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Since I was a day scholar, my daily crossing from the familiar world of home to the “mall” and ridge area of this typical British resort town nestled in the Himalayas helped me to negotiate my dual existence. As I became an insider, I realized that Auckland House was the microcosm of our postcolonial mixing of cultures. We studied with the daughters of African leaders, Nepalese royalty, ex-colonials who had “stayed on,” and Indian military officers and diplomats seeking a Western education for their daughters. The school had an overarching cosmopolitan culture and a philosophy that allowed each of us to define her individual national identity, as well as to develop skills for living in the commonwealth of nations. Postcolonial
children’s literature resonates with the atmosphere of flux,
culture conflict, and enriching experiences that Auckland House offered.
The articles submitted for this issue of Bookbird discuss postcolonial
themes from the perspective of both the former colonies and the imperialistic
nations. The situation in the newly independent nations of Africa,
Asia, and South America, in particular, presents a dichotomous approach.
On the one hand, colonial authors such as Emilio Bonelli, Rider Haggard,
Edgar Rice Burroughs, Enid Blyton, and Fernanda de Castro continue
to have an alluring charm for young readers; and the genres, plots,
and themes of colonial literature are imitated—usually in the
language of the colonizers—by the emerging children’s book
industry in these nations because they provide a lucrative market.
Senegal, for instance, is finding it difficult to develop an indigenous On
the other hand, folktales and historical stories are published to
counteract the influence of Western civilization on youth by infusing
pride in their traditional heritage and the national struggle for
cultural and political independence. Realistic literature confronts
readers with problems in postcolonial times—the need for rapid
progress, widespread education, technology, basic health for citizens—and
the responsibility of the younger generation to achieve these goals.
Ironically, when Western authors discuss the same issues they are
often condemned for their neocolonial attitude and the invasiveness Postcolonial literature produced in Western countries is equally complex because it reflects the multiple voices of hitherto marginalized groups: it seeks to right the wrongs of the past; it denounces Western imperialism and the ideology of supremacy over the colonized races; it critically examines colonial history and the advantages of colonial expansion; it analyzes racist stereotypes in illustration, characterization, plot, setting, and theme. This enlightened approach has led to the publication of superior books that celebrate the oral traditions of indigenous cultures; narrate the untold stories of the subject peoples under colonial rule; recognize the vital contributions of immigrants to the white settler colonies; and reveal the inherent problems in a culturally and racially diverse society. Postcolonial discourse is also revisionist. Many controversial colonial books—such as the Doctor Doolittle series and Helen Bannerman’s The Story of Little Black Sambo (1899)—have been republished with the racist and objectionable parts left out or rewritten. Ironically, some of these revisions have created new stereotypes. For instance, Fred Marcellino’s The Story of Little Babaji (New York: HarperCollins, 1996) is free of its destructive and racist associations with Africans and African Americans, but it continues to offend. The stereotypical names, doll-like and wooden physiognomy, and ludicrous poses have now been transferred to Indians. Cultural details are used for their exotic appeal and are inconsistent with the professional and socioeconomic status of the family in the story. However,
neither this version nor any of the others that set the story in India,
where Bannerman wrote it for her two daughters, tells the real story—the
fascination that British children born and raised in India had for
the land of their birth and childhood. From their servants these little
Babajis and Babyjis (as their ayahs would call them, who used the
respectful “ji” even when talking to young children) learned
to speak the Indian languages before English; they were entertained
with Indian folk tales; they were attracted to the bazaar life outside
the walls of their bungalows; and they were traumatized when sent
to school in England. Some of these children have written nostalgically
about their childhood experiences—Rumer Godden, M. M. Kaye, Ruskin
Bond—and it is an irony of our postcolonial times that Indian
culture is just as much a part of their lives as British colonial
life is a
Yours sincerely, Letters TO THE POINT: Postcolonial Children’s Literature The
Writer in New Zealand: Building Bridges through Children’s Books Colonial
and Postcolonial Portuguese Children’s Literature Seeking
the High Road: Two Perspectives on Growing Up in Australia Telling
It Like It Was in Western Canada: Postcolonial Historical Fiction
for Children Other
Voices REGULAR FEATURES Focus
IBBY Author
Spotlight: Dagmar Berková Reading Promotion: Butterflies: Helping Children Spread Their Wings International Children’s Books of Note Professional Literature News and Announcements Travels:
In Munich Calendar
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