Tag Archives: white privilege

On speaking race, take two

I think I got half the problem right in A Tale of Two Slayers, but I ended up asking the wrong question. Rather than “how does Clueless White Girl guess others’ race” (which, though not quite what I meant, ended up being what I asked), the question should be “how does Clueless White Girl speak race and name whiteness without guessing or approximating or unwanted labeling, so that her child grows up measurably less clueless?”

Because while the fact that I really cannot tell what makes someone ethnically Japanese or Korean or Hmong by sight¹ is a symptom of my white privilege, the racist society I live in, and the very-nearly-monochromatic circles I’ve always traveled in — so too is the need to define, and label, and categorize others, rather than listening for another’s identity to be communicated as (and if) they choose, and to accept ambiguity and ignorance in the meanwhile.

It would be easy to say that I simply need a more diverse group of friends, because then we wouldn’t be guessing, we’d know (or not, as they wished). And while that’s true, there’s also something godawful skeevy in the suggestion that I make friends to, essentially, act as Model Minorities for my child.

It would be easy also to say that I need to expose my child to more cultures, so it’s not just about skin color speculation, and that is also true. But I worry about the conflation of race and culture, when they’re not necessarily the same at all² — because all too often that too is about pigeonholing people, making assumptions about “where they’re from”³, and more, risks making Culture something Those (Brown) People Over There have. How many white middle-Americans say they have no culture?⁴ Or how often do we make culture about something that happened Long Ago and Far Away — not something that is here, now, living and evolving and real? None of which is to say learning about diverse cultures isn’t important — I just don’t think it’s the full answer.

It would be really easy to give up, to metaphorically toss my hands in the air and declare that there’s no winning, and it’s too hard, and why should I even bother if there’s no Right Way. Because that is what my entire kyriarchal culture is telling me to do — and I gotta say sometimes my perfectionist-crazy agrees, because this is hard, and the outcome is so important, and I have no idea what I’m doing, and at least if I fucked up my kid with race-ignorance (instead of race-speaking fumblings) I’d be in abundant company. But I owe him better than that.

I have no more answers than I did a couple days ago. But I think I’m closer to asking the right questions.

How do you, or might you, speak race (with your child and with yourself) without potentially-offensive speculation? How do you make distinctions and connections between race, nationality, culture, and skin color? If you are parenting a white child, how do you make sure they know race and culture are not something only other people have? How do you talk about race when you don’t have the words?

—————

And that I’m reaching to name more than a few east Asian ethnic groups, and couldn’t tell you the name of any indigenous/native Japanese people(s?), though I know they exist. ↩
My high school contemporary comes to mind, who was first generation USian, ethnically Chinese, and a native Spanish speaker by way of generations of ancestors living in South America. ↩
To paraphrase Margaret Cho, who has her problems but also some profound (and profane) wisdom: “How do I say cunt in ‘my language’? CUNT!” ↩
Well, probably not as many any more, now that some have taken to saying “their culture” is being attacked by uppity foreign-born liberals. ↩

14 Comments | Posted on 4 November 2010 by Arwyn | Category: Body, Kyriarchy, Parenting | Tags: Privilege, Race, racism, white privilege

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A Tale of Two Slayers: on speaking race and white-as-default

“I’m Kendra, the Vampire Slayer! I’m a girl! I’m Black!”

This was the child’s refrain nearly non-stop for three days last week. We’d watched an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer¹ with the other Slayer, Kendra, and he latched on to her immediately. Why? No idea. But it was an interesting few days.

After a while, he stopped (she only shows up twice before dying herself), and the refrain was replaced with “I’m Buffy! I’m the Slayer! I’m a girl!”

Notice what’s missing?

While I’m pretty pleased that the Boychick is willing to name race at all, he only does it for the Black character — the Other.

“You’re Buffy, huh? What race are you?”

Silence. Try again: “What color are you?”

“I’m the same color as you.”

Oh boy.

We’ve had this conversation a dozen times now. Sometimes I ask him what color I am; sometimes I tell him (“So you’re white, like me, and like [the Boychick].” or “Well, my skin is a light pink, and we usually call that white.”). He is unafraid to name her gender, unafraid to correct his father or I when we use the wrong pronoun (“I’m a she!”). But her race, to him, is invisible. It is the default.

