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MADONNA’S “THE ENGLISH Roses” was published earlier this month and, befitting a celebrity of her international renown, was released in 100 countries — the widest book release in history. What’s even more amazing is that the fiercely independent Madonna is now known (at least on the book jacket) as “Madonna Ritchie,” a heretofore unseen forename/surname amalgamation. Secondly, I’m amazed at Madonna’s prolificacy. Her next book will be out in November. Clearly, this is a woman who dashes off children’s books with the same factory-like speed as the 3-minute pop songs that she didn’t even write.
Of course, the most amazing thing about “The English Roses” is that a book this one-dimensional, this sappy, this hackneyed got published at all (let’s face it: “The English Roses” by Mary Ritchie would still be on a slush pile). The book tells a timeless story of pre-teen jealousy — a story so timeless, in fact, that it is the moral of virtually every children’s story since the hunter-gatherers in Lascaux, France made cave drawings for their kids 17,000 years ago.
The book centers on four cliquish, anorexic girls dubbed “The English Roses” (as if they’re an all-girl group like the Supremes). When an even-more-thin girl moves to town, the “Roses” shun her out of jealousy. Eventually, a fairy godmother shows the girls the error of their ways and “The English Roses” expands to a quintet. All’s well that ends well, right?
Not for this reader. “The English Roses” is not only full of clichés (like “green with envy”), but it seemingly defies the laws of physics: It is a mere 22 pages of text, yet consists of 26 pages of exposition. That fairy godmother just won’t shut up. She’s like one big “Stop” sign telling kids, “You can fall asleep now.”
At this point, you may be asking, who the hell is Gersh Kuntzman to stand in judgment of Madonna? Well, thanks to having my very own 2-year-old, I now have a broad knowledge of what constitutes a “good” children’s book:
THE GOOD
Anything by Sandra Boynton: You know a kid’s book is good when you find yourself singing the lyrics when you’re walking down the street without your kid.
“If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” by Laura Joffe Numeroff: No trite answers to life’s biggest questions, just a simple story of what happens if you’re generous to a mouse. A valuable lesson that charitable giving may be tax deductible, but still has strings attached.
“Click, Clack, Moo,” by Doreen Cronin: This book tells the story of a group of cows who come to realize that Farmer Brown gives nothing in return (not even a warm barn!) for all that milk they give him. Commandeering an old typewriter, they send out a ransom note demanding blankets. Brown refuses, so the cows go on strike. Yes, it sounds like the French transit system, but the cows’ ultimate victory teaches kids an invaluable lesson: Stick it to The Man!
THE BAD
“Goodnight Moon,” by Margaret Wise Brown: If you don’t like this book, don’t procreate, because every newborn gets at least six copies. This supposed classic is mind-numbingly dull, depicting a “great green room” filled with unrelated items (a red balloon, a picture of a cow jumping over the moon, a pair of mittens). The entire “plot” involves saying “goodnight” to all the items, but the rhyme scheme and meter is off (example: “Goodnight room/Goodnight moon/Goodnight cow jumping over the moon.”). If you want a much better “Goodnight” book, try “Goodnight Gorilla,” about a savvy monkey and his banana-toting mouse sidekick, who take over the zoo one night and even end up in bed with the zookeeper’s wife. Me-owww.
“The Giving Tree,” by Shel Silverstein: Another supposed classic, this book centers around a self-involved boy and a masochistic tree with self-image problems. Even after the boy abuses the tree for decades, the tree allows itself to be turned into a stump so the now-aged boy can rest. That’s a lesson I really want to teach my daughter, let me tell you.
At least those books were written by professionals. But is it impolite to point out that Madonna is not a writer? True, she got the writing credit for one of her first hits, “Lucky Star” (complete with the brilliant imagery, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight/Star light, star bright, make everything all right”), but she didn’t write “Like a Virgin,” “Material Girl,” “Borderline,” “Crazy for You,” and she didn’t even write “Papa Don’t Preach.” What makes her think she can write a kid’s book?
