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| Author reading to keiki in Hana, Maui |
Reading Mac Barnett’s declaration that “94.7 percent of kid’s books are crud”—coming fresh after reading to toddlers and dancing with bubbles (the sudsy kind, not the chimp)—deeply hurt. Sure, it was taken out of context and made in argument for better books; I want better books, too. And yes, in his lofty position as the Library of Congress National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, I am certain I am in that 94.7—let’s just round it up to 95—percent that he refers to.
But that isn’t my point, because it isn’t about me. It’s about all those kids I write and illustrate for. Kids I urge to have confidence in their own voices, in the stories that only they can tell. Kids that deserve to be heard.
For barefoot, pidgin-speaking me, books were a distraction from the turmoil at home. They were life rafts. And when you’re treading water, you don’t care if your raft is polished koa or rickety bamboo—you just care that it keeps your head above water.
From Mac Barnett’s safe, dry, perch, it’s easy to look down and see an ocean of mediocrity. But from where I sit on the floor with kids, I see something else. I see a keiki’s face light up because a character sounds like them, lives like them, or survives like them.
Barnett’s self-indulgent, “pat yourself on the back” line is unfortunate because it distracts from a worthwhile call for better literature. However, I will gladly take my place in that 95 percent. It’s not about the ambassador’s standards; it’s about the 100 percent of kids who deserve to feel that their stories, their language, and their voices have value.
If you truly respect children, then respect their ability to find their own stories—not just those curated by gatekeepers. Trust the children to find their own rafts.
For a more eloquent perspective, visit author/educator Susan Koehler’s blogpost, "Kids, Crud Books, and the Blunder of Mac Barnett."