And that’s a problem. That’s my problem, inasmuch as I have allowed and encouraged it. Because there is this: if his race-less Buffy-play had not been preceded by race-named Kendra-play, I wouldn’t have noticed anything wrong. I wouldn’t expect him to name Buffy’s race, because white, to me, is default also. It was only in the juxtaposition, in the so-loud silence after the uncomfortable-speaking², that I could see the damaging ideas already taking root in my child’s psyche: White is default, unnameable; Black can be spoken, and is therefore other.

Up to now, we, like many bathed for a lifetime in white privilege, have named race only when it “came up” — meaning when a non-white person or persons entered a situation (real life or television). And when it does, we name both white and, as best we can, nonwhite. But still this is based on white-as-default, and communicates so much to the Boychick about what we take for granted, “normal”, and what we see as Other. It is, to put it plainly, based on racism.

To some extent, his belief in white-as-default is normal. To some extent, we enter the world incapable of believing that anyone is not-like us. But he is entering a phase where this is no longer entirely true: within the last month (around when he started naming race regularly at all), he has started announcing he is a boy, and when he plays Buffy or Kendra is a girl, which is different. And furthermore, it is white privilege that has allowed him to be race-ignorant for this long: children who do not see themselves so represented in their neighbourhoods, their television, even their books, have race-knowledge forced on them much earlier. And still more: because of that privilege he has (we have) even more of an obligation to counter ignorance, to do better, to be a decent human being. Because that’s really what this is all about.

I’m not entirely sure what to do. Or, I am, and I am terrified to do it: the solution is to name race more. To name race when everyone in the room is white. To name race when almost everyone in the room is white and not starting-and-ending with that “almost”. To name race as easily as we name hair color, clothing, gender, height.

This terrifies me not just because it is so taboo in “we don’t see race” “anti-racist” white circles, but because I am so afraid of doing it wrong.

Because it is so easy to do wrong. Kendra and Buffy I got down: Black and white. Not too hard³. Diego⁴ is Latino, or close enough (I hope). And anyone who we know well enough to tell us their race, then we use that. But people on the street? In a crowd? Is that person black? Arabic? Indian? (Is that even an appropriate term?) He looks Native American — but what about his tribe? Does he prefer Native American or American Indian, or…? And her: is she swarthy and kinky-haired and white? Black, white and Jewish? Him: Aboriginal? Actually African? And oh lord I think she’s from East Asia, but where? Is Asian enough? (Why can I probably get right French or English, but not Korean or Japanese?) How the hell do I do this??

I don’t know. Truly, I don’t. Race and ethnicity and nationality and identity are complicated enough when one can tell another clearly the words and terms one prefers; leave it to Clueless White Girl to name, or approximate, or guess, and, well… it’s not pretty. Or, possibly, wise. And yet, what are my other options? To remain silent, and let kyriarchy colonize my child unopposed? To pretend race doesn’t exist or doesn’t matter — or doesn’t affect him –, thereby guaranteeing his racism?

As always, it seems, I am left with this: it has to be enough that I am trying. It has to be enough that he will see the process, learn the reasons, if not be raised well then well enough to continue on the path towards basic decency himself. It has to be enough that when he says he is Kendra and he is Black he is affirmed, and when he says he is Buffy, he is asked her race. It has to be enough, because it’s all I have.

But I’ll keep looking for better.

Take criticisms of my child’s viewing habits elsewhere. Or better yet, stuff ‘em. I’m not gonna defend it, I just don’t wanna hear about it. ↩
Because speaking race is still uncomfortable to me, though getting ever less so the more I practice. ↩
USians, quite rightly, are sometimes criticized for seeing all race issues as black and white (pun intended, I think). And while this has something to do with our long and ugly history of slavery and segregation (ignoring our long and ugly history of genocide and colonization), I sometimes think it’s also, in part, because clueless white folks (like yours truly) stand on far firmer ground naming “white” (us) and “black” (everyone part of the African diaspora, tribes and ethnicities and families and lineages ripped away from them, freeing us from having to make any finer distinctions). It’s not at all an excuse for not doing better, but I wonder sometimes if it’s part of an explanation. ↩
From his video game, Diego Does Dinos, or whatever it’s called; he hasn’t seen Dora or Diego the shows, and I’m quite happy to keep it that way, thanks. ↩

