It seems to have been fairly demonstrated that we have as yet no proper
standard of values to guide us in the selection of children's books.
Reviews fail: they either do not evaluate the book at all, or they lack
appreciation of it or of the children who are to read it--or both. Book
lists fail, as a rule, through eagerness to get something printed before
we know what to print. Articles upon children's reading fail because the
people who have written them are not always familiar with children's
books or are not acquainted with the "public library child." We turn to
the books themselves, but, having no standard of values, how shall we
judge? How are we to know whether a book is good or poor?
It is not possible to reduce the appreciation of literature--whether
books for children or for all time--to an exact science. It is difficult
to conceive of any formula for the evaluation of books in general or the
books of a particular class which would not fail again and again when
applied to the individual book through the medium of a personal
judgment. We shall not attempt, therefore, to answer the questions which
form the substance of our topic. We have endeavored merely to state a
question which to all children's librarians seems to be of paramount
importance, trusting that we may eventually reach a partial solution of
this problem by bringing the thought of many minds to bear upon it.
This collective paper, or, more properly, this collection of ideas upon
different classes of books, requires a word of explanation. The
contributors were not asked to prepare papers but to furnish ideas and
opinions, which should form the basis for discussion of the general
principles of selection and of individual books in the several classes
considered. The purpose was to present briefly the principles that
should apply in each class, and to emphasize these by citation of
specific books.
_I. FICTION._
We were recently asked to make out a list of a dozen books suitable as
prizes for a Sunday-school class of boys and girls from 12 to 16 years
of age. We studied a long and carefully prepared list of stories written
for girls of this age and supposed to include what was most desirable.
Assuming that the girls had read Mrs. Whitney and Miss Alcott, we did
not consider them, and we found not one story which we could recommend
as possessing permanent interest and literary value. There were many
books which girls read and like but they did not reach a fair standard
for this purpose. We filled out the desired number for the girls with
books written for older readers. Far different was our experience with
the books for the boys. It was only a matter of choice between a large
number, both suitable and desirable, and yet the lists which we
consulted had been compiled by the same hand.
In making selections of books for her readers, the children's librarian
encounters at the first step this difference in the quality of the books
written for boys and those written for girls. Judged purely by the
standard of taste, she must reject the greater proportion of those
written for girls. When she finds so few that reach her standard she may
blame herself for ignorance of the better books, but she must ultimately
reach the conclusion that whatever her own shortcomings there is a lack
of desirable books for girls. However, another most important factor
comes into the case on the reader's side of the question. If the
librarian is going to meet the needs of her readers she must understand
what they are instinctively seeking in books, and she must enlist
herself on the side of human nature. She will find at once that a
distinct division in the reading of boys and girls springs from the fact
that, generally speaking, the mental life of the boy is objective, that
of the girl subjective. The boy seeks action in fiction, the girl is
attracted by that which moves her emotionally or relates itself directly
to her own consciousness, and the last thing that either of them cares
about is the literary value of the book. Hundreds--no doubt
thousands--of our college graduates look back to the period when,
according to their sex, the "Oliver Optic" series, or the "Elsie
Dinsmore" series, played a very important part in their existence. The
love of adventure in the boy gave the charm to the books. Adventure he
must have, whether he finds it in the tinsel setting of Oliver Optic or
the refined gold of Robert Louis Stevenson. And the magnet in the nature
of the girl draws to herself something helpful even from Martha Finley;
otherwise, she would not speak of the "Elsie" books as "beautiful":
there is something in them which to her represents "beauty."
Nevertheless, while justly condemning the Oliver Optic and the Elsie
books as cheap, tawdry things, the librarian must seek among better
authors the holding quality on the nature of the child which these books
possess. She must search for books in which these elements of interest
are incarnated in what we call literature--books which, while rivalling
these in attraction, will at the same time refine and broaden the taste
of the reader.
