We appear to be coming to the agreement that we should tell the children
many of the old, old stories and some of the new, many stories from the
world of the imagination, some from the real world; stories that will
aid them in interpreting their world, themselves, other children, some
grown-ups, nature; stories that will direct aright the imagination, the
sympathies, and the taste; playful stories and more serious, sensible and
nonsensical; short stories and longer; stories to be told over and over
again, stories to be told in passing. To meet the child’s and later the
girl’s and boy’s changing tastes and interests, and the needs of their
developing imagination and sympathies, our choice should embrace, besides
a great many others that as yet have eluded classification, fairy tales,
fables, myths, legends, romances, tales of adventure, stories of animal
life, child life, growing boy and girl life, stories of great men and
women.
Some teachers find it hard to see any educational value in play-stories
like “The Three Bears,” nonsense stories like “Chicken-Licken,” and
drolls, or farce “funny” stories like “Lazy Jack.” They do not get the
child’s point of view. They are disturbed by the apparently idle pleasure
or extravagance of them. “Chicken-Licken” appears to be nothing but
driveling nonsense. The writer has no desire to attempt to turn it into
sense nor to press unduly the claim of this particular type of story. But
why not let it in as a nonsense tale, an opportunity for giving the mind
a frolic? This is advanced by some students of the tale as its possible
origin. It may be thought of as a reflection in literature of the naïveté
of childhood; it catches capitally its guilelessness in motive, social
intercourse, and deed. Its form also is childlike. The child ekes out
invention in the manner of the tale, by the open artifice of cumulation
and repetition. Or the story may be dignified into literary introduction
to that type of classic which records the very common human situation,
“much ado about nothing.”
The same teachers are disturbed also by the ethical code of many of
the folk tales; they find it crude and fleshly. It deals in large and
sense-delighting rewards. But may it not be possible that the child must
be allowed time to grow to a more discriminating standard of conduct and
a finer kind of satisfaction?
It is to be hoped, however, that even then the child will retain his
capacity for laughing at merry play and hearty comedy. Laughter is good
for the world. It is a tonic to the emotions, and regeneration to the
spirit, spurring it to fresh and better effort; it is a sign, too, of
broadening imagination and sympathy. The man that has no laughter in him
is like Shakespeare’s man that has no music in him, “fit for treasons,
stratagems, and spoils. Let no such man be trusted.” Most stories will
give the children a more reserved pleasure, happy mental and æsthetic
satisfaction; some a fine gladness and exaltation. But let us not be too
narrow to admit the wholesomely “funny” story.
The over-strained, anæmic, goody-good story is likely to breed up a
generation of canting hypocrites. The little child is much occupied, it
is true, with the task of being good, and he is a great admirer of the
good people in the stories. There is room in children’s literature for
the rather obviously moral tale, if it be not too often presented and
if it be really charming. From this point of view, Constance D’Arcy
Mackay’s book of plays called “The House of the Heart and Other Tales” is
a suggestive contribution to children’s drama.
For the younger children the story with plenty of action, often with
animals as characters, and with happy ending has proved best. The story
with less joyous “inevitable ending” is, however, not to be excluded;
life is not to be distorted. Besides, not all sad-ending stories are
negative in effect, leaving the child knowing only “what not to do”
rather than “what to do.” A story like Hans Andersen’s “Daisy,” for
example, induces constructive inference and effect.