Dr. Seuss (1904–1991)

King Birtram of Binn got more work done by seven o'clock in the morning than most rulers got done in a month. He worked hard keeping his kingdom safe from the ever-threatening sea, caring for the Patrol Cats who battled the Nizzards - birds who continually ate away at the roots of the Dike Trees protecting the land. But as hard as the king worked, he played just as hard, flashing about on his bright red stilts every day at five in the evening. No one begrudged him his amusement, save for show more sour Lord Droon, who conspired to hide the king's stilts, and to keep the king's pageboy, Eric, from disclosing this piece of villainy. Unable to play, the king stopped working as well, the cats stopped patrolling, and the Dike Trees became ever weaker. Eric knew he had to do something, or the Kingdom of Binn would soon disappear beneath the waves...

Originally published in 1939, The King's Stilts was Dr. Seuss' third picture-book, following upon And To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street (1937) and The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (1938). Although it was never one of my favorites, when it comes to Dr. Seuss' many books, I do recall reading and enjoying it, when a girl, and have a vivid memory of the image of the king on his stilts. I picked it up for this reread as part of a Seuss retrospective I have recently undertaken as an act of personal protest against the suppression of six of the author/artist's titles - And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, McElligot's Pool, If I Ran the Zoo, Scrambled Eggs Super!, On Beyond Zebra! and The Cat's Quizzer - by Dr. Seuss Enterprises. See my review of And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, to be found HERE, for a fuller exploration of my thoughts on that matter.

In any case, I found this an entertaining and thought-provoking original fairy-tale, and appreciated both the story and the artwork. Unlike many of Dr. Seuss' books aimed at younger children, or written later in his career, The King's Stilts presents its story in prose. I have seen it described as an exploration of balance - the need for both hard work and hard play, in a fulfilled life - and I think that makes sense. After all, King Birtram is described as the most productive of royals, until his pleasure is taken away, and he sinks into a depression, suggesting that without the release provided by his chosen leisure activity, his work performance will suffer. This seems a commonly accepted idea today, but I'm not sure how widespread it was in 1939. It occurs to me that the story could also be read as an exploration of the idea of convention and respectability politics, as Lord Droon's actions are driven by what he thinks is proper for a king to do - something that does not involve dashing about on stilts - and by his sense of embarrassment at what he perceives as a silly activity.

However one interprets the story, it is engaging, offering an entertaining and suspenseful tale with plenty of fairy-tale elements - the royal kingdom, the threat from non-human forces, the magical animals - and a satisfactorily happy ending. The accompanying artwork is done in black and white, with the occasional red accent, and captures the absurd humor of the whole tale. The depiction of the both the cats and the Nizzards recalled other creatures of the kind, in subsequent Seuss books, and was very appealing, in that rather snarky, humorous Seussian way. In sum: an appealing, entertaining and satisfying fairy-tale from Seuss, well worth the time of any picture-book reader with a taste for such stories. It's a little text-heavy, so I'd advise its use with slightly older audiences, perhaps six and above. show less

Heading into town one day, the humble Bartholomew Cubbins whips his hat off his head when King Derwin passes in his carriage, only to find that a new one - an exact duplicate - has taken its place. The irate king, prouder than he is wise, stops the procession to demand that Bartholomew show the proper respect, and that young boy, almost petrified with fright, rushes to comply. Unfortunately, no matter how many times he removes his hat, he always finds it instantly replaced. Hauled off to the show more castle, he is confronted by the king and his courtiers in the throne room, and an investigation is launched. But no one, from the hat maker to the wise men, the magicians to the executioner, can solve the problem. Eventually, the king's spoiled rotten nephew, the Grand Duke Wilfred, suggests chucking Bartholomew off the tower, a fate that is only avoided when the final, 500th hat to appear is so dazzlingly ornate, that the king decides he must have it for himself...

The first of two picture-books featuring that engaging young hero, Bartholomew Cubbins - the second was Bartholomew and the Ooblek, a Caldecott Honor Book in 1950 - The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins was originally published in 1938, the year after Dr. Seuss's picture-book debut, And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry Street, and is his second contribution to the form. Although I definitely read the second book about Bartholomew as a girl, this one is not a title I recall from my own childhood. I picked it up as part of a Dr. Seuss retrospective I have undertaken, as an act of personal protest against the suppression of six of the author/artist's titles - And To Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street, McElligot's Pool, If I Ran the Zoo, Scrambled Eggs Super!, On Beyond Zebra! and The Cat's Quizzer - in recent days. See my review of And To Think I Saw It on Mulberry Street HERE, for a fuller exploration of my thoughts on that matter. This title has thankfully not (yet!) been deemed controversial.

