BODIES ARE COOL (Book Review)

By Tyler Feder

(Dial Books for Young Readers, 2021)

I’m on book alert wherever I go. Libraries, bookstores and Free Little Libraries (Love ’em!) are obvious places to browse unknown titles and reconnect with things read, but I’m pleasantly distracted by book sightings in cafes, on planes, and when passing park benches where someone has decided to put the day on pause and dig into a biography, a romance, an essay collection or maybe that Dragons Love Tacos picture book yet again, no kids necessary. (It’s the literary way to celebrate Taco Tuesday.)

 

I first spotted Bodies Are Cool in a curated collection at Kits Beach Coffee where they have several bookshelves stocked with their Equitable Literacy Library. It would drive the anti-woke crowd crazy. (Fine by me.) As they explain online:

Our wide range of books and interactive selections examine the intersections between colonial-settler history, climate, justice, anti-racism, cultural awareness and gender that goes beyond the binary…We have books that encourage self-inquiry, healing, nurturing our eco-systems, essays and poems and a sensory section for children and adults.

 

I was focused on a writing project at the time so I only scanned titles during the time it took the barista to prepare my oat milk latte. I’d biked there and knew from the good vibes I’d be back. I could have a more serious browse next time. 

 

A couple weeks later, I biked to a vegan bakery, To Live For. (This is where anti-woke folk click away, if they haven’t already done so, to get updates on the latest conspiracy theories and “alternative facts.” Have a nice day.) The place was packed midmorning on a Monday, the line extending outside. (A thriving vegan establishment! Made me smile.) While waiting for another oat milk latte, I spotted a tidy collection of children’s books, items to let parents and young children bond or, more likely, occupy the kiddos while mommies (and daddies) got a daily dose of adult conversation. Once again, Bodies Are Cool was part of the collection. I made a note of the title and eventually checked it out at the library. So glad I did!

 

This book is both simple and brilliant. It’s what you’d think it would be, based on the title and the cover illustration which features bodies of different skin colors, sizes and markings, wearing swimsuits (or is it underwear?), floating on a soft pink background. Each double-page spread focuses on a particular aspect of bodies (eyes; body hair; tummy sizes) and expressly normalizes how diverse our bodies are. The text on each spread ends with, “Bodies are cool!” 

 

Sixteen times: “Bodies are cool!”

 

Hallelujah! 

 

Round bodies, muscled bodies,

curvy curves and straight bodies,

jiggly-wiggly fat bodies.

bodies are cool!

 

(I got a little edgy over the reference to “fat bodies,” but that’s because I’ve grown up with fat weaponized, meant to ridicule and shame. That’s not what this book is about. The word is taken back, used matter-of-factly. I have to remind myself that obese has a medical definition, fact-based, instead of playground-pitched.) 

 

There are seven images of people in various wheelchairs, a rarity in picture books that aren’t specifically about someone needing one. People are shown with canes, crutches and arm supports. A woman in a dance class has a prosthetic leg. People wear glasses, someone has an eyepatch, another walks with a seeing-eye dog (and a white cane). There’s so much more, including things I’ve likely missed in my first three reads. Blotchy skin, scars, hairy legs, bald heads, bandanas, hijabs, turbans, swim caps, helmets. 

 

The beauty of picture books is they can be read and viewed, quickly or lingered upon. Repeated readings allow for the focus to change. In a book like this, new images and attributes will be noticed each time. Questions get blurted.

 

“Why is her stomach like that?” 

 

“Eww. His skin!”

 

“What’s wrong with that boy’s hair?”

 

With a picture book, unfiltered comments create teachable moments. Kids will notice differences and ask questions that lack tact. But their questions can be answered by a trusted, non-judgmental adult instead of by a classmate with bullying tendencies.

 

If only this book had been around when I was growing up.