25 Comments | Posted on 31 October 2010 by Arwyn | Category: Body, Parenting | Tags: identity, language, Race, racism, white privilege

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The Boychick’s Bookshelf: Board Book Round Up #1

Welcome to a special edition of The Boychick’s Bookshelf! In this entry in the series, I review a small collection of children’s books of interest to those who want to raise children free from and opposed to kyriarchy. These reviews will focus on books which showcase stories and lives beyond the dominant culture of white straight middle-class families, or which contain explicitly anti-kyriarchy messages (anti-racism, anti-ableism, anti-sexism, anti-heterosexism, anti-cissexism, anti-violence, anti-colonialization, and so on).

Many people have not-exactly-complained about how the books reviewed on The Boychick’s Bookshelf are great, but too advanced for their six, twelve, twenty-four month old. So, to remedy that, here’s the first edition of a special Board Book Round Up: smaller reviews for smaller books, but more of ‘em at once.

To commence:

More More More, Said the Baby by Vera B Williams

The Boychick loved this book, once upon a time. It’s a trilogy of short stories, all with the same pace and many of the same words, in which we meet Little Guy and his father (both apparently white), Little Pumpkin and hir grandmother (apparently black and white, respectively), and Little Bird and her mother (apparently Asian or Latina). I love it for depicting a variety of caregivers — showing loving fathers to the Boychick is especially important to me — , a variety of races (including the apparently-white grandmother to black Little Pumpkin), and both the Boychick and I loved getting to act out the belly kisses and toe nibbles. As with many board books, it ends with Little Bird falling asleep and being put to bed, making it a good choice for nap or nighttime reading.

Downside: The text, while colorful and artistic, might be hard or painful to read for people with visual or focusing difficulties.

Peekaboo Morning by Rachel Isadora

Peekaboo Morning follows a black toddler through hir waking up, with visual clues leading to each next page, from “I see… my mommy” and daddy, through getting dressed, eating (and feeding hir breakfast to the dog), playing with toys, then going outside and greeting Grandma and Grandpa and a (apparently white) friend, and finally engaging the reader with “I see… you!” I wasn’t sure at first about getting the Boychick a book written in first-person with a non-white protagonist, fearing it might be appropriative, but I bought it anyway because books featuring families of color are so scarce, and it really is an enjoyable (if repetitious — but it makes it especially great for toddlers), quick read, with realistic paintings with enough detail to maintain interest over repeated viewings. It is very heteronormative, with a mommy and daddy, and grandma and grandpa, and very suburban (there is, truly, a white picket fence in one scene), but given the stereotypes of black families as urban and “broken”, I’m not sure that’s entirely a bad thing.

Downside: I’m reaching to find anything beyond the heteronormativity and repetitiousness (though again, that’s something of a plus when writing books for toddlers) to name as a downside. I will say that the painting of the dog looks like there is a smudge on the dog’s face, and it bugs me every time I look at it. But I have Issues.

Mommy, Mama, and Me – and – Daddy, Papa, and Me, both by Leslea Newman

These are two books, but a symmetrical pair, and we bought them together. Each is told from the perspective of the toddler-aged child of same-gender parents, describing how both Mommy and Mama or Daddy and Papa take care of hir, each alternately engaging complementary games or childcare duties. Besides the same-gender parents, these are fairly run-of-the-mill white suburban follow-the-child’s-day books, and the Boychick enjoys them. That very banality, though, is likely the point of the books: “Look, two-mother/two-father families are just like you!” or “we’re just like other (white, middle class) families!” This makes them a good intro to same-gender parents for the unfamiliar (and helped the Boychick accept that his friend with two moms did not, in fact, also have a dad), or normalizing books for kids who don’t get to see families like theirs very much, but also reinforces the white- and middle-class-ness of the “default family”.