Now, the lovers of Oliver Optic and Mrs. Finley do not take kindly to
the classics and as, in the modern stories for young people, few will
pass muster as literature, all that the librarian of to-day can do is to
use her judgment and discrimination among those the writers have
provided. The boys are readily turned from Oliver Optic to Henty,
Tomlinson, Jules Verne, and on to "Ivanhoe," but with the girls the case
is hard. The girl tells us that she likes stories about boarding-school.
It is a capital subject: in the hands of a writer sympathetic with
girls, of fertile imagination and vigorous power of characterization,
boarding-school life affords material for most entertaining
combinations--but the literature of the boarding-school has yet to be
written. The average boarding-school story has three main
characters--the attractive, impulsive heroine, always getting into
trouble; the cruel, cold-blooded, unscrupulous rival, habitually dealing
in falsehood, and the teacher who is singularly devoid of discernment or
intuition. The heroine inevitably falls into the snare of the rival, and
things are usually set right all around by a death-bed scene--although
actual death is sometimes averted. "Louie's last term at St. Mary's" is
one of the better stories of this kind, and Mrs. Spofford's "Hester
Stanley at St. Mark's" is fairly well written, with a touch of the charm
of the author's personality. "Chums," by Maria Louise Pool, is one of
the worst of its kind, where envy, hatred, and malice run riot through
the pages and the actors in the story are wholly lacking in vitality.
The experiences of Miss Phelps's "Gypsy Breynton" and Susan Coolidge's
"Katy" are as satisfactory pictures of boarding school life as we have;
and Helen Dawes Brown's "Two college girls" is a good story. "Brenda,
her school and her club," by Helen L. Reed, is a recent valuable
addition to books for girls.
In stories of home life Miss Alcott still easily takes the lead, with
Susan Coolidge and Sophie May following in merit and popularity. The
boys have an excellent story of home life in Rossiter Johnson's "Phaeton
Rogers." The setting is perfectly simple, every day surroundings, but
the characters have the abounding vitality that keeps things moving. The
entertaining succession of events proceeds directly and naturally from
the ingenuity and healthy activity of the young people grouped together.
The book is a model in this respect as well as in the use of colloquial
English which never loses a certain refinement. Every boy, while reading
"Phaeton Rogers," finds himself in touch with good companions--and this
is true as well, in Charles Talbot's books for boys and girls.
The most important books for boys are the historical stories, appealing
at once to the hero worship and the love of adventure common to boyhood;
at the same time they should give a good general idea of history. The
story in historical setting is, also, most desirable for girls--in that
it balances the too subjective tendency; it carries the mind of the
reader beyond the emotional condition of the heroine--indeed the heroine
has no time to study her own emotions when brought into vital relation
with stirring events. Apart from the value of the historical facts
imparted is the indirect but more valuable habit of mind cultivated in
the girl reader. Vivid, stirring, absorbing stories for girls can be and
should be written in this field, which is practically unlimited. Miss
Yonge has done some good service here. "The prince and the pauper" and
the "Last days of Pompeii" are also illustrations of the kind of work
that should be done--they are both strong in the direct interrelation
between the imaginary characters and real history--and both appeal alike
to the boy and the girl.
Books written with a direct moral purpose seldom achieve popularity with
boys--and yet one of the most popular of all their books is "Captains
courageous," which is of the highest moral value though without one line
of religious preaching in its pages. Here the boys are in touch with a
real, living character, acted upon and developed, through the moulding
pressure of life itself--from first to last the aim of the story is the
boy; and yet the moral outcome is simple, natural, inevitable and manly;
it appeals to the common sense which is strong in boys.
Now when a woman writes for girls on the subject of the transformation
of a frivolous butterfly into a girl of sense, instead of giving us
character and action with a moral outcome, we have a religious setting
with the action of the story and the conduct of the characters bent in
every direction to illustrate the motive of the story--the religious
idea.
The plastic nature of the young girl wrought upon by life, fresh
faculties brought into activity by the hard knocks of fate or the
sunbursts of good luck--although these things are happening every day in
the real life of young girls, we yet await the writer who will put them
into literature without sentimentalizing. What we want is the novel
simplified; the story told directly, without byways of description or
analysis; where healthy young people, neither saints nor prigs, nor
creatures of affectation, jealousy, or malice, are acted upon by life
and each other in a natural fashion.
