BETWEEN THE LINES: QUEER CODE IN CHILDREN’S LIT

Written by Evan Eye - Originally Published April 16, 2020

Looking back, many of us in the LGBTQ+ community have realized that something that mattered deeply to us as children spoke to our (often yet discovered) queer identities. Whether it was a Disney movie, a book or even a Halloween costume – we’ve all had something that covertly told us “it’s okay” whether we realized it or not.

For me, many of the books I loved as a kid had a common thread of mostly queer writers who challenged gender performance and same sex relationships in their stories. This of course went right over my head at the time, but as I got older and reflected back on these stories that comforted me as a child I found myself thankful for the ways in which these authors wrote in between the lines.

There are countless ways to interpret creative work, and I am by no means saying these are the absolute and only valid ways to approach these stories; what I am doing, however, is celebrating a very real message that was interwoven into each work that highlights the importance of visibility of queer lives for children.

Harriet the Spy
written and illustrated by Louise Fitzhugh

Published in 1964, Harriet the Spy tells the story of Harriet M. Welsch (the M. stands for nothing – she just wanted a middle initial so her name looked distinguished) – a 12 year old girl growing up in New York City who is obsessed with the lives and lies of everyone around her. At first glance the book is a classic coming of age tale, but examined more closely Harriet’s story is heavily coded with queer themes. For starters, Harriet dons a uniform made up of decidedly masculine clothing when she heads out on her spy route; jeans, a hoodie and converse high tops might seem innocuous now, but in the 1960s this was a big deal – ask any lesbian who grew up reading Harriet at that time who didn’t revel in Harriet’s crossdressing.

The exploration and confrontation of gender doesn’t end there. Harriet’s best friend Sport is a sensitive boy who takes care of his father (a struggling writer) by cooking and cleaning while donning an apron. Another character that Harriet describes as being “so boring that no one bothered to learn his name” goes by the title Boy with Purple Socks – why, you ask? He explains later that his mother wanted him to dress brightly to stand out in crowds, that way she would never lose him. His compromise was purple socks – hidden from the masses but enough to signal to his closest peers. Many believe Fitzhugh included this in her book as a wink and nod to readers used to sussing out queer signals in public.

Harriet the Spy is ultimately a story of one’s identity and private thoughts being exposed, and how to navigate the aftermath. Harriet’s nanny and confident, known as Ole Golly, explains to Harriet that at times lying is a tool for self preservation – “Sometimes you have to lie. But to yourself you must always tell the truth.” This moral is a clear parable for the queer closet, and how sometimes we as members of the LGBTQ+ community must lie and hide to save our lives. It isn’t ideal, but the alternative can be much worse.

The author, Louise Fitzhugh was an out lesbian who wore tailored men’s suits and went by the names Sport or Willie amongst friends – she was a proud queer woman who had a very specific perspective, and one can’t help but feel the bravery and unapologetic sensibility that radiates throughout her written work. Louise passed away suddenly at the age of 47 after suffering from a brain aneurysm. She had completed another novel titled Amelia that told the story of two girls falling in love – sadly the manuscript was lost and no copies are known to exist.

The Story of Ferdinand
by Munro Leaf

The Story of Ferdinand was published in 1936 and found immediate success – at one point it outsold Gone With the Wind to become to number one bestselling book in the United States. Written by Munro Leaf, Ferdinand tells the story of a young and sensitive bull who is perfectly content with sitting beneath a cork tree and smelling the flowers that grow around it rather than butt heads with the other young bulls.

Ferdinand’s Mother worries that her son is too sensitive, but realizes quickly that as long as her son is happy and content she should leave him be. Once grown, Ferdinand ends up being the largest and most intimidating bull (by looks only – he’s still a flower sniffing queen!) and attracts the attention of a group of bullfighters when he runs, kicks and snorts around the field after unknowingly sitting on a bumblebee. Now with the stage name “Ferdinand the Fierce”, he’s carted off to Madrid for the bullfighting circuit.

All of Madrid piles into the arena for the highly anticipated fight with a handsome matador, however Ferdinand disappoints everyone when he proceeds to enter the floor and sit down in the middle of the ring, enamoured with the beautiful flowers worn in the hair of women in the audience. Ferdinand is promptly sent packing back to his pasture with the cork tree, where he happily lives out his days smelling the flowers and enjoying his sweet and gentle life.