Downside: In addition to the aforementioned issues (and I cannot emphasize enough the problems with only ever modeling white queerness), although each book stands well on its own, with many examples of gender-role breaking (especially in Daddy, Papa, and Me, as is expected in a culture that says toddler-parenting is women’s work), when I compare the two, there is a greater emphasis on play in Daddy, and more on nurturing in Mommy: Daddy ends with Daddy and Papa collapsing in exhaustion at the end of a park trip, Mommy with being tucked in and getting kissed goodnight. This relatively minor difference wouldn’t be problematic except that it reflects and reinforces cultural memes, that fathers are playful (and easily overwhelmed), and mothers are nurturing and organized.

Global Babies by The Global Fund for Children

The Boychick, along with every other child I’ve heard of who has been introduced to Global Babies, loved this book for its close-up, face-focused photographs of babies and toddlers from all over the world. Babies, in general, are fascinated by other babies, and this gooey-sweet simplistic text’d book fills that desire perfectly. The Boychick and I loved especially that so many of the babies are shown being worn: of the 16 total photographs, 7 are shown in or apparently in carriers (this does include one baby in a cradleboard being help up but not on a person). Each of the photos is labeled with the country the baby is from, and although two are from USA, this includes one white seemingly-middle-class baby, and one Native child (in the aforementioned cradleboard). Not all of the babies are smiling (or indeed, awake), which seems to increase the appeal; the young reader is able to study faces reflecting a variety of emotional and alertness states.

Downside: The text is far less interesting than the photographs, with sometimes just one word per two-picture page; I’m not sure the Boychick ever absorbed the “[all babies] are beautiful, special, and loved” message with it being read so slowly, interspersed with up to several minutes of studying the photos. There is something of a photo-safari feel to the book, though I think this is somewhat mitigated by the lack of depicting less-advantaged children as “pitiful” or “unhappy”, as many such projects do. I must also say that I know nothing of the Global Fund for Children beyond the noble goal printed on the back of the book (“…advancing the dignity of young people around the world.”), and cannot speak to its work, good or otherwise.

Everywhere Babies by Susan Meyers

(Note: Cover pictured is for the hardback edition of the book.)

I love this book almost as much as the Boychick does. There is more text than in many other board books (including all of the ones mentioned here), but the text has a brilliant bounce and simple (but not overly so) rhyming rhythm. The text loosely follows a diverse crowd of babies from birth to the first year, often with several scenes on each page depicting many different races of babies and configurations of families (including an apparently-single mom of twins, multiracial and multigenerational families, and a two-mom family). Although very Western and moderately sub/urban and middle-class, the wealth of diversity shown in what “Every day, everywhere babies” are doing helps make it a delightful read. It’s also a favorite in the attachment parenting community for explicitly showing and mentioning breastfeeding (and I love that the mom shown breastfeeding is a woman of color, fully dressed, passed out in a rocker holding a book) and babywearing.

Downside: Along with depictions of breastfeeding and babywearing — though the ring sling appears to be drawn by someone who has never actually worn a baby in one — are abundant depictions of bottles, pacifiers, and strollers, as well as less than ideal carriers, and a baby in a carseat not in a car; I’ve somewhat mellowed on this since first reading Everywhere Babies, but on some level it still bothers me: these things are all ubiquitous in the culture the Boychick is growing up in, and the more he — and everyone else — sees them, the more they become/are reinforced as the cultural defaults. (An astute reader will note, however, that I haven’t let this stop me from enjoying this book with the Boychick, but I do usually change the words to the “babies are fed” page, to skip bottle, spoon, and cereal feeding.) I am also irked that the final scene, which depicts a single baby at hir first birthday party, features an apparently all-white, heteronormative family. It doesn’t completely negate the racial diversity of the rest of the book, but it does, once again, ultimately center whiteness, and reinforcing the white family as default. Also note that there are no visibly disabled parents or children depicted, and no assistive devices beyond one cane half-hidden behind an old woman seated in a chair.

Summary

I would recommend any or all of these books as additions to a beginner anti-kyriarchy bookshelf; though a handful of books featuring racial and sexual diversity read to pre-literate and mostly pre-memory children are not going to subvert the dominant paradigm or counteract a culture of hate all by themselves, they’re not a bad way to start. Buy any of these or other titles online at Powells.com or Amazon.com and support your friendly neighbourhood blogger; or find or order them at a local independent bookseller.

