published. There’s another half dozen that are not out yet but are either forthcoming or under contract. It’s been a busy seven years, and I’m very proud of the authors, editors, and contributors we’ve published. I’ve learned a lot from all of them and I am grateful to them for choosing to publish with Routledge. They make this series what it is, and I thank them.
Jack edited this series for 17 years. After doing the job for a mere seven years, I can only begin to appreciate what that means, especially given that he did this in addition to a prolific career as a scholar and educator.
I lack Jack’s stamina. So, I’m stepping down from my editorship — or, to be more accurate, I am beginning that process. As Jack did when he passed the editorship on to me, I too will continue to edit any books that I’ve signed. For the new editors’ first year, Jennifer Abbott — the excellent in-house Routledge editor we work with — will include me in all editorial correspondence. Kenneth and Beth are in charge, but I’ll be available as needed. In fact, since last June, Jen has already been copying the new editors on correspondence regarding all new projects.
So, my stepping down is really more of a gradual phasing out.
In my years as editor, I have learned that, unless you have Jack Zipes’ superhuman strength, editing a book series is a two-person job. I’m delighted that the new editorial team will be:
Kenneth Kidd, Professor of English at the University of Florida in Gainesville, and the author or co-editor of six books (including one in the Routledge series); and
Beth Marshall, Associate Professor of Education at Simon Frasier University in British Columbia, and the author, co-author, or co-editor of three books (including one in the Routledge series).
Don’t let their youthful good looks fool you. Between them, these two award-winning scholars bring nearly 50 years of experience in the field of children’s literature — and two different disciplines (English, Education). I couldn’t be happier that the series is in such good hands. I look forward to seeing where they take the series!
I’ve been meaning to write this post for a few months.
Over the past year or so, I’ve been gradually drifting away from Facebook. Lately, the drift has become a decisive move. Last month, I downloaded my Facebook data — in order to better see precisely what Facebook was collecting. Then, I removed Facebook from my phone and tablet.
There are many reasons for my move — most recently, Facebook’s pursuit of treason for cash. But, more generally, I am stepping away because — like so many “free” platforms — Facebook is a parasitic business that monetizes your attention and personal data. I don’t feel comfortable supporting Mark Zuckerberg’s reckless, lucrative, criminal enterprise. So, I’m on his platform less often.
But I haven’t yet closed my account. Two groups with which I am affiliated have Facebook presences; I feel a professional responsibility to maintain an account in order to manage those. It’s possible that I may occasionally pop in to post birthday wishes. I suspect, though, that my infrequent engagement with this predatory platform means I’ll miss a lot of Facebook friends’ birthdays. I’m sorry about that: I really enjoyed posting a different song each year.
My move away from Facebook began with Manoush Zomorodi’s Note to Self podcast, which I started listening to at the beginning of 2017. Its “Bored and Brilliant” series (2015/2017) introduced me to the Moment app, which allows you to monitor your use of your iPhone or iPad. (If you have an Android phone, it recommends the BreakFree app.) Moment showed me how often I was using my devices, and helped me cut back. Subsequent series — its “Infomagical” series (2016) and its “Privacy Paradox” series (2017) — also helped. I deleted apps I wasn’t using. I turned off notifications. I tidied up my apps into little folders.
If you wonder whether your use of technology may be hindering or even harming you, I highly recommend these three Note to Self series. If you have already noticed the ways in which apps and social media ensnare and prey upon your attention, then perhaps you have already taken the necessary steps to reclaim your life. Whatever you ultimately decide to do, I recommend reflecting on your relationship to technology. Not coincidentally, such reflection is the focus of the Note to Self podcast.