Let boys and girls be brought together as in real life; brothers are a
good element in girls' stories, and love affairs need not be excluded,
if handled with delicacy, common sense and true feeling. Many books
classed as novels are merely stories simply and clearly told, intended
for older readers, but far better for young girls than the stories
usually written for them. Miss Jeanie Gould Lincoln's stories and Mrs.
J. G. Austin's historical novels, some of Mrs. Barr's and Mrs.
Oliphant's novels and a wide range of other interesting, well-told
stories can be substituted, if care and discrimination are used in the
selection. Fortunately, too, many girls of twelve are ready for Dickens
and other standard writers.
However it is not only through the emotions that these aspirations and
desires are ministered to--when the writer can develop this emotion into
spiritual enthusiasm--or when she portrays a character of active
spiritual force, she has put something valuable into the life of the
reader. Here, as always, it is the personality of the writer--the soul
back of the words that most counts, and it is just this quality of true
spirituality which gives value to Mrs. Whitney's stories, in spite of
their wordiness, lack of proportion and forced symbolism; as it is the
genuine goodness and pure idealism of Miss Mulock which forms the very
atmosphere in which her characters move.
While it is impossible to offer a practical guide to the selection of
books a few suggestions can be made. In the religious stories, for
instance, there must be discrimination between those encouraging morbid
self-examination or religious sentimentalizing, and those cultivating
optimism and the perception of true values and ideals.
In books of adventure the dividing line would fall between, on the one
side, those stories where the hero is actuated by pure love of adventure
or where the adventure is worth while in itself--as in "Foul play"; and,
on the other side, those stories where the hero is merely seeking to
exploit himself and in which the tendency might be to incite boys to
reckless escapades for the sake of notoriety.
In the _purchase_ of books one must consider the range of the average
reader, but in _recommending_ books to the individual boy and girl,
appreciation of differences in temperament and culture is indispensable.
WINIFRED L. TAYLOR,
_Pratt Institute Free Library, Brooklyn, N. Y._
_II. FAIRY TALES._
Fairy tales must appeal to the love of the marvellous, and must yet be
told with a simplicity that precludes all doubt of their reality in the
mind of the child, no matter how improbable the circumstances to our
prosaic minds. The language must be simple and dignified. To write a
fairy tale, one must first of all be a poet, at least must have the
poetic instinct. The child very early absorbs the idea of rhyme. He is
sung to sleep with cradle songs, and soothed by jingles, and he does not
soon outgrow their influence.
These tales from the librarian's standpoint, fall naturally into two
classes: the folklore legends adapted for children (in which, regardless
of classification, we include mythological tales) and the purely
literary, imaginative story.
_Fairy tales derived from folk-lore._
Fairy tales derived from folk-lore--stories drifted down from the
childhood of the world, were not originally written for children, and
perhaps for this very reason, they have claimed them for their own. They
are not "the artless appeals to all little masters and misses who are
good or intend to be good" of John Newbery's time. They have a
naturalness which these first books printed especially for children
lack; the moral is not too strongly urged. Different versions of the
old, old tales reflect in a measure the manners and customs of the
country in which they are collected. Fairies are stolid or clever,
mischievous or amiable, according to the characters of the people to
whom the stories were told.
To this class belong the Grimm brothers' "Household tales," "Icelandic
tales," edited by Mrs. A. W. Hall (tales in which it is the princess or
the peasant maiden who rescues the prince, instead of being rescued);
the Norwegian tales of Asbjörnsen and Moë, the Grimm brothers of the far
North. The collections of Lang, Baring-Gould; and Cruikshank, because of
illustrations; Miss Mulock's "Book of fairies" and William Canton's
"True annals of fairyland" should be in all libraries.
Collections of tales derived from Greek and Roman mythology, such as
Kingsley's "Heroes," Hawthorne's "Wonder book" and "Tanglewood tales,"
may also be considered as fairy tales derived from folk-lore.
