Firstly, Hi there!
I'm Molly, your average literature-loving college student, assigned to create a blog to keep up with class assignments. The class in question, however, is Literature for Children and Young Adults, so this will hardly be a grudging sort of task. The title of this blog "Innocent and Heartless" comes from the last line of my absolute favorite children's book, Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie:
As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.
The duality (or tri-ality, I guess) of the statement about children seems key to an understanding of children's literature (and is interesting in its utter departure from typical Victorian thoughts on the subject). For while children may be innocent, have more simplistic understandings about the world, and be generally more joyful, at the same time this quality of "heartlessness"--of not understanding the ramifications of actions, of somewhat lacking the capacity for empathy--must be taken into account. This is the dividing line, for me, between children's lit and young adult lit--that the former is focused outward and the latter inward, trying to reconcile the heartlessness (self-centeredness) of childhood with a sudden knowledge of other people's thoughts and interests.
But all of this is introduction to the actual subject of this entry, the Big Question. How does one respond to the (common) claim that children's literature is "lesser" than other literature? It seems fitting that I chose Peter Pan to begin with, because my senior year of high school I butted heads with my English teacher over this very issue. I wanted to write my final research paper on Peter Pan. My second choice, Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass was also denied with the same perfunctory note--"No Children's Lit. (Sorry)."
Despite my arguments for both of the books, the first as a psychological study of childhood and growing up, the second as a clever satire on Victorian times, both were denied as appropriate subjects for scholarship. Of course, now that I am in college, doing exactly what that teacher forbade, I can try and step back, to piece out the logic.
There seems to be an inherent problem with the supposition that Children's Lit is lesser, and that is this:
The books and stories children read when they are young inform the way they look at the world, introduce them to art and words and story, often before they can speak in entire sentences. These books, read purely for pleasure with education coming as an end, not a means, are sadly sometimes the only books that kids, once adults, will look back and remember fondly. Children's books are profoundly important in the development of children's imaginations and knowledge. The imaginations and knowledge of all of us, as people often seem to forget that we were once all children, and that all children will eventually be adults. So why would writing for children, or children's literature itself possibly be considered of less importance than writing for adults?
One reads Peter Pan before tackling Anna Karenina. In fact, I would argue that of the two primarily psychological novels, the former has a much larger audience and far more universal appeal. Both novels attempt to paint a complex portrait of a character in odd/difficult circumstances, both the joyful and terrible sides of their condition. Why should one be lesser, if it reaches more people, far earlier, than the other?
Now, there are gradations in the quality of children's lit, just like in the quality of adult lit. The Baby Sitter's Club is no Peter Pan--and Nora Roberts's novels are no Anna Karenina. But the existance of Nora Roberts's novels does not invalidate the great classics of literature. If we can accept that some books are deeper, more thought-provoking, more challenging, etc. among adult literature, the same lenience should apply to children's lit as well.
Ultimately, there are as many sorts of books for children as adults, funny books, sad books, brilliant books, fantastical books, and so on, and because they inspire the adults of tomorrow, long before other literature has a chance, they are in no way of lesser importance. Once might even argue, they are of MORE.
