Review cross-posted on our sister site, Caterpickles.
This book is nearly unique on our bookshelves in that it does not contain stories written for children by adults, but stories told by children to adults, or rather, one particular adult. As you might guess, we are rather fond of it for precisely that reason. The Four-Year-Old likes it because the sometimes random segues in the stories make perfect sense to her, and I like it because it gets my daughter thinking about writing down some stories of her own (as opposed to simply telling them to her kitten class during storytime).
Often books written in the 50s use terms that are outdated today (to say the least). This one isn’t too bad, as you might expect for a book authored by children (and edited by a careful adult). Stereotypes about Native Americans are alive and well in one story, but that’s about all I could find to get worked up about. (Feel free to enlighten me on things I’ve missed in the comments.)
I find some of the stories pretty endearing, such as the one in which the beautiful debutante sucks up all the oxygen in the ballroom, or would, except that the other little girls at the ball didn’t care how beautiful the debutante was because they had such warm bathrobes. And the story in which the rainbow cracks and sprinkles happy spots all over the house beneath it. Other stories are funny, and some are just strange. But they all sound like children, and most of them, like children I know.
The Four-Year-Old is less enthused. When I pull it out, she listens to it with a smile. But when I’m done, she doesn’t want to read it again.
In part, I think this is due to the illustrations. They are classic Sendak, and drawn in a simple pen and ink style that pairs well with the simple storylines. The Four-Year-Old would have preferred them to be in color.
And now it’s your turn. What are you reading this week?