One of the most exquisitely told of the old Greek fairy tales is that of
"Eros and Psyche," adapted by Paul Carus from Apuleius. The story
appeals to children, regardless of the religious significance indicated
in the preface of the book.
"Fairy tales from far Japan," translated by Susan Ballard, is excellent,
particularly the story of the "Magic mirror," which is also found in a
charming set of booklets published in Tokio, in English. This set is
called the "Japanese fairy tale series," the type, paper and colored
illustrations being all of Japanese manufacture.
"Fairy stories from the little mountain," by John Finnemore, is a good
collection of Welsh stories as is Frere's "Old Deccan days" of Indian
folk-lore.
"Wigwam stories," edited by Mary Catherine Judd, are told by Indians, or
adapted from ethnological reports and original sources.
Mabie's "Norse stories retold from the Eddas," Keary's "Heroes of
Asgard," "The wonder-world stories" of Marie Pabke and Margery Deane,
Scudder's "Book of folk tales" and Wiltse's "Folk-lore and proverb
stories," both of the latter for the youngest readers, the Countess
d'Aulnoy's fairy tales, the collections of Laboulaye and the immortal
tales of Perrault, we cannot afford to be without, as well as Howard
Pyle's "Wonder clock" and "Pepper and salt," which retain the old-time
flavor and are much enhanced by the author's illustrations.
_Literary fairy tales._
Hans Christian Andersen's stories, while based often upon tradition, are
excluded by Hartland from the list of pure fairy tales and classed as
literary. Yet even the old, old fairy tales cannot, with justice, rival
his in the hearts of the children. Their feeling for him has been
expressed by John White Chadwick, in writing of another:
"But as I muse, I seem at heaven's door
To hear a sound which there I heard before.
When Danish Hans that way did softly wend--
A sound of children making merriest din
Of welcome, as the old man entered in."
Mary S. Claude, in "Twilight thoughts," has shown herself a graceful
follower in the footsteps of Andersen. Such stories create a tenderness
for plants and animals not easily effaced.
It detracts nothing from the interest of the story that what a child
calls a fairy tale we call literature. Even Dr. Johnson recognized that
"babies do not want to hear about babies." It is a great pity that a
child should never meet the knights of the Round Table, or the
Charlemagne legends--half history, half romance--or the Homeric tales,
outside the dissecting room of a literature class. Small wonder that a
child who heard them there for the first time should exclaim with
considerable animus, "I like to read, but I hate literature."
Here is a good field for the "story hour" so successfully introduced in
the Carnegie Library, Pittsburgh. That edition which follows most
closely the original, or is told in graphic clear-cut English, such as
Morris uses in the "Earthly paradise" or the "Life and death of Jason,"
or Butcher and Lang's translation of the Odyssey, is the best. Such a
version read aloud is infinitely better than the best dilution by any
well-meaning attendant. Skip judiciously, but do not weaken the story.
It is not only the plot but the charm of style which we wish to
introduce. The argument may of course first be given, that the child be
put in sympathy with the situation.
_Modern fairy tales._
A good modern fairy tale is a rare article. One may search far and long
before finding it. If it is not worth reading twice, it is not worth
reading once. In many of these modern tales there is an atmosphere of
haste wholly lacking in the good old tales. Fairyland has a government
of its own, where neither time nor space has value. It lies "east of the
sun and west of the moon."
One of the best collections is "Granny's wonderful chair," by Frances
Browne--in the American edition "The wonderful chair." It is well
written, the interest is well kept up, and the language is befitting the
subject. The surest way to test a poor fairy tale is to first read one
of unquestionable merit, and to get thoroughly into its atmosphere.
_Good modern fairy tales._
"Princess Ilse," by Marie Petersen; a gracefully told story of a
discontented mountain brook.
"Mopsa the fairy," by Jean Ingelow, and "The little lame prince," by
Dinah Maria Craik.
