Don't you love the phrase "product of its time?"

illustrated by Helen Bannerman

We discussed a children's book called Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman today.  I think the class as a whole decided that while the story was clever and entertaining, the illustrations and use of the name "Sambo" would not -- shall we say -- be considered the most sensitive in today's culture.  Or possibly even the culture of the turn of the 20th century, when this book was first published.

For those not familiar with the story, a boy named Little Black Sambo receives a number of nice new things to wear from his parents, Black Mumbo and Black Jumbo: a red coat, blue pants, a green umbrella, and purple shoes with crimson lining.  Little Black Sambo then leaves his parents to go for a walk in the jungle, where he is accosted by numerous tigers who wish to eat him.  He manages to outwit his tiger nemeses by offering them his new gifts in exchange for his life.  Even when some of the tigers reject his gifts on the basis that, for example, only two shoes would be of no use to a creature with four paws, the boy cleverly convinces each that the proffered items could be useful, after all.

illustrated by Helen Bannerman

 Each tiger receives his gift with glee and declares himself to be surely the finest tiger in the jungle, leading to a conflict between them as to who is most superior.  The tigers set aside their nice gifts and begin to chase each other around and around a tree, so infuriated that each plans to eat the others.  They run around so quickly, however, that they melt into butter.  (Look, I know -- it makes more sense when you see the picture, I promise.  I can't find this particular illustration online, but just trust me.  Imagine a whir of yellow going around a tree and then I guess imagine it on the ground and it kind of looks like a puddle of butter?)

In any case, the story ends with Little Black Sambo happily collecting the butter and bringing it home, where his mother uses it to make pancakes for the whole family.  I don't remember the exact numbers, but it's an alarming number of pancakes.  129 just for the little boy, I want to say.

It's an interesting dilemma in that while the story itself doesn't seem to me to have much in the way of racist overtones (though arguments could be made), the names and accompanying illustrations (also originally drawn by Bannerman) are hard to ignore.  The background of the author is also an interesting one with regard to this story.

Helen Bannerman was a Scottish woman living in India with her husband and children and first wrote Little Black Sambo when she was about to leave her children for a short time to meet her husband in a different part of the country.  Bannerman wrote what she thought her children would enjoy reading and wanted to leave something behind to comfort them while she was gone.  Does it matter that she was a white woman, as opposed to one of color, writing a possibly racially-charged story about a dark-skinned boy?  My classmates held disagreeing views on that point.  Does it matter that she was apparently a nice woman who was loved by her servants, who were Indian?  Few comments on that one.

from Chibikuro Sampo

There have been a number of adaptations and re-issues of this book, sometimes with more racially-sensitive illustrations, different names, or both.  (As an aside, my favorite of these is probably the 1997 Japanese retelling that replaced the boy with a black Labrador retriever named Chibikuro Sampo who goes for a walk in the jungle -- get it?)  Intention is much harder to judge than reception, meaning that the story in its original incarnation would have a tough time of escaping the label "racist."

One final note: children loved this story back when it was first published.

And that's something new that I learned today!  All knowledge in this post has been brought to you by Wikipedia, Professor Gerald Early of Washington University, and the letter S (for sausage, which is delicious and about to be my dinner).

Thanks for reading!

Allison

Guys, I made a blag.

She was a bright disc in him that left him sun-spun. She was circular, light-turned, equinox-sprung. She was season and movement, but he had never seen her cold. In winter, her fire sank from the surface to below the surface, and warmed her great halls like the legend of the king who kept the sun in his hearth.

- Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

I will begin by embarrassing myself: I haven't really done much blogging since the days of LiveJournal.  Another embarrassment: those days were probably not as long ago as one might assume.  Still on the order of years, but.  I feel my life has begun to enter a state of newness and change that it hasn't done since entering college about 4.5 years ago, and even then that change felt minimal, safe, and protected.  Now on the cusp of graduation and life outside the confines of school for the first time since age 5, part of me feels somewhat adrift.  This is the point of my life where I should be transitioning, finding a job (working on it!) -- instead, I'm going to start a blog.

If nothing else, I want this place to serve as a repository for me and anyone interested in keeping up with me that can hold my more story-worthy experiences.  This desire feels especially important during this time of my own kind of season and movement.

Thanks for reading!
Allison

P.S.  I am considering reassigning this blog to guysImadeablag.blogspot.com.  Maybe you think I'm kidding.