Sometimes I wonder whether I am taking the easy option in writing for children. Not that I find writing for children easy – far from it – but would writing for adults be even more difficult? And more worthwhile?
I don’t have these thoughts often, but they flit across my mind sometimes when people (often other writers, who ought to know better!) actually say things like: “You’re wasted on writing for children.” Or, “Why do you want to dumb down?”
But I don't see writing for children as dumbing down. I see it as making complex ideas accessible – and that isn’t easy. As Einstein said, ‘If you can’t explain it to an eight year old you don’t understand it fully yourself.’
But it's true that I don’t think I could write fiction for adults – not at the moment, anyway. It just doesn’t grab me. I wasn’t sure why this was until I read the following account from Gretchen Rubin in her book The Happiness Project:
“I’ve never really figured out what I get from children’s literature that I don’t get from adult literature, but there’s something. The difference between novels for adults and novels for children isn’t merely a matter of cover design, bookstore placement, and the age of the protagonist. It’s a certain quality of atmosphere.”
Yes! Whether fantasy or reality-based, children’s books (especially for the younger ages) are nice places to be. That’s one of the reasons I write for children. I like to give them somewhere to go. Gretchen goes on to say:
“Children’s literature often deals openly with the most transcendent themes, such as the battle between good and evil and the supreme power of love… good triumphs. [Adult novels] focus on guilt, hypocrisy, the perversion of good intentions, the cruel workings of fate, social criticism, the slipperiness of language, the inevitability of death, sexual passion, unjust accusation, and the like.”
Actually, I’d argue that children – and their books – do contain all of these other murky issues, but because children might not be sophisticated or experienced enough to appreciate these machinations in an adult world, they have to be explored through a child’s world – or a fantasy world. But I think that children’s books do tend to strive towards ideals, promote the sunny side of the street, and prove that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Children’s books are optimistic. As Gretchen says:
“…maybe children are closer to their natural perfection than adults, less mired, can still feel like flying, want to be free, to be good, to be their best selves…”
And that’s pretty wonderful, isn’t it? When it is suggested to me that I stop writing fantasy and start writing about the ‘real world’, I re-read the following excerpt from an article in the Guardian, in which Jeanette Winterson (who has had more than her fair share of the ‘real world’ but has not lost her ability to fly) talks about the benefits of writing for children:
“… kids can hold on to a life lived on many levels, that does not altogether follow the calendar and the clock, or the straight line of events. Life has an inside as well as an outside, and the purpose of imaginative books and films for kids isn't simple escapism but permission to keep the Peter Pan part that never should grow up. This isn't foolishness, but openness, trust, good-nature, and a willingness to live bravely – as all the fairytales tell us we must.”
Because when you think about it, the world is magic after all. It’s only because we are accustomed to looking at it with jaded adult eyes that we see it as anything but miraculous. Children’s books can give us back a dimension of amazement, remind us how it feels to be enchanted, take us flying and show us the light. This doesn't feel like dumbing down, to me - more like a lifting up.
