Why I still love Enid Blyton (despite literally everything)
How does a girl from an Indian family reconcile the racist, sexist and xenophobic themes from one of the 20th century’s most popular children’s authors? By Sweta Rana
It is no secret that children’s author Enid Blyton has spawned a great deal of controversy over the decades. Taking even the merest glance at some of her stories, it’s not difficult to see why. In a burst of rose-tinted nostalgia, I recently bought a copy of her 1947 book House-at-the-Corner to reread. And I couldn’t help but think: Really? This is a book I used to read? A book which demands that a woman recognise her “true” role as a wife and mother, bottling fruit and making cakes? This book which claims it’s all very well for a girl to be an aspiring writer, but what a relief when she has those revolting glasses and braces removed — they made her so plain! PLAIN! Forget her talent — girls should be PRETTY!
The Famous Five, arguably Blyton’s most famous series, has been justifiably lambasted for similar gender stereotyping. “Tomboy” George declares her desire to follow allegedly boyish pastimes like climbing trees and shouting a lot. In contrast, her cousin Anne wears floaty dresses and spends most of the group’s adventures making sure all the sleeping bags are folded away nicely. Fundamentally, George must adapt a “masculine” demeanour, wardrobe, and even name, before she’s taken seriously; “feminine” Anne, meanwhile, is repeatedly shown as being of less practical use than any of the others. Including the dog. But he is a male dog, after all.
This casual sexism is rife in Blyton’s books, and this is just the tip of the alarmingly prejudiced iceberg. In 1966’s The Little Black Doll, the titular doll is scorned until rainwater washes away his “ugly black face”. He is welcomed home when he sports a newly pink countenance. Then there were the golliwogs, or the “foreign” thieves who mistreat others in The Mystery That Never Was. Disgusting in their brazen imagery, golliwogs have since been adopted as a mascot by the British National Party.
Xenophobic, racist and sexist; the hideous biases in Enid Blyton’s stories for children are blatant.
Now for a twist so shocking it could’ve been written by M. Night Shyamalan himself. I am a non-white woman whose parents weren’t born in the UK, a prime target for Blyton’s brand of bigotry. And yet I love, love, love Enid Blyton’s writing.
Decades before I was born, my mother and uncles spent hours poring over Blyton’s books. They would read The Famous Five by torchlight until the small hours. At the time, Blyton was one of the only contemporary English-language children’s authors available worldwide. No, there was never a single non-white hero, and no, my mother couldn’t find any positively portrayed undomesticated female characters to identify with. But they found the joy of Blyton’s creations beyond these constraints, as I did years later.
From what has been told of Blyton, it sounds like she wasn’t a very nice person. I’m a brown-skinned woman who has never once made jam, so ol’ Enid probably wouldn’t have given me the time of day, but screw her — it’s her books I care about. Her stories are simple, straightforward, and for all their dubious personal biases, there are some universally applicable messages.
I never liked the golliwogs, or The Little Black Doll, and I never will. Even as a young reader, they were appalling. Certain Blyton creations make me shudder; but I will still defend the others. They are the diamonds in the rough, the stories that shaped my childhood.
Noddy, for example, delighted me with his willingness to learn despite his shyness. And sure, The Naughtiest Girl had to straighten up and fly right, but I took no notice of her domestication and focused instead on how she became a kinder person who trusted her friends and championed teamwork. Girls, boys, dogs, cats, whitewash, whatever — The Famous Five could’ve been any mix of genders, skin tones and species as far as I’m concerned. They still emboldened me with their daring escapades. In fact, those adventurers inspired us so much that my brother named our terrier after Timmy the dog.
Now I remember why I loved House-at-the-Corner. When I was six, I blithely ignored the effortlessly sexist aspects. They didn’t appeal to me, and I didn’t take notice. Instead, I indulged in the mischievous Tony learning to face up to his own mistakes after he accidentally causes an injury. Whether or not Elizabeth wore her glasses didn’t bother me, as I valued her determination to become a writer, no matter what. Pam learns how to sew a button, whoop-di-friggin’-do — more importantly she’s bold, clever, and set to go to college. What I took from the story was that by the end, Pam’s vanity had evaporated, rendering her a caring and more empathetic person irrelevant of sewing capability.
Even as a kid I knew to take these tales as loose metaphors, not as rigid fact or gospel. And the basic messages of Enid Blyton — remember that hard work pays off, be truthful and kind, strive to do good by your family and friends — those messages are universal. They transcend even Blyton’s own entrenched prejudices, and apply to people of any race, gender or country. Enid Blyton herself would probably dismiss me and my family; but the brave, honest Famous Five have always embraced us with open arms.
Originally published at abstractmag.com on September 30, 2014.
