On the undeniable
appeal of silliness, and a drawback to it.
If I had to
pinpoint one series that truly brought my boys into the world of chapter books,
I would definitely highlight Dav Pilkey’s Captain Underpants series. It’s
difficult to sum up the books in a simple sentence (or three), but they include
two of the most delightfully mischievous protagonists ever created, a grumpy
principal who turns into a tighty-whitey wearing superhero, comic book texts
within the text, villains who tap directly into the schoolboy delight in the
gross and grosser, and, of course, the magic of Flip-o-Rama. While those
elements all appeal most especially to the ten-and-under set, Pilkey also uses
a meta-textual style and other small touches (such as wryly hilarious chapter
titles) that reward any adult who happens to be reading the books to his or her
kids.
The book’s are
about an un-educational as it’s possible to get, and—to go back to the topic of
yesterday’s post for a moment—I certainly would imagine that any attempt to
read them in a classroom setting would lead to instant and likely successful challenges.
That’s understandable, but the truth, as I saw first-hand with my boys, is that
a central goal—perhaps the most crucial goal—of any early reading chapter book
is simply to get kids reading in those extended and focused ways, period. It
was so rewarding to see the boys able to stay with the Captain Underpants books over multiple nights, across more than two
dozen chapters, following plot threads and remembering details and enjoying the
way a story can unfold in that form. And certainly Pilkey’s books have been
gateway drugs into numerous other chapter books and series, some (like the
subject of tomorrow’s post) just as silly, but many (like John Bellairs’
thrillers, or Beverly
Cleary’s Ralph S. Mouse books) entirely different from Captain Underpants.
So I think that if
we devalue silliness and even disgustingness, at least in such early reading
books, we do an injustice to what it can help bring about. But on the other
hand, there’s a part of the Captain
Underpants silliness—and, I feel, of many similarly silly and over-the-top
entertainments for young boys—that I find far more disturbing and potentially
destructive. Harold and George, the two young protagonists, hate school, focus
in that space only on finding a way to turn the school day into an extended
prank—and everything about the world of their school seems designed to
reinforce those attitudes. And whereas other aspects of the series’ silliness
feel unique and organic to its stories and worlds, this nascent anti-intellectualism
(a big word for it, but I think an accurate way to describe the thoroughgoing
contempt the series demonstrates for any and all aspects of education) feels
shoe-horned in because it’s “cool.” And that, frankly, is a message—especially for
young boys—that’s not at all silly, but dead serious, and in the worst ways.
Last YA favorite
tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What YA lit
favorites and memories would you share?
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