I used to make the effort to, say, check Facebook only twice a day — an effort at which I did not always succeed. However, in the past month or so, I have found it quite easy to stay off of Facebook. I actually find myself putting off checking Facebook. I’m simply not comfortable being there. Its willingness to aid Russian interference in the 2016 U.S. election is a major catalyst — selling Trump ads at much lower rates than Clinton ads (because Trump ads got more clicks), taking Russian money (in Rubles, even!) to fund pro-Trump propaganda & fake news, or allowing Cambridge Analytica to harvest its users’ data (again, in support of the mendacious traitor who currently occupies the White House… well, when he’s not at one of his golf courses).
In his testimony yesterday, Mr. Zuckerberg said his slow response to Russian meddling is “one of [his] greatest regrets,” and promised to ban apps that are “doing anything improper.” Earlier that day, he said he will make sure Facebook is “a positive force in the world.” There is zero reason to believe him. First, he has made promises like this before — as in this 2009 interview, below.
Second, there is no regulation that would compel him to keep these promises. Third, and as Tim Wu points out, the flaws of Facebook are not a bug but a feature. Facebook is designed to surveil its users:
The problems are central and structural, the predicted consequences of its business model. From the day it first sought revenue, Facebook prioritized growth over any other possible goal, maximizing the harvest of data and human attention. Its promises to investors have demanded an ever-improving ability to spy on and manipulate large populations of people. Facebook, at its core, is a surveillance machine, and to expect that to change is misplaced optimism.
Exactly. If you sign up for Facebook, you’re donating your personal data and time to an enterprise built on manipulating you and selling others whatever you tell it about yourself. Because that’s what Facebook is.
Beyond the obvious fact that I don’t want to continue enriching Mr. Zuckerberg or supporting his poisonous enterprise, I simply don’t like being on Facebook. It feels like a sinister, perilous place to be.
I know, of course, that social media has always been far more dangerous for women, people of color, gay people, the trans community, and all whom society renders more vulnerable. And I am aware that many daily behaviors implicate all of us in injustices of various kinds. (How much child labor went into making your cell phone? Who made that chocolate and under what conditions? How much money does Twitter make from Russian bots or the traffic generated by Herr Twitler?) I realize that it’s nearly impossible to disentangle ourselves from all dubious products and practices. But Facebook is one that I can step back from.
I’ll miss knowing what’s going on in people’s lives, and I may well miss useful professional information. But I won’t miss the misinformation, the clickbait, the amplification of outrage, or that queasy, soul-sucking feeling of being on Facebook.
So, that’s why you have been seeing much less of me on Facebook — and will see even less of me in the future. I have yet to delete my account, but that day may come, too. We’ll see.
If you need to reach me, email and Twitter (@philnel) remain more reliable ways of doing so. Those who know me know that Facebook was never the best way to reach me (though I once had the app on my phone and tablet, I never installed Facebook Messenger). But for those who weren’t aware, now you are.
Be safe out there. Take care of yourselves. And drop me a line if you need anything, OK?
As many teachers do, I teach Sherman Alexie’s Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. When confirmed reports of his sexual harassment and other abuses of power became public, I knew I had to talk to my class about it — I had already taught Absolutely True Diary in my on-line Multicultural Children’s Literature class earlier in the semester. Thinking that our conversation might be of use to others who are confronting this issue, I’m sharing my initial question, my response to their conversation (which highlights recurring themes), and a quotation from one of the students (shared with her permission). Because I have to prepare our on-line conversations several weeks in advance, this begins in early March but their responses were only due in late March — and my response followed.
6 March 2018
Because I’m preparing these discussions about three weeks in advance, this will appear as “due” after March Break. And that is in fact when it is due. I don’t feel I can add anything further to our current week. But I also don’t feel that I can ignore this. So I am making this visible now (March 6th) even though you’re not obliged to discuss it until March 27th.
For the past month, those of us in the children’s literature / young adult literature community have known that Sherman Alexie is among those accused of sexual harassment. Last week (Feb. 28), Alexie issued a denial/apology. Yesterday (Mar. 5), three of his accusers went public.
