| Changing Concepts of Childhood and Children’s Literature Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006 Review by David Rudd, Department of Cultural and Creative Studies, University of Bolton, UK. This impressive volume of essays draws on the conference on the Child and the Book, which took place at the University of Antwerp in April 2005. It is organised into 5 ‘chapters.’ The essays significantly emphasise how international in dimension is children’s literature – perhaps, I’d like to think, more so than other areas of literature - with contributions from at least 11 different countries, the great majority being European. The first section, ‘The legacy of criticism of ideology and the impact of society on contemporary children’s literature’, deals with ideological issues; Roberta Seelinger Trites considers the heritage of a romantic, optimistic strain in American adolescent fiction, as shown in the works of writers like Mark Twain and Louisa May Alcott. It is essentially a belief in society’s betterment that is at the heart of these works. Trites gives examples of more recent novels in this tradition, which attack racial and gender prejudice. This would have proved interesting in itself, but at the end of her chapter she then considers novels that are more concerned with individual betterment, in the Bildungsroman tradition. Maria Nikolajeva continues this ideological thread, looking at gender issues in recent Swedish young adult fiction, noting the emergence of, possibly, new stereotypes of young characters. Nikolajeva asks a key question here: whether the adult authors of these books really capture how teenagers see themselves, or whether the authors defer to a sense of otherness that they feel in the face of contemporary adolescence. Anastasia Economidou asks a similar question about Greek literature for the young, showing how representations of males, in particular, are more open, less fixed, nowadays. But, as she notes, this could well represent the authors’ ideal picture of male adolescents. The next section, ‘(Post)structuralist approaches: from theory to practice’ is, as its title suggests, more theoretical in orientation. Sebastien Chapleau opens it by showing just how complex the act of writing a book for children is, involving multiple representations of different features of the process (the author, expected knowledge, the reader, pressure groups, etc), which are themselves recursive. It is a packed article, and may, for this reason, seem to end rather abruptly. Victoria de Rijke and Howard Hollands follow with one of the most rich and witty chapters in the book: ‘Looking for the thing that is not lost’. As the title suggests, they draw heavily on psychoanalytic theory, especially the work of Lacan and Žižek. However, speaking of recursivity, the authors also draw wittily on an interview with one of the authors of a work they discuss: Crocodile’s Masterpiece by the late Max Velthuijs. In response to an academic question put by them, he commented: ‘Criticals need such labels to make [them] part of something. For me, I am just telling stories’ (57), leading them later in the article to apostrophise their readers: ‘Colleagues! Beware over-reading the blank space … . Leave gaps open’ (67). This is an article that many of us could learn a lot from – not just about how to write knowledgeably and insightfully, but about taking a less pompous, more critically open attitude to the academic enterprise. Jane Newland’s article is also refreshing, using Deleuze’s notion of ‘pure repetition’ to give more insight into the appeal of series fiction; that is, showing us how repeating something does not necessarily make us spot the formula and become dismissive; rather, repetition can facilitate a sense of renewal, intensifying readers’ experience. The third section, ‘Transforming cultural legacy’, opens with Sanne Parlevliet’s analysis of how medieval Dutch stories were seen to be particularly pertinent for a child, in that a child is, in itself, ‘medieval’ in its thinking. These stories from the early twentieth century were thus affected by the nineteenth century model of biology, wherein ontogeny recapitulated phylogeny. Giuliana Peresso draws on Propp’s famous structural analysis of folktales to compare Le Guin’s Earthsea books with Rowling’s Harry Potter series, showing how, in many regards, both fit Propp’s formulaic scheme. However, Peresso interestingly notes that Propp’s final function, enthronement/ wedding, has been replaced with a more utopian variant concerned with self-knowledge and peace with oneself and society. Finally, Nadia Crandall’s carefully argued chapter persuasively argues for William Blake’s influence on a number of aspects of Maurice Sendak’s work – especially the integration of picture and word. ‘Children’s Literature in the aftermath of the World Wars’ opens with Dorothea Flothow’s excellent analysis of how the First World War was represented in British children’s