A Crue-sade? Ellis and abridgements

I am really starting to get worried. Every week I try to read a decent amount of primary source material, but I always seem to end up writing about secondary sources. This week follows that static course as I feel I have to respond to Ellis’ article about the abridgement of classic novels. To summarize, Ellis is of the opinion that abridged material should have a place within the modern library because it gives reluctant or non-readers a chance to include themselves into the reading cycle which will hopefully lead to their overall level of improvement.

It is hard to disagree with such a noble sentiment but how she arrives at this conclusion is, in my view, rather flawed. For instance, on the second page of her article, Ellis records the observation of a six-grade teacher who states that some children will never be ready for the unabridged version of the classics. While this is an entirely believable situation, she (that is, this unnamed teacher) goes on to lament the quality of parental supervision of the current generation by stating: “[their parents] give them [the] TV Guide [and] video games” (p. 56).

I must admit that this statement alone jaundiced my view of the article. To begin with, this hypothetical teacher seems to recreating the timeworn and clichéd argument that somehow their generation was and is somehow better than the one that currently exists. How many times during the course of our lives have we heard authority figures drone on and on about how something was infinitely better than it is now. Invariably, the figure in the position of the authority attributes this alleged downfall to a lack of morals, or part of larger negative trend.

The second, and perhaps more on topic argument, concerns abridgement itself. While I do not, in any way, disagree with the notion that abridged novels should be provided in a library setting, I do, unlike Ellis, acknowledge that this method has inherent deficiencies. Abridgement can not only thoroughly compromise an artist’s vision, but also create a gulf between readers.

After all, how can one really expect to share their literary experience with another reader if their versions of the same book complete differ? Ellis herself comments upon an abridged version of Little Women that took it upon itself to cut out all mention of emotional suffering. Wasn’t that theme one of Alcott’s main points?

Finally, one of life’s cold hard truths is that if one expects to perform at a post secondary level, or in the complex world of business, a certain reading aptitude is expected. Granted, not all young adult readers have this expectation, but to make it seem that by providing the abridged version alone somehow constitutes a good day’s reading is, in my view, foolhardy.

Ellis, S. (2000). Rob Crue, or the classics revisited. The Horn Book. 76(1), 55-58.

Bainbridge & Canadian Picture Books: Truly Multicultural?

After reading a selection of Canadian picture books for this week’s class, I took it upon myself to read the article by Bainbridge and Wolodko entitled: “Canadian Picture Books: Shaping and Reflecting National Identity.” I think the first problem I had was this article was with the latter part of its title, namely, national identity. Reading this term, which we all have no doubt heard and read about (perhaps to the point of nausea), I began to think of the Canadian Studies class I took doing my undergrad. After realizing that I seem to recount far too many of my undergrad classes while writing these booktalks, I started to rationalize what it was that was really bothering me about their article.

I mentioned my concerns about its title, but to dislike an article just because of it is, to put it succinctly, ludicrous. I think, my initial dislike for the article began with its introductory preamble about the history of Canada’s national identity. Here, Bainbridge and Wolodko impart a typical account of Canada’s “struggle” for national identity. For example, they state that until the twentieth century, Canada was: “…an amalgam of blurred French, British, and American values and cultures” (p. 21). Later in the same paragraph they add that nationalists on both sides of the two solitudes reject any idea of: “…political nationhood and cultural duality…”

Although Bainbridge and Wolodko use the notable Canadian historian Ramsay Cook as their source, problems, in my view, remain with this perfunctory argument. First of all, to reduce the development of Canada’s national identity to just two cultures is both stereotypical and naïve. Although it is indisputable that in the early years of Canada these two cultures reigned supreme, other cultures, whether they were fully recognized or not, still existed at that point. These cultures, whether aboriginal, Asiatic, Scandinavian and so on, still were part of Canada’s cultural dynamic before and after the implementation of the government’s multicultural programme.

What does this mean in terms of Bainbridge & Wolodko’s article? Well, the latter portion of their article dutifully gives credit to modern multicultural Canadian picture book authors and illustrators who are, as we type, attempting to modify and strengthen Canada’s multicultural reputation. If Bainbridge and Wolodko had looked, they would have likely found that the cultures that have been traditionally dominated in Canada had, nonetheless, produced items based on their own cultural experiences during Canada’ formative years.

In the end, it may seem I am making something out of nothing, but the tendency to reduce Canada’s cultural experience to just English and French, especially before World War II does, obviously, trouble me. The fact that yet another article, this time about children’s literature, espouses this flawed argument, means that it still has some adherents; clearly, it also has its challengers as well.

Bainbridge, J., & Wolodko, B. (2002). Canadian picture books: Shaping and reflecting national identity. Bookbird. 40(2), 21-27.

Preparing for Bettel…heim: Native American Aesop Fables

While perusing the stacks for a multicultural picturebook item at the local branch of the Toronto Public Library for this week’s class, one book in particular caught my eye: Doctor Coyote: A Native American Aesop’s Fables, retold by John Bierhorst (1987). After I grabbed the book and checked out this item, a thought occurred to me: why did I choose this particular book? Subsequently I thought about one of the scholarly readings that we have for this week, Bettelheim’s The Struggle For Meaning (1991).

On the second page of this article, Bettelheim makes, in my opinion anyway, a powerful statement. After discussing his dissatisfaction about the state of children’s literature, he argues: “…[a vast majority of children’s literature] fails to stimulate and nurture those resources [which a child] needs most in order to cope with his difficult inner problems” (p. 377). It is the latter part of his statement, that is, about giving children something substantial to cope with life’s turmoil that really made me think.

One of the very few memories I have of reading books with my parents concerns Aesop’s fables. I think I was, perhaps, about six or seven, sitting on my parents lap listening to them regale me with moralistic fables from ancient times; fables, it should be said, which often result in the protagonist’s death or humiliation. Did these fables help me comprehend moral responsibility, as Bettelheim implies, or was this just a wistful remembrance of times past (pardon the rephrasing, Mr. Focault).

Looking at Bierhorst retelling of Aesop’s Fables, several other notions came to mind, which seem to negate Bettelheim’s postmodern philosophic interpretation. Going back to the beginning of my reflection for a moment, the reality of my choosing of Bierhorst’s rendering of Greek myth may, in fact, have to do with the cover illustration. It, at least subconsciously, reminded me of Richard Scarry’s book, Cars, Trucks, and, Things That Go. I remember reading this book incessantly as a child; so much so, that the cover ended up falling off.

In the end, did this book or Bierhorst’s take on Aesop’s fables end up meeting Bettelheim’s criteria? I would think not, but for me, a nice memory of my childhood certainly gave me, for a time, a nice feeling that helped me raise my mood and cope with life’s stress and problems. Maybe it is Bettelheim who needs to reevaluate his stance; I’m just happy with a brief, but pleasant, memory.

Bettelheim, B. (1991). The struggle for meaning. In Folk and fairy tales, eds. Martin Hallet and Barbara Karas, 326-345. Peterborough: Broadview Press.

Bierhorst, J. (1987). Doctor Coyote: A Native American Aesop’s Fables. New York: MacMillan.