Zodiac House: Dog Chapter

[mrissa]

So with most of my list completed, I went and worked on this next chapter, and I got it done, and so here we are. (For anybody just stopping in, I'm writing a children's book whose chapters are centered around the signs of the Chinese zodiac. I'm musing about children's books centered around each sign as I finish the corresponding chapter.)

The dog page at the CCC says, People born in the Year of the Dog possess the best traits of human nature. They have a deep sense of loyalty, are honest, and inspire other people¡¦s confidence because they know how to keep secrets. But Dog People are somewhat selfish, terribly stubborn, and eccentric. There's more than that, but I'm already caught: children's books focus nearly obsessively on dog virtues. Honesty, loyalty, and being able to keep secrets appropriately: is there anything more scorned in children's books than a tattletale? Maybe a crybaby, but that's about it.

So very many children's books -- even the ones that are not excessively didactic -- focus around lessons of loyalty. Standing by your friends. Is this wish-fulfillment for bookish kids who don't have many friends or who have found the playground particularly fickle? I have to say that loyalty was not a prime virtue of the kids I knew when I was little. What else are children's books implicitly teaching at that level of focus? (Not a rhetorical question -- please discuss.)

Comments

[diatryma.livejournal.com]

I've been thinking a fair amount about fiction and how it affects how I think and perceive myself. So this is sort of scrabbly and unfinished.

If there are two people, one will be big, dumb, and probably nice, and the other will be tiny, hyper, and probably mean. Ren and Stimpy, Two Stupid Dogs, lots of cartoons.

Normal is always bad. Always. This is the one I'm running up against; I read essays and entries about how the writer thinks differently or reacts differently to certain situations, and immediately become defensive because their differences condemn me to normalcy. Being just like everyone else means I'm redundant and disposable. I am not a character. At best, I might be one of the jeering crowd near the popular kids.
I remind myself often that it is okay if I'm not as interesting as other people.

Praise is usually a sign of weakness. Teachers encourage you by tormenting you. If they tell you you're doing a good job, it means you can't do any better.

Brown is better than blonde, if you're talking knights or princesses. Ugly is better than beautiful. Poor is usually better than rich. Once you get past a certain age, dragons are better than knights-- only babies are so unsophisticated as to like the knights.

Your life would be better (for definitions of 'better' including 'not normal') if you were horribly abused, adopted, and/or had a life-threatening illness. If you can pull the threefer, you are golden-- until you meet the kid who has all three at boarding school. This probably comes down to wanting to be a character rather than faceless fellow child.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

I was a blonde as a child, and for all I've heard of brunettes feeling disgruntled and ignored, I felt like I was supposed to be insipid, and that was bad, too. I have some totally non-insipid blonde heroines, but this is partly because, well, if you write about Finns and Icelanders, going with all non-blondes is more noteworthy than having some blondes mixed in.

Also, I am always the tiny hyper mean one. I can only think of one relationship in my life in which that might not be true, and I think gaaldine might try to argue that I'm the mean one, if she happens by and sees this.

[aszanoni.livejournal.com]

Although some teachers don't realize that praise - and making you stand out - is Bad. I remember a teacher; he was very honestly happy that I'd aced a test. He was proud and pleased.

I noted his response, and that of certain classmates. As a kid, you have to live with your peers.


On the other hand, your point about hyper and small characters is well taken. I've just been re-reading some of the Miles Vorkosigan books. I remember poor Arde after his creme de menthe finally made Miles crash, and finding out with horror, "You mean he's ALWAYS this way?" -chuckle-

I keep thinking to myself: Surely I can't be as bad as Miles. Can I? -grin-

In all honesty, yes, I probably am.

- Chica