Here is my keynote address for LSU Eunice's Big Read program. LSU Eunice has about 3,500 students and is located in the heart of Cajun Land, rice fields and crawfish farms. I was treated with great warmth and of course, great food. Look for the exciting events to come on their website.
Hidden Censorship and Cultural Preservation Keynote Address
The Big Read
LSU Eunice, March 3, 2010
Noon, Le Doux Library
First of all, I want to thank you, Dr. Patout, for inviting me to give the keynote address for the Big Read Program here at LSU Eunice. I love being in the land of my ancestors and my living relatives, one of whom, Natalie Palms, has accompanied me from New Orleans, not to mention my husband Jimmy Amoss, who is also here. I have found that if I talk with someone from Southwest Louisiana long enough, I almost always establish a connection either by blood or marriage. We are family.
Apart from the pleasant family aspect of your invitation, there is for me great appeal in both the mission of the National Endowment for the Arts Program “inspiring people across the country to pick up a good book” and your inspirational choice of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 just right for engrossing readers and for showing what censorship and its cousins, propaganda, stereotyping, and labeling, could do to our rich, unique Louisiana culture, well documented in the diverse presentations to come.
Then to my personal delight, you selected me, a Louisiana children’s author and illustrator, to set the tone for the wide range of events and lectures to follow in your Big Read adventure.
I wonder if you just noticed the chip on my shoulder when I said “children’s author and illustrator.” It is there and I would like to tell you a story to show you why. I was first published in 1966 by Harper & Row when Ursula Nordstrom was the editor of the children’s book department. Ursula Nordstrom is regarded as one of the most influential forces in children’s book publishing during the 20th century. She discovered and nurtured writers and illustrators, such as Margaret Wise Brown (Good Night Moon) and Maurice Sendak (Where the Wild Things Are), and Louise Fitzhugh (Harriet the Spy). She pioneered trends in subject matter that had formerly been considered unsuitable for children. I always thought of her as the Queen Victoria of children’s books with protégé editors she had trained at the head of many New York publisher’s children’s book departments.
One day, a journalist asked Ursula, “How is it, Ms. Nordstrom, that you consider yourself qualified to decide which books should be published when you don’t even have a college degree?” Ursula answered, “I am a former child.”
Therein lay her genius; the ability to see and hear the child within, not only in herself but also to recognize and bring out that child in the authors and illustrators who came her way. I was lucky to be in that number.
Being an illustrator, I have given myself a graphic identity with the name of Sophie, the Tenth Muse. You will remember from Greek mythology that there are nine muses who inspire and guide us mortals through the lofty corridors of Art and Literature, both spelled with capital letters. What you may not realize is that the muse in charge of art does not include illustrators in her concern because she does not consider them Artists. No matter that Michelangelo was commissioned and paid to create creation on a ceiling. As for the muse in charge of Literature, one need only consult the course offerings of our universities to understand what she thinks of children’s books: “kiddy lit,” if it is offered at all, comes from the department of education and is presented as a tool for teachers.
And so you might say that Sophie fills a gap. Just like her nine sisters, Sophie inspires and guides mortals. Her field is children’s literature. She looks like me as a child but do not mistake Sophie for an angel because of her wings. They are monarch butterfly wings, functional for getting around and symbolic of the miraculous transformation from earthborn caterpillar to airborne butterfly, that she can achieve in creators or users of children’s books to confident, skilled professionals.
The criteria by which English professors rule out children’s literature as somehow not a part of real Literature is mystifying, because books read when we are young exert far more influence on our development than books read later in life. The best are inspired, beautifully written, and often illustrated with great art; they are an art form.
Then there is the idea that it is easier to write a book for children than to write a book for adults. Acquaintances of mine, not in the field of children’s literature, often ask, “Are you still writing those sweet little books?” The implication is that hopefully I have grown up and am writing a book about real people doing real things in the real world. I have tried answering truthfully that my books are not sweet, that I love writing for children, that it is not a step up, but is at the top of the staircase. I hear the chip on my shoulder and have learned to mumble and hurry on to another subject.
Sometimes we forget that we are all former children, and the first books we saw influenced our perception of the world and our place in it. Early books helped us find meaning in life and the illustrations in those books were the first graphic art we saw. Who among us did not embellish a book with crayoned affection, and who, even now is not grateful for a book that gave us wings to fly into the stormy skies of adolescence?
Children’s books are recognized as a basic tool in early education and, of course, are necessary for school libraries. All of which provide a great opportunity for book publishers. But it is those very thriving areas that have created the great divide between what we call English literature and children’s literature in the American culture and in our universities where standards are set. Books written for adults are taught in departments of English while those for children are relegated to the departments of education. The great divide widens and spills over into publishing houses, libraries, schools, book sellers and readers. I think that all of the above are forms of a hidden censorship.
