The Legend of the Christmas Rose

Charles Mikolaycak (Illustrator). Holiday House 1990, Library Binding, 1 pages, $4.00

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

This story is one of several Swedish legends explaining why the Christmas Rose blooms in winter.  Robber Father has been exiled from his village for stealing a cow.  One day, while Robber Mother is admiring the local abbot’s garden, she tells him that every Christmas Eve part of the forest blooms.  The abbot, taking this is a sign of God’s favor, persuades the bishop to pardon Robber Father if the story is true.  The abbot witnesses the forest blooming, but before he can pluck a blossom as proof, the lay brother with him cuts the miracle short with an outburst of unbelief and the bishop dies in the snow, grasping two shriveled flower bulbs.  The lay brother plants the bulbs in the abbot’s garden, and they bloom the next Christmas Eve.  Robber Father is pardoned, and the lay brother spends the rest of his life in meditation and prayer, hoping to gain forgiveness.

Although the story is well written and beautifully illustrated, biblically-centered parents will need to consider it closely.  The story hinges on whether Robber Father can be forgiven, and in the end he is pardoned on the basis of the miracle, with no expression of contrition for his theft.  The lay brother, in contrast, having realized his error in judging Robber Father, spends the rest of his life in penitence.  Robber Father is met with warm acceptance, the lay brother with clinging guilt.  This leads me to conclude that this is not so much a story about forgiveness, but is more of a moralistic story about religious self-righteousness.

Two sins are dealt with here — stealing and self-righteousness — but only the latter requires repentance.  Neither is considered in light of the basis for Christian forgiveness, which is that Jesus’ death enables God to forgive sinners, and sinners are commanded to forgive others (1 Peter 3:18; Matthew 18:32-35).  Apart from the grace that comes through the Cross, neither sin can be addressed biblically, and forgiveness rings hollow.

Marcella’s Guardian Angel

Evaline Ness. Holiday House 1979, Library Binding, 40 pages, $6.95

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

In Marcella’s Guardian Angel, a bad little girl improves her behavior with the help of an unseen angel who speaks into her ear. The story is nicely illustrated and well written, and might produce a temporary change in a reader’s behavior, but its lesson does not line up with a biblical view of virtue.

The angel recommends that Marcella change her behavior by force of will: “When you are rude or stingy or messy or anything else that’s nasty, stop, flip-flop, then act that way.”  The admonition to “flip-flop” might encourage a reader to change their visible actions, but it fails to address the fallen heart where sin is rooted (Jeremiah 17:9).  The Bible teaches that humans are naturally slaves to sin, needing God to free us from its power before true change can happen (Romans 6:17-18).

Marcella’s behavioral change rises to a pretty low standard in both motive and execution:

People might like you, but better than that, you will like yourself…. Now, remember!  Only every other day.  Otherwise, you might become perfect.  Perfect is dull and boring.  Being too nice is almost as bad as being too nasty.

Not only does she aspire to only occasional goodness, but the goal of improvement is self-esteem and popularity.  This approach can lead to a self-conscious veneer of civility that covers up a hypocritical heart (Matthew 23:27-28).  In contrast to this view, we want our children to aspire to a love for God that produces true virtue and a genuine love for others (Matthew 22:37-40).

Marcella’s self-focused motivation is also reflected in the people around her.  When she becomes more pleasant to be around, not only does she does gain friends but her mother becomes more affectionate.  This suggests that Mother’s expressions of affection are actually conditional upon her daughter’s good performance rather than originating out of a heart of love toward her.

The fundamental premise for this behavior modification is revealed at the story’s conclusion, when the angel reveals that her name is Marcella, implying that all the changes actually came from within herself.  This reveals a humanist, rather than a transcendent, basis for goodness.

This story supports self-powered moralism, which could feed the self-righteousness and people-pleasing tendency that lives in all sinful hearts.  It advocates good behavior for all the wrong reasons.

The Bully of Barkham Street

Mary Stolz. HarperCollins 1985, Paperback, 208 pages, $2.98

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

Martin is a deeply lonely preadolescent boy who earns a reputation for picking on children smaller than himself.  He is self-absorbed, self-pitying, a compulsive liar, and a thief, and constantly justifies himself when challenged.  This book follows his muted coming-of-age, as he turns from his destructive behavior and attempts to live down his reputation.  His escapades are sometimes funny, but more often embarrassing as his bad behavior brings him humiliation and shame.

Martin’s bad behavior grows out of his deeper problem: his parents are supremely inattentive to his basic relational needs.  Their consistently selfish response toward him at every turn creates a poisonous family dynamic which is the source of his profound loneliness and insecurity.  Early in the story, Martin’s parents allow him to adopt a dog when he promises to reform his behavior, but the promise is so sweeping that it is impossible for him to live up to.  When the dog becomes inconvenient for them, Martin’s parents return it to its former owner, citing Martin’s bad behavior.  Although his father admits that he should not have asked Martin to commit to a standard beyond his abilities, he does not ask for forgiveness but instead urges Martin to be unselfish and think of the dog’s needs.  This scene provokes Martin to hate his parents, as he wonders “if goodness and unselfishness were something that adults talked about when what they really meant was Don’t bother us” (61).

