“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot,
Nothing is going to get better. It's not.”
There’s an expression my old High School lit teacher used to say: “Everything you need to know about life can be learned in Kindergarten.” Now I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know there’s some truth to it. Many of life’s problems would be solved if adults retained the unabashed honesty of children. But they don’t, and so our childhood lessons must be updated. The world’s troubles color the naivety of our youth, and we put aside kiddy books for heavier tomes—and heavier answers. Yet some still cling, as my teacher clung, to the above expression. There are those who reject mature nuance in favor of childlike simplicity. Their greatest champion, I would think, is Dr. Seuss.
Theodor Seuss Geisel was a man of the twentieth century. He fought in WWII, wrote political satire, and towards the end of his life attributed illiteracy among kids to crappy children’s books, rather than education. Having made the correct diagnosis he also developed the antidote: a corpus of quintessential literature for anyone under 10. I say quintessential because it’s hard to imagine better products. Seuss’s world is wacky and fun (there are no right angles) but can also be dark or spooky when the occasion calls. The rhyming flows smoothly while containing a lot of made-up words, which are somehow both innovative and intuitive. The characters are memorable, the plots focused. The art and text match well and Geisel’s style has become world famous. Every future children’s writer will be hard-pressed to top him.
Looking at his body of work we see three classes. The first are books for toddlers. These are simple “learning to read” texts that need not concern us, other than immersing ourselves in the delightful Seussian universe; books like Hop on Pop and One Fish Two Fish. The second class is a bit more famous, with many classic tales that warm our hearts and jog our minds: How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Cat in the Hat, Yertle the Turtle, Horton Hatches the Egg, The Sneetches, and so on. What makes these books so loved is the nonsensical whimsy wrapped around a shining nugget of truth—truth so plainly worn that only a child could appreciate it. As Seuss himself once remarked, sometimes the answers are simple and the questions are complicated. It’s particularly the adult world that breeds this complication, and the doctor arrives to treat—if not our sick grown-ups—than at least our budding youths.
This is a bit exaggerated, however. More often children read these tales without fully grasping the intended message, and instead revel in the world of the books. But a few of the lines stay with us. Seuss’ talent for bending small words and inventing new ones makes his poetry eminently quotable; indeed this is perhaps his greatest legacy. Almost every story has a line of perfection:
“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”
“I meant what I said and said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful, one hundred percent!”
“And turtles, of course...all the turtles are free
As turtles, and maybe, all creatures should be.”
The problem with the above stories is that they’re, effectively but unfortunately, simple. Once we understand the message the art is spent. That’s why I designate but a third class of works which I feel are the strongest. They retain all the charm of the others but are a bit more nuanced; straightforward yet allow for ambiguity. In short they may be profitably read by adults. I crown such works as The Lorax, Horton Hears a Who, and Oh the Places You’ll Go!
The Lorax is a lecture on environmentalism, but Seuss isn’t afraid to muddle the waters. The Onceler’s facelessness suggests the villain isn’t some abstract entity we can seek and destroy, but is ourselves. The seductive and well meaning path he follows is easy, and the immediate rewards are there for the taking. Indeed the Lorax is unable to stop the Onceler. The latter wins completely, and it is only in the retrospect of old age does he feel shame. We can see the devastation to the land during the process but underestimate the momentum until it’s too late. The story even ends on a dubious note. Sure the boy has a Truffula seed, but will he plant it? If he does, will not that tree be cut down? For once Seuss presents an easy problem with a difficult answer.
Horton Hears a Who contains my favorite Seussian character, Horton. He’s an elephant of both thought and action, principal and practicality. When encountering a tiny world that only he can hear, he trusts his lunacy and protects it against stark opposition. But to do this Horton relies on the Whos, the tiny people he’s helping. Their collective voice is what convinces the other animals, and without every last Who giving their best, all would have been lost. It’s not just Horton’s principals that impress me, or his courage in the face of cruelty. It’s that Seuss understood such heroism would fail if not for the support of the oppressed. They must help themselves, and not only does each voice count but each voice is necessary. (It’s also worth noting that the story’s villains weren’t so much defeated, as with Yertile, but converted.)
Oh the Places You’ll Go! is Seuss’ last and best work. It has no real narrative or characters, unless of course you count the reader. Meant to motivate and inspire it substitutes allegory with prediction. We readers, Seuss says, will go through life making many wonderful decisions as well as a few bad ones. We’ll meet obstacles and overcome them. We’ll from time to time find ourselves either alone or with good company. And most importantly, as the good doctors tells us, we’ll move mountains. It’s this final message that makes me adore the man’s body of work. No matter what kind of a kid you are, you’ll go through the same life as the rest of us. And despite some set-backs you’ll come out of it okay. Maybe even make a good friend, or have a fun adventure along the way.
Sometimes the most important thing a person can be told is that somebody believes in them. Even believe they will move mountains. And through all the overly-complex facets of adult life we can still find simple, child-like truths that not only guide us but make us smile. It’s wrong to say every story has a happy ending or that all of life’s troubles can be solved with good attitude or character. But it’s also wrong to ignore simple idiocy, and not call it out for what it is. I feel reassured that our children are learning such noble lessons by teachers like Doctor Seuss.