When we walk into a bookstore and head toward the children’s section, we think we know what we’re looking for: books for children. But what actually makes a book a “children’s book”? This seemingly simple question actually hides one of the most complex and fascinating questions in the publishing world.
The Fundamental Paradox
Children’s literature rests on an idea that may seem self-evident: these are books intended for children. Yet this definition immediately raises troubling questions. Robinson Crusoe wasn’t written for children, yet generations of children have adopted it. The Alice in Wonderland books captivate adults as much as children. Is Tom Sawyer a children’s book, but not Huckleberry Finn? And if so, why?
British critic John Rowe Townsend perfectly summarized this dilemma: how do we define children’s literature when some “adult” books are read by children, and some “children’s” books are cherished by adults?
This ambiguity isn’t merely an academic detail. It touches the very heart of what we do as publishers, authors, and cultural mediators. Because if we don’t know what a “children’s book” is, how can we know which books are best for them?
Writing BY or FOR Children?
Is a children’s book a book written BY children, or FOR children? The answer seems obvious: these are books written by adults for children. But this apparently simple answer hides an uncomfortable truth: children’s literature is entirely created, published, sold, and generally purchased by adults. Children themselves have very little say in what is created for them.
This means that every children’s book actually contains two visions: that of the adult author, and that of the child the author imagines. As theorist Jacqueline Rose observed, the idea that there exists “a child who is simply there to be addressed and that speaking to them might be simple” is an illusion. This “general innocence” of the imagined child “covers a multitude of sins.”
The Child in the Book vs. the Real Child
Here’s where things get really interesting: the “child” of children’s literature is not necessarily the same child studied in psychology, sociology, or education. It’s a specialized child, constructed for the needs of literature.
Think about it: when we say a book is “good for children,” what do we really mean? We’re actually making three simultaneous claims:
- We know what a child is
- We know how children read and what they feel
- We know what is good for them
But different authors, critics, and publishers have very different ideas about these three points. Joan Aiken believes that “children have a strong natural resistance to phony morality,” while Rosemary Sutcliff affirms that she consciously tries “to convey some kind of ethic to the child reading any of my books.” Pamela Travers, creator of Mary Poppins, thinks that determining “where childhood ends and maturity begins” is impossible, while Barbara Wall insists that “all writers for children must, in a sense, be writing down” because there is a real difference between children’s and adults’ capabilities.
The Never-Ending Debate
These disagreements aren’t mere academic squabbles. They have real consequences. Take the example of Paula Fox’s The Slave Dancer, a novel about the slave trade. Critic Bob Dixon described it as “a novel of great horror and great humanity… approaching perfection as a work of art.” But other American critics condemned it as “an insult to Black children” that “perpetuates racism.”
How can the same book be both an anti-racist masterpiece and a racist text? The answer lies in different conceptions of what a child is and how they read. Each critic bases their judgment on their own understanding of the child reader.
The Cultural Question
This complexity becomes even more important when we consider the cultural dimension. Children’s literature as we know it today is largely a product of Western humanist ideals, dating back to classical Greece. When it was introduced to other cultures – often through colonialism – it came with a set of values and assumptions about what childhood is.
Japanese critic Tadashi Matsui notes that in 1920s Japan, “ideas of European liberalism, the urban mode of living, free mass education, and a modern concept of the child” arrived together. In Africa, as Birgit Dankert points out, children’s literature was introduced by colonial powers and elicited “the same ambivalent mixture of respect and rejection that characterizes African reactions to so many other borrowings from former colonial powers.”
This raises a crucial question for us at Agafay Books: how do we create children’s literature that is authentically Moroccan and Arab, and not simply a translation of Western ideas about childhood?
Beyond Direct Didacticism
Historically, children’s literature critics have made a fundamental distinction between didactic books (intended to teach) and “real” children’s literature (intended to give pleasure). F. J. Harvey Darton classically defined children’s books as “printed works produced ostensibly to give children spontaneous pleasure and not primarily to teach them.”
But is this distinction really so clear? Margery Fisher argues that books that cannot “speak to the imagination, mind, and heart on their own terms” see “their quality as mainstream literature” diluted. Charlotte Huck writes that “good writing” will help the reader “experience the delight of beauty, wonder, and humor.”
In reality, all children’s books teach something – they convey values, worldviews, ways of being. The question is not whether they teach, but how and what they teach.
Toward an Honest Definition
So what is children’s literature? Perhaps the most honest answer is this: these are books created by adults who are trying to imagine what children need, want, and can understand. These books inevitably reflect the values, hopes, and concerns of the adult culture that produces them.
This doesn’t make children’s literature less valuable or less important. On the contrary, it reminds us of the enormous responsibility we carry as creators of these books. We’re not just creating stories – we’re creating mirrors in which children see themselves, windows through which they discover the world, and tools with which they build their understanding of themselves and others.
Our Responsibility at Agafay Books
At Agafay Books, we recognize that every book we create embodies a certain vision of the Moroccan and Arab child. In developing books like Mrs. Boowa’s Colorful Emotions, we seek to teach children about their emotions in a fun and engaging way through interactive activities. We know that our vision of “the child” in our books is a construction – but it’s a conscious, thoughtful construction, rooted in our culture and our values. We don’t claim to know exactly what every child needs, but we commit to creating from within our culture, with respect, authenticity, and humility.
Because in the end, the best children’s literature isn’t that which claims to know the child perfectly, but that which approaches them with respect, curiosity, and a sincere desire to create something beautiful and meaningful – like a trusted older sister, calm, honest, and kind.