 

I remember a familiar admonishment from my mother when we’d be at the mall or grocery store: “Don’t stare.” Children are naturally curious and they tend to look longer when seeing some aspect of a person they haven’t seen before. There is a natural curiosity. In those don’t-stare instances, there was never any follow-up discussion to what I might have crassly phrased as, “What’s wrong with that person?” No learning. Differences were not to be talked about. It only meant that, next time, I’d have the same inclination to look and then self-censor. Something was bad about me. I wasn’t supposed to see a difference. I certainly wasn’t supposed to wonder about it. Social propriety, a big thing in my upbringing, nixed social understanding. 

 

Somewhere in Texas, in Keller Independent School District, maybe elsewhere, this book is banned. Hard to know why. My best guess is the text saying, “This body, that body, his and her and their body. However YOU define your body! Bodies are cool!” An offending pronoun, an objection to defining your own body. Apparently, society must do that (as defined by God-fearing Texans). Let the harm go on. 

I hope families regularly check out this book. I hope they ask librarians to order it. I hope they buy a copy for their home library.

 

With this book, children will learn as they are ready to, based on what they notice. They will connect the illustrations to what they see in the real world. They may still stare, but more likely as an a-ha/I Spy moment: Bodies are cool!

 

A book like this as a part of one’s childhood has the potential to reduce instances of low self-esteem and body image struggles as a child, during the awkward adolescent years and into adulthood when many people continue to size up bodies, when we continue to be inundated by images of Ryan Gosling’s abs, Ariana Grande’s petiteness, Julia Roberts’ hair and that dude in the latest Calvin Klein ads. 

 

I think of my own body issues, my eating disorder and the prevalence of body dysmorphia among gay men. Gay bars could be harsh, a hierarchy established immediately upon walking or sashaying in. Now, I suppose, with gay bars no longer an epicenter of gay culture, the dismissals aren’t so much to one’s face, but empty message boxes on dating apps leave users to speculate how many times their best pics were met with a rapid swipe left. If only we’d all grown up with this book.

 

Alas, not everyone will gain access to Bodies Are Cool. Not everyone will accept the message. There will always be forces that rank and revile. Still, this book can make a difference, both for the youngster to whom the book is read and the adult reading it and answering the questions that pop up. 

 

Bodies Are Cool is very, very cool.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GENDER QUEER (Book Review)

By Maia Kobabe

 

(Oni Press, 2022)

 

 

I have the whole banned books brouhaha to thank for leading me to Gender Queer: A Memoir. It’s a graphic novel that may have otherwise escaped my gaydar. I’m the better for reading it.

 

Gender Queer is a quick read that should be widely read. It’s not dramatic in the events that are told. What’s remarkable is the journey the author and illustrator has taken in coming to terms with eir identity. (Finding the “right” pronouns for Maia is its own long, arduous, thoughtful pursuit, leading finally to adopting e, em, eir. I had heretofore been unaware of these pronouns. If you’re rolling your eyes over the pronoun “issue,” all the more reason to read this book. Seek to understand instead of judging what you don’t.)

 

There is a lot of talk about sex talk in the book, but all of it is relevant in Kobabe’s search for discovering eir identity. The exploration is informative but not titillating. It reminded me of all the matter-of-fact sex ed classes I’ve attended as a teacher and a principal, my presence required ostensibly to ensure the students are respectful and to bear witness in case someone discloses an experience that might be construed as abuse or an assault for which follow-up is required. 

 

References to masturbation—how nice to get beyond “you’ll go blind”—include a book ban-triggering drawing of Maia conjuring up an image of men with erections in ancient Greece, one man reading and almost touching the other’s penis. While the drawing is clear, it does not seem intended to arouse. If the banning brood paid any attention to the words below the drawing, their trumped up indignance would lose its luster: 

The more I had to interact with my genitals the less 

likely I was to reach a point of any satisfaction. 

The best fantasy was one that didn’t require any 

physical touch at all.

That’s right, kiddos. Don’t touch your privates! This seems like the kind of message prudish banners would like.

 

While we’re on the sex stuff, there’s talk about buying a vibrator. Maia uses it once. “It’s not that exciting because I don’t really like it.” E gives it to eir sister, with whom e has a trusting, close connection. At the age of twenty-five, Maia goes on a second date with a woman and says, “I’ve never had sex.” Again, sex-repressed book banners should be applauding. The author is giving a voice to the notion that sex isn’t everything; in fact, sometimes it’s nothing. 

