Changing world

My 8-year-old niece was reading to me the other day from one of her books.  I’m immensely proud of the fact that she reads, and that she reads well, but I was mentally groaning at the story she chose.  It was something about fairies who spend all their time eating candy… or perhaps they were candy, it’s hard to follow.  At least, though, they weren’t all pink.

Reading was my lifeline as a child.  I was happy with a book in my hand, and often had to be told to put it down to be able to do things – chores, eat, bathe, sleep, you know, the things that interrupt your reading?  My worst punishment was to be told that I couldn’t pick up a book (that happened once, then was never used again.  I think it had something to do with me telling stories to the flowers.  We’ll never know!).

I realised that all of my favourite children’s books are more than 50 years old.  Yes, even the Dr. Seuss, although we didn’t have many of him until I was much older.  It surprised me to find that so many of the authors and books that I liked as a child were from a completely different era.  The surprising part is that it’s not that there weren’t books in my life – my aunt would get me a new one every week (and the ones that were intended for my sister and brother I often read before they did… and some they’ve probably NEVER read, either!)  The surprise was that I couldn’t identify with the more ‘modern’ stories (I didn’t use that phrase to explain it then, I just said that they were “boring” and left it at that.)

There are a lot of negatives about the books that I enjoyed.  They’re referred to as racist, sexist, elitist… a whole host of “ist” evils.  Being written in or before the 1940s or 1950s, they reflected the mores of their times.  The language of the older ones (books like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Peter Pan, for instance) is more complex than I remembered (I tried reading them to my niece, who was very polite in telling me that she “liked them, but they’re not favourites.”)  My father’s opinion was that the language was too challenging for her, even if I’d read them at that age.  What I loved about them was that there were identifiable characters and beautiful language.  I mean, reading about the Famous Five (for example) who didn’t want to be solving mysteries and having those amazing picnics?  (Well, until I realised that “tongue sandwiches” really were made with tongue… I thought it was some sort of spread, like a ham spread or something.)

I don’t know if I’m moping over the fact that we won’t share the same stories, or if I’m coming to the realization that being a child now is very different from in the 1970s.  She’s more drawn to TV (and oh, the eye-rolling that I do with so many of those shows!!   They’re EURGH! BLECH! ICK!)  To be fair, watching some of my favourite childhood cartoons now causes much laughter – during the parts that were supposed to be serious.  The "You see, Timmy..."… parts of the cartoons in particular.  The many appearances of Captain Obvious and the TALKING IN EXCLAMATIONS!!!  also… I still don’t know why all the cartoon characters had to spend so much time pointing out things that you could see.  (“Spiderman, he’s getting away!”  “Look, Batman, there’s the criminal over there!”) I did prefer Thunderbirds (filmed in SUPERMARIONATION!!!) and still somewhat enjoyed it when I saw a rerun about 10 years ago.  (Eurk!  I’m getting advanced chronologically there!)

In the 70s, TV had very few realistic girl leaders.  Almost any cartoon or children’s show had the strong male lead, and the airheaded blonde in skin-tight clothes.  (She would usually wind up getting captured or mind-controlled and need to be saved.)  But my books… the girls were part of the whole group (even if led by or protected by the boys) and as often as not would do the rescuing.  There was action and adventure and really wild things, all being done by girls (who were not always blonde.)  It’s comforting too, to read stories where the girls were not assessing their looks constantly. 

The central point, though, was that my books and other entertainment helped shape my views on a lot of things.  I remember WAAAY back in high school complaining that the hero of a new show was just that – a hero.  I wanted to know why it wasn’t a girl, especially since he did nothing that required extraordinary physical strength.  (I don’t even remember the name of the show, just that I was annoyed at a male protagonist.)  All those “awful dated” books certainly had me firmly convinced that “there’s nothing we wimmen can’t be” and I graduated to more girl-centred stories.  Here I am now, several years later, and I get eye strain from rolling them during “chick flicks” (I mean, seriously, if you like the guy, do something about it.  None of this “Does he like me?  OMG I had a thought that was vaguely naughty about that other guy!” *slap*) 

There are more girl-led stories now, and more choices for leads than there were 30 years ago.  But all too often the stories centre on looks or clothes or having crushes, and I admit that I don’t like them.  We’ve worked a long time to overcome prejudices about women, and now it seems that objectification is a driver for too many choices.  (Well, that and being a wise-cracking rebel.  Unrealistic.)

I’m aware that the freedom to choose includes the freedom to choose badly, and I wouldn’t want to deny choices to anyone.  But please, please, please, if anyone’s planning to write children’s stories, can we not have everything pink?  Or have fairies that worry about whether their dresses make them look fat?  Or have 6-year-olds who have exclusive quasi-romantic relationships?  As cute as it was when my then-6-year-old godson informed me that there were “3 girls in love with [him] and another 2 that wanted [him]” it’s also a little sick-inducing when the 8-year-old is in tears because he doesn’t.

*gets down off soapbox*

Sorry, didn’t mean to go all Gloria Steinem there. I think that I must be getting old and it’s past time for my nap… I think that perhaps I’ll go watch something soothing, preferably with half-naked muscular men doing manly things, like swinging swords and fighting, while the women go about saving the world.  Til next time, then!