What's Your Child Reading?

JANE COBB and HELEN DORE BOYLSTON

YES, we know. You have made every effort to give your child the proper reverence for the finer things in life, yet there he is, flat on his stomach, reading Superman. And the comic book has been so universally denounced! Writers, teachers, and lecturers have viewed it with such alarm that it is rapidly approaching the status of marijuana cigarettes. The consensus is that if your child doesn’t care for Gibbon, the least he can do is to occupy himself with one of the 600 or more “good ” juveniles which are published yearly.

We have read 140 juveniles from the list for autumn publication and, with a few exceptions, we are all out for Superman.

These new books, particularly the ones for children of six and over,, are nicely printed and illustrated.

They are full of information — historical, geographical, and ethical. They are written with conscientious correctness and no inspiration. They are dull. They preach. They patronize the child as if he were a being from another planet, imposing information upon him without offering him entertainment, stimulus for his imagination, or any experience that he yearns to share.

The truly great children’s books — Huckleberry Finn, Alice in Wonderland, Kim, Little Women, The Wind in the Willows, Treasure Island, The Jungle Books — have a joyous rapport between author and reader which is lacking in these informative books whose object seems to be belligerent instruction rather than entertainment. It is hardly surprising, therefore, if your child, surfeited with instruction both at home and at school, puts aside a trumped-up story of life in Tierra del Fuego, and turns to Terry and the Pirates. Whatever may be said of the comic artists, they do not patronize their public. Neither did Lewis Carroll.

This concerted effort to make every child a Quiz hid has another unfortunate effect; it has curtailed to a surprising degree any attempt to write entertaining stories about children in present-day America. Juvenile authors rush to turn out stories of Mexican children, French children, English children, Chinese children, Hindu children, children in Ancient Rome, children in the California gold rush, the War of 1812, the Revolution. Only 32 of the 140 books we read have settings in the United States, and of the 32 a meager 14 concern themselves with America today. It seems impossible to get. the average juvenile writer past the turn of the century.

There are of course, extensive lists of cheap juveniles — stories of camp and school life, or mystery stories, but they read like vague imitations of the Rover Boys. Good writers, with a few exceptions, tend to shun school life as unworthy of their talents. They forget Ralph Henry Barbour. So the young reader is denied the chance to enrich his own life by reading about it, and facts, externally applied, are no substitute for the warm glow which comes from having his own experience reaffirmed.

We have selected for review those books which we consider exceptional. They are literate, informed, even instructive, and the authors have paid their readers the compliment of endeavoring to arouse and hold interest, to present well-rounded characters, and to compose dialogue which is neither stilted, stuffy, nor loaded with outdated slang. We do not think these books will be dropped in favor of Superman.

FOR VERY LITTLE CHILDREN Books for the one-to-fivers are becoming increasingly delightful, and the credit, frankly, beings to the artists, who seem to be outdoing themselves. You will be quite safe in choosing any which appeal to you. If in doubt, select from the age group below thcit of the child for whom you are buying.

We have not, in our present list, discovered any outstanding character—no Ferdinand or Barbar — but there are several with noticeable charm. The Littlest Reindeer, by Johanna De Witt, is one of these. The littlest reindeer was embarrassed because he had no antlers and he refused to go south with the other deer, when the arctic night began. What’s more, he wouldn’t listen to anybody who assured him that antlers were only a question of time. So he stayed there, looking for better places in which to cry, until he was scared south by a polar bear who was ominous about preferring reindeer without antlers. The ultimate growth of the antlers is an enormous relief both to the reindeer and to his readers. The three-year-old at our house will not be separated from him, and when no adult can be found who will read the story just once more, she sits smoothing the pictures with maternal tenderness. It might be pointed out that in buying books for this age the adults in the house should be considered. They will have to read the same story over and over, and it is genuinely important to buy something bearable which is charmingly illustrated. Little Bear Island, by Eleanor Clymer, is another good one, though somewhat quieter. It is the account of a summer spent by Iwo seven-year-olds with a great-aunt and -uncle. There are other children; puppies; sleeping in a tent; learning to swim; and a general, sunny sense of enjoyment unusual in books of this kind. Nobody’s Doll, by Adèlc Re Leeuw, is a beautifully written story with real humor and a great deal of tenderness. It is remarkable in that it gets off to an instant start, and never once loses its momentum. For children seven to nine. In Coyotes, Wilfred S. Bronson has done a surprising job. This is not a book about “Casper Coyote and His Friends. It is all about real coyotes

The Biggoty Chameleon, by Edith Pope, can be recommended on this score. He is extremely naughty to his later regret — and he has an attractive leer which suits his personality. He has stood up well under two dozen readings.

the Taxi That Hurried, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell and others, is a fine book for a city child It is, incidentally, a “Little Golden Book “ and as far as we can discover all “Little Golden Books” are admirable, particularly The Three Little Kittens, which is adored by babies even under one year of age. There is also a book called Animals on the Farm, published by Samuel Gabriel Sons, which is ideal for the youngest of the very young. It is a large, solid book, and as indestructible as anything not iron can be. The pictures are satisfying and do not require explanation.

