Last week, an Atlantic article titled “Why the British Tell Better Children’s Stories” circulated around Facebook, highlighting the unsurpassed greatness of British children's literature in comparison to its American cousins. Focusing mostly on fantasy elements, Britain is vaulted as an indisputable powerhouse in children's literature, while America is chided for its “moral realism” and religiosity.
First of all, taking the morals and structure of American literature (AL) outside of its historical context creates an unfair comparison with British literature (BL). Huck Finn and escaped slave Jim’s voyage on the Mississippi is more than just getting on a raft “to right a social wrong.” The river represents the individual freedom both boys will inevitably feel on their respective journeys. The Br’er Rabbit figure in rich African-American folklore is more than just a rabbit who outsmarts his fox nemesis: it’s about the slave who overcomes his own oppression by outsmarting his white slave owner.
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Of course, it’s absolutely no surprise that two nations an ocean a part would develop their own distinct styles of literature over time, and that these differences would take place to accommodate the pressures of the land and the tastes of its people. Children's literature is no exception to this. The first notion to rid ourselves of when understanding why American children's literature (ACL) and British children's literature (BCL) differ at all is to look back at the respective histories of America and England.
The United States is not a British nation made up of only British citizens (read: mostly English and Scottish). True to the cliché, we are a melting pot and have been from the very first days of European colonialism. Early America wasn't just home to Mayflower families from England, but also included French and Spanish traders, African slaves, and hundreds of different indigenous cultures. Accordingly, these people came into contact and eventually exchanged stories, creating the unique mix of characters and tales of cultural and racial differences common throughout AL to this day.
Secondly, the history of Britain leading up to the 20th century paints a much different reality than the cozy imagery lent in the Atlantic article. Most important to note is that illiteracy was rife in Great Britain during the nineteenth century, at 47 percent in 1820 and 24 percent in 1870. This may not seem bad, but that is one-in-two and one-in-four people, respectively. A doting farm wife reading whimsical tales to her darling children? Not so much.
In a similar vein, the revival of England's affinity for pagan history didn’t really surface until the Romantic Era of the late 18th and 19th centuries. Prior to this period, Christianity ruled without question. (See "Beowulf" and other Christianized pagan tales.) Additionally, Americans weren’t the only ones “[viewing] their soil as something to exploit.” During the Industrial Revolution, Britain’s treasured rolling hills and green pastures were essentially lands to capitalize on and exploit without regard for sustainability (i.e. Coketown from "Hard Times").
Finally, the idea of an inherent British superiority can almost certainly be linked to the historical notion of Anglo-Saxon supremacy, which interestingly enough, does not include many continental ethnic groups and the Celts native to highland Scotland and Ireland. This exclusion asserts the idea that the continent was somehow “drained” of its best people during the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons, or that the English thought themselves to be directly descended from the great ancient powers of Greece and Rome. It even took time for anthologies in college English classes to go from solely English literary canon to British (English/Scot-Irish/Welsh) canon. All of these notions, which were supported well into the twentieth century by America’s New England “Mayflower” literati, were essentially designed to keep Anglo-Saxons at the top.
Meanwhile, Americans were, and still are, seen as the heirs of savagery, classlessness, and Bible-thumping. Never mind the fact that England would often chase away their cast-offs (e.g. Puritans) to the colonies, then mock them as well as their descendants. It's no wonder that AL appealed to the local people; our beloved stories were not meant to please the British. That does not, however, make them less valuable.
Even so, BL does not hold a monopoly on fantastical elements in children’s stories. It’s funny how the article drives home the value of BCL by featuring more recent, accessible British examples, such as the "Harry Potter" series and "James and the Giant Peach," whereas the American works mentioned are more antiquated, "manly" classics such as "Huck Finn" and “John Henry.” Our stories, too, have a plethora of morals, magic, talking animals, trickster figures, and so on. Among other treasures in our trove we have great pieces like "A Wrinkle in Time," "Goosebumps," and the "Percy Jackson" series.
Perhaps there is a valid case to be made for the value of fairy tales on childhood development, but as far as the Atlantic article is concerned, the argument for specifically British storytelling is supremacy masked as science. As children, Emily and I both read American classics and didn’t really start delving into British classics until we were teenagers, yet we were as imaginative and creative as our British counterparts. I would argue that childhood magic combined with the realistic adventures of everyday people create more well-rounded, socially conscious, down-to-earth citizens.
In spite of the points made by this article, no one should ever feel shamed for what they enjoy and there is plenty room for both British and American literature, as well as other stories that deviate from the canon. Personal taste accounts for much, so if you simply enjoy BCL, then go ahead and read it! But keep an open mind and remember not to overlook the stories written a bit closer to home.
Emily Kaufman is a biology major at the University of Akron in Ohio. She can be contacted at ekk14@zips.uakron.edu.
