The end of the Wilder Award
Focus now on the winner, not ‘Little House’ author
Abunch of librarians recently threw Laura Ingalls Wilder under the Conestoga wagon, at least according to Fox News and friends — and to some of the author’s fans, too. They adore her children’s books about pioneers on the frontier. So, what’s got these folks on the “warpath,” so to speak? Change, and a good one at that.
On June 23, the board of the Association for Library Service to Children, a division of the American Library Association, voted unanimously to rename an award as the Children’s Literature Legacy Award. It had previously borne Wilder’s name. I was in the room where it happened and where the award’s charge was also sharpened. As before, the award is to honor an author or illustrator for a significant and lasting contribution to children’s literature, but now a qualifying phrase is in place: “through books that demonstrate integrity and respect for all children’s lives and experiences.” Applause, hugs, tears and congratulations followed the decision.
It is in the qualifying phrase that Wilder falls down. As carefully explained on an ALSC webpage, Wilder’s books reflect dated attitudes toward indigenous people and people of color that stand in contrast to the association’s “core values of inclusiveness, integrity and respect and responsiveness.” In Wilder’s “Little House on the Prairie,” the only good Indian is a dead Indian. And don’t forget the minstrel show and the reference to “darkies.” Such affronts, de rigueur back in the day, demand our careful consideration.
ALSC does not advocate removing Wilder from library shelves. It acknowledges her unique contribution to children’s literature. (Back in 1954, she was the first recipient of the award named in her honor.) Nor does ALSC seek to diminish the popularity of the “Little House” series. (Over 60 million copies have sold worldwide.) Rather, the goal is to let the books speak for themselves and not the association.
In nine books, the kind I loved growing up, Wilder draws on her own family’s experiences to create a fictionalized account of life on the 19th century American frontier. Who can forget the struggles of Pa trying to eke out a life in the woods and the prairie, or the ways Laura helps sister Mary, gone blind, reportedly from scarlet fever? Courage and determination are timeless themes.
Still, as a school librarian for more than three decades, I handed out Wilder books only upon request.
Faust, “where is ‘Little House on the Prairie’?” asks an eager fourth-grader. And my reply: “Right here, and, when you have read it, let’s talk. You might like another book, too. How about ‘The Birchbark House’?” Author Louise Erdich writes the story of an Ojibwe girl at a similar time.
Our later talk might open with two questions. What do you think of the way Wilder wrote about Native and African Americans? How do some of her words make you feel? Wilder then becomes a catalyst for serious conversation about stereotypes. And Wilder also becomes a catalyst for conversation about the winners and losers of history. A further question: How do you think local tribes felt when the Ingalls family moved in? As a child, I never considered that perspective.
My purpose in a follow-up talk is to leverage the “teachable moment” — to supply context and support kids in confronting the tough stuff in literature and life. I hope so, because I want to grow critical and appreciative readers. I want to nurture empathy and a sense of self-worth.
Critics complain that the new name is too generic. But that is the point: Focus is now on the annual award winner, not on Wilder, an author of her times, but not ours. And so, it sometimes seems everything is up for grabs — what we call beloved buildings, streets, parks, even awards. Some may view this particular change as another lost battle in the culture wars. Some scream “political correctness” or “revisionist history.”
Others (myself included) worry about the “slippery slope.” Who is next? Are our literary heroes and heroines not human, too — sometimes flawed, shortsighted, selfish, and even racist? How do we balance the good, the bad and the ugly? I look for principles to help me wrestle with these questions, and, in the case of the Children’s Literature Legacy Award, the principle is clear. ALSC awards should serve ALSC values that in turn serve the best interests of all children.
OK, I have clarity in this case but not on others pending in the broader society. I cannot help but wonder what future generations will say about us in 50 or 100 years. Could the namesake of a future children’s literary award get thrown under a Tesla for polluting the land, warming the seas, fouling the air and depleting natural resources? A good chance. And so, as always, humility is in order.