Some Parental Discretion Advised.

So.  In order to clarify my thoughts on this post, popped over to dictionary.com in order to learn once and for all the difference between an allegory and a parable.  And I find the definition of a parable begins: "a short allegorical story. . ."

That explains why I was confused on the subject.

The reason I was pondering parables and allegories was because I have been pondering edgy, creepy picture books, among which my own manuscript will likely be lumped by some.  Chief among such stories is the perennially popular The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein.

Silverstein was the author of several volumes of children's poetry that children adored but which frequently bothered adults.  If you recall the Johnny Cash song "A Boy Named Sue", those lyrics were his work.  In the Giving Tree parable. . . allegory?  In this tale, a tree is friends with a boy, and together they are happy.  In their continued search for happiness as the boy grows into a man, the tree gives him every last part of herself, at his request, until she is nothing but a stump. Then the boy - now an old man - sits on her.  Sits.  "And the tree was happy."  Shudder.

The Giving Tree became popular back in the sixties in part because it was promoted through church sermons.  To this day, churches present The Giving Tree as an entirely positive parable - there's that pesky word again! - with the tree representing God or Jesus, selflessly giving and giving and giving.

As an adult rereading Silverstein's book, I can't help but see the story as being something entirely different: a picture book warning about the dangers of adultery.  Talk about inappropriate children's book material!  The tree is the other woman, blinded with love, giving her life to a man who is taking and taking but who has another life elsewhere.  Or the tree is the devoted wife, giving and giving her life to a man who squanders his his love on another woman.

The problem is that the Giving Tree is entirely devoid of any guidelines on how it should be interpreted.  It is a hollow shell that can be used to teach whatever lesson the teacher or parent or gift-giver wishes to invest in it.  Religion?  Check.  Parenting?  Check.  Environmental abuses?  Check.  Pick your issue and load it into the Giving Tree like a bullet in a gun.

But what happens when a child reads this book and is given no guidance?  Most picture books are not open to interpretation.  Either the book tells a story - with a happy ending! - or it teaches a lesson - with a happy ending!  But rarely is a picture book story open to any sort of interpretation.  In those books which are not entirely pablum, the child reader is typically led by the nose to the conclusion the author wants them to reach.

The Giving Tree gives the child reader the opportunity to ponder, widely and deeply - as I did, for many years, trying to mentally make the Giving Tree fit in with all the other picture books of my childhood.  The single clue I had to guide my interpretation was that the book was not kept on the bookshelf in my room, with all of the other picture books.  The Giving Tree sat on the living room shelf, looking oddly out of place between the works of Shakespeare and Kahlil Gibran.  Apparently my parents didn't know quite what to make of it, either.  Given that it was an expensive and new edition, in a house otherwise filled with the free things my parents had acquired during their tenure as broke college students, I imagine it was given to them as a gift.

Perhaps it was handed to them when my mother was pregnant.  Because, apparently,  it is considered good taste to traumatize pregnant women with a story that hints that the way to be a good mother is to completely and entirely sacrifice one's self.  (Please excuse me while I vomit into my coffee mug.)

My childhood interpretation of the Giving Tree?  It was a warning against poorly-balanced relationships.  And it was creepy.  And I imagine that was why it lived in seclusion in the living room.  Books and gifts were sacred things to my parents, so they wouldn't have given it away, even if they disagreed with it.

So, do I now let my copy of  the Giving Tree lurk among the kids' shelf of toothless fluff, in the hopes that it will give them something to meditate on when they have forgotten all the other books?  After all, it was so educational to me.  Or, out of dislike for the way it has been used against mothers, and by churches, and in promotion of unhealthy relationships, should I keep it separate?

The solution: I will compile a library of dark and subversive picture books!  After all, these are the picture books that spark my interest the most as an adult.  The books will live in my studio, and come out to play when the kids are ready for a challenge, and when I am available to take their questions.  Some parental discretion advised.