books between the wars. Unlike some adult novels, where a disillusionment with war is apparent, children’s books continued to celebrate the war as a glorious enterprise (unlike, say, the situation in Germany). This is an important piece of work which, I hope, will find more published outlets. Rose-May Pham Dinh’s chapter is an interesting sequel, looking at how the clear-cut image of the British in the Second World War, as represented in such events as the Blitz, Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain, has led to a neglect of alternative narratives in children’s fiction (e.g. the occupation of the Channel Islands, the Holocaust). However, translations of continental works, coupled with a growing historical awareness, have led to more nuanced and open treatments of issues, albeit maintaining a sense of optimism. Ulf Schöne’s article shows how ideological issues influence the retelling of a folktale in contrasting ways, one version celebrating the power of the masses, the other, an individual’s moral choice. I particularly liked Schöne’s comment at the end, warning us against a tendency to belittle fantastic literature as thereby ‘escapist’. Finally, Sabine Berthold looks at a relatively neglected sub-genre, the post-World War II German travel novel, which explored the opportunities German youth then had to travel to America. As she shows, these books are clearly about individual development, but they also show how Germans were trying to build a new national consciousness. The final section, ‘Shifting ideologies in translated children’s literature’, is the most coherent, and the longest. As children’s literature becomes evermore international, so the complexities of translation become increasingly noticeable. Michal Borodo opens the section by comparing the situation in Poland in the 1950s, when translations of Soviet works predominated and censorship ruled, with the situation in the 1990s, when market forces (i.e. Anglo-American products) replaced them. However, Borodo does not thereby buy Zipes’s claim that, ‘[t]he totalitarian nature of the former communist states in Eastern Europe and the Far East were [sic.] vapid in comparison with the capitalist conglomerates that penetrate our lives constantly in the name of globalization’ (quoted p. 180). Moving on, Susan Kreller provides a refreshing change in being the only contributor to look at children’s poetry. Amazingly, A.A. Milne’s two books of children’s verse weren’t translated into German until the 1980s, a fact which Keller attributes to the change of address (removing the adult addressee) in a far earlier German translation of Winnie-the-Pooh, resulting in the ‘Pooh’ books being far less popular in Germany. Kreller then productively compares two attempts to capture the magic of Milne’s verse in recent German translation. Maria-Venetia Kyritsi’s chapter continues this exploration of the way that translation can take a text in a different direction by examining Edgar Taylor’s nineteenth century English translations of Grimms’ tales, showing not only his preference for animal tales, but also his tendency to censor elements that he considered too violent, sexual, or of a religious nature. Finally, Sylvia Liseling-Nilsson, in a very clearly written article, points up the importance of the whole cultural context (or its lack) when translating a text, using one of Astrid Lindgren’s works as her example. In sum, this is a very impressive collection, and one that deserves a wide readership. It challenges some of our more parochial conceptions of children’s literature, while simultaneously endorsing the depth of scholarship operating across the discipline. The only place the book falls down is in presentation. Cambridge Scholars Press is, without doubt, an important publisher of works that might not otherwise see the light of day (conference proceedings, especially), but it is a shame that, say, the dust-jacket could not be slightly more inviting, or the book’s margins slightly wider. However, we can live with that if it means making this material available. What is less excusable is the editing (or proofing, for I don’t know who was responsible for this). It’s a shame, for instance, that the illustration from The Hunting of the Snark disappears off the foot of page 62 – ironically on a page that discusses The Missing Piece. The introductions to the sections are also misleading at times – although the content itself is most informative. Thus, Sabine Berthold is highlighted as being responsible for two chapters (119), whereas Dorothea Flothow, the author of one of these chapters, misses out on a name-check. Likewise, in the last section we are told that Kreller’s essay is the final one, whereas it is the second of four, Liseling-Nilsson’s (mentioned first in the introduction) being the last (167). These are small points, but blemish an otherwise outstanding collection of essays. Make sure your library (at least) has a copy! David Rudd |