This raises an important question for us — as students, future teachers (some of you), or current teachers (me and some of you). Should we continue to teach an author who has harmed others? And that is the question I am posing to you right now. Should work by Sherman Alexie be on future iterations of this syllabus? Or ought we instead replace him with, say, a work by another indigenous writer — perhaps Cherie Dimaline’s The Marrow Thieves —?
This is a hotly debated question, and — from our previous conversations — I know that you will express yourselves with care and consideration for divergent points of view. Those who argue for often note that those who create great works of art may not lead exemplary lives; their own personal failings are irrelevant to the greatness of their art. And, certainly, as a colleague of mine observed via email, in our English classes we teach many writers who, in their private lives, were horrible human beings. Those who argue against might say that there is no legacy so important that we can look the other way. As Roxane Gay puts it, “I no longer struggle with artistic legacies. It is not difficult to dismiss the work of predators and angry men because agonizing over a predator’s legacy would mean there is some price I am willing to let victims pay for the sake of good art.” She suggests instead that we turn to artistic work created by those “capable of treating others with respect.” If these are two opposing poles of the debate, there are of course many positions between them. And there are other ways of exploring possible answers to this question.
As I say, it’s a difficult, messy question.
I have my own answer to it, which I will share after our conversation — and, indeed, which might be changed by our conversation.
Time passed — including March Break — and the students’ conversation unfolded on-line. It was the most contentious conversation we’ve had this semester, but — to their great credit — they remained civil even when they strongly disagreed. I then wrote my promised response, which I reproduce below.
30 March 2018
Hi, everyone. Sorry I’ve been a little quieter this week. Have been a bit under the weather. Indeed, your El Deafo discussion (two weeks from now) lacks my second planned video because my voice is still a bit wonky.
In your discussion, some liken the removal of a book from a course syllabus to censorship. I see the parallel being made, but — as the creator of many syllabi — I would argue that removing a book from a course syllabus is not the same as censorship. The book is not banned. It is still for sale, and still in the library. Also, since I regularly revise my syllabi, I am often taking books off and putting others on. I do this for many reasons, including the never-ending quest to improve the course, the need to stay current (new books keep getting published), and my own need to refresh the syllabus (if I teach the same works over and over, then I risk getting stale).
Another theme I notice in your discussion is the idea that removing this book would consequently remove Native American literature from our Multicultural Children’s Lit syllabus. It wouldn’t. We could read Erika Wurth’s Crazy Horse’s Girlfriend, Cherie Dimaline’s The Marrow Thieves, Cynthia Leitich Smith’s Rain Is Not My Indian Name, or Louise Erdrich’s Birchbark House. Debbie Reese makes some Native YA Lit recommendations in this blog post. There are many Native children’s and YA books to choose from. Indeed, there should be more than one on this syllabus. There isn’t because the class strives to cover as wide a range of identities as it can, which (I realize) risks making this book the “single story” that Adichie warns against.
I would, however, agree with those who note that (and I’m paraphrasing here) monstrous people have made great art, important art, influential art. Faulkner’s “go slow, now” approach to ending Jim Crow was immoral and unjust, but if I were teaching a class on twentieth-century American literature, I would assign Faulkner. If I were teaching a class on twentieth-century Native American Literature, I think I would also assign Alexie — bringing in the full context, the women who have spoken on the record, the women who have spoken off the record, those who defend Alexie and those who accuse him. We could have a more developed version of the conversation we’ve had here.
But I don’t teach a Native American Literature course. I teach a Multicultural Children’s Literature course and I teach a Young Adult Literature course. Alexie’s Absolutely True Diary has been on both of those syllabi. It will not be on either syllabus in the future. There are many reasons why, but here are four.
William Faulkner is dead. Sherman Alexie is alive. If I assign Alexie’s books (and thus mandate that my students buy his books), I am continuing to pay his salary. I would rather pay the salary of a person who has managed to create good art without harming others. Since there are plenty of such people, I will be assigning Cherie Dimaline’s The Marrow Thieves next time.
