Let's forget about 'children's writing'
Interviewed in the wake of his Whitbread book triumph on the Today programme this morning, Philip Pullman told us what we already knew: that his book is a formidable work by a fiercely rigorous writer. He even had the good sense to realise that the two minutes allotted would not allow time to even begin to answer the “big” question posed by James Naughtie: “What is a children’s book?”
Instead, Pullman sounded modestly delighted and gave a wonderfully succinct summary of his trilogy: the loss of innocence and the first tentative steps towards recovery. The same description, of course, also applies to the Bible, Paradise Lost, Crime and Punishment and Wagner’s Ring Cycle. It is, in fact, an accurate description of the way we lead our lives, and as such is the stuff of art. Pullman’s radical take – and the reason he has proved such an admirable controversialist – is that he thinks the loss of innocence is a good thing. Without loss you can’t have redemption; without dark there is no light.
The fact that Pullman is the first “children’s writer” to win the Whitbread in its 30-year history can be looked at in various ways. First, the cynical view. The initial batch of judges had chosen a madly perverse shortlist from which the celebs had to choose, and Pullman had no opposition: no grand, dead poets or well-upholstered biographies. Second, and even more cynically, the event wasn’t on telly and the organisers needed a good headline: “children’s author wins Whitbread” would do.
But there is a much more palatable third option: that the very term “children’s author” is demeaning, that it has outlived its usefulness as a Whitbread category (but then pretty well all its categories are ludicrous) and that it is ridiculous that it has taken 30 years for the award to recognise that a “children’s” book deserved the top prize.
Pullman, in his two minutes yesterday, managed to make the point perfectly. He said he doesn’t write for children; he writes for people who want to read. It would be the kiss of death to set out to write for children: there could be no more patronising and self-defeating an approach. The point about children who read is that they have no preconceptions: they are not reading to impress or to jump on a bandwagon; they are reading for enjoyment, enlightenment, excitement. In reading terms, they have not lost their innocence; sadly, that comes later when they start to believe the hype which drives the book business.
Pullman’s books are adored by children but avidly read by adults too. The first person to recommend them to me was a sedate gentleman in his 50s: he spoke with the zeal of a convert, had the gleam in his eye of a true believer. Pullman said that telling the story was everything, but that behind the story lay great moral questions. Again, Crime and Punishment springs to mind: a thrilling page-turner of a crime book (Dostoevsky could teach Patricia Cornwell a thing or two) that becomes a great study of the power of love to redeem.
Two lessons: genre writing is almost always bad because it imposes a straitjacket that the best writers will resist; and the notion of “children’s writing” should be resisted most of all. The best children’s books will span every audience and age range. Is The Adventures of Tom Sawyer a children’s book? Surely not: I adored it as a child and love it still. Oliver Twist is a gripping read for a 15-year-old but can be savoured by a 60-year-old. The first 60 pages of Great Expectations will thrill (and perhaps terrify) a 12-year-old and make litcrit academics drool. My set book at A level was that perennial “children’s” favourite, Gulliver’s Travels, which also happens to be a satire on 18th-century politics.
There are perhaps two exceptions to all this. The first is The Lord of the Rings, which some see as a children’s book, others see as an adult’s book and true fans see as a brilliant reinterpretation of Norse mythology, but which is really a book that can only be read by dysfunctional men in their 20s. And of course Harry Potter: a derivative series of colourless books that might keep an under-the-weather eight-year-old amused. If you see an adult reading Harry Potter on the train or tube, try to show a mixture of pity and contempt. These two tomes of our times would be perfect for mediocre films. Ideally, straight to video.
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