Leaving that aside, I enjoyed The 500 Hat of Bartholomew Cubbins immensely, appreciating its tongue-in-cheek fairy-tale feeling, and its immensely expressive artwork. Parts of the story, particularly the episode in which both the Grand Duke Wilfred and Yeoman the Bowman attempt to shoot the hats from Bartholomew's head, reminded me of traditional lore. Specifically, the famous episode from the William Tell story. Other elements - the five hundred hats, the hapless court attendants, the executioner's refusal to behead Bartholomew, because it must be done when the prisoner is hatless - struck me as vintage Seuss, with that oddball sense of humor, and that matter-of-factly magical quality I have come to associate with his work. The illustrations here are done in black and white, with Bartholomew's red hat providing the only color on the page. This choice emphasizes how central the hat is to the story, as its outrageous and unusual reproduction of itself causes such chaos for both its owner and the rather silly king. Royalty definitely doesn't come off looking well here - King Derwin seems self-important, rather stupid, easily led, and swayed by both vanity and greed - making me wonder whether this was common in Seuss' books, or not. I'll be keeping an eye on that, going forward in this reading project. This is one I would recommend to picture-book readers who enjoy fairy-tale type stories, although it's a little text-heavy, so it's definitely not for the very young. Perhaps five and up? show less

Having mastered the twenty-six letters of the English alphabet, Conrad Cornelius o'Donald o'Dell is surprised to discover that there are other letters out there, beyond Z. Guided by the narrator, who steps in to share this amazing information, he learns about such letters as the Yuzz, used to spell Yuzz-a-ma-Tuzz; or the Thnad, used to spell Thnadners. Following along on a journey of enchanted discovery, Conrad Cornelius learns nineteen new letters, and meets nineteen unusual new creatures, show more realizing that there is so much to be found, beyond the letter Z...

Originally published in 1955, On Beyond Zebra was Dr. Seuss' eleventh picture-book, published the year after Scrambled Eggs Super! and Horton Hears a Who! With its catalogue of fantastic fictional creatures, it is reminiscent of earlier Seuss titles like Scrambled Eggs Super!, as well as If I Ran the Zoo and McElligot's Pool. With its alphabetic element however, it is also unlike these earlier books, and does something wonderful and new, introducing the idea, through a wild and wacky story, that there are other kinds of letters, and by extension, other sorts of writing systems out there, beyond the one that young children might know. I never encountered this one as a child - something I now regret - and picked it up as part of my recently undertaken Dr. Seuss retrospective, in which I plan to read and review all forty-four of his classic picture-books, in chronological publication order. It is a project that I began as an act of personal protest against the suppression of six of the author/artist's titles - this one, as well as And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, McElligot's Pool, If I Ran the Zoo, Scrambled Eggs Super! and The Cat's Quizzer - by Dr. Seuss Enterprises, because they contain outdated and potentially offensive elements.

As a young girl who had a fascination with languages and writing systems, a girl who created her own make-believe kingdom with its own history and elaborate customs, I would have adored On Beyond Zebra!. As it happens, I too created my own letters, just like Dr. Seuss, and my kingdom (Arcania) had its own language, with its own alphabet. Sadly, I have lost all my papers from that period in my life, but I recall that I enjoyed creating the rather ornate letters in my writing system, which was modeled on the Latin alphabet, but which used very different characters to represent upper and lower case letters, and long and short forms of the vowels. Reading this picture-book reminded me of the pleasure I took in creating my own language as a girl, and how that imaginative play led to my interest in real-world languages as an adult. I got a real thrill, therefore, reading this tale of another child discovering such wonders, and perusing the letters Dr. Seuss created, beyond Z:



In thinking of why Dr. Seuss Enterprises chose to suppress this title, I must conclude that it is owing to the letter Spazz, used to spell Spazzim, a camel-like creature ridden by the Nazzim of Bazzim. This fellow looks to be Middle-Eastern, in a sort of vague way - the camel-riding, the headdress - and is no doubt interpreted by critics as an example of Orientalism. For my part, while I see that the depiction is a caricature - something upon which all of Seuss' work rests - I did not perceive anything hateful in it. If anything, it felt like a reference to stories like Aladdin, or other tales from The Arabian Nights. I would imagine that any number of western retellings of the latter could also be accused of Orientalism, so let's hope these self-styled arbiters of morality don't come for those classic stories as well. It strikes me as such a deep shame, that a book like this, which could lead children naturally and creatively into a better awareness of the richness of human language, and of the writing systems of the world, should be suppressed because of one arguably offensive caricature. It is ironic that, in taking steps to (in their own imagination) defend other cultures and peoples, these critics have decided to oppose a story that could be used to teach young children an appreciation for the linguistic diversity of our world, and for the cultural diversity from which it springs. Then again, these people really aren't defenders of culture (their own or anyone else's) at all, but architects of a new uni-culture, to be enforced through bullying and character assassination. One need only look at the specious accusations of far-right racism lobbed at any reader who opposes this move on the part of Dr. Seuss Enterprises, by some of our commentariat, as well as by private citizens online, to see that this is true.

Joshua T. Katz, a professor of linguistics at Princeton University who teaches a freshman seminar entitled "Wordplay: A Wry Plod from Babel to Scrabble" - a course which includes both On Beyond Zebra and James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake on its syllabus - concludes in his recent article in The New Criterion, that this recent censorious move by Dr. Seuss Enterprises is a form of madness. I quite agree. show less

Speaking to his younger sister one day in this rhyming picture-book adventure, the imaginative Peter T. Hooper spins a tale of the most extraordinary scrambled eggs ever made - by him, of course! Hen eggs being entirely too mundane for him, this ambitious youngster heads out into the world to collect some very unusual and rare eggs, produced by some very inventive made-up creatures. From the Long-Legger Kwong, whose eggs need to be caught before they hit the ground, to the Grickily Gractus, show more who lays her eggs in a cactus, these birds produce eggs that are worth tracking down, just as Petter T. Hooper produces the much vaunted "Scrambled Eggs Super..."

Originally published in 1954, some four years after his If I Ran the Zoo, Scrambled Eggs Super! is Dr. Seuss' ninth picture-book, and feels like a variation on that earlier book, and on McElligot's Pool, published in 1947. All three titles are a marvelous catalogue of fantastic creatures, dreamt up by a young boy narrator who imagines the fish he might catch in McElligot's Pool, the animals he could imprison in If I Ran the Zoo, and the eggs he might collect in Scrambled Eggs Super! The artwork here is vintage Seuss fun, full of quirky animal characters, expressive human ones - the little girl's face in the final scene had me chuckling! - and created using the black line drawings and colorful accents of earlier titles. The wacky storyline, colorful artwork and rhyming text all make this an entertaining read-aloud selection, like so many of Dr. Seuss' famous titles.

I have vague memories of enjoying Scrambled Eggs Super! as a girl - some of the scenes really popped out at me, during this reread, and I smiled in recognition at some of the birds - but it wasn't one of my childhood favorites, when it comes to Dr. Seuss' work, and I hadn't thought of it in years. My current reread was prompted by the Seuss retrospective I have recently begun, in which I will be reading and reviewing all forty-four of his classic picture-books, in chronological publication order. This is a project that I began as an act of personal protest against the suppression of six of the author/artist's titles - this one, as well as And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, McElligot's Pool, If I Ran the Zoo, On Beyond Zebra! and The Cat's Quizzer - by Dr. Seuss Enterprises, an action with which I vehemently disagree.

This decision was purportedly taken by Dr. Seuss Enterprises in response to outdated and ostensibly offensive elements in these six books. Reading through Scrambled Eggs Super! I was able to identify two potentially problematic scenes that no doubt led to its inclusion amongst the titles to be suppressed. The first of these was the one involving the arctic Grice, a bird living near the North Pole, whose eggs are obtained by a boatload of men in furry-looking jumpsuits. These men, riding in their Katta-ma-Side (a boat made of the sea leopard's hide), are interpreted by most to be a caricature of the Inuit, whose depiction seems to be a recurring theme - see my review of And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street and McElligot's Pool for my interpretation of the other appearances of the Inuit, thus far in my reading project - in this effort to challenge and disappear some of Seuss' work. The second potentially problematic scene involved the Mount Strookoo Cookoo, whose eggs were collected by Ali, a figure outfitted in traditional Turkish clothing, whose depiction might be interpreted by some as being Orientalist in nature.

