Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts

Saturday

"Struwwelpeter"

image via
By popular demand, I'm addressing the timeless children's classic Struwwelpeter by Heinrich Hoffman, author of the similarly-themed Slovenly Betsy.  I somehow was lucky enough to miss out on being subjected to these tales as a child, but it sounds like if you were, you never forgot them. 

The most infamous story in the collection has to be "Die Geschichte vom Daumenlutscher," or, in English, "The Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb."  The story is presumably intended to dissuade children from sucking their thumbs.

There is a way to humorously cure children of nasty habits, but I don't think Hoffmann's story is it.  I remember whooping with laughter as a kid at Shel Silverstein's poem "Warning," which reads:

Inside everybody's nose
There lives a sharp-toothed snail.
So if you stick your finger in,
He may bite off your nail.
Stick it farther up inside,
And he may bite your ring off.
Stick it all the way, and he
May bite the whole darn thing off.

See?  Direct and to the point, but hilariously absurd.  Roald Dahl's The BFG teaches a fine lesson about burping in a similar fun fashion-- the BFG advises Sophie that burping is "flithsome," so "us giants is never doing it."  As a kid, the BFG seems completely awesome, so if he says burping is taboo, you believe him.  (Of course, whizzpopping is another matter entirely, a bodily function to be celebrated, even, so you should feel free to fire a whizzpop at will.)

But now we must get back to "Little Suck-a-Thumb" to see how Hoffmann's parable plays out.  Mother warns Conrad not to suck his thumb while she's gone because:

"The great tall tailor always comes
To little boys who suck their thumbs;
And ere they dream what he's about,
He takes his great sharp scissors out,
And cuts their thumbs clean off—and then,
You know, they never grow again."

Why a tailor should care about thumb-sucking I have no idea.  A manicurist I could understand, but a tailor?  Perhaps he specializes in constructing thumbless mittens.

Regardless, Conrad fails to heed his mother's warning and sure enough, the tailor barges into his house, and--"Snip! Snap! Snip!"--he cuts both of poor Conrad's thumbs off.  Thus are vanquished Conrad's future plans to effectively hitchhike, become a movie critic, or play Nintendo.

Lesson learned:
One must presume the tailor only punishes children with anatomical-oral fixations, since I imagine that with adults, the potential consequences might prove far more dire.


Hoffmann, Heinrich.  Struwwelpeter: Merry Tales and Funny Pictures.  1845.
Struwwelpeter: Or Pretty Stories and Funny Pictures

Thursday

"The Story of Little Kettle-Head"

image via
Remember when I said that one of the few things that really made my skin crawl was gray, blank-faced, flat, blocky, zombie-puppet people?  Well, add to that list the arguably even creepier specter of gray, smiley-faced, kettle-headed people.  Particularly children.

Helen Bannerman, probably most infamous for her children's tale "Little Black Sambo," penned "Little Kettle-Head," a parable in a similar vein to Slovenly Betsy, about a little girl who "was very fond of poking fires."  Our little pyromaniac's uppance comes when she pokes one fire too many and burns her little head off. 

A quick-thinking servant replaces her head with a kettle and even draws a little smiley face on it so her parents won't suspect a thing.  Poor little Kettle-head can't talk anymore; she can only make the noise "Clip - clap - clapper - apper apper."  Her parents, of course, simply scold her for this.

Luckily, when Father Christmas comes that very night, he notices her strange head and leaves her a gift-- the decapitated head of a doll whose body has already been "chopped into little bits."  So, Mombi-style, little Kettle-head plops the doll's head on her burnt stump of a neck and the next day her parents remark favorably on her new good looks.  Of course, she's now stuck having a doll's head for the rest of her life, but, as the story assures us, she never got near fires again, "and that is how her head has never been burned off again." 

Lesson learned:
Burning your entire head off is worth it if it ultimately makes you prettier.


Bannerman, Helen.  "The Story of Little Kettle-Head."  New York: Stokes, 1904.
Read the full story here.

Friday

Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: "The Two Carolines"

image Vernon Nye
"Caroline Herman was a very nice little girl in many ways" our story tells us at the beginning.  What ways?  Well, she's very pretty, apparently.