"Lob-lie-by-the-fire," by Mrs. Ewing, and "At the back of the North
wind" and "The Princess and Curdie," by George Macdonald.
The average modern fairy tale is a jumble of impossibilities, with no
continuity of incident, well enough or poorly written, according to the
ability of the writer.
"The magic fruit garden," by Marion Wallace Dunlop, is an illustration
of this kind. Two very small children, in abbreviated pinafores, are
studying their Monday lessons; one is writing an essay on Perseverance,
the other is copying geographical names. By the illustrations, one may
judge the children to be of kindergarten age. It is not surprising that
they fall asleep, and, to dreamland sent, meet with adventures enough to
make the strongest head whirl--a case of literary delirium tremens.
"Snow garden," by Elizabeth Wordsworth, is on the whole a good
collection; the stories, however, are of unequal merit.
"The other side of the sun," by Evelyn Sharp, is of negative goodness.
The witches and wizards are mild and amiable, especial care evidently
being taken that no child should be kept awake at night. It does no harm
for children occasionally to shiver and shake as poor Hans in the Grimm
collection longed to do. The author's satisfaction at the expression the
"wymps wimpled" is insisted upon a little too frequently.
"Fairy folk of Blue Hill," by Lily F. Wesselhoeft, is of especial
interest to children about Boston, since it accounts for the granite
quarries and pudding stone of the region. It is smoothly written and is
not spoiled by slang or pertness.
"Summer legends," by Rudolph Baumbach. The stories are not altogether
fairy tales nor are they written for the youngest readers. They are
gracefully written although they lose somewhat by translation. The book
is in some parts amusing and all the stories are peopled with the
wonderful creatures of fairyland.
Other tales seem invented only for the purpose of forcing religious
sentiment, or pointing a moral in inverse proportion to the size of the
reader. Their authors seem sometimes to have reached Mark Twain's
conclusion that "every one being born with an equal amount of original
sin, the pressure on the square inch must needs be greater in a baby."
"Pixie and Elaine stories," by Carrie E. Morrison, is a mixture of fairy
tale and religious story. The author speaks in her preface of the
stories having been carefully pruned. One shudders at thinking what they
must have been before, with such chapters as "The Elaines' picture of
heaven," and "The pixie transforms an Elaine" left in.
"New book of the fairies," by Beatrice Harraden, is marred by the
suggestion of cruelty to animals. In one story, in place of rubbing the
Aladdin lamp, that what one wishes may happen, one must pull the black
cat's tail. It is gratifying to reflect that black cats have their own
peculiar method of retaliation for such experiments.
_Burlesque fairy tales._
Burlesque fairy tales are the most atrocious of all. They are apt to be
broad in their humor, full of _fin de siècle_ jokes or puns, and modern
allusions which mar the poetry of the tale if there is any in it, and
create an appetite for facetiousness in books. "Lips wagging, and never
a wise word," one is tempted to say with Ben Jonson.... Copyright fees
should be trebled on this class of books.
Under this head come:
"The book of dragons," by E. Nesbit.
"Here they are!" by James F. Sullivan; full of modern allusions and
puns.
"The pink hen," by Cuthbert Sterling; a sort of "continuous
performance." The pink hen is hatched from a forgotten Easter egg, is
driven from the barnyard by her associates and forced to seek her
fortune. She links her fate with that of a little girl who has escaped
from an ogre, and together they redeem a prince from the curses of bad
fairies. The pink hen is continually punning, and the prince while still
in the cradle is addicted to smoking.
It is hard to tell how the author of Jewett's "More bunny stories" would
classify them. We hope not as fairy tales. They are poor from any point
of view. The bunnies might as well be ordinary children as anything.
They go to lawn parties, play golf, dance the Virginia reel, go to West
Point, tell folk-lore stories, repeat Bible verses and say their
prayers. We are sometimes asked for a Sunday book. For one who must have
a special book for that day, this might possibly answer; it is certainly
full of moral reflections and pious sentiment; but there is no reason at
all for reading it on Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday. The story closes
with a wedding where the happy bunnies are united under a bridal bell,
while the strains of the march from "Lohengrin" float in the air.