“Raising kids makes most people, including myself, grow up at least a little,” Madonna says in the book’s press material. “It also makes us more responsible.” Remind me again, which was more responsible — the French-kiss on Britney and Christina or exposing your daughter to intimate sexual imagery before her 7th birthday?
Madonna has obviously caught the kids book bug that inflicts all parents at one point or another. In addition to believing his kid is the cutest, smartest, funniest kid on the planet, every parent believes he could easily write a children’s book. I myself briefly gave in to this conceit, actually writing what I still believe to be a classic. If you’ll indulge me (and my blatant attempt to interest any publishers or agents who happen to be reading), my kid’s book, “The Whale Who Liked Apples,” centered on Wally the Whale, who was having a bad day. Let’s face it, a whale’s life is no picnic, what with all the bland fish, the constant need to return to the surface for air, the endless swimming. But Wally aspired to more. One day, Wally notices that some kid has accidentally dropped an apple off a cruise ship. Wally devours it whole and, smitten by the delightful taste sensation, follows the boat to harbor and goes ashore in search of new experiences. To make an obviously too-long story short, Wally does the town (even getting drunk and getting a tattoo at one point, like all sailors on shore leave) and has a great time. But he eventually learns that he doesn’t belong in the big city (he’s kinda like a fish out of water). So he returns to the sea, albeit with his deep inner conflict unresolved. Powerful stuff, huh?
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Naturally, I never got it published (like Joan Cusack in “Working Girl,” I sometimes walk around my house in my underwear, but that doesn’t make me Madonna). Plus, I don’t have spiritual teachers like Michael and Yehuda Berg, whom Madonna credits on her book jacket “for sharing the art of good storytelling with me” (The Bergs will be happy to know that Madonna will soon be returning the gift of good storytelling unused).
The Bergs are also the creators of a kabala foundation called “Spirituality for Kids,” which will receive all the proceeds from the sale of “The English Roses.” You may not be bothered by Madonna preaching to your kids — after all, there’s nothing offensive about “The English Roses,” except how dull it is — but you might be troubled to know that your purchase of Madonna’s book underwrites “Spirituality for Kids,” a bizarre amalgam of mysticism, religion, New Age mumbo-jumbo and Romantic fatalism. One example? “Nothing in the world is random and everything is the result of some prior action, thought, feeling or belief (if that’s true, why bother working hard since everything is a result of prior events that you don’t control?). (Check out more bull at www.spiritualityforkids.com)
Given the SFK-Madonna connection, the group has some gall complaining that kids today “often feel that nice guys finish last.” I wonder why today’s kids are so cynical. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that celebrities can scribble out a few thoughts and leapfrog onto the best-seller list ahead of people who spend their whole lives working hard yet acquiring nothing but a huge file folder of rejection letters. Even the great kid’s author Judy Blume admits on her website that she faced years of rejection until a publisher finally realized he could make a small fortune on her brilliance.
“It’s a really tough business,” said Harold Underdown, author of “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Publishing Children’s Books.” Underdown told me that whenever the latest “celebrity” kid’s book comes out — and Madonna is only following in the keystrokes of Jerry Seinfeld, John Lithgow, Jamie Lee Curtis and even Liz Taylor (her 1946 book was called “Nibbles and Me”) — he gets e-mails from writers appalled that someone famous has again skipped the hardest parts of writing a kid’s book: coming up with a genuinely new idea and, more important, going out there and selling it.
“I tell them not to let it bother them because if their book is good, it will get published,” said Underdown (who, by the way, completely agrees with me about “The Giving Tree”). “We live in a celebrity age and that’s the way it goes.”
But that’s not fair, I told Underdown. Nice, hard-working guys shouldn’t finish last. In fact, that sounds like a great message for a kid’s book. I could probably even get it published...if I change my name to Gersh Ritchie.
Gersh Kuntzman is also Brooklyn bureau chief for The New York Post. His website is at www.gersh.tv
© 2003 Newsweek, Inc.
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