But, we are told, there are "two Carolines", the "home Caroline" and the "school Caroline."  At home, it seems, Caroline is quite cross.  But at school, she radiates kindness and joy-- probably, as the story suggests, because "she loved her teacher more than she did even her own Mother."  This points to trouble at home for Caroline, and one can only hope the teacher will intervene and contact the authorities to remove Caroline from what the reader can only speculate is an abusive or neglectful home situation.

We see Mother using Caroline for menial manual labor, as well as sending her young daughter alone to the store to buy groceries for the family.  Caroline always obeys, but she grumbles as she does it--the death knell for any little girl in an Uncle Arthur story.  It turns out that Mother has set up an ambush for her poor daughter, and without any Admiral Ackbar to warn her, Caroline had fallen right into the trap.  Mother has invited Caroline's teacher over so she could hear the girl complain as she set the table.  Caroline loses what appears to be her only ally in the world when the teacher scolds the "trembling" child, who "bursts into tears."

After that, we are told, Caroline never felt safe in her own home and likely never trusted an adult again, because "she could never feel quite sure that there was not someone listening to her in the next room" and judging her.

Lesson learned:
Fear is the best motivator for kids.


Maxwell, Arthur S.  "The Two Carolines."  Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. Vol. 2.  Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1966.  15-19.
Buy Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: Volume 1 on Amazon

Thursday

"Slovenly Betsy"

image Walter Hayn via
You've probably never heard of Slovenly Betsy, and for good reason.  It's a collection of stories from over a hundred years ago that was probably best forgotten, but thanks to the magic of Project Gutenberg, now we can enjoy Betsy's slovenliness all over again.  The author is Heinrich Hoffman, the infamous creator of Struwwelpeter.

Much in the vein of Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories, this book offers a series of morality tales that is intended to teach female children the value of cleanliness, the folly of pride, or the fatal consequences of playing with matches.  Select titles include "The Story of Romping Polly," "The Dreadful Story of Pauline and the Matches," and "The Little Glutton."

The illustrations are crude but quite creative--witness the literalization of "crying one's eyes out" above, and in another memorable drawing, a girl whose neck has stretched from pride must tote it and her head alongside the rest of her in a wagon.  My favorite, however, is when Polly breaks her leg (well, snaps it off, actually) and the text accompanying the illustration reads: "See how her brother bursts in tears / When told the dreadful story; / And see how carefully he bears / The limb all wet and gory."

Lesson learned:
Per "The Story of a Dirty Child"--"A sloven will be always viewed / With pity by the wise and good; / While ev'n the vicious and the base / Behold with scorn a dirty face."

Hoffman, Heinrich.  Slovenly Betsy.  Bedford, MA: Applewood Books, 1911.
Buy Slovenly Betsy (Wee Books for Wee Folk)

Wednesday

Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: A gender analysis

image Uncle Arthur vol. 1
Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories, that inimitable source of childhood trauma, has some pretty distinct patterns in its tales which have become apparent after rereading them for this blog.  In a break from my regular posting format, I thought I'd address my findings here.

For my analysis below, I'm considering only Volume One of the 1964 edition.  Every volume has a "Lesson Index," so in italics is the "lesson" as written there, followed by the story title and description.  I include here only stories primarily about children that purport to teach a moral lesson, excluding only the "Bible" and "prayer stories".

Stories about female children:

Beauty, How to Find-- In "The Fountain of Beauty," Mother agrees that Nora is "dreadfully plain" but assures her that while "paint for your lips and powder for your cheeks" only "spoil" beauty, plain Nora can become beautiful by being less "cross and rude."

Grumbling, Cure for-- "Little Miss Grumbletone" is scolded when she grumbles as her brother Jimmie throws pillows at her in the morning, and is punished by being forced to eat, between sobs, every bite of her cold leftover lunch for dinner that night.  (The fact that Jimmie was hitting her with pillows is never acknowledged.)

Conceit, Cure for-- In "The 'I-Know-That' Girl," a girl is abandoned by her father at Trafalgar Square because she shows herself to be too conceited by saying "I know that."

