The hidden significance of children's books

"I have always imagined that Paradise would be a kind of library." 
- Jorge Luis Borges

I've loved books longer than I can remember. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve books. One of my earliest ambitions was to be a children's librarian because I thought I could read all day. I don't know how many thousands of times someone read aloud to me, but I do know that thanks to my mom and dad and other patient read-aloud-ers, learning to read felt as natural as learning to breathe. 

My six years as an English teacher at Logos International School turned out to be a decent substitute for children's librarian. I put the above quote on my wall. I read aloud The Little Prince excerpts to my World Lit students, You Are Special in devotions, and The Day Jimmy's Boa Ate the Wash in English pronunciation class for my Khmer colleagues. A real highlight of working at Logos was the year I got to read to the 5th graders weekly during library time. My students even wrote children's books in French 2. I told them more than once, "If you're too old for children's books, you're too old to be alive." They didn't dare protest.

French 1 students visited French 2 for "story time" by the authors 

More recently, I've enjoyed reading with my nephews and nieces in the US. This winter, it was great introducing them to two family favorites, The Story about Ping and But No Elephants! The funniest experience was reading a fairly predictable book, Watch Me Hop. Here's a sample page: "I'm soft and furry and my ears flip-flop. I'm a bunny, watch me hop!" After the first few pages, I reached this one: "I have webbed feet and a fuzzy yellow top. I'm a chick, watch me..." and paused to let my niece complete the sentence. "Kill!" she piped up instantly. Well, that upped the book's intensity. 

March brought record opportunities to read with kids in Cambodia. My neighbor kids were off school with no online class, and two moms asked if I could teach their three girls English in all their newfound free time. (They knew some English already.) I got my Logos librarian neighbors to load me up with kids' books. There aren't many Khmer picture books, since Khmer has only 16 million native speakers worldwide, most of whom are fairly poor and not a great market for book distributors. So forget books with characters who look like the kids - these families can barely find books the parents can read. 

I don't think my neighbor kids own any fun books, just school workbooks, so this was very special for them. And tricky. One girl's little brother didn't know how to take care of books and kept stepping on them, trying to cut them with nail clippers, etc. while the others' baby sister kept grabbing and nearly tearing the pages. But we enjoyed ourselves.

Their favorite was one written by my neighbor back in the US, Just Enough and Not Too Much. In it, Simon lives alone and has a simple lifestyle, until he decides he needs MORE. We used the book in several ways: We counted the hairs, hats, etc. that he accumulates... named the colors... described items (big, funny, beautiful, etc.)... drew pictures of them... and most appealing: picked our favorites from each set. The oldest is a confident English reader, but the other two needed me to speak in a mixture of English and Khmer.

I tried to have the kids predict the story, which was funny because they kept guessing something different. "Simon's not happy. He wants more. What do you think he wants?" "A wife!" (The thought of living alone is very sad to most Cambodians, and Simon's "cozy little house" is bigger than both families' apartments combined.) "Now that he has all those chairs, will he be happy?" "Yes, he will!" Schools here rarely have students predict or reflect on stories, so I like to encourage kids to try when reading with me.

I haven't seen the kids in a month, even though there are no rules here about social distancing per se. (We have few officially reported Covid cases here, and the government just says 'avoid large gatherings.') One family just moved across the city, and the other sent their daughter (on the right, in red) to her grandparents' village for a while. So I treasure our opportunity to read those books together! But I'll at least see the girl in red again, and I'm pretty sure I know what book she'll ask me to bring.

I read several of those same books shortly afterward with my American teammate Liz and Ethan's kids, who had been housebound for a while with almost no visitors. The kids were so happy to have attention from a new adult, they asked to read each book twice! The first time through, they listened attentively and their comments stayed focused on the story. The second time, they got creative and had big plans for us to act out the stories or do peripherally related activities. Their family are huge readers, and they probably own more Khmer picture books (13) than both the other families combined... or really most Khmer families... not to mention English books. 

This children's book, used in my language class long ago, is one of few with a Cambodian child as the main character

I've been fascinated by GapMinder's Dollar Street website, which has photographed hundreds of families and their homes in fifty countries, reporting each family's country, spending power, and a bit of their hopes and dreams. The photos let you see a family's home in detail (where do they wash their hands? What does the floor look like? Where are clothes kept?) or view one category of photos, such as toilets or beds, across locations and incomes. 

In its article on books, GapMinder notes that book ownership correlates much more strongly with a family's wealth than with their country or region. The wealthiest families often have access to libraries as well. The number of books in the home is also a strong predictor of reading and educational attainment (Clark and Picton, 2018). As we read together, I couldn't help picturing all these kids ten or twenty years from now, shaped by such sharply contrasting opportunities around books. Dollar Street lets you view all 250+ families' books, but the article includes four representative photos. Which best reflects your home?

A poor family in Malawi: notebooks and religious texts in a box

A low to middle income family in Indonesia: two shelves of educational resources

A middle to high income family in Bulgaria: some leisure reading for adults on display

A wealthy family in Sweden: many fiction and nonfiction books on display

Though Ethan, Liz, and their three kids live in a small two-bedroom apartment, on a fraction of the salaries they'd earn as doctors back home, hundreds of miles from a public library, their crowded bookshelf and online library access accurately mark them... like me... as being among the world's richest. Looking at book collections on Dollar Street was a sobering reminder to them and me of our privilege. Books have enriched our lives in ways that no change in employment status or global economy could take away. 

Children's books in particular have offered me a unique invitation to connect intergenerationally and cross-culturally. They invite us into conversation and imagination, and they help lay a foundation for future learning. I'm moved by Liz's response to this post earlier today: "We've given away so many books in Africa [they spent 2 years in Cameroon] and here, and I'm still always thinking how much more we have than people around us." May I follow her and Ethan's example of giving freely and gratefully. I don't want to be embarrassed of my book privilege, or to let it divide me from others, but to share the wealth with those around me however I can. Maybe imitating a library is a way to bring Paradise just a little bit closer.