Jaquandor makes the following generous observation:

Of course, for ongoing recommendations on children’s books, Will Duquette is the place to go. It’s pretty funny when Will encounters a book he doesn’t like; his verdict is always some variant of “They can read it when they grow up if they want to, but I am sure not reading that book ever again!” That kind of says it all, doesn’t it?



There’s a reason why I always put it that way. I firmly believe that the only way to really appreciate good writing and good storytelling is to have read a lot of bad writing and bad storytelling alongside the good stuff. If I only allow my kids to read stuff I personally think is excellent, they’ll never gain that appreciation.

But there’s more to it than that–I want to be respectful of their taste in books. Sure, they might like a book I don’t, and maybe as they read more widely and gain experience they’ll see the same defects in it that I do. But right now it’s what they like and read with joy, and that’s to be encouraged.

This is a lesson I learned from my mom, who passed away several years ago. Mom had no taste or appreciation for speculative fiction at all; she regarded it all as being of low quality and she’d often ask me why I couldn’t read something better. Historical fiction, say, her particular pleasure. But the Tolkien hardcovers I’ve got on my shelf to this day, she gave me, because she knew I loved Tolkien. She also got me my first set of Narnia books, a boxed set of paperbacks. I’ve still got it, including the box; one book is missing, and the whole thing is in horrible shape having gone through several sets of readers, including my nephews, before it came back to me, and somehow I can’t see getting rid of it. In short, my mom loved me more than her own taste.

And let’s not miss the main point–there might be something to the books my kids love that I’m not seeing.

So here’s to my kids; may they form their taste in books as I did.

(All this said, I don’t want to imply that I’d let them read absolutely anything. I’m speaking only of literary quality, here; there are plenty of books I wouldn’t let them read for other reasons. Fanny Hill, say, or Lady Chatterly’s Lover–though to be honest I have no particular interest in either one myself.)