Humor is not early developed in all children, which is perhaps why a
great many do not care for "Alice in Wonderland," and for Stockton's
fairy tales--"The bee man of Orn," "The griffin and the minor canon,"
etc.
Laura E. Richards' "Chop-chin and the golden dragon" must also be
classed as humorous. It is not as good as the Toto stories.
_Animal folk-lore._
Animal folk tales as exemplified in Joel Chandler Harris's stories,
"Little Mr. Thimble-finger," "Mr. Rabbit at home," "Daddy Jake," "Uncle
Remus," "Story of Aaron," etc., are excellent. Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit,
the black stallion and all the animal characters are quite as much
realities to the children as Buster John, Sweetest Susan and the Little
Master.
Ortoli's "Evening tales," follows the same general line.
Kipling, too, in the "Jungle books" has won the hearts of the children,
and here there is no hint of the "garlic flavor," mentioned by
Higginson.
Fraser's "Mooswa" also belongs to this class.
A common practice in modern fairy stories is for the author to open the
tale in this way: A child falls asleep and enters fairyland via the
dream country. Often the child has been sent to bed for some
misdemeanor, as in the "Dream fox story book," by Mabel Osgood Wright,
or has fallen asleep over his tasks, as in the case of the "One-eyed
griffin," by Herbert E. Inman, the fairy tales being offered by way of
consolation; a reprehensible practice in itself, besides putting one out
of touch with the real fairyland. It is too conspicuously "make believe"
and leads one to suspect that the author has little confidence in his
own production. As "good wine needs no bush," so a good fairy tale needs
no introduction or apology. In the real fairyland one cannot easily be
ungraceful.
_Nature fairy tales._
Nature fairy tales are more than apt to be failures, and often include a
great deal of pertness and cheap talk, in their effort to teach by
stealth. (Charles Lamb writes to Coleridge in regard to Goody Two Shoes
in this way: "Think what you would have been now, if, instead of being
fed with tales and old wives' fables, you had been crammed with
geography and natural history.")
A conspicuous example of the faults of this class of story is found in
"Sylvia in flowerland," by Linda Gardner. The heroine is introduced as a
high-school girl, well-advanced in Latin and mathematics, and amply able
to supplement very largely the information which the flowers give her
about themselves. Linda strolls into the fields and is told all sorts of
facts about the habits of plants by the flowers. The story where the
author forgets to interject puns is interestingly told, certainly enough
so to attract a girl of fourteen, who has any fondness for flowers.
Besides the numerous puns, such glaring sentences as the following,
condemn it. "I don't know who you mean." "Why it is a nasty nettle"!
said Sylvia. "Nasty, yourself," ejaculated the nettle sharply, "why do
you come shoving against me?"
McCook's "Old farm fairies," gives what Mrs. Malaprop calls "a
supercilious knowledge" in its attempt to interest children in insect
life, by introducing different insects in the form of pixies, brownies
and fairies. While it has not the faults of "Sylvia in flowerland," the
information is mainly crowded into footnotes and appendices, which as a
rule are carefully avoided by children.
Mabel Osgood Wright's "Tommy Anne" and "Wabeno" are more successful; but
the same amount of energy spent in making the facts of nature
interesting in themselves would be preferable.
While not assuming an absolute censorship in this department, the
principle of natural selection may be applied in discarding such books
as are characterized by the faults here cited, that we may do our share
towards discouraging a taste for facetiousness, flippancy and poor style
in literature. For while these modern, sham, soulless fairy tales soon
lose themselves in the overwhelming mass of printed matter, in their
brief existence they have time to accomplish considerable harm. Far
better to encourage re-reading the imperishable tales, than to gratify
an insatiable desire for more. Did not we ourselves again and again shed
fresh tears over Cinderella's hard fate, or gasp with bated breath while
watching with Sister Ann for that distant speck on the horizon? If
children are different to-day, it is partly because we are helping to
make them so.
ABBY L. SARGENT,
_Medford_ (_Mass._) _Public Library_.
