Tear
your hair, groan at the glum tale of Melania Trump versus the school
librarian
writes
Libby Purves from across the pond in the Times.
Weep at the compassion fascism which can only value human
experience when it involves newsworthy suffering, and which meets
merriment and fantasy with a pious reproof.
Poor Melania Trump,
trying to get her head round the role of first lady, sent a gift of
books to elementary schools in 50 states for National Read a Book Day. … It is hard to think of a
more harmlessly benign gesture, even if the poor woman is married to
Donald Trump.
But that could not be forgiven by one school
librarian in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Liz Phipps Soeiro. In a long open
letter she thanked the first lady — with a sneer about the wasteful
postage — but said that while her students liked the “beautiful
bookplates with your name and the indelible White House stamp” they
would not keep them. First, because more deprived schools have greater
need, though even hers struggles “to retain teachers of colour and
dismantle the systemic white supremacy”. Second, because Melania’s
favourite is “a cliché, a tired and worn ambassador for children’s
literature. Dr Seuss’ illustrations are steeped in racist propaganda,
caricatures and harmful stereotypes.”
She patronisingly gives
another list, books about “children who stand up to racism and
oppression . . . trying to connect with parents who are incarcerated
simply because of their immigration status”. … They
may be excellent, and there is an honourable place in children’s
literature for hardship, injustice and resilience. From Serraillier’s The Silver Sword to The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
there are historical examples, and modern miseries have a place too.
But the left-liberal piety of the list and Ms Soeiro’s letter have a
grim and quelling quality. Fair enough to swipe at unequal educational
chances, but there’s a real sneer in her “it was a wonderful gesture, if
one that could have been better thought out”. No sisterhood for
Melania!
The
Seuss-is-racist angle needs unpicking. Real American racism, especially
after Charlottesville and Ferguson, creates a neurotic
hypersensitivity. The fashionable targeting of Seuss is part of that,
even though Michelle Obama read him to her daughters. Theodor Seuss
Geisel was originally an advertising cartoonist in the 1940s who, like
many others, used “blackface” and other ethnic shortcuts in his work. So
last week the magazine Business Insider leapt on the bandwagon, bewailing his “deeply disturbing” drawings and warning of “sad, racist ads”.
So
I looked at them. Most are for the insecticide Flit. … Oh, and there’s a cartoon of Hirohito,
snag-toothed and slit-eyed. But hell, it was the 1940s. People were
scared. And his Adolf Hitler is grossly unflattering too. Anyway, in no
time at all Seuss was drawing the famous piano cartoon of Uncle Sam
saying: “Look, maestro, if you want to get harmony, use the black keys
as well as the white!”
His children’s books, merrily scanned recitable
fun, include benign messages. In one, a boy who meets a frisky pair of
empty green trousers is scared because they are different, but the
animated pants begin to cry so he realises that they are “just as scared
as I!” and makes friends.
Seuss said he never started with
morals — “kids can see a moral coming a mile off” — but noted that all
stories had one. His Yertle the Turtle mocks fascist leadership, as the
over-ambitious turtle is capsized trying to reach the moon. The Grinch
and Lorax condemn materialism and pollution. They’re dated but fun: not
“harmful” propaganda. Seuss should frolic alongside newer authors,
because once you learn to read you are made free of everything, whether
you pick up Auntie Yang and “A Story of Immigration and Separation” or
JK Rowling and Jacqueline Wilson, Dahl and Sendak and Nesbit, Alice in Wonderland and Just William and the Beano. Even Little Lord Fauntleroy.
The
librarian’s rejection was hastily disowned by her school board, but
there is a wider battle to fight. A battle for fantasy and nonsense, for
different perspectives; for entering into other lives and attitudes
past and present. When you’re two, the very joy of words and jokes
connects you to another’s imagination and thence to the wider world.
When you’re six, stories about medieval knights or Victorian explorers
can obliquely help your own struggles. Black or white, boy or girl,
wizard or muggle, you need many doors to many worlds.
Jane in Amsterdam: