Called upon to present a gift to a small boy, I was asked to pick a book. I have no expertise in the area of children’s literature, so was left to select the things that I myself liked when young. That becomes difficult when you grew up in an era in which children were less cosseted and the books were more realistic.
Old Yeller came to mind, but the dog dies in the end and nobody can have that kind of thing anymore. The Yearling came to mind too, but the deer gets shot at the climax, so that likewise had to be set aside. Not because I wouldn’t have bought these books if I could find them, but I couldn’t even find them in the bookstore and didn’t have time to order.
Another particular favorite of mine was Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls. It’s about two hunting dogs, Old Dan and Little Ann, and the boy who raised them. There’s a lovely Indian myth about the rarity of a red fern, but it too touches upon the last things, and the book ends like Ole Yeller. It made a big impression on me though—I still think of it often—and it’s a shame that with all the wizards and dragons and junk going around, the lessons of such old tales can’t be learned now in favor of all these empowerment narratives that they foist upon the young. [Read more...]