 

The other page that book banners specifically object to portrays two graphic novel cells in which the girlfriend performs oral sex on adult Maia or, at least, an appendage attached to Maia: a strap-on penis. Yes, a sex toy, drawn as blandly as possible. Admittedly, the images may give pause. A depiction of the toy while it’s not worn would have diluted any possible objection, but that’s not the choice Kobabe and the publisher made. It’s nothing more erotic than putting a condom over a banana in a high school sex ed class. The author makes clear e doesn’t like it. 

 

Later, e rejoices in realizing, “I never have to date anyone” and “I don’t even have to care about sex.” If the cells depicting Greek men (page 139) or the strap-on (page 171) were postcards available in a high school, the distribution might indeed be shut down, but in the larger context of this graphic novel and the messages provided, any hoopla is overblown. These three cells are an excuse to try to deny access to a book about gender blurring and alternative pronouns.

 

The author’s journey does not seek to go from being born female to representing as male. “I don’t want a beard, and I don’t want my voice to change. I don’t want MORE gendered traits, I want LESS.”[1]

 

I can’t understand how that should be a problem for anyone. There will be a lot of trial and error in terms of friends, family and colleagues using non-gendered pronouns. Kobabe provides many examples of this. People mess up, but they are earnestly and respectfully trying. It reminds me of the adjustment period friends and family go through in coming to terms with someone coming out as queer. The individual’s process took time; likewise, so does the understanding of those around them. I especially appreciated the inclusion of Maia’s aunt, a “lesbian feminist,” who is honest about her struggle to understand:

If you ask me to start using new pronouns for you, 

of course I will. But I’d like you to explain why.

Right now I don’t understand and I’m going

to keep asking until I do.

This particular struggle goes largely unspoken, one in which older gays and lesbians haven’t been able to keep up with an evolution in queer identity wherein there are more options in terms of defining oneself. Online and in a few conversations I’ve had with gay men, the reflex by some is to resist or reject change. Everyone struggles with change. It presents new challenges; it means the person trying/having to change may mess up; it means altering what seemed to be known and established. Sometimes, even in the queer “community,” that doesn’t play out well. I appreciate the aunt’s honesty and her willingness to listen, learn and grow.

 

Maia Kobabe

I learned from reading this book. I have a person’s example, through memoir, to add context to understanding a path to nonbinary identity and to appreciate how this personal search and decision does not come on a whim. I hope young people will access this book, sidestepping any bans to get their hands on it. The book will help those who are struggling to understand their relationship with gender and sexuality. It will help them understand peers who are trying to figure out their own issues. As well, I hope older folks with seemingly fixed minds will be open enough to give Gender Queer a read, allowing the concepts, contexts and personal testimonial simmer long after it is finished.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[1] This is why the e, em, eir prounouns make particular sense. Not he or she, the h/sh has been lopped off…just e. Not them, just em. Not their, just eir. Any gender connotations are gone. 

CAMP (Book Review)

By L.C. (Lev) Rosen

 

(Little, Brown and Company, 2020)

 

 

To be sure, the recent upsurge in book bans is out of hand. In some school districts, all it takes is one parent to raise an objection for a book to be shelved…or rather, unshelved. Those in the book banning game can connect online to share titles and strategies. I’ve read about parents checking out all the offending books in a library and never returning them. Late fees? Shrug. It’s not like the head librarian is going to put a lien on their house where the offending books are probably more securely stored than blessed guns. Another parent donates new copies of the titles that went AWOL and they become perpetually overdue again. 

 

It sounds childish, doesn’t it? Just like taking down Pride flags and seeing them replaced again and again until, as we saw a few months ago, someone gets fed up with the tit-for-tat and settles things with one of those blessed guns. 

 

Free speech and the First Amendment have nothing on the big bang that comes with the Second Amendment. 

 

The subject matter in L.C. (Lev) Rosen’s Camp is welcome. It’s needed in public libraries and high school libraries. It’s the kind of book that will ruffle feathers. 