As a group, the books for children between six and nine are the least successful. These are the youngsters who suffer most from books about long ago and far away when they scarcely know the name of three states in the Union. Also, in buying for this age it is particularly important not to depend on illustrations as a gauge of the book’s merit. Beautiful illustrations are frequently accompanied by dreary text which rambles on and on about setting the table and running errands for Mother, and never a good hearty tantrum in the lot.

Nora Benjamin Kubie’s Make Way for a Sailor lifts itself out of this class with a joyful yell.

It is, obviously, all about sailing, which any boy will love, and so will most girls. If is also about a lot of healthily cussed kids with basically decent instincts. Your kids or ours. They talk like kids, the little terrors! Their behavior is far from angelic. There is no stereotyped villain, no flawless hero; and all of it well written. The plot doesn’t give you a minute to get your breath, and the few grownups in the story are kept sensibly in the background. It ought to be a relief to any child. The book is listed as being forages eight to twelve, but younger children will enjoy it. too.

— what they eat, how they live, their anatomy and general habits. The drawings are a combination of fact and liurnor and are both charming and instructive. The only trouble is, the book leaves you definitely pro-coyote.

Dandelion Cottage, by Carroll Watson Rankin, was first published in 1904 and has just been republished. It has everything, and any little girl, or even a young lady crowding her teens, ought to love it. It is the story of four little girls, an abandoned cottage fixed up as a summer playhouse, an unexpected lodger, a dinner party, and a dreadful child named Laura. The problems of house cleaning and cooking, the quarrels and rallying around, are as real now as they were forty-two years ago, and in Laura Mrs. Rankin has created the meanest little girl it has been our pleasure to hate since we were ten years old. She gets her comeuppance, too.

Children s reading does not remain juvenile much after their age hits two figures, and the writers of teen-age juveniles may as well realize that they are competing with Dickens, the Ladies’ Home Journal, and the woman who wrote Forever Amber. When the juvenile becomes an adult novel sloppily written and sterilely presented, it is, as E. B. White says, an expurgated account of life, insulting to the adolescent intelligence. But there are aspects of adolescent life which are intensely interesting to adolescents — and no one else. So we’re back again on the school and camp theme, plus older versions of personal relationships, and ways to make money or choose a career.

There should be plenty of books based on these experiences, and there is no reason why they should insult the adolescent intelligence — or any other.

Golden Sovereign, by Dorothy Lyons, illustrates how excellent such a book can be, even though it is intended exclusively for young people. It is the story of a seventeen-year-old girl’s attempt to pay her way through college by raising and training horses. And it s not just another horse story, either. It is beautifully written, exciting, interesting in its information, and totally unexpected as to plot.

The dialogue is natural and amusing, and the book as a whole has a rare overtone of humorous enjoyment. As a novel it is superior to 75 per cent of the average lending library books, though it remains, unquestionably, a “book for girls.”

The Scrapper, by Leland Silliman, is another example. It is a boy’s book, not a man’s book, but it is a fine story all the same. Mr. Silliman seems to know all there is to know about camp, football, fighting, rowing, swimming — and boys. He also has the unusual gift of being able to present acceptable standards of behavior without making any of his characters sound like Little Rollo. We lent Scrapper to a noil-literary twelve-year-old trapped into a sedentary existence by rheumatic fever. He was wary at first. “Aw, he said, “I don’t read much. Nothing ever happens in those books. Just a bunch of sissies.”

A few days later he reported to us in dazed astonishment, “Gee! I never read such a book! They’re real guys in that! Why’n’t somebody tell me?”

West We Go, by Jules Loring, is the story of a boy who crossed I he continent in a covered wagon in 1849, and it is a vast improvement on many of the covered wagon sagas intended for adults. Young Tommy Halpen struck us as far less repulsive than the average westbound hero. The book is interesting, well written, and has a great deal of humor

a quality which is practically nonexistent in far too many juveniles. The Mystery at Laughing Water, by Dorothy Maywood Bird, qualifies under humor, too. Hers is the story of a girls’ camp, and while the mystery is both minor and improbable, it has the kind of improbability that youngsters enjoy. The characterization is good and the dialogue is very funny indeed.

There is, incidentally, one book which the highschoolers might be persuaded to lend to the adults. It is Sun, Moon and Stars, by W. T. Skilling and R. S. Richardson. It is as good as any of the popular science books, and better than most. It made the mechanics of the split atom as clear to us as anything ever will.

Religious books for children rate a special consideration. There are a great many, mostly Bible stories, illustrated as garishly and vulgarly as possible. Rewriting the Bible is a dubious procedure in any case, and rewriting it into the kind of holy baby talk which seems to be prevalent is, regardless of intent, impropriety of a serious nature. My Wide Book, by Janie Walker, is the notable exception. She has chosen simple verses, clear to the smalles Sunday-school child, and arranged them in a coherent pattern. The illustrations are charming. The Beggar Boy of Galilee, by Josephine Sangar Lau, stands on its merits as a remarkable book, regardless of its religious nature. It is the store of fourteen-year-old Caleb and his blind father, in their search across Palestine for Jesus, the Master and the Healer, who taught a new way of living. It is a beautifu1 hook for any age, and should have been written long ago.

All these books are, of course, recommended with the understanding that your children’s library is equipped with the necessities: Mother Goose, Kenneth Grahame, Kipling, Louisa M. Alcolt, Mark Twain, Stevenson, and Beatrix Potter. Their books comprise the Junior Desert Island list. These others are just trimmings.