_III. SCIENCE FOR CHILDREN._
In the selection of books for children's libraries it is necessary to
understand the difference between the aims and methods of the old
education and the new.
Until recently the schools have centered their work about man, studying
his language, literature, methods of reasoning, and the manner in which
he has partitioned off the earth into countries. No importance whatever
was attached to his physical surroundings, which form so great a factor
in his life and by which he is so profoundly affected. In history, the
study of dates, battles and leaders was all that was required. In
geography, the work was almost exclusively confined to a description of
the earth, the location of mountains, rivers, cities, and political
divisions. Before the establishment of the national Weather Bureau there
was scarcely any public interest manifested in the phenomena of the
atmosphere and its relation to various weather elements. Many of us can
recall from our own experience the picture of the earth divided into
zones, but why such a division was made did not come up for
consideration.
What are we now aiming to do for the child? We are looking beyond the
mere cultivation of memory; and we desire to increase the child's point
of contact with the world, to bring him into closer relationship with
the life about him, to broaden his sympathies and to develop the powers
of observation and reason. In so far as we are able to accomplish these
results, we shall make him happier by enabling him to understand the
great laws that govern the universe. The child is learning that the
facts of history are the results of causes, that they are the working
out of great principles and that by the comparison of the past with the
present he may be able to judge of the future. From a study of the
physical features of the earth he learns that slopes determine the
course of rivers and that cities are dependent for their growth upon
physical environment. The consideration of the weather enables him to
understand the state of the atmosphere about him, its effect on climate,
the cause of storms, and the different action of solar energy on air,
land, and water, which renders possible life upon the earth. Science
demands an investigation of the growth and habits of plants and animals,
the relationship of one form to another, the function and adaptation of
parts, the effect of surroundings, while form and structure are results,
not ends.
We want to lead the child from results back to causes. The possession of
a vast number of facts, unrelated among themselves, is valueless and
even harmful, for the child does not look upon nature as a whole.
Nature-study, perhaps more than any other subject, leads the child into
sympathy with his environment. He observes carefully and thoughtfully
and thus the individual is developed. From personal contact with nature
he gains the power of accurate observation, correct thinking and
judgment; thus strengthening his moral character. If this is the effect
of nature-study upon the development of the child, the question comes to
the librarian--What principles shall guide me in the selection of books
that the library with which I am connected may be of assistance in
accomplishing these results, and meet the demand of modern education?
A book for children should be attractive. The exterior should present a
harmony of color and tasteful decoration. The text should be printed
with clear type upon good paper and should be well illustrated. Colored
plates are preferable, provided the coloring is good, otherwise
uncolored illustrations are far more desirable. The text should be
clear, simple, and scientifically correct.
The new scientific book differs from the old. The old style book gave
dead results, no sympathy in or interest for life was aroused, no
suggestions were given for first-hand observations of nature,
consequently the book failed to stimulate a desire for personal
investigation that could be verified by the recorded work of others. The
new scientific book not only gives results but a detailed account of the
methods employed in obtaining those results. The reader is interested in
trying the same experiments, gains a sympathy and interest in the
wonderful life history of a plant, bird, or insect, develops a
tenderness for life and feels that all nature is a sympathetic unit.
Within the last few years the interest that has been aroused throughout
the country in "nature-study," has caused a great demand for this class
of books. Writers and publishers have hastened to meet the demand and as
a result the market has been flooded with books that were made to sell.
Too often the writers have not been scientific persons, and as a result
the books have been mere compilations, or were not true to facts. They
lacked the true spirit of science. Other authors have not separated the
element of fiction from that of science, thinking that the child could
only be interested in nature by means of a story. The writer of this
paper does not believe that science books should be made story books.
"Tenants of an old farm," by McCook, is a good illustration of the
combination of the science and story element. The author is a naturalist
and whatever facts are presented may be accepted as being as nearly
correct as it is possible to make them since they represent the results
of careful personal observation. The author himself did not believe that
the truths of nature were so unattractive that they needed to be woven
into a story in order that the book might find its way to the general
reader. Then why did he employ this method? He was persuaded by his
friends to change the original plan of the book and presented it, after
much hesitation, in its present form. The book has thereby lost much of
its usefulness.
