Are Children’s Books Just for Children?

By Darlene Foster

I write children’s books. Actually, I should correct that. I write books suitable for children. But they are books any age can read and enjoy.

            Recently I listened to an interview with Lawrence Hill, author of the award-winning novel, The Book of Negroes.He discussed his latest release, Beatrice and Croc Harry, which he describes as a story for children and adults. He mentioned there should be no separation between children’s and adults’ books. He mentioned that as authors, we should not shy away from including serious and painful issues in children’s stories as they can handle them. He also mentioned, and I agree, many adults enjoy reading from a child’s point of view.  

            As a young reader, I devoured everything in the children’s section of our small prairie library, so I started reading from the adult section. I read Gone with the Wind in three days when I was twelve years old and loved it. Obviously, some books are not suitable for children. I recall my mother hiding books like Peyton Place and Tropic of Cancer, because she knew I would read anything I could get my hands on.  

            Recently a neighbour mentioned that he was sad that his daughter was now able to read on her own, as he could no longer read all the wonderful children’s books, including my Amanda Travels series. I replied, “Why not? You can still read them on your own and then discuss them with her.”

            There are no reading police that watch out for adults reading children’s books. If there was, I’d be in jail or fined heavily as I read a lot of novels written for children. I just finished reading Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm by Kate Douglas Wiggin. Although it was written over a hundred years ago and the writing might be difficult for modern day readers, it was wonderful to follow the delightful Rebecca as she adapted to her new surroundings. I re-read Anne of Green Gablesevery few years.

            Reading is how we learn and grow, at any age. Children’s books often explore themes such as identity, injustice, misunderstanding, family crisis, friendship, disappointment, and death, among other contemporary issues. Things adults confront on a daily basis.

            I am always pleased when adults read my books and comment on how much they enjoyed them. One adult reader, planning a trip to New Mexico, got ideas of things to see and do on an upcoming visit by reading Amanda in New Mexico: Ghosts in the Wind. I am delighted to have many wonderful reviews from adults who have read my books.

            Once on a crowded ferry from Vancouver Island to Vancouver, I sat with a family of five. Two adults and three elementary-aged boys. Each one of them was reading a different Harry Potter volume. I commented on how nice it was to see a family reading the same series together. The mother explained they purchased one complete set and share the books amongst them. She said they didn’t mind reading the series out of sequence. I can only imagine the lively discussions between the kids and the parents.

            Much can be learned by reading children’s and young adult fiction and non-fiction. When adults say they don’t understand young people today, perhaps they should read more from a young person’s point of view. Children’s books written by C.S. Lewis, E.B. White, Enid Blyton, and Kate DiCamillo, to name a few, can be life changing for readers of all ages.

            I don’t believe children’s books are just for children. I think I need to change my tag line to—I write books for everyone to enjoy!

            Because, let’s face it, we are all children at heart.

---

“A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children

is not a good children’s story in the slightest.”― C.S. Lewis

---

1. Amanda in Arabia: The Perfume Flask
2. Amanda in Spain: The Girl in the Painting
3. Amanda in England: The Missing Novel
4. Amanda in Alberta: The Writing on the Stone
5. Amanda on the Danube: The Sounds of Music
6. Amanda in New Mexico: Ghosts in the Wind
7. Amanda in Holland: Missing in Action
8. Amanda in Malta: The Sleeping Lady

Darlene Foster’s Amazon Author Page

Darlene Foster’s Website

---

Darlene Foster grew up on a ranch in Alberta, Canada, where her love of reading inspired her to see the world and write stories. She is the author of the exciting Amanda Travels series featuring spunky Amanda Ross, a twelve-year-old Canadian girl who loves to travel. All ages enjoy following Amanda as she unravels one mystery after another in unique destinations. When not travelling, meeting interesting people, and collecting ideas for her books, Darlene enjoys spending time at her house in Spain with her husband and entertaining rescue dogs, Dot and Lia.

Darlene Foster

The Goblin Theory: A Bedtime Story for Naughty Children, by Tonia Marie Harris

Annie was a good girl who did wicked things.

She teased her baby sister when no one watched.

She stole the peanut brittle and hid it under her pillow.  Nightmares and a tummy ache made her confess to that one.  She did not need a horrible witch, like the one from Hansel and Gretel, coming for her.

Annie had enough worries for one nine-year old girl, thank you very much.

She blamed it on the Goblin.

He was worse than the witch, and he visited her night after night.

He smiled his smile full of pointed teeth and snorted from his green snout.  When Annie would sneak peeks at him in the long nights, he would cross his arms and sneer.  He didn’t speak, but Annie always knew why he came for her.

She never saw him in the daylight hours, but he knew every wicked thing she did.  He had a list, and it grew longer every night.  This made her tremble, and one night she wet the bed.

That night was the worst.  She called out for her mother, who scolded her and said things like, “You’re a big girl now, Annie.  There’s nothing there.  It’s only shadows.”  But once she turned the lights back off, Annie screamed and cried.