Contradicting, Effect of-- "Little Miss 'Tisn't" must be taught a lesson because she contradicts people.  The most egregious example is when Father claims to have seen "a little man who was only three feet high" today in town, and his daughter expresses doubt.  "The worst of it," the story tells us, "is that she will contradict even in front of visitors, when it is so difficult for anyone to punish her."  (Great tip for kids!)  So her mother shames her by bringing her teacher into their home to witness the contradictions in action.

Curiosity, Days of-- "Curious Katie" wants to see what kind of custard treat her mother has prepared for her and her friends and hidden in a cupboard.  Although her mother forbids her to look, Katie takes a peek and inadvertently lets the cat into the cupboard as well, who eats the treat.  The ending: "Suffice it to say that pussy received a good slapping, Katie's inquisitiveness was reduced to normal, and the three little girls had a very plain supper of bread, butter, and jam."

Mischievousness-- "Mischievous Maggie" is such a little scamp that, one day "Daddy discovered little Miss Maggie sitting on the kitchen table cleaning his shoes with stove polish!"  (The text acknowledges this was likely a well-intended mistake.)  Another time she takes apart the alarm clock "[trying] to find out where the noise came from"-- "Did you ever hear of such a girl in all your life?" our story asks.  Maggie's father gets a new camera and takes Maggie's picture with it.  She is anxious to see how they turned out, so she opens the back and accidentally exposes the film.  Her father explains that "because of her naughtiness, [the pictures] would never be seen by anyone" and she learns a lesson for a lifetime.

Example, Effect of-- In "Echoes," Mary realizes that her younger brother repeats the rude things she says about her mother's cooking.

Laziness, Cure for-- "Dreamy Dora" sleeps in late in the mornings, so Mother punishes her by putting her to bed with the baby at half-past six and Dora cries herself to sleep.

There are also the outliers.  There's "Mother Love," which isn't really about children, and the only real story about a good girl, "Nellie's Wish," in which an unselfish girl gives her doll to another poor girl in need.

Results and conclusions:
Female children are bad when they are curious or impolite.



Stories about male children:

Courage-- In "The Man Who Could Not Move," a paralyzed man retains a cheerful outlook on life.

Faithfulness-- The reason "Why Victor Slept So Well" is because Victor is an industrious boy who works hard and anticipates his employer's needs.

Helpfulness-- "Wilfred's Secret" is that he runs the "Surprise Package Company," which does nice things for people who don't expect it.

Faith, A Child's-- "Jesus Understood"

Honesty Pays-- "Peter Pays Up" because he eats blackberries from the store and his Grandma makes him fess up to the shopkeep and pay for them.  The shopkeep rewards his honesty by giving him a nice jam doughnut.

...I'm sure by now you get the idea, so I'll just list the other titles and lessons about good boys for reference: Love, How to Show-- "How Much Love?"; Owning Up, Reward of-- "Conkers and Conquerors"; Quarreling, How to Stop-- "How Tony Made Up"; Persistence-- "Kocking Out the 'T'"; Tithing, Reward of-- "How Tommy Opened Up the Windows of Heaven"; Police, Respect for-- "Georgie and the Man in Blue"

Plus, there are at least two "bad boy" stories: Tardiness, Cure for-- "When Dick Was Late" and Greediness, Cure for-- "The Hollow Pie."

Results and conclusions:
Male children are good when they are industrious and courageous.


Lessons learned:
The boys tend to get "rewarded" for the values they embody or the lessons they learn, but the girls are more likely to get "cured" of them.  The boys also all have names, while the girls are often referred to only by the negative traits they represent.  I'm sure much of the discrepancy in the depiction of male and female children can be attributed to the time in which they are written and published, although the attitudes regarding male and female roles seem more in line with the mid-nineteenth century than the mid-twentieth.  The harmful stereotypes perpetuated here are worth noting since these stories are still being actively published today, and many of the volumes have rave (if nostalgically hazy) reviews on Amazon from folks who read these stories to their own children and grandchildren.  Really warped children's stories can be wonderful fun, but unlike the stories where a child gets eaten by a lion, or controlled by an evil book, Uncle Arthur's stories have a very unbalanced message that's easier for kids to internalize and accept as truth.