Another element that many authors have employed to a greater or less
extent is personification. That the value of a book is lessened thereby
and its power over the reader greatly decreased, is beyond question.
There may be some excuse for a limited amount of personification in the
treatment of bees, wasps, or ants, but the majority of forms of plant
and animal life does not need the human factor in order to make clear
life-relationships. Grant Allen, in his "Story of the plants," has
described the use of the stamens and pistils as "how plants marry" and
the modes of fertilization as "various marriage customs." Allen Gould,
in "Mother Nature's children," speaks of the "snakehead" fish and its
young as "Mr. and Mrs. Snakehead and their babies" and of the
seed-vessels of plants as "ways the mother plants have of cradling their
babies." This method of treating nature's truths does not make the facts
any clearer to the child; it only tends to diminish the grandeur of that
truth. Some writers have considered it desirable to embody the thought
in terms that are already, or are supposed to be, familiar to the child,
that he may be able to grasp the truth. The author forces upon the child
a double task, since he must first get the thought as it appears and
then search for the concealed fact. This process is not liable to be
successful. Mrs. Dana, in "Plants and her children," uses the term
"sweet stuff" for nectar, "watery-broth" for the cell-sap of plants. The
food of plants is spoken of as the "plant's bill of fare," and in
expressing the fact that the crude sap which is taken up by the roots
needs to be converted into elaborated sap before it may be used as food,
she says "When the watery broth is cooked in the sun, the heat of the
sun's rays causes the water to pass off through the little leaf mouths.
Thus the broth is made fit for plant food." Must not the child possess
some scientific knowledge before he will be able to understand the
author's meaning? "Plants and her children" is a valuable book, but
would not its merits be greatly enhanced if the scientific facts were
told in simple language? They certainly have interest enough in
themselves to be attractive to the child. Books like Hooker's "Child's
book of nature" should be discarded. They represent the old scientific
thought. No sympathy or interest in life is aroused, no relationships
are suggested, no adaptation to environment is shown, no incentive is
given for personal observation. Why should we cling to the old when a
book can be obtained that will more nearly satisfy our needs?
There is often a great difference in the individual merits of books by
the same author. Mabel Osgood Wright's "Birdcraft" is valuable, while
"Tommy Anne and the three hearts" and "Wabeno" are the reverse. The last
two represent a type of book that should not be included in a science
library. The fairy and story element so greatly exceeds the scientific
as to render the books absolutely valueless, nor are they a success from
a literary standpoint. No book in which the author wanders from one
subject to another, in such rapid succession that the reader has
difficulty in following the thought, or is so vague that an effort must
be made to understand the topic treated, can be of much practical value.
The greater number of the Appleton's "Home reading books" possess little
merit. The selections were not written for children; they lack
simplicity, are not attractive and are too technical. The article "The
life of plants" in "Plant world" would require two or three readings by
an adult in order to understand what the author was discussing. The best
books in this series are Weed's "Insect world" and Holden's "Family of
the sun" and "Stories of great astronomers." Such books as Fanny
Bergen's "Glimpses at the plant world," Carpenter's "Geographies,"
Kearton's "Our bird friends," and Weed's "Stories of Insect life"
represent the style of book that the elementary science of to-day
demands. We do not wish to make scientists of the children, but by means
of the best books on nature-study we would prepare the way for
elementary science. _Nature-study_ is not _science_, for science is
classified knowledge. So far as possible let the elements of
personification and fiction be omitted, do not select books that are too
technical or vague, that are not well illustrated, and that are not true
to science.
Then our libraries will contain books that will incite the self-activity
of the child and arouse the spirit of investigation; books that will
stimulate observation and inculcate a spirit of tenderness and love for
all life.
ELLA A. HOLMES, _Assistant curator,
Children's Museum of the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences_.