The books I assign in both classes go on to become books that future teachers assign: Secondary Education majors take Literature for Adolescents, and I know that this class has some Education majors in it, too. So, in assigning a book, I am in essence recommending that book for tomorrow’s teachers. I am making it part of the children’s literature / YA literature canon, enshrining it in the curricula of tomorrow.
Sherman Alexie’s treatment of women is diametrically opposed to the goal of a class like Multicultural Children’s Literature. As I say in that opening video, the books we read are about increasing understanding, and respecting others. I cannot in good conscience promote the work of a man who does the opposite of what this class aspires to do.
As his denial/apology indicates, Alexie does not understand why his behavior was wrong. If he understood, apologized, made efforts to make amends, well, there would at least be the possibility that I might assign him again in the future. But he doesn’t get it. He says “I genuinely apologize” but also “There are women telling the truth about my behavior and I have no recollection of verbally threatening anybody or their careers.” So, which behaviors are true, then? He says, “I have made poor decisions,” but declines to name what those decisions were, which makes it hard to believe that he is “working hard to become a healthier man who makes healthier decisions.” If he does not understand why his behavior was wrong, then he cannot learn from his past. You need to know why a mistake is a mistake in order to change.
Because, yes, as some of you have correctly noted, humans are flawed. We make mistakes. We have regrets. We do things we should not do. And we would be naïve to expect our artists, writers, actors, musicians, to be paragons of virtue. But, for me, a pattern of predatory behavior crosses a line.
Though my sense is that not all of you do, I believe the accusers. Why? Many reasons, the first of which (as I say) is that there is a pattern of behavior here. When there’s a pattern, we cannot say, “oh, it was just this one isolated incident.” Also, it’s really really hard to speak publicly about being sexually harassed or assaulted. Women who do get slut-shamed, called liars, blamed for seeking publicity, harassed further, and may face professional consequences. When a woman makes the decision to speak up, she is putting herself at risk. That’s why so many of those men named in the #MeToo movement have gone unnamed until now. Calling out the predatory behavior of powerful men (or women, but it’s usually men) is risky. It’s necessary to call them out, but it requires a level of bravery and emotional strength that not all people have — and nor should they be required to have. Surviving the traumas of harassment and assault takes a lot out of a person. (Big understatement.)
The emotions in this discussion have been more raw than they usually are — which is quite understandable, of course. I mention it here for several reasons, the first of which is that a couple of days have elapsed since the discussion and my response. I wish we could have had this conversation in person because then we could have addressed some of these questions in person. The asynchronous nature of this class means that we could not. But, since we could not, you should know that you all did far better than all of the on-line discussions I’ve seen on this subject. There have been much more contentious posts on recent School Library Journal articles, for example. This discussion never even approached that level of vitriol. Indeed, it was remarkably vitriol free.
That said, I recognize there may yet be some frayed nerves and lingering bad feelings. So. If anyone would like to talk with me about this, please let me know. I am willing to set up a Zoom chat for anyone who’d like it — or multiple Zoom chats. And, whether people seek those or not, I ask that you do your best to sustain the professionalism you’ve managed to sustain throughout the term. We do not have to agree with each other, but we do have to make an effort to understand and respect each other.
For the record, I respect the variety of opinions offered here. I’ve given you my response because I promised that I would. But, as I’ve said before, you do not need to agree with my assessment of a book or, in this case, whether to teach the work of a particular author.
Finally, if I may, I’d like to close with the wise words of your classmate Maria Vieyra, who (in this discussion) writes:
None of us are epitomes of perfect ethical behavior, morality, or wisdom, but I believe most of us can agree that there should be consequences for predatory sexual behavior because it does indeed hurt people. And monetary costs from boycotting a book are a small form of justice that we are all able to be a part of, and I do not think it is too heavy a price to pay for the sake of the victims and the future.