Have you read any of these with your child, and what did you or s/he think? What are your favorite pro-diversity, anti-kyriarchy board books?

9 Comments | Posted on 19 October 2010 by Arwyn | Category: The Boychick's Bookshelf | Tags: ableism, breastfeeding, diversity, heteronormativity, intersectionalism, review, white privilege

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Babble about Babble, and a controversial Controversial award

So there’s this site, Babble.com (Parenting for hipsters is how I’ve heard it explained, in a nutshell), and they, a fan of lists, came out with a new one this week: Top 50 Twitter Moms. And yours truly is on it. And not only on it, but #1 for the category Most Controversial.

I gotta say, I SQUEEd when I first heard I was on the list at all (via a pre-release email from an editor, asking for a photo to go with the story). And then didn’t believe it. And then checked into it some, and squeed and hyperventilated some more. And then sent a photo and tried to breathe. And then, as the days wore on, started to become completely convinced it was all some elaborate hoax and/or prank. Because as hard as that was to believe (who goes phishing for publicity photographs??), even harder was that I — not exactly a high-follower, heavy-hitter on Twitter, and annoyingly high volume — would actually be on a list like that. Truly, I could not believe it. (Thanks, paranoid crazy brain.)

But it was true. And as I looked at the list when it finally came out, it became more clear.

Because this list? It is white. It is very, very white. It is not only white (there are at least a few women of color on it that I know of — I don’t want to make the mistake of saying there are no black people there –, and some I may call white at first glance might in fact be nonwhite women I am misracializing), but there are no women of color among the ten Most Controversial of us.

Really?

I mean… really??

‘Cause I could name a few major bigger-than-me nonwhite players in the Controversial category off the top of my head, without even pausing to take a breath first (PhD in Parenting, also on Babble’s list, came up with nearly 30 in less than 24 hours). And I? Don’t even follow Big Names. I don’t know who’s-who on Twitter, and I don’t even particularly care. And yet I can quickly and conclusively prove that popular moms + opinionated + twitter =/= exclusively white.

And while we’re on the subject, let’s think about who else was left off the list, or was underrepresented. What about woman-partnered moms? Trans moms¹? Non-custodial moms? Moms with disabilities? There are some of at least the last (hey, I’m on there), and not knowing all fifty women I can’t say for sure there were none of the others. But it’s a pretty damn homogeneous list in a lot of ways.

It’s not that I didn’t in any way earn this honor (despite what my “you’ll never be any good” crazy-brain says) but that it is inarguable that I and many others are on here in no small part due to our completely unearned privilege. This list would be damn different in a non-racist, non-cissexist, non-kyriarchal society. Would I still be on it? Maybe, maybe not. But a lot more people would see themselves reflected in it, whether they themselves made it on, and that is the far more important point.

Screen capture from Babble.com September 10, 2010

There’s also this: in the bio written for me (y’know, the person named Most Controversial), nowhere are these words: (anti-)sexism; (anti-)racism; (anti-)heterosexism / homophobia; kyriarchy; privilege; feminism / feminist²; not even patriarchy.

Here instead is what it says about me:

The Who, What, Why?
Arwyn hails from Portland and is bipolar, bisexual, pro-choice and anti-anything that smacks of hypocrisy. So in a nutshell she’s lovely — provided you agree with her, but even then she won’t hold it against you. She’s all about moms banding together to fight the big boys (big money, big pharma, big brother). Amen to that!

Yea, ok, most people still go “huh?” at kyriarchy and privilege, and roll their eyes at patriarchy, but… hypocrisy³? Are even the words “racism” and “sexism” and “homophobia” (skipping right on over “biphobia” or “cissexism” as “advanced” topics, and just contemplate why that is for a moment) — and stating that one works against same — too controversial for a Most Controversial list? How can we eradicate these things if we can’t even talk about talking about them (which is sort of What I Do and, I imagine, why I’m on a list like this)?

I’m trying to walk a line here between not being ungracious and not fawning because someone said Nice Things About Me. The thing is, I am honored. When the list came out, I forwarded it to all my family, because look! proof that I’m not just sitting on my butt all day. Or, rather, I am, but I’m Doing Something while sitting (or bending over my iPhone, thumbs flicking), and people are noticing. And that feels really good. Who doesn’t love validation, especially for work done without any sort of tangible pay?