What’s all this talk about a young adult romance novel about a summer camp for queer teens? 

Gays? A demisexual lesbian? 

A counselor in drag? 

Someone using the they pronoun?! 

 

Sigh. If only the feathers were from dazzling boas rather than another delivery from the Pillow Guy.

 

L.C. Rosen

But then Rosen ups things a notch and I wonder what his motives are. I’m not sure if Camp is on banned book lists, but that may be Rosen’s objective. Ban bait. Word of mouth can be great for book sales (even though a ban from library shelves means many young readers will not be able to afford access to the targeted book). 

 

First, a basic rundown of the story. Randall Kapplehoff is a sixteen-year-old gay camper who’s been going to Camp Outland every summer since he was twelve. Hudson Aaronson-Lim is another gay camper, same age, same number of stints at the camp. Randall has crushed on Hudson since the beginning. The problem is that Randall has never been on Hudson’s radar, much less gaydar. This is on the surface an opposites attract story in which Randall has spent his latest year away from camp trying to become Hudson’s ideal guy—a jock, not a musical theater geek; more muscle, less flab; deeper voice, less animated inflections; a drab, thrown together suitcase of  bro clothes instead of a matchy wardrobe with Barbie tones. Randall—no, wait…he’s Del now, arrives at Outland as a “new” camper, all femme signs suppressed. Del’s going to be the “masc4masc” guy Hudson’s BoyDate profile says he’s looking for. He’ll make Hudson fall for him. He won’t be another of Hudson’s two-weeks conquests from summers past. This is going to be love. 4ver.

 

Yeah, I know. One big mess of a premise. But isn’t that adolescence? For all of us who ever teared up and sniffled listening to Janis Ian sing “At Seventeen,” the teen years are about survival and hoping the beatings to one’s self-esteem only leave emotional scabs without the scars. This summer adventure should not end well for Del/Randall.

 

But, hang on. This is a romance. It’s not life. A romance is REQUIRED to have a happily ever after. 

 

I think that made me even more uncomfortable. 

 

I hoped that the story would take a turn, opening up a new love path for the main character. Stop obsessing over the “masc” character! Let Randall finally see his femme best friend, George, returning with hair all over his body, as boyfriend material. Let snarky supporting character Montgomery suddenly declare he’s spent all these summers pining for Randall who’s been pining for Hudson. 

 

SPOILER, NOT SPOILER, ALERT (it’s a romance, people!): this is a love story about Del/Randall & Hudson. It’s basically Grease Goes to Camp without the hand jive. Like Danny Zuko, Hudson isn’t just the player he’s known to be. He has a soft side. And, like Sandy Olsson, Randall’s trying to shake his Sandra Dee.       

 

So…two boys find love. This is enough to incense book banners. Young gays are not allowed happy endings. Bring on the book banning debate. I’d jump in the melee. Let Camp remain camped out on bookshelves. Let it be checked out aplenty.

 

But then Rosen gifts book banners with more fodder. His young adult novel includes sex on the page. For much of the book, things are relatively watered down with multiple references to thighs touching when sitting in the mess hall, underwater kisses at the pool and erections remaining under clothing. Hands creep up under a t-shirt and slide under shorts to touch buttocks. 

 

Both boys want more. It’s going to happen. Rosen gives the reader ample notice it will happen. But there’s still a higher ground message at play. First love, then, uh, you know…that.

 

The first aid kit at this queer camp is generously stocked with condoms and lube. It’s responsible. It’s pragmatic. How many people who’ve gone to camp have had a number of sexual firsts…or seconds or thirds? Teens of any sexual orientation have sexual experiences. There are banned books that include straight teens having sex. This allows someone seeking to remove Camp from a high school library to say they are undiscriminating in terms of sexual repression.  

   

Sex is a difficult subject to write well. I find the same to be true with sports. Watching or participating in a tennis match, a triathlon or a basketball game can be exciting. On the page, it gets too technical in the telling. How do you make breathing or a racing heart sound exciting? In sports, it’s so calculated. Bottom of the ninth, a come from behind win. An unheralded teammate becomes the hero, the underdog team the victor. Rah-rah, no exclamation mark. As for sex, it’s a lot of switched positions, references to moaning and then that crossing of the finish line. Reading about it doesn’t come close to the real thing. 