Well said.
To all of you: Thanks ever so much for taking the time to wrestle with this contentious and difficult issue. I hope that, though your own responses may differ, you all have arrived at a deeper understanding of what’s at stake in either retaining a book or removing it.
So… that was our class discussion. Also, I didn’t mention this in my response above, but most students thought I should continue to teach Alexie. Five students — all of them women — argued against teaching his work. (18 students participated in the discussion.)
I would not claim to have the “right” answer to the question of whether to teach Alexie. This is just my answer. I would say, though, that each syllabus is a political document that is built on moral choices. What we include on a syllabi and what we omit from that syllabi are deeply enmeshed in morality and in politics — which, of course, makes the creation of any syllabus fraught, complicated, and on some level unsatisfying. (Or, at least, that’s my experience: I am never 100% happy with any syllabus I’ve created.)
Art is always political. So is teaching. We cannot pretend otherwise.
Mp3s are for sampling purposes. If you like what you hear, please go and buy it. Go to the artists' concerts. Tell your friends about them. If you represent an artist or a label and would prefer that I remove a link to an mp3, please email me: philnel at gmail dot com.
Just last month, HarperCollins published three Harold stories at roughly twice their original size in Harold’s Imagination: 3 Adventures with the Purple Crayon. Which 3? Well, Harold and the Purple Crayon (1955), of course. That is followed by Harold’s Fairy Tale (1956), which in turn is followed by the final of the seven Harold books, Harold’s ABC (1963).
I wrote a new Afterword to the forthcoming paperback edition of 
When you moved the bear, the pupils would jostle around. However, the eyes had come loose. My picking at them made them looser. As I picked at them further, they came off.
At the time, I thought of this incident as “when I got my memory.” In 
In 1951, Krauss was the author of one massive hit — The Carrot Seed (1945), illustrated by Crockett Johnson (also her husband) — and The Happy Day (1949), which won a Caldecott Honor for Marc Simont’s artwork. Of her other seven books from that period (1944-1951), only The Backward Day (1950, also illustrated by Simont) and Bears (1948, illus. by Phyllis Rowand) are remembered today. And Bears is known primarily for Maurice Sendak’s re-illustrated version, published in 2005.
Their first collaboration was the cultural phenomenon A Hole Is to Dig (1952, from which you can see a two-page spread, above this sentence). Their second was A Very Special House (1953), which won Sendak a Caldecott Honor — his first of many. They would collaborate on eight books between 1952 and 1960. More importantly, 
There are many posts on this blog tagged 
I became editor of Routledge’s Children’s Literature and Culture series in 2011, when I succeeded founding editor Jack Zipes. He founded the series in 1994, which makes this the longest-running series devoted to the study of children’s literature and culture from a national and international perspective. In my seven years as series editor, I’ve edited 30 or so books that have been published. There’s another half dozen that are not out yet but are either forthcoming or under contract. It’s been a busy seven years, and I’m very proud of the authors, editors, and contributors we’ve published. I’ve learned a lot from all of them and I am grateful to them for choosing to publish with Routledge. They make this series what it is, and I thank them.
As many teachers do, I teach Sherman Alexie’s Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. When confirmed reports of his sexual harassment and other abuses of power became public, I knew I had to talk to my class about it — I had already taught Absolutely True Diary in my on-line Multicultural Children’s Literature class earlier in the semester. Thinking that our conversation might be of use to others who are confronting this issue, I’m sharing my initial question, my response to their conversation (which highlights recurring themes), and a quotation from one of the students (shared with her permission). Because I have to prepare our on-line conversations several weeks in advance, this begins in early March but their responses were only due in late March — and my response followed.
lives; their own personal failings are irrelevant to the greatness of their art. And, certainly, as a colleague of mine observed via email, in our English classes we teach many writers who, in their private lives, were horrible human beings. Those who argue against might say that there is no legacy so important that we can look the other way. 