Martin himself never takes responsibility for his own behavior, but rather mysteriously outgrows it by the end of the story.  While he does attain some reasonably admirable accomplishments (maintaining a newspaper route to save money for a saxophone and walking away from a provocation to fight), he never asks forgiveness or makes restitution to people he has injured. The gradual change in his behavior suggests that all along he has wanted to be good and just couldn’t figure out the right technique.  This opposes the biblical doctrine of original sin, which holds that humans are evil by nature.  Martin’s violent, narcissistic behavior may easily be understood as the natural expression of an evil heart (Jeremiah 17:9), but the idea that he is merely a good-hearted, misunderstood boy trying to do the right thing falls far short.

While this story might be valuable for helping children cultivate compassion for the local playground bully, the poisonous character of Martin’s family, and the wishy-washy way in which Martin’s sinful behavior is explained, makes it an unsuitable choice for our family library.

A String in the Harp

Nancy Bond. Aladdin 2006, Paperback, 384 pages, $2.50

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

In this modern-to-medievel time-travel fantasy, a family of three children and their father go to live in Wales for the winter, grieving the loss of their wife and mother.  Twelve-year-old Peter finds a key that opens a portal into ancient Wales, and he and his sisters must resist a rising threat when knowledge of the key spreads to those who wish to misuse it.

The book is recommended by several good sources and is well written, with good character development and a sustained sense of magic lurking at the edges of the children’s dreary lives.  Unfortunately, the dreariness of their lives seems to originate in their relationship with their father, who is emotionally and physically absent from their  lives, and seems untroubled that his son, especially, is desperately unhappy.  Peter, in reaction, continuously indulges his anger and bitterness, and retreats miserably into himself, unable to cope with his grief.

While the three siblings demonstrate loyalty and tenderness among each other, their distant relationship with their father is based on an egalitarian arrangement, evincing neither tenderness nor respect.  Although the story is told primarily from the children’s point of view, he is referred to throughout the story as “David”, even in the children’s thoughts (although they do call him “Dad” to his face.)  This subtly encourages the reader to think of the father as having equal status not only with his own children but also with themselves.  Near the end of the story, a conversation between Peter and his father makes the egalitarian basis of their family explicit.  Peter says:

No matter what we do [about where to live], we want it to be our decision, not just yours.”
Unreadable thoughts flickered across David’s face.  “You’re all so young,” he protested mildly.  “I can’t help thinking of you as my children!”
“We’re getting older.”
“Almost too fast.  You’re very persuasive, you know.  I’m not at all sure I have much chance against the three of you.  There’s a tremendous lot to be considered.”
“We’ll all consider it,” Peter pleaded (363-364).

Peter’s claim that the children should have a say in an important decision, and his father’s quick acceptance of his claim, confirms the assumption hinted at throughout the story that the children equal their father in status.  This arrangement absolves the father of his natural responsibility to lead and protect his family (a responsibility this father has steadfastly avoided).

Equally concerning is the father’s lack of tenderness toward his children.  Following the traumatic loss of their mother, he seeks solace from his grief in isolation and overwork.  He abandons them to their own devices, requiring them to live in a socially isolated and unheated summer home in the middle of Celtic winter, and himself withdraws from their lives, adding emotional abandonment to physical neglect.   Early in the story Peter wishfully envisions a scenario of

sitting down and really talking to his father.  He would tell him why he was unhappy and explain why he had to go home.  David would listen to him sympathetically and reasonably and would offer help.  They would be friends and they would understand each other” (47-48).

In this poignant reverie the young man longs for companionship, but not wisdom or leadership from his father, and even companionship is not forthcoming.

Consistent with this devastating view of family, Peter does not resolve his grief by entering into relationship with others, but instead is given an opportunity to retreat into his own secret world – a magical one whose door opens through a key found by chance.  This key he hides from everyone except, eventually, his siblings.  Unlike Narnia’s Pevensie children, who find a wise Professor to assist them, these young people must go to great lengths to hide their activities from adults.

Although skilfully written, the bitter, secretive protagonist in this story is anything but admirable, and his father is far worse.  The biblical ideal of a family, in which parents love, lead and train their children, is entirely absent.  The magic in the story is enticing, and the interweaving of modern and historical Wales is masterful, but the detached, egalitarian family dynamic is quite poisonous.

(Full disclosure: I read the first half of this book carefully and skimmed the rest after it became clear that it would be disqualified from our home library.)

The Butter Battle Book

Dr. Seuss. Random House Books for Young Readers 1984, Hardcover, 56 pages, $8.46

Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

A thinly veiled political screed against the Cold War between the US and the former Soviet Union.  The Yooks (Yanks) and the Zooks are two peoples living on opposite sides of a great Wall.  Their feud begins because the Yooks prefer their bread buttered on the top, while the Zooks prefer it on the bottom.  They begin to antagonize each other, escalating with each new episode as military representatives approach the wall.  There they face off, posturing with larger and larger weapons, until finally each side concocts a weapon that will wipe out the entire population.  The story ends in the middle of a sentence as each threateningly proffers their bomb against the other.

While the book is written in typically lighthearted Seussical style, with wordplay and plenty of visual humor, this story is unsatisfying for young readers because of its cliffhanger ending, which they will not understand.  Even for those who accept the premise that the Cold War was a bit of ridiculous posturing over minor cultural differences ought to concede that this is not the venue in which to make such an argument.  It’s a dirty trick for Seuss to use his reputation as a basically harmless fun writer as a soapbox for a political agenda, and then attempt to disguise it as a real story.