Text source: Maxwell, Arthur S.  "The Hollow Pie."  Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. Vol. 1.  Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1964.

Tuesday

Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: "The Hollow Pie"

image Don Nelson
"Robert had the very bad habit of always taking the biggest and best of everything for himself."  So begins today's morality tale from Uncle Arthur.  We know what the moral will be after this sentence, so the real payoff is seeing how Robert will learn his lesson.  Let's find out, shall we?

Mother is tired of Robert "disgrac[ing] the family," so she enlists her sister's help to nip this little problem in the bud.  Auntie invites them to dinner and Robert is positively giddy with anticipation.  As soon as he gets to Auntie's house, he eyes each dish and makes a mental note about which biggest, most-delicious-looking portion he wants for himself.  When the pies are passed around, Robert of course takes the biggest one, but he is disappointed to find that it is hollow.  "Poor Robert!  Tears filled his eyes, but as no one seemed to notice what had happened, he ate the crust as bravely as he could and said nothing."  At least he's polite.

Then, cakes are passed around.  Robert takes the biggest one, but the center is disgustingly bitter.  Robert eschews the dull oranges and pears and selects the big shiny apple.  After one bite, he discovers the center is bad.  Finally, the chocolates are passed around, and Robert takes not one but two of the "big beauties in the center," but they've been tainted with a horrible taste.

That night, Robert complains that the food was bad even though he always tried to take the best-looking portions, and his brother Charlie sagely advises that that might be the root of Robert's problem.  Thus, Robert "put 'two and two together' and at last decided that the best and safest course for him would be to follow Charlie's suggestion in the future."

This is the end of the story, but it leaves us with so many questions: What did Auntie put in the food?  How did she distribute it?  Were the other family members in on it?  How did they know Robert would take two chocolates instead of one?  What about her menu--pies, cakes, fruit, and chocolate--is Auntie trying to send her entire family into a sugar-induced coma?

Is Auntie the sort of aunt who would put the poison into only the biggest portion or vary it up a little? Now, a clever aunt would put the poison into several portions, because she would know that only a great fool would always reach for the biggest portion.  Robert is not a great fool, so he can clearly not choose the portion that is not the biggest.  But the aunt must have known Robert was not a great fool, she would have counted on it, so Robert can clearly not choose the biggest portion in front of him.

Lesson learned:
It's a good idea to build up an immunity to iocane powder.


Source: Maxwell, Arthur S.  "The Hollow Pie."  Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. Vol. 1.  Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1964. 25-28.
Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: Volume 1Buy Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories Volume 1 on Amazon

Sunday

Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: "Mother Love"

image Herbert Rudeen
I don't understand why this story was ever written, ever published, and certainly ever read to me before bedtime, but when it comes to childhood nightmares, Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories is the gift that keeps on giving.

The story begins: "Here is a very sad little story, and I hope you won't shed too many tears as you read it."  Then why are you telling us this story, Uncle Arthur?  Why?

Daddy is dead to begin with, so Mother only has Little Margaret left in all the world.  One night Mother wants to go shopping, so she puts Little Margaret to bed and tiptoes out to the market.  While she is gone, the cat knocks over an oil lamp and starts a fire.  Although the story initially paints a picture of Mother as a wonderful, loving parent who agonizes over the fact that there was no one available to sit for her child, here it points a blaming finger: "Had someone been there to pick it up quickly, all might have been well, but there was no one to help, and poor pussy did not understand."

Now the fire is described in exquisite detail: the smoke, the chaos, the burning.  Mother returns home and, although the firemen warn her that "no one could live a moment in those flames," she plunges in to grab her baby.  The firemen later find their charred remains, the mother still clutching her baby.

Here the story takes an unusual turn.  Although one might expect a lesson here about a mother illegally endangering her infant by leaving her alone unattended, instead, the blame seems to shift to... Little Margaret?  Or at least children who are ungrateful for their mothers.

