The Story of Babar

Originally published in 1931 as Histoire de Babar, le petite éléphant, this classic children's picture-book, the first of a number of titles to chronicle the adventures of its eponymous elephantine hero, has sparked quite a bit of debate in the field of children's literature. Condemned by some as a colonialist fantasy - most notably, see Herbert R. Kohl's Should We Burn Babar?: Essays on Children's Literature and the Power of Stories - and defended by others as a comic parody of that fantasy - see Adam Gopnik's essay, Freeing the Elephants: What Babar Brought, published in The New Yorker magazine - it seems to excite quite a bit of commentary from adult readers. Whether child readers perceive these themes, or are harmed by them, is another question altogether.

Although not one of my great favorites as a girl, I do vaguely recall reading the Babar books when young, and while I can't remember any of the specifics regarding my reaction to them - clearly, as my friends and family can attest, they didn't turn me into an apologist for colonialism - I liked them well enough. Rereading this as an adult, I was struck by how very un-sweet this supposedly sweet tale is, and I'm not thinking of the colonialist themes alone. From Babar's mother being shot in front of his eyes, to the former elephant king dropping dead (in a shriveled green heap!) after eating a poisoned mushroom, there's plenty here that might be considered traumatic. Oddly enough, I don't remember any of that from my childhood reading either, which suggests that my younger self was focused more on the adventure as a whole, rather than on specific incidents. Or perhaps that I was just less bothered by the traumatic than I am currently?

In any case, in answer to the question of whether we should we burn Babar - no, obviously not. Nor should we ban him, or try to dissuade others from reading him. The book is certainly a little dated, and it reflects the colonial reality of its day, but I'm undecided as to whether it praises and/or defends that reality, rather than just referencing it, the way so many stories reference the zeitgeist of their time, and am uncomfortable with the notion of condemning it, when the reasons for doing so are not clear to me. I suppose if I felt more strongly about the story itself - unlike the artwork, which I find charming, I am largely indifferent to the narrative - I would find it easier to decide. ( )

This is a very sweet book. I am embarrassed to admit that, as a kid, I vastly preferred the more adventurous tales in my elementary school library. But as a mom, I tended to search the bookstore for sweet tales to read to my kids. Despite my effort to brainwash my kids with niceness, they nonetheless followed in my footsteps and developed a taste for adventure stories. However, if your child has a more gentle soul, I bet they will love this classic tale. ( )

The story itself is nothing too unique or amazing, but has a very clear and sweet plot that would be easy for younger readers to follow. The story and illustrations do feel a tad dated, but I feel that younger readers would be able to overlook that. One point to note is that a couple characters do die in the process of the story, though it is nothing graphic or dramatic. The story follows Babar's journey as he heads to a city and becomes a gentleman with the assistance of his friend the Old Lady, and his later journey back home to become elephant king.

Reading Level: 3.1 ( )

Growing up in France, this was a classic french storybook that all children read, like our equivalent of Curious George.

This books made me feel physically ill. This book symbolized to me every empirical society that enslaves another with their value system and how those enslaved put on the chains willingly. It is a great book to use as a historical connections. The one that immediately came to me was the Brahmaṇ and how many of them sold their souls to their colonizers for personals gains.