There is no real division in literature; it is an artificial barrier, but it is growing and becoming more menacing to children’s literature. The more children’s books gain national attention as essential to reading and literacy programs, the more they loose their identity as part of the body of English literature so necessary to the curriculum in a liberal arts education.
Heather La Gardia, one of my students at Tulane in the early nineties said, “My friends have asked me why a medical-school-bound student would want to spend her time in a class called children’s literature. I tell them that I wouldn’t even be going off to medical school without the influence of some of the books I read as a child. If life is journey, those first books were my maps.”
Shelia Stroup, a columnist for The Times-Picayune, says, “I could fill pages with names of children’s books that are important to me. I can’t imagine a university of stature not having a children’s literature course in its English curriculum.”
As we strive to leave no child behind when it comes to learning and rely on books written for children to teach reading skills, let us remember the books that guided our coming of age. In his classic book, the uses of enchantment, Bruno Bettelheim, says, “Today as in times past, the most important task in raising a child is helping him find meaning in life.” Regarding this task, nothing is more important than the impact of parents and others who take care of the child; second in importance is our cultural heritage. . . When children are young, it is literature that carries such information best.”
I taught children’s literature at Tulane during 1980s and into the early 1990s. Then in 2001, I went back under a visiting scholar’s program with the purpose of trying to show that children’s literature has a place in the English department and that the best of children’s book illustrations is fine art and deserves a place in the Newcomb Art School. The name of my program was Litigating the Case for Children’s Books in Literature and Art. Unfortunately, I cannot say that I was successful in my endeavor, but the Harry Potter phenomenon turned the whole world of books upside down and did it for me.
What was the New York Times to do with their best seller list for big people now that it was dominated by a book for children? Simple. Exactly the same thing that was done for another book written for children: Huckleberry Finn. Harry Potter was inducted into English literature.
When I was teaching children’s literature at Tulane, my own children took pride in the fact that I taught at Tulane University and were anxious that my course should not be perceived as a “gut course.” They had always said, albeit lovingly, that I live behind the moon and were concerned that I might embarrass them because I was not au courant with the new usage in language and culture. You will never here me say, “Have a fun day!” Fun is not an adjective, it is a noun, but just recently on television, I heard fun used in the superlative "funnest". And for me, grass is still green and growing on lawns.
One day, I came to my classroom early. A small class of about 12 women was still in progress. So I quietly seated myself in the back. I am not sure what topic the instructor was pursuing but I heard her say, “I can look around this room and see that there are no Native Americans here.” I thought to myself, I must be one because I am an eighth generation Louisianan. I raised my hand and said, “I am a Native American.” She said, “Oh! I can see that now by your high cheek bones.” When I got home, my children cleared up what seemed to me to be a mysterious observation. By the way, I have recently learned that the proper term is now American Indians.
I have also had a brush with outright censorship. Lost Magic is one of the few books I’ve written that doesn’t have a Louisiana background. It is labeled an historic fantasy and takes place in England in the middle of the 14th century when kings, castles, the black plague, and witches roamed the earth. In the fall of 1995, an invitation to speak at a school in Denham Springs, two hours away from my home came at a busy time. At first I regretted but the librarian who called said that the children in this school had never heard an author speak before and my coming would be a wonderful opportunity for them. I explained that although I wanted to come, I could ill afford to spend a day away from work because I was way behind on meeting deadlines. In the end, I agreed to come if my books were offered for sale and for half of my usual fee of $250. The librarian said she would have to speak with her principal and soon came back with a proposal that I visit 2 more schools in the vicinity to share the expense, necessitating a total of 7 presentations during the school day, beginning 2 hours from home at 8:00 a.m. and ending at 3. I agreed.
Usually for a book signing, the school orders the books directly from the publisher with a 40% discount, but this librarian asked me to do the ordering and told me that each school would order from me separately at the 40% discount. She did not want to get involved with the other schools or with the other publishers. I agreed to that too and spent a lot of time on long distance phone calls dealing with three different schools about how many books each wanted and what grades I would be talking to. Everyone wanted something different, so there were 7 presentations to different age groups to prepare for. I sent the books ahead to the different schools.
Then a few days before I was to leave home, I had a call from the librarian at Denham Springs Elementary School telling me how thrilled the children were over The Cajun Ginger Bread Boy. But some of the librarians had pointed out that Lost Magic was about a witch, and the new principal feared law suits from the parents. She had decided that the school could not sell the book.
I told the librarian that the heroine was not a witch but an herb woman, and that Lost Magic should not be considered dangerous as it had been nominated for the Georgia State Children’s Book Award. She had not read the book herself, so I asked her to read it and get back to me in the morning.
It was the principle of the thing that upset me. I was proud of my story and had done a lot of research into medieval times. I had grown herb gardens for two years because my heroine was a medieval herb woman. I had visited herb gardens all over the country and in Europe and acquired so many books on medieval times and gardens that my husband mumbled something about any more books, and he’d have to move out because of lack of space for him.