Munro Leaf’s story of Ferdinand challenges masculinity and the ways in which our appearance sets up expectations of gender performance – even though Ferdinand is huge and tough-looking, he’s sweet as can be and would rather not be fighting with the other boys. His Mother’s approach to her son’s unconventional behaviour is also a welcomed message of acceptance, especially at the time of publication in the 30s! The Story of Ferdinand resonated with those of us who felt pressured to join in sports and other violent heteronormative pastimes, and has stood the test of time as a joyful exploration of the soft and gentle qualities that can (and should) apply to men as well.

Frog and Toad (series)
written and illustrated by Arnold Lobel

Published between 1970 and 1979, Frog and Toad is one of those series of children’s books that nearly everyone has read or at the very least seen in waiting rooms, libraries and classrooms all over. Each book contained five tales about the adventures of Frog and his dear friend Toad, usually with a moral lesson woven in. One story for example followed both Frog and Toad sneaking off to rake up the leaves in each other’s yard as a surprise gesture. However, unbeknownst to either of them the wind picks up as Frog and Toad each walk home, erasing their good deed. The lesson? The feeling of accomplishment in good deeds is more important than them being acknowledged and seen – and that Frog and Toad are gay and in love.

Okay, maybe not quite – Frog and Toad were just good friends after all. But in order to glean the queer coding from this series one only has to look at the author and illustrator himself – Arnold Lobel. As a child Arnold was home sick for most of his second year in elementary school and used drawing as a coping mechanism to deal with the anxiety he felt over his inevitable return to class. Through this Lobel began to flesh out the characters that would become his beloved duo. As the years went on Arnold married and had two children before coming out as gay to his family in 1974, four years after the publication of the first Frog and Toad book.

Arnold’s daughter Adrianne (a successful creative in her own right) believes that Frog and Toad was the beginning of her Father coming out. An interview in The Lion and The Unicorn magazine in 1977 made it clear that for Arnold Frog and Toad was a way for him to express and unpack his own feelings and experiences like any other writer – just through work for children.

“You know, if an adult has an unhappy love affair, he writes about it. He exorcises it out of himself, perhaps, by writing a novel about it. Well, if I have an unhappy love affair, I have to somehow use all that pain and suffering but turn it into a work for children.”

Much like in his childhood, his drawings and musings on his animal characters was a way for Arnold to cope with his fear and trauma. While we can’t know for certain, many believe that Frog and Toad were a way for Arnold to normalize affection between men and to safely express his queerness. Sadly, Arnold passed away on 1987 due to complications from AIDS, but his legacy continues to live on through the beloved Frog and Toad.

Where The Wild Things Are
written and illustrated by Maurice Sendak

Arguably one of the most beloved picture books, Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak has been a childhood staple since its publication in 1963. Clocking in at only 338 words, the story follows a young boy named Max who, after being sent to bed without supper for misbehaving, finds himself transported to a strange and chaotic jungle inhabited by malicious beasts known as the “Wild Things”. After being dubbed their king and rough housing with his new monstrous subjects, he begins to feel lonely and decides to head home, where he finds a hot supper waiting for him from his Mother.

Much like Frog and Toad, the queerness within Where The Wild Things Are lies somewhere between the pages and Maurice Sendak himself. Born in 1928 to Polish Jewish immigrant parents, Maurice’s childhood was deeply affected by the Holocaust due the deaths of many of his extended family members. Maurice was also gay, and lived most of his life closeted from his family and only publicly acknowledging his sexuality after his partner of 50 years Eugene Glynn passed away. In a New York Times article Maurice wrote, “All I wanted was to be straight so my parents could be happy. They never, never, never knew.”

Maurice’s career started out focused solely on illustration, but eventually branched out to writing as well which lead to the publication of his first book Kenny’s Window. Following shortly after was Where The Wild Things Are, which was initially met with criticism and banning in both schools and libraries before demand of the book from children overshadowed the concern parents and teachers had about the so-called violent subject matter.

At its core Where The Wild Things Are is an examination of how we learn to master feelings in childhood – danger, boredom, fear, frustration and jealously – and how we come to accept the reality of our lives. When punished for his behaviour, Max escapes into his imagination to scream, kick and cry until he’s able to come back to reality and be the person his Mother needs and wants him to be. In an illustrated interview with celebrated writer and illustrator Art Spiegelman, Maurice reflected on the trickle down effect of his family traumas as well and hiding his sexual orientation:

“In reality, childhood is deep and rich. It’s vital, mysterious, and profound. I remember my own childhood vivid. I knew terrible things, but I knew I mustn’t let adults know I knew . . . it would scare them.”