Is Subtlety in Children's Lit Possible? A Review of "Impossible Creatures"

I have been hard on Christian children’s literature, especially middle grade fiction. I’ve been critical of the lack of subtlety in the reproduction of biblical storylines and the way that every book seemed to have an unlikely figure become converted. Basically, I’ve longed for stories with Christian themes that were woven a little deeper into the narrative.

Others have been critical, too. C. S. Lewis is frequently criticized for the obvious connection between Jesus and Aslan. The wonder of the myth of Narnia, illuminated by an amazing depth of philosophical reading. The Silver Chair, for example, retells Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave,” as it provides commentary on the power of perception.

For many non-Christians the obvious lion-Jesus connection makes Lewis unworthy of reading, except as Christian propaganda. Even less would they consider exposing their children to stories from other Christian publishers, which have obvious gospel overtones.

For English majors trained in the art of symbolism and discernment, such criticisms seem valid. We’ve been taught to look for meaning within the text, subtle ideas woven through to details. Thus, it has seemed fair to hold overtly didactic stories at arms’ length––that’s a sign of wisdom and cultural maturity. I’ve been longing for a subtly Christian children’s book that could make it in the broader world.

And yet, the book currently atop the New York Times bestseller list is Impossible Creatures an overtly didactic fantasy about climate activism. Its cover lists it as “the #1 international bestseller” and it is little more than readable, somewhat imaginative propaganda. The chief strength of the book seems to be that it is propaganda for the currently approved cause.

Subtlety in Children’s Lit

I have long enjoyed good children’s lit. I enjoyed it so much that I proposed an independent study in college and was approved to explore the theme of memory in a fairly wide selection of children’s lit. In the past few years I’ve fallen off the wagon a bit. I’ve just had too much reading on other topics to do.

Children’s lit inevitably carries with it the philosophical presuppositions of its authors. However, those presuppositions are not always quite so obvious.

For example, as a child I loved reading Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain. I still enjoy the stories to this day, which is a mark of their quality. I like the character development, the friendship, and the heroic adventure. As a youngster, I did not notice Lloyd Alexander’s worldview.

A few philosophy courses later it’s now apparent to me that Alexander wrote from an existentialist paradigm. Our destiny is in our hands. We can craft it basically however we like. Alexander translated Jean Paul Sartre’s Nausea from French to English, so there is no question that he was influenced by the modern existentialist movement.

Taran, the orphan boy who would become High King of Prydain, is the perfect existentialist hero. As a child, Taran’s story simply seemed like a compelling fairy tale. It’s obvious to me now what Alexander believed; his philosophy is woven through the story.

Yet I don’t think Alexander’s goal was to make new existentialists. In other words, Alexander wrote existentialist stories (All his books carry the theme.), but he wasn’t evangelizing through literature. And that, I think is why I still enjoy his stories though I find existentialism insufficient as a worldview. The story was the point, the philosophy gave it subtle undertones.

Propaganda in Children’s Lit

In contrast, There is little subtlety in Impossible Creatures. The story has a magical world interconnected to the non-magical world. The magic is fading, as evidenced by mythical creatures becoming extinct and the oceans in the magical world changing in composition. Adults seem unaware of the problem, but some children are especially in tune to the changes. It’s up to them to save the world.

The book relies on some necessary fantasy tropes to get a human from the non-magical world into the magical world—there is a portal that one of the main characters encounters and passes through in an act of disobedience to adults. And there is a mix of mythological creatures from around the world: Ratatoska, a squirrel-like creature borrowed from the Norse legendarium; Sphinx, drawn from Egyptian and Greek traditions; Unicorns, Manticores, etc. All these creatures are doomed to extinction because someone is stealing the source of the magic.

All of this is fair game. There is nothing new under the sun. The plot is structured as a sea voyage from island to island with a lot more focus on introducing new mythical creatures than any real development of the plot. It’s all fairly boiler plate.

But two of the main characters—Christopher and Mal—find out that the magic is fading, so they try to go to the Senate to get support. But the Senate won’t let kids in. Outside the Senate meeting they meet a Scientist (who is also part mythical creature with a deep interest in the supernatural) who has been studying the ocean. She has alarming news that the ocean is dying and immediate action is needed! The Senate won’t act on her important news. They are all arrested for protesting (or trying to break into) the Senate, because the Senate is trying to keep the public calm by suppressing the alarming truth. But they escape and go through a bunch of adventures that end up with just the two kids saving the world, with Mal, sacrificing her life for the sake of the world.

As stories go, it’s reasonably entertaining. It’s no wonder this book is popular—it hits all the key notes of our zeitgeist. Climate anxiety, empowerment of children, wealthy people are evil, and wonder at the world. Missing from the book are strong LGBTQ+ emphases (though a same-sex relationship is extolled in the notes of the bestiary in the back). Yet I won’t be surprised to see that theme arise in a sequel through the renewed romance of the reincarnated Mal (described as an “it” on the last pages of the book) and Christopher.

Yet it’s these very predictable notes that make the book so blasé. The order of events was not exactly what I predicted, but within the first few chapters of the book I called all the main points of the plot.

Lessons Learned

I owe an apology to some of those people currently writing middle-grade Christian fantasy. I also owe it to them to revisit some of their books. It turns out that it’s not whether the moral is obvious, but whether the moral agrees with the prevailing culture that makes a book acceptable in our culture. And perhaps I underestimate the value of obvious didacticism in children’s lit.

Yet part of me still longs for a story that is subtly told, with twists and developments that are surprising (even if the main thread of the tale is predictable), and carries with it a Christian vision for the world. I’ve been too quick to write off books obviously written to teach, but I still think we Christians can do better.