But the knowledge that the list is so skewed — so racist, so cissexist, so entrenched in raising up already-privileged bodies (with intent or not hardly matters, because the result is the same) — poisons my enjoyment. It turns my sweet success sour in my mouth, sourer still in digestion. Did I really earn this? Or am I here only because so many deemed unworthy — because their bodies and beings and lives are “wrong” — are not? This is the least of reasons to protest whitewashed lists like these, but it serves as a reminder: white (cis, class, hetero-partnered) privilege isn’t “good”. It taints everything those of us with this privilege receive. It dulls every award, flattens every accolade. Because we didn’t — wholly — earn them. Others were passed by, passed over, pissed on that we could have our moments. Is it worth it? Hardly seems so to me.

I am controversial? Fine, Babble, have controversy: do better. In this list, in all lists, as long as you insist on making them: do better. If any category be monochrome, you’re doing it wrong: go back to the selection process, and try again. Because it’s not that worthy women representing greater diversity aren’t out there, it’s not that you’d have to “hunt” for an unworthy “token” to “get the numbers right” — no, it’s that you aren’t paying attention. What, exactly, does that say about you?

——————————

This is hardly the only problem to be had with Babble. Please do read the post at PhD in Parenting, and check out her links, which talk about issues Babble has had with violating copyright and trademark as well as their willingness to put corporate profit above infant and maternal health. Also please read Womanist Musing’s take — if I were making a list of opinionated or “controversial” Twitter moms, she’d be on the top.

And as a side peeve, while I am ensuring that I never get promoted by them again anyway, Babble re-directs everyone in Australia (and elsewhere outside the USA/Canada?) to an alternate site, making the list nigh-impossible to view for hundreds of my Twitter followers. I have, however, been told that going via an anonymizer such as anonymouse.org will allow one to view the main US Babble.com site.

Keeping in mind that it can be extremely risky to be out as trans, and a thousand times more so when one has children at stake. ↩
Though feminism does feature prominently in the bio of the 2nd Most Controversial. ↩
“1. a pretense of having a virtuous character, moral or religious beliefs or principles, etc., that one does not really possess.” — Dictionary.com ↩

9 Comments | Posted on 11 September 2010 by Arwyn | Category: Body, Kyriarchy | Tags: Babble, cis privilege, Gender, Privilege, Race, racism, Twitter, white privilege

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The Boychick’s Bookshelf: The Paper Bag Princess

Welcome to The Boychick’s Bookshelf! In this series, I review children’s books of interest to those who want to raise children free from and opposed to kyriarchy. These reviews will focus on books which showcase stories and lives beyond the dominant culture of white straight middle-class families, or which contain explicitly anti-kyriarchy messages (anti-racism, anti-ableism, anti-sexism, anti-heterosexism, anti-cissexism, anti-violence, anti-colonialization, and so on).

The Paper Bag Princess

The Story

“Elizabeth was a beautiful princess”, engaged to the snobbily-drawn Ronald — both of whom appear to be prepubescent — when a dragon comes, burns down her castle (and burns off her clothes! — at which illustration the Boychick accurately points out “she has no nipples!”), and whisks away her fiancé. Elizabeth dons the closest thing to a garment she has left — a paper bag — and sets off to find and rescue Ronald. When she tracks down the dragon’s lair (by following the trail of horse bones), she tricks the dragon with fawning praise into using up all his fire and then flying around the world so fast he promptly collapses asleep. The dragon now unarmed and unarousable, she slips past and frees the prince. Rather than being appropriately appreciative, Ronald declares her a mess, and tells her to come back after getting cleaned up when she is once again “a real princess”. Elizabeth retorts that his appearance is that of “a real prince”, but he is “a bum.” The final scene shows her skipping away — happily alone, still clothed in her paper bag – into the sunset, and we learn “They didn’t get married after all.”

Intended Audience

Elizabeth and Ronald are both white, blond, and (obviously) class privileged — at least until Elizabeth’s castle burns down — so the annoyingly usual expected audience of middle class white families applies. More specifically, The Paper Bag Princess seems aimed at white girls who are already familiar with the princess narrative, but I wouldn’t say that’s necessary: while the Boychick hadn’t yet been exposed to that narrative, it didn’t hinder his enjoyment of the book.

