Please consider these thoughts before you purchase or endorse this book:
There is no denying that Hana Tooke can write. There is, however, the need to question whether or not she should. Especially when she writes books that, despite their well-written words and descriptions, are harmful to the very children she is writing for.
The Unadoptables – A book about five particular orphans at The Little Tulip Orphanage who are deemed 'unadoptable' by the matron that named them, Elinora Gassbeek. A cruel, foul woman, who is later revealed to be an orphan herself, and yet has no sympathy for the children in her care.
Lotta: Unadoptable because of her deformity – two-extra fingers.
Egg: Unadoptable because of his Asian heritage.
Fenna: Unadoptable because of her mutism.
Sem: Unadoptable because of his appearance and large ears.
Milou: Unadoptable for being outspoken and driven.
Ableistic, racist, and offensive. Teaching children that to be adopted you have to be white (sorry, Egg), beautiful (sorry, Sem), ‘normal’ (sorry, Lotta and Fenna), well-behaved and well-mannered (sorry, Milou)… Imagine you are a child in the system – either in foster care or up for adoption – and you read this. How would you feel? Destroyed. Hopeless. Lost. And most upsetting, unworthy. Unworthy of love or a home. This is what Hana Tooke’s debut, The Unadoptables, is teaching children. It’s teaching this to the children in the system, and its telling children out of the system that their classmates in foster care (etc.) are there because there’s something wrong, or undesirable, or unadoptable about them.
Throughout the book the adopters that approach the orphanage are depicted as vile and evil people. Again, sending the wrong message to children in and outside of the system… Our main protagonist, Rotman, wants the children as slaves. But even before we meet him, the first adopters we come across, Mr and Mrs Fortuyn, are vilified by Milou – a girl so desperate to find her real family that she rejects any adoption attempt and actively ruins them for her friends. (Milou exclaims that Mr and Mrs Fortuyn must be grave-robbers or something else even more evil). Furthermore, the entire adoption process is shown as transactional – as if the children can be bought and returned without any second thought. Mrs Fortuyn even goes as far as to say that shopping for children is ‘even better than buying a new handbag.’
(the fear of being returned or being abandoned again, as it is for many children in the system, is one that plagues many Looked After Children – thank you for making it into a joke).
Unadoptable. A word that fills children in care and hopeful adoptees with dread. It’s a word we’ve had thrown at us like knives, it’s a word we’ve feared to be branded with, and it’s one that has defined us and our childhood. It is a harmful word. It is our word. With harmful memories attached to it, and if anyone was to reclaim it, then it should have been one of us. Yet, despite this harmful word, no one questioned this book and its subject matter. Somehow, this word was deemed fit to be the title of a children’s book, one which Puffin (Penguin Random House) paid over £100,000 to publish…
Please, no more. Writers of children’s books often use orphans or foster care or adoption as an easy way to get rid of the parents in their stories so that their characters can go on adventures. It needs to stop. You do not understand the emotion or the suffering or the turmoil of what it is like to grow up like this. You never will. In the same breath that publishing has recently asked that you write your own stories without pillaging other ethnicities or voices, we also ask that you leave the system alone. Our lived experience is not a trope for you to exploit.
Signed,
One of the 65,000+ children in care, currently living in the UK.
***A personal note to the author:***
Hana,
I understand that this is your debut book, that you’ve probably dreamt about being published for a long time, and that there is a part of your soul within these pages. But that being said, I am disappointed and horrified to see you trivialise and villainise my lived experience. You researched windmills, you went to Amsterdam, but not once have you mentioned (in any of your interviews) that you spoke to children in the system. You wrote about us and never consulted us. Your story had huge potential to uplift our voices. Instead you exploited us.
Furthermore, you never even intended or set out to write about orphans. Instead, merely wanting to write about ‘misfits’. Your work is filled with microaggressions and outright harmful moments, and instead of owning up to your mistakes, and apologising for the harm you are causing, you have hidden away – making your social media accounts all private the day that your book was called out for its perpetuation of stereotypes on Twitter. I am ashamed of you.
I wait eagerly for you and Puffin to issue an apology.