Scathing Critiques of Children's Literature: The Berenstain Bears

Okay, first things first: I love the Berenstain Bears.  (And since this is often a point of debate, that really is the correct spelling.  I promise.)  I grew up with those books, and in fact have those same books to read to my son now.

In general, they're excellent books.  They teach good life lessons without being overly preachy and contrived, they're very readable and re-readable, and they'll also completely deflate the amount of money we'll have to wind up giving my son for things like lost teeth, since he won't be expecting more than a shiny new dime!

I also appreciate that, in general, both Mama and Papa are reasonable, rational, responsible

However, having now read the same fifteen books roughly half-a-hundred times each, some things start to become painfully apparent, and grate just a little more each time.

Scathing Critiques of Children's Literature: Winnie the Pooh

Oh, come on, you didn't think I was serious, did you?  Winnie the Pooh is practically perfect in every way, and shall not be criticized.

Electric Sheep

I awoke the morning of October 26th, 2001, with a feeling of unease.  Whether it was the quality of light in my seventh-floor dorm room, or how suspiciously well-rested I felt, something told me that the hour was later than it was supposed to be.

But how could that be?  After all, I'd set an alarm, hadn't I?  I knew what time I needed to get up that morning, and how important it was to be on schedule.  Had I set the time on the alarm and then forgotten to actually turn the alarm on?  It had been known to happen...

I squinted over at the clock, and that one blurry look told me everything I needed to know.  In half an hour, the buses would be leaving for the airport for the flight to Phoenix.  And at this point, it was questionable whether I would be on one.

The adrenaline hit me like a ton of… well, anything weighing a ton and hitting you all at once is basically going to have the same effect, regardless of what it's made of, so there’s really no reason to restrict the metaphor to the stereotypical bricks.

#notallwhatever

Last fall, I wrote a couple of posts on Nice Guy Syndrome and Gamergate.  Coincidentally (and as far as I can recall, it really was), this was roughly the same timeframe as the uproar in the media regarding sexual harassment and rape on college campuses, but apparently t'was the season for guys being really crappy to women (or at least, t'was the season for talking about it).  If only that problem went away when the media coverage did…

Anyways, out of that uproar was born (or at least gained in infamy/notoriety) #notallmen.  This hashtag was a way for caring, decent guys to demonstrate how caring and decent they were by blaming women for feeling harassed and then getting everyone’s attention to turn back to themselves, where it belongs, for being such caring, decent guys.

I’m trying to think of a way in which they could have missed the point any more thoroughly.  I just…it’s not coming.

The Meaning of Symbols

Freedom has two parts: potential and resolution; as metaphor has two parts: form and interpretation.  Of course, the two are intertwined.  Metaphor lines the road to freedom, as symbols and words are the bricks and mortar of meaning.  Freedom is being the bricoleur, the mason.

Symbol: a thing that represents or stands for something else, especially a material object representing something else.  (Synonym: metaphor)

Okay, obviously, there’s a huge amount of literature and theory out there about symbolism, and I have no intention of diving into that, despite the title.  So it’s safe to keep reading. =)  I do think, however, that some colloquial discussion about symbols is needed.