Mrs. James took pity on her oldest daughter, and nestled in bed with her.  She promptly fell asleep.

Annie opened one eye, and there he was.  “Mom, look, there he is.”

But when her mother turned to her, Annie could not see her face.  She spoke, but her words were garbled, like she talked over a mouthful of food.  Her mother never talked with her mouth full.

The goblin only leered at her, and Annie knew he was her secret, and she could never tell her secret to anyone, or he would hurt them.

Annie choked back her sobs, and willed that very long night to end.

To her great relief, her mother woke up with her face back on in the morning.  Annie told her mother she looked very beautiful and hugged her hard.  She meant every word she said.

But as hard as she tried, she always wound up in trouble.  Even for the accidents, like dropping her baby sister on her head, or when she not on purpose flushed her Barbie’s head down the toilet.  Annie always wanted to see what would happen next.  Her father explained it was cause and effect.

Annie believed she understood this theory very well.  Her bad deeds were the cause and the Goblin was the effect.

Each time she broke a rule, the goblin knew.

His list grew so long it curled and unfurled around him.  It made Annie’s heart sink.  She came to fear the list more than she did the goblin.

One night, she decided to be brave.  She thought her father brave, so she pretended to be him.  She stood up from the bed, and knelt in front of him.  He was very short, and it felt rude to tower over him like a grown up.  After all, he was the goblin with the list of all her wickedness, and she was only a little girl.

“What are you going to do with that list, Goblin?”  She said in her deepest voice.

The goblin did not answer, he tapped his helmet with his spear and shook the list so it hissed and rattled like a hungry snake.

Annie knew she would have to do her best to be good, and wait.

And she had an idea, which became a theory.  She did not like to be a scared little girl, who ducked under the covers at night and wet the bed once or twice because the goblin looked as though he would like to eat her.  From this theory, she formed a plan.

The next day she did not break a single rule, and did not pinch her sister, not even once.

She went to bed with a smile and hugged herself tight.  When her father shut the
door, and forgot to turn on the night-light, she did not complain.  The goblin did not pay her a visit that night, or the next.

But Annie did not know how long she could keep up being good.  She discovered that being good bored her near to tears, and she had big plans that did not include goblins with red eyes who wore funny hats.

The list was the worst.  That dreadful, dreary, devilish list, she hated it so, and never wanted to see it again.  She knew the Goblin would leave it just where her parents would find it.  Really, she loved her beautiful mother and her brave father, but they did not have to know everything:

Each pinch and each poke

The things that she broke

Every little lie

And the time she threw the cat from the window.

Just to watch him fly.

She thought the cat had been a good lesson.  They do not always land on their feet, sometimes they land on their heads.

After a long week of being good, Annie woke up ornery, cantankerous, and foul.  She decided she had enough.  Today was the day to do what she did best.  The Goblin would come tonight, and she knew just what to do with him.

Annie started the day by knocking the baby’s milk across the table and ended it by feeding crayons to the dog.  When the dog yarked green and purple on the rug, her parents sighed and put her to bed.

She went to bed feeling a little sorry for her mother.  It had been a long and busy day.  But she went to bed with a smile on her face.

The Goblin did not stand in the corner, as it had other nights.  It came right up to her bed, the list trailing and slithering around his clubbed feet.  Annie felt no fear, she had a theory.

When the Goblin shoved the list in her face, Annie opened her mouth and took a big bite.  It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.  The goblin stared, his mouth hung in an o, and green drool glimmered on his pointed teeth.  But he didn’t fight her, so Annie chewed and swallowed the entire list.

Cotton candy.  Apple pie a la mode.  Chocolate cake.

When she was done, she covered a burp with her hand and congratulated herself on being lady like.

The goblin yelled, stomped his club feet, and threw a tantrum better than her very worst.  She could not understand a word.

“I’m bigger than you.”  She stood up and grabbed the goblin, which shook and shivered with fear.

Annie wanted to know what he tasted like.

He tasted better than he smelled, like green apples ripe with sunshine.

She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown and tucked herself back into bed.  The little girl decided the best feeling in the world was not being afraid anymore.

The next morning, she woke up with a belly ache that did not go away for days.  But she did not complain and thanked her mother for taking care of her.  When her mother left, she checked under her bed for her new treasures.

Annie picked up the goblin’s felt hat and pointed shoes, not a trace of the goblin to be found on them.  She put the cap on her head, and went to her mirror.  Though her belly hurt and her mouth felt sweet and sticky like a jelly bean, she was satisfied.

Annie was a wicked girl, who wanted to be good.

***

Tonia Marie Harris is a mother, writer, poet, and blogger who procrastinates in her spare time. She  is currently editing a young adult ghost story. Chocolate is her kryptonite. You can find Tonia at Hugs and Chocolate for writers, her blog PassionFind, Twitter, and Facebook.