Changes in the telling

My main problem with The Paper Bag Princess — apart from the white, blond characters — is when Elizabeth declares Ronald to be “a bum”. Although the meaning of “bum” as “buttocks” predates that of “tramp”/homeless/lazy person (and let’s just pause a moment to marvel and be disgusted at the conflation of “homeless” and “lazy”), and outside the USA the bottom definition reigns supreme (if, thanks to US cultural colonialism, not exclusive), its primary use in the USA is lazy/homeless, particularly in the “you are a” construction. (In fact, the Boychick protests when I use bum for butt — it’s the one Britishism he actively rejects.) And as long as that strong implication of, and conflation of, “lazy hobo” is there, I am not willing to use it as an insult. Thus in our readings, we’ve changed it to any number of other insults, including jerk, butthead, or — my Doctor Who fanatic’s favorite — “giant eyeball“.

My only other concern with the book, which I can’t do anything about, is the way Elizabeth uses flattery to outwit the dragon. I love that she defeats him nonviolently, with only her intelligence and words, but it bothers me a bit that she uses such a stereotypically feminine way of doing it. “Is it true” she asks, that he can burn up ten forests/fly around the world in ten seconds? And then, when he does, she plays every bit of the easily-impressed femme and proclaims it “magnificent”. While I don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with what she did, I do wish that she could have used her quick wit to out-think the dragon in some other way, if only to show girls that relying (even in such a fabulously subversive manner) on the tropes of femininity isn’t the only way to get what they want.

Right on!

The above caveats aside, I adore the messages of this book: intelligence and character are far more important than appearance, vanity will lose you your lunch (or post-castle-entrée snack), don’t stick around with someone who can’t appreciate you for who you are, girls are entirely capable of doing the rescuing, and the princess doesn’t need to end up with the prince to be happy. It is, essentially, a second wave feminist wet-dream of a kids’ book, and I love it for that, even as I acknowledge its concurrent problems.

But does it appeal? The Boychick’s take

The Boychick really likes The Paper Bag Princess, though I will say that seems to have more to do with the dragon than with the feminist messages. His absolute favorite part is first whispering and then yelling “Hey dragon!” with Elizabeth, as she checks that he’s well and truly out of it before freeing Ronald — I would not read this book with him any time I needed him to be especially quiet! But it seems to be just right for the stage he’s at: enough of a story to be engaging, but not so long and involved he loses track.

Buy it, Consider it, Skip it, or Compost it?

Consider it. (Link goes to Powell’s; or buy through Amazon.) The white leading characters, the use of “bum” as a derogative (again, given that we are USian and it doesn’t really mean arse to the Boychick), and Elizabeth’s use of flattery stop me from offering it my highest rating, but I do still love and recommend it. And, as demonstrated by how involved the Boychick gets, it is simply fun, and as willing as I am to share with him not-so-fun selections, to have one that is so upbeat that also carries excellent messages I find worth the imperfections.

Your Take — and Your Chance!

Have you read The Paper Bag Princess? What do you think, and what do your kids think? What other books with strong female protagonists and subversion of the princess narrative do you know of, and would you recommend them?

AND! Because I was sent a copy by a fabulous reader (thank you!) after buying one myself and before taking it off my wish list, I have an extra — which means one of you gets to have a copy. Simply comment below to the effect of “please enter me!” by 11:59pm Pacific Daylight Time (UTC – 7) Friday the 27th of August 2010, and I will draw a name at random the next day. Winner will be contacted via the email used to comment, and will provide me with shipping information.

Anyone, anywhere in the world is welcome to enter — I only ask you to refrain if you already own a copy.

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Purchases made through the Powell’s and Amazon links offered here support this blog and compensate — quite minimally — my time and work as a blogger. I encourage you to support local, independent booksellers whenever possible, but if you’re to order online anyway, why not support an independent blogger?

Have a book you want me to review? Suggestions are always welcome, and books sent to me via my Wish List receive priority review status and are an excellent way to support and encourage the Boychick’s Bookshelf project.