WRB—Children’s Literature Supplement, July 2025

“chance to be the ringleader”

July has been a month of discovery for Sarah. From new information about Paddington and Winnie the Pooh to a different perspective on The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear, she’s trying to catch her breath after all the shocking developments. She hopes you’ll enjoy these essay excerpts on everything from Clarice Lispector’s work to a lovely essay by LuElla D’Amico on What Katy Did. Enjoy!

Teachable moments

This essay by Miyako Pleines over at Ploughshares is a few years old, but it’s a fascinating read and reminded Sarah of a recent musing after reading The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear by Don and Audrey Wood (1984). It’s an old family favorite, but after numerous re-reads, you might start to squirm, wondering if the narrator (you as the reader) isn’t being a little manipulative of the mouse. After all, no bear ever makes an appearance—is he even real? Or is it just a way to get half a red ripe strawberry from a mouse? It’s amusing to consider, and made Sarah wonder what larger lesson the authors could be hoping to impart. Pleines asks something similar when exploring the works of Clarice Lispector and Jon Klassen:

Children’s books are supposed to be an experience for young readers. They employ conversational tones and ask questions of the reader to draw them in and make them feel like a part of the story. In short, they come to life on the page. Lispector’s work in The Woman Who Killed the Fish operates with these same mechanics, just like Klassen’s books. What sets these stories apart, however, is their unique approach to their subjects. Neither Klassen nor Lispector seem to believe that subjects need to be softened for children to understand them. In Klassen’s world, animals die for their sins—albeit off the page—and Lispector’s children learn that their mother may not be exactly as guilt free in the death of their fish as she wants to appear. Suddenly, instead of existing in a world of right and wrong, things become tinged with gray. Stealing is wrong, yes. But so is devouring another animal whole.

The whole essay is fascinating and well worth your time.

Bear bombshells

Literary history never ceases to amaze Sarah. Just last week, she discovered that the character of Paddington is based on the author’s memories of children arrive at British train stations during the Kindertransport program:

During Bond’s childhood, several stations around Britain had become the receiving points for the roughly 10,000 Jewish children who escaped Nazi-occupied Europe through the Kindertransport, traveling ahead of the Holocaust—many of whom would never see their families again. Soon, Bond created a storyline for the bear, basing Paddington’s temporary state of homelessness around his memories of seeing hundreds of these evacuees arriving at Reading station from London, each carrying their possessions in a single suitcase with labels bearing their names and addresses.

Moment magazine also wrote about this literary tidbit:

Although Bond did not create Paddington Bear until two decades after he was confronted by the image of the Kindertransport children, they remained in his mind. One morning in 1958, he was searching for writing inspiration and simply wrote the words: “Mr. and. Mrs Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform. . . .”

“When I wrote those few words, I had no idea quite what a change they would eventually make to my life,” Bond recounted, as recorded on his website. “It was really a case of putting something down on paper in order to get my brain working that morning.”

The images of the children arriving in the train station soon inspired the words that would bring Paddington Bear’s world to life. Known for his royal blue overcoat, striking red hat and tag that says “Please look after this bear. Thank you,” Paddington embodies the appearance of many Kindertransport children. His suitcase is an emblem of his refugee status.

Sarah’s favorite snippet from this essay? “Paddington Bear, however, hails from Peru. Bond originally wanted the bear to come from Africa, but his agent was opposed, claiming there were no bears in Africa.”

Alas, Sarah didn’t grow up reading Paddington, so she isn’t as enamored of him as she probably could be. She is, however, a devoted Winnie the Pooh fan, and recently discovered that he has his roots in the Canadian wild:

The story begins over 80 years ago in the northern town of White River, Ontario when a young black bear cub suddenly became an orphan. A man by the name of Harry Colebourn was traveling across Canada to embark on overseas duty to England during the First World War. He purchased the little black bear cub from the trapper who had come across the orphaned cub. Lieutenant Colebourn named the bear from his hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and she would become an unofficial mascot of The Fort Garry Horse, a Militia cavalry regiment. Winnie would sleep under Colebourn’s cot.

In 1914, the now Captain Harry Colebourn learned he would be shipped to France. He decided to settle Winnie into the London Zoo because she would not be able to go with him. She eventually became the fan-favorite attraction at the zoo. It is said that visitors would knock on her door and she would come out to greet them. . . .

But how did he come to the attention of A. A. Milne? You’ll just have to click through and find out.

More picture books of summer

Sarah included a summer-themed book list last month’s CLS, and she just discovered a similar list from LuElla D’Amico over at the Wonderous Reading Substack. Their lists only overlap on one book (Robert McCloskey’s Time of Wonder), and Sarah hopes you’ll check out D’Amico’s delightful suggestions.

Consider Katy

What Katy Did by Susan Coolidge (1872) has been on Sarah’s reading list for a while now, and another essay by D’Amico pushed her to finally snag a copy (Update: Sarah listened to the whole book on audio over the weekend). She was grateful to have D’Amico’s insights in mind as she jumped into this new (to her) tale:

After Katy’s accident, she gradually begins to live that love differently. Slowly, she starts aligning her actions with her intentions. As my children and I read it together, I found myself asking: how often do I do the same as Katy did when she was well—and what does her transformation have to teach me? How often do we all put off making a call, checking in, offering our presence to our friends and family? How often do we save our love for a time when things feel calmer or more convenient?

For a children’s book, it asked me some very adult questions—questions that, quite frankly, made me feel a little uncomfortable. But they also helped me understand why that student loved the book so much. And they made me want to be a better human being. That’s the mark of a lasting book, children’s fiction or not.

What the kids are reading