Making a story true to the times and place, is important to both the writing and reading experience. My research allows me to enter the world of my characters and write their stories convincingly. For the reader, it means he or she will get a glimpse of how people lived and thought in a different age, and if I have done my job well and made the characters strong and the plot exciting, the reader will enjoy the experience.
And here they were rejecting my most successful book, the one I had worked on the hardest, and they hadn’t even read it.
In the morning, I faxed the librarian that I was not coming and to return all the books. I would return them to the publisher.
When I first started writing and illustrating back in the ‘60s I was blissfully ignorant of what editors and educators wanted. The philosophy then was write what you know about and love. Libraries were receiving large federal grants and begging publishers for books, thus providing greater opportunities for authors and illustrators. Then as federal funds shrank, and editors grew more picky, I found myself at my writing, thinking, yes, my editor would like this part or no she wouldn’t like that. But wait, who was I writing for? Was I still writing and illustrating what was deep inside of me or was I becoming self-conscious, heavily influenced by trends of the day: multi-culturalism, political correctness, and now fear of offending one of the many minority groups who wield political and legal power.
As I wrote the sequel to Lost Magic, I caught myself composing a little sermon and putting it in the mouth of my heroine on how she was not a witch and how she performed her magic for only a good purpose, words she would never have uttered in medieval times. What was I afraid of? I was afraid of not getting published. Afraid my editor might say, “We can’t publish this because the librarian will be afraid to shelve it because of fear of law suits from the parents.”
Were my books dangerous to children? Was I amoral? Too liberal? Not liberal enough? A racist? An atheist? Or perhaps that was the one fear I could forget since schools can no longer mention God. Maybe it was all right to be an atheist. The only trouble is that I am a devout Roman Catholic. Eric Suben, my writing partner for Writing and Illustrating Books for Publication, is a devout Jew. We used to have a joke, that between the Catholic holidays and the Jewish holidays, there was no time when we could work together.
I remember a trip I made to China with my husband in 1979. I visited book stores and bought what children were buying: comic book types of books espousing the communist party line. What bigots, I thought. Thank goodness our books in the United States were not didactic. Then when I started teaching a survey of children’s literature at Tulane, I discovered that each generation, with the best of intentions, of course, puts into its books for children what they want the children to believe. You can read our social history, our ideals of the time in children’s books. At this very moment, our own generational didacticism may not be apparent to us because we believe our beliefs to be the one true. I am old enough to have experienced that the present generation always believes that the previous generation needs to be enlightened.
There are many things that are not appropriate in children’s books and I would never put them into my writing and illustrating. But I know that if I am constantly in fear of offending someone, or not being politically correct, I will not write anything of value, certainly nothing that enriches or provides meaning to the child. In the words of Susan Larson, former book editor for The Times-Picayune, “We must teach our children how to think, not tell them what to think.”
Louisiana is an absolute gold mine for authors and illustrators of books for all ages. We have a rich history, a unique, diverse, and still vibrant culture, an incomparable cuisine, and flora and fauna like no other place in the country. I have brought with me three of my books that I believe fit in with the mission of the LSU Eunice Big Read Program.
The Cajun Gingerbread Boy, is an interactive picture book for young children in which the Gingerbread Boy moves through southwest Louisiana. I have brought about 20 Gingerbread Boys that you can buy today. It is being reprinted by Cocodrie Press and will be available April 4, 2010. You can order it today through me, or from Forest Sales.
The Loup Garou, is an easy/early read chapter book for children from 6-8 about the Acadian Diaspora, how the French were forced to leave Nova Scotia and came to Louisiana. Most came by ship, but in the Loup Garou, a family is helped by the Micmac Indians and come over land and by river in an exciting escape from the British, who had trapped everyone in the church. The Loup Garou is only available through Pelican Press as a print-on-demand book. That means that it is not in their catalog, but if you happen to know about it and take the trouble you can ask them for it. In the meantime, I am leaving for you to sign and I am working on a soft cover edition.
The Chalk Cross, is my first young adult novel published in hard cover in 1976 and now out in a soft cover edition. My publisher, Clarion Books, and I are donating a carton of 50 to the LSU Eunice Big Read program. We hope you will take a book, read it and email me what you think about it at berthea@aol.com. But oh dear! Please do not ban it because it has voodoo in it. There is also Catholicism in the Chalk Cross and yellow fever and cemeteries, all as they existed in the first half of the 19th century in New Orleans. I did my research at Tulane University reading the newspapers of the 1830s on microfilm. And as Walter Cronkite might have said, “And that’s the way it is.”
We’re into March already and very soon in Louisiana it will be time for hammocks in the shade, lemonade and a good book.Heed the Big Read call to action and read for the joy of reading. Start with Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451.
