Every reader, like every writer, has to reckon to some degree with their past. In my case, with the books I loved, and with how problematic they are today.
Two particular favorites — MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY and THE MATCHLOCK GUN — dealt directly with not only the determination of white people to take and settle lands held by natives, but with their belief that they were right to do so. In BOUNTY it was all about greed and power and status; in THE MATCHLOCK GUN, it was about the "right" of Dutch settlers to be "free" in the Mohawk Valley, held by, you know, Mohawks. As a child I never questioned this, and merely thrilled to the tales of great white men (and boys) put to the tests of their lives, always emerging triumphant if at great cost.
Today I picked up THE MATCHLOCK GUN for the first time since ... I dunno? Sixth grade, which would have been 1976. That seems close enough. And I cringed where I knew I was going to cringe, knowing what I've learned since 1976 about the lies and greed behind the "manifest destiny" of whites as they marched across America, killing natives and stealing land for no better reason than they believed they had more right to it than the natives did, and even if they didn't, they were going to take it anyway, because white people are better, or something.
I didn't expect, however, to be thrilled in all the same ways I was when I was little. But I was. There's a pitch-perfect synthesis between the lean but tonally rich text and the illustrations, rich with swipes of blazing, beatific country color and broad brushstrokes of black punctured by frightening jags of white in manic and terrified eyes. I felt my fifth-grade blood beat faster as the big moment comes in which the gun must be fired at the exact right moment, and even as I was aware that this was all wrong, all wrong, the wrong people are the villains here, I felt the dark shiver of satisfaction as the boy did his man's job and "held the fort" till the adult men arrived.
As a piece of pure storytelling, THE MATCHLOCK GUN is pure perfection. As a piece of American history, it's nothing but pure imperfection. I don't know what you do with that, but I'll admit this: I was glad to pull THE MATCHLOCK GUN out of deep storage for one last look, in my late middle age. And I was just as glad to put it back in the box, and to leave it there forevermore.