It reads: "If you were ever in such a dangerous place, your Mother would rush to help you, even though it cost her all she had and her own life as well... And if that's true, and you know it is, don't you think that while you have the chance you should show her how much you love her, too?"  And while the story notes that a child could certainly run into a burning building to prove equal affection, it ends with what is perhaps a more reasonable suggestion: "Why not try washing the dishes for her next time she's tired?  I'm sure she would appreciate it just as much!  Anyway, it's worth trying, isn't it?"

Lesson learned:
Wash the dishes for your mother once in a while or you and she both will meet a fiery death.


Source: Maxwell, Arthur S.  "Mother Love."  Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. Vol. 1.  Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1964.  86-89.
Buy Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: Volume 1 on Amazon

"Cinderella"

image via
Most folks know that the Grimms' original fairy tales were quite, well, grim.  And no fairy tale is more disturbing than their 1812 version of "Cinderella."

Before Cinderella's mother dies, she tells her daughter to plant a tree on her grave and to just shake the tree when she needs help in the future. 
Cinderella is sad and abused, but at least her bird friends help her clean and complete the other menial tasks her wicked stepmother and stepsisters force upon her. 

The pigeons and the tree provide the clothes and carriage needed for Cinderella to attend the royal ball, and when she leaves behind a golden slipper, the prince sets on a quest to find the foot that fits it.

To fit in the slipper, one stepsister cuts off her heel, but the birds point out the blood in the shoe and the prince knows she is not the one.  The second stepsister cuts off her toes to fit in the shoe, but the birds tattle again about the blood pooling in the shoe.

In the 1857 version, the Grimms added a fun little coda, too: just before Cinderella's wedding to the prince, the birds pluck out one eye from each sister (so they can still watch their humiliation, I suppose), and then just after the wedding, the birds finish the job and peck out each sister's remaining eye.  And "thus," the story concludes, "for their wickedness and falsehood, they were punished with blindness as long as they lived."

Lesson learned:
 Don't go under the knife just to impress some guy.

Grimms' Fairy Tales (Illustrated Junior Library)

Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: "Jesus Understood"

image Harry Baerg
When I was little, I slept with my hands under the pillow.  Why?

Because I was convinced that otherwise, Jesus would kidnap and kill me.

The unforgettable little story "Jesus Understood" from Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories, a collection of Christian morality tales, is the reason why.

The opening sentence of "Jesus Understood" establishes the tone: "Little Bobby was crossing a busy city street when a big car came and knocked him down."  (Although it is not specifically mentioned, there is probably some subtext here containing a Valuable Lesson about looking both ways while crossing the street.)  Poor Bobby seems doomed from the start, but then we're shocked to learn he's damned to boot!  See, Bobby winds up in the hospital rooming with his old pal Tommy, and Tommy knows who Jesus is, but Bobby does not.

Because Bobby is probably going to die, Tommy tells Bobby all about Jesus and how He'll take you to Heaven if you just ask Him.  Bobby remains unconvinced that "a big Gentleman like that" would ever "listen to a little boy like me."  Tommy explains that there's an even easier method to capture Jesus's attention: "Just put up your hand--like we do at school--when He comes through the hospital.  They say He comes through every evening when the lights are turned down."  (This always led me to wonder: if Jesus is like a schoolteacher--raise your hand and he'll choose you--what happens if you answer the question wrong?)

That night, Tommy says it is "time," and, instead of alerting a medical professional, he urges Bobby to put his hand up.  Bobby, however, is too weak to keep his hand raised.  Tommy fixes the problem by propping up Bobby's hand with a pillow.  The last lines of the story read: "In the morning the little hand was still there.  Bobby was dead, but Jesus had understood."

This story haunted me for years and became the impetus for this blog.  As a child, I tried to do whatever I could so that Jesus wouldn't misunderstand and kill me before my time.  I had heard that Jesus would "come like a thief in the night," so I imagined him climbing through my window in a black ski mask seeking my upraised hand, which he would grab to hoist me up to Heaven.

Lesson learned:
Always keep your hands down, just in case.


Source: Maxwell, Arthur S.  "Jesus Understood."  Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories. Vol. 1.  Washington, DC: Review and Herald, 1964.  18-20.
Buy Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Stories: Volume 1 on Amazon