The Defiant Ones

In this week's New Yorker, October 19, 2009, there is an article, The Defiant Ones, by Daniel Zalewski. As is common in articles of this ilk, the author attempts to find some indicative meaning about parenting and society, by looking at the children's books that are read. The pleasure of this pastime is that it is irrefutable. Pop psychology can be thoroughly indulged with no factual basis for determining whether the speculation warrants any regard. While that critical statement is harsh, it does not deny that that speculation is fun. It is. But it doesn't get us far.

The US is far too large and the habits and customs of our citizens so varied, that it becomes exceptionally difficult to draw large conclusions from what are always small samples. What passes for normal among the small, compact families of the highly degreed service economy denizens of the Upper East Side can seem to be the norms and mores of another planet to everyone else.

I would agree, as the article seems to imply, that there are pockets of practitioners of supine parenting practiced from a prone position, over-trodden by tiny furies. And perhaps it is more common in Manhattan than elsewhere. It is even possible that that particular style of parenting is practiced with greater frequency than in the past. But I think it would be a stretch to characterize it as either prevalent or distinctly contemporary. It is just one more strand in that frontier we continue to explore - how much variance in behavior can we tolerate while still remaining a common, identifiable culture.

The one observation in the article with which I would agree, is the, perhaps, increasing tendency to use books as bibliotherapy. We pay books the compliment of acknowledging our belief in their importance and consequence by turning to them for ever more varied purposes. They are not simply places to find knowledge, wisdom and escape but also tools for an ever greater range of therapies. Which books are good for dealing with bullying, death of a relative, first day at school, swearing, arrival of a sibling, etc.?

The motivation betrays an admirable and profound confidence in books to make a difference. I worry though, that too great a reliance on books for therapy might erode the raw joy that a child can derive from them. In moderation, perhaps, but not as a constant tool. If books become associated with negative things, then it would make sense that a child would turn away from them as something unpleasant and distasteful. But that is simply my unproven speculation.