As I mentioned in my review of If I Ran the Zoo, it's important to recall that Dr. Seuss' method of storytelling, whether textual or artistic, is heavily reliant upon caricature, and it is often satirical in nature. In thinking about these challenged titles, and considering the specific depictions being criticized, I have found it very helpful to distinguish between cases where the caricature of non-European and non-Euro-American peoples is of the same tone and kind as that of European and Euro-American peoples, and those cases where it is not. In my analysis, I concluded that And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street and McElligot's Pool contained depictions that might be considered racially or culturally insensitive, given the current zeitgeist, but that lacked the animus necessary to label them as racist, or truly objectionable. They were not, in other words, demeaning or hateful - simply satirical, in the way that other depictions in those books were satirical. Sadly, I did not arrive at the same conclusion, reading If I Ran the Zoo, where I found the controversial scenes were indeed of a demeaning and dehumanizing nature.

The two aforementioned scenes, here in Scrambled Eggs Super!, belong very much to the former category, and while I would never question another reader's right to object to them - it is not my place, after all, to tell others how to interpret what they read - I am amazed that they resulted in this book being pulled from publication. The scene with the Grice-hunters never identifies the people in question in anything but a fictional way (no mention of the word "Eskimo," which, by contrast, can be found in the text of McElligot's Pool), and their visual depiction is not particularly pointed or demeaning. It's clear that in the narrator's mind, northern people are associated with northern birds, as they all live in the north, and that no particular commentary (positive or negative) is being offered on the humans in question. Not so with the Turkish Ali, who is described in the text as "brave Ali," for his actions in fighting off flocks of cuckoos, in order to complete his mission. While both of these depictions employ some stereotype - the "Inuit" figures in furry clothing, Ali in a turban - it is not at all clear to me that this stereotyping is any more pointed or hurtful than any other stereotyping that a caricaturist such as Seuss would use.

I've made the point several times now, during the course of this reading project, that I have no objection to other readers deciding that these books are indeed hurtful, and to their making the decision not to share them with the young people in the lives. My objection is to the idea, implicit in Dr. Seuss Enterprises' recent decision, that because some have found these books offensive, no one else should be allowed to easily access them. I have seen the specious argument floated about, both by members of our chattering classes and by private citizens on the internet, that this is not a "book banning," because it is the copyright holder who is making the decision to remove these books, rather than some governmental agency. I find this a curiously naive attitude, and suspect that it rests upon some rather disingenuous double standards. Imagine the following scenario: an author has written a best-selling picture-book featuring same-sex parents. Said author owns the rights to the book (unlikely, in today's publishing market, but let's pretend), and when he dies, those rights pass to a relative who, for religious reasons, believes same-sex marriage is wrong. Acting in accordance with her conscience, the relative decides to stop publication, sincerely convinced that the book in question will harm vulnerable children, by sending them the wrong messages. Would the readers and critics applauding this recent decision by Dr. Seuss Enterprises still be arguing that nothing censorious was going on, in the foregoing scenario, because the one taking action to suppress the book was the copyright holder? Or would they be vehemently protesting what they saw as the imposition of someone else's moral code onto their own reading choices?

I think everyone knows what the reaction would be, to the unlikely scenario posited above, and it certainly wouldn't involve the mental gymnastics we've seen commentators put themselves through recently, to show that this whole debacle wasn't censorship, because copyright holders have the legal authority to make these decisions. A few years ago, objecting to then Vice President Mike Pence's stance on LGBT rights, the talkshow host John Oliver dreamt up a satirical picture-book, A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo, in response to the publication of another picture-book, Marlon Bundo's Day in the Life of the Vice President, by the Vice President's daughter, Charlotte Pence. While I had some ethical issues with the whole thing, mostly surrounding the idea of attacking a public figure, not through his own work, but through his family, this still strikes me as a superior response to the existence of books with which one doesn't agree, to the strategy employed here. Publish more books! Offer an alternative (and there are MANY, in the world of picture-books) to the stories one finds objectionable. Don't just demand that the books available to the public conform to your own moral compass, as if there were no duty incumbent upon you, as a member of a free society, to persuade people, rather than to dictate to them.

People like to make up their own minds, in this and anything else, and they do not like to feel that others are curtailing their choices, particularly when it comes to the books and other media that they consume. For my own part, I found nothing here that would even remotely have warranted the step take by Dr. Seuss Enterprises, if I were of the opinion that such a step was ever justified. Scrambled Eggs Super! isn't a personal favorite, when it comes to Seuss' oeuvre, but is one I would still recommend, to picture-book readers looking for tales which celebrate a child's imaginative powers. show less