And what doesn’t.
And what doesn’t
C hildren are notoriously difficult to write for, and rightly so, but they deserve more consideration than we’re often inclined to give them. While younger ones do tend to love the repetition that adults find mind-numbing (my sister and her husband recently had a competition to see who could recite more of my nephew’s bedtime books from memory), children are much more discerning readers than we give them credit for. This discernment shouldn’t be abused, however, and it is possible to overdo the humor, metaphor, and message while having the best of intentions.
In that vein, I was disappointed with Matthew Mehan’s recent offering through Sophia Institute Press, The American Book of Fables. As someone who appreciates an entertaining fable retelling (see Guy Wetmore Carryl’s “The Sycophantic Fox and the Gullible Raven”) but who hadn’t been especially impressed with Mehan’s earlier works, I was curious to see what this new volume would hold.
The concept — using retellings of Aesop’s fables to teach children about America, her history, her regions, her flora and fauna, and some morals along the way — is a worthy one, and John Folley’s illustrations are bright and interesting. Unfortunately, the book’s didactic nature, confusing layout, and complicated stories buried any whiff of whimsy. There’s simply too much happening in the book — from retellings to poems to songs to parts of the declaration to letters of the Founders to Cicero quotations — much of it presented in long blocks of text broken up only by more block quotes of smaller text. Plenty of what Mehan presents in the book is worth your time, but the execution is too heavy-handed and not engaging.
A treasury that does strike this appealing and informative balance is one that enchanted many an hour for me as a child. My family’s copy of The Children’s Treasury of Virtues (edited by William J. Bennett and illustrated by Michael Hague) is still at my parents’ house but has lost numerous pages thanks to our countless rereadings. It is a collection of three books — The Children’s Book of Virtues, The Children’s Book of Heroes, and The Children’s Book of America — which each came out in the mid-’90s and were then compiled into the oversized, golden-edged book I used to pore over.
Visually, Bennett and Hague’s book is wonderfully appealing. The art, which is vivid without being flashy, interacts with each story as both flow across the pages. Poetry is beautifully framed, stars sparkle across skies and in streams, Apollo 11 blasts off in a blaze of glory, and Helen Keller is reconnected with the world. Dear St. George and his petrified dragon are treated to an impressive full two pages, all the better to see the bumpy green beast’s horrified eyes and St. George’s brave horse.
This book began or deepened my education about many famous figures, and through it I learned about Genghis Khan, Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, Theseus, Mother Teresa, Jackie Robinson, Father Flanagan, and Margaret Haughery. Before, I may have only known their names. Now, I know a part of their story and have a glimpse of their character (Genghis Khan, of course, fared badly). These and many other tales from far-off lands and ancient times were brought to life through Hague’s paintings and through the beautiful, clear language used throughout. It is a book that spans thousands of years of myths, legends, and stories, and presents readers of all ages with tales that entertain and inform. It is patriotic without hiding America’s sins, and it instructs in virtues by showing rather than telling.
My recent rereading of tales such as “The Knights of the Silver Shield” and “The Legend of the Dipper” reminded me of personal vices I wanted to root out, while “Margaret of New Orleans” sent me down a fascinating rabbit trail about a wonderful woman, and “The Eagle Has Landed” covered me in goosebumps. These stories brought back countless memories and revived old inspirations from my youth and proved that some elements of your childhood can indeed be just as good as you remembered.
Bennett’s offerings, whether in their individual books or in this compilation, make clear that the goal of life should be the cultivation of virtue, but he does it using rock-solid, relatable, well-worded stories that drive home a point without boring or aggravating the reader — parent or child. Many of these stories have stuck with me over the years, and it was a true joy revisiting old friends such as “The Indian Cinderella,” “John Henry and the Steam Drill,” and “Please.” This last one, about a little boy who never says “please,” is still referenced in our home to this day.
Treasuries, Americana, fable retellings — these are all excellent ways of reaching children and imparting virtue, love of country, history, and much else to them. But methods and execution matter and should be carefully considered, especially whenever small but demanding critics are involved.