I was rather looking forward to this one, but there was something lacking in it.
The subtitle should be scrapped. Tending the Heart of Virtue does not reveal how fairy tales enliven children's moral imaginations, though Guroian reveals much about his own imagination, and plenty about how fairy tales teach virtue (love, courage, faith, and maturation in general). A few times, he refers to his own children, but beyond that, his speculations are just speculative, and don't offer any real promises or evidence that reading such stories can awaken the moral imagination in children.
His initial chapter on awakening the moral imagination, however, is useful:
"Mere instruction in morality is not sufficient to nurture the virtues. It might even backfire, especially when the presentation is heavily exhortative and the pupil's will is coerced. Instead, a compelling vision of the goodness of goodness itself needs to be presented in a way that is attractive and stirs the imagination. A good moral education addresses both the cognitive and affective dimensions of human nature." (20)
That quotation gives me flashbacks into various Sunday school/VBS experiences--both the coercion and the presentation of compelling vision! He differentiates between teaching ethics and teaching virtue, which is an important distinction to make for children's education versus adult education.
My issue is with the later chapters, where Guroian interprets fairy tales (Pinocchio, Bambi, The Princess and the Goblin, two Narnia books, and more) by eyeing their morality/virtues and dismissing most contemporary interpretations/adaptations. He comes down hard on Disney for centering romantic love in retellings of classic fairy tales like Snow White, The Little Mermaid, and Bambi. He's justified there, IMO, but must be missing something given the longstanding love for those versions of the tales. There is more than nostalgic love among adult Disney fans.
I appreciated his foray into Pinocchio, which has always been too "heavily exhortative" for my taste. Guroian, and that one guy I knew in college who loved Collodi's Pinocchio like it was Pilgrim's Progress or something, may have convinced me to give it another try. Bambi, too, though I don't recall ever coming into contact with Salten's tale, just the Disney version. Other stories he considers include The Wind in the Willows and Charlotte's Web.
Guroian, sadly, displays a dualistic understanding of the human experience, divorcing the physical from the spiritual (except when it comes to food, a pleasure even the most dualistic person can appreciate). In his exploration of MacDonald's The Princess and the Goblin, Guroian differs from other critics who interpret a certain scene as Irene's menarche (blood and lunar imagery are present). Guroian dismisses this as "obsessed with psychological and sexual connotations of words and actions, whereas MacDonald's 'obsession' was over spiritual matters." (148) In this same chapter, MacDonald argues that Irene's grandmother represents Mary, Queen of Heaven. I haven't read The Princess and the Goblin, so I cannot make my own interpretation of that passage, but I want to push back on Guroian's divorce of the physical and spiritual all the same.
First, Irene is fighting against marriage to the goblin prince, so one can hardly accuse interpreters of forcing sex into the story--it's already there, and any young girl reading the story is likely viscerally terrified of this prospect, even if she is not worldly-wise enough to know why. Of course, this could be intended as a marriage of young royals, an alliance rather than a covenant, but such things usually get around to heirs and spares eventually.
Second, the spiritual and physical are not separate. Body, mind, heart: all of these are contained within the soul, the wholeness of one's humanity. Mary herself is the greatest example of this. The Holy Spirit overshadowed her body with her consent, making her the mother of Christ, the God-bearer. Mary did not give spiritual consent alone ("Oh, how nice to bear the Son of God!"), but physical consent ("I am the Lord's slave/servant"). Quite likely, Mary was not far removed from her first period when she conceived Jesus, since marriage usually followed menarche rather swiftly. (She was also probably 16+, since poor nutrition delays the onset of menstruation, and the average age of menarche has fallen to 12-13 only in the past ~100 years.) There's no reason why this scene in The Princess and the Goblin can't be both physical and spiritual. The drama of Christianity, life, death, and new life, is onstage monthly in the female body, and God himself is seen as present in the womb (Psalm 139:13). We worship a God who made our bodies, and we believe we shall live eternally in these bodies, resurrected and glorified. Missing out on this leads to semi-gnostic dualism.
Third, Guroian himself just misses the whole point of menarche. Most young girls don't understand menarche as sexual maturity; the ability to conceive precedes desire for sex, in common experience. Girls eagerly await their first periods to unlock the door of womanhood; Anne Frank's "sweet secret" and the playground cliques of those who have "it" and those who don't. In the next paragraph after Guroian calls the menstrual interpretation "obsessed with sex," he calls this scene "Irene's spiritual 'rite of passage.'" (149) Menarche is a rite of passage! Why can this not be her rite of passage into womanhood, too? George MacDonald had seven children, so I'm quite sure he was familiar with the vagaries of tween girls. Guroian quotes the story: "'she got older very fast.'" (148) There is no reason why this cannot represent her spiritual and her physical maturity. But Guroian seems only to see menarche as sexual maturity, rather than entry into womanhood. At the end of the day, Guroian is a man, and I honestly don't expect men to connect the dots with something like this, though I slightly resent his dismissal of the interpretation of this scene as menarche.
Okay, rant over. I don't dislike this book, but I don't care that much for it, either. Honestly, the subtitle of this book has recently been filled for me by bibliomemoirs, such as Annis Duff's Bequest of Wings and Longer Flight. Guroian's thoughts were interesting, but no major new ground was broken, and my lasting intellectual impression is of wrestling with his avoidance of menstruation. I don't really recommend this book, but if it interests you, go for it. It's fine. I don't have major issues with it, but I don't hate it.