 

I mention this to make the point that the big sex scene doesn’t add much to the story. The key storytelling parts are the feelings of doubt and anticipation, the fumbling or the mastery of technique and how the episode changes (or doesn’t change) the participants, individually and collectively. Earlier this year, I read a work of gay literary fiction (for adults) in which the writer’s description of a sex romp included something akin to: “They tried every position possible…and a few more.” What? Lazy, clichéd writing. If the couple invented something, well then put THAT on the page. It may get tedious in describing the positional shifts, but what a reward for conscientious bookworms. Let readers embark on new adventures in the bedroom!

 

SPOILER ALERT. (Again.)

 

No new positions in Camp. I suppose part of the cringe factor for an adult reading about sex in a young adult novel is that the characters are underage and the reader isn’t. Yeah, eww. I braced as I read the pivotal chapter. My mind cued up a general maxim oft-stated for writers: Less is more. Rosen ignores this.

 

First comes a cliché. The characters get drenched in the rain. They take cover in their tents and, yes, they have to get out of their wet clothes. They’re naked in their (separate) sleeping bags. But then Rosen gets clever after the boys kiss. Since the story has been about how a masc and a femme character find common ground, Hudson says, “[T]here’s something I want you to do to me.”

 

Del/Randall says, “Okay,” [his] voice a little breathier than [he] means for it to be…

 

“Paint my nails?”

 

The boys share an intimate act. Nail polish in lieu of lube. Kudos to Rosen! 

 

Hudson then says, “Can I do yours?” [“Can I do you?” would’ve been even better.] 

 

Afterwards, Hudson says, “It felt…nice. Thank you. I’m glad it was you.” 

 

Let painting nails be the euphemistic act. Make a few references to going beyond as the boys emerge from their tent the next day. Happy endings and whatnot.

 

But Rosen goes for it. Sex! It plays out over SEVEN pages. He avoids any references to the penis, but the action is clear enough with words like hard, stroking, deeper, panting, moaning, blow job, coughing, fingering. It’s seven pages, after all. 

 

I see book banners frothing. Indignation! Harm! Innocence lost!

 

Cue counter-indignation. Censorship! Homophobia! Peddlars of Victorian courtship! Righteous talk about art and free speech. 

 

Hello, publicity. An increase in online sales and ebooks checked out. Mission accomplished, I suppose. 

 

I feel sorry for librarians and principals who get pulled into the fray. How much Extra Strength Tylenol will this latest battle require? What accusations must they endure? What relationships are damaged?

 

I’m all for queer stories with diverse, queer characters. Teens deserve books that reflect their world and their wonderings. Many literary advocates will say sex shouldn’t be censored, even when it comes to seven consecutive pages. Rosen does a decent job of including the main character’s thoughts throughout the protracted, consensual scene. It’s some parts realistic, some parts cliché. That can happen with any scene that runs long. Del/Randall mentions the elephant involved in the likely kerfuffle over free speech when the character thinks “this is not how it happens in porn.” Yes, porn is where so many teens make more sense of what fuddy-duddies may still refers to as “the birds and the bees.” 

 

Camp is not an instructional manual. It’s not setting out to correct shaky sexual scenarios played out in porn. And yet seven pages may overshadow the more than three hundred fifty pages about whether the divide between femme and masc gays can be narrowed or eliminated. This is the topic Camp should be tackling, without inviting distractions. In this regard, Rosen takes a copout stance. It’s not actually femme versus masc because, in the end, Hudson’s true nature isn’t all that masc. This is the part of the story I wish Rosen considered tweaking. Let characters be different and come to respect their differences. Let opposites truly attract instead of blurring out. Overall, Camp is a pleasant enough excursion, happy endings and all.

 

 

 

    

AND TANGO MAKES THREE

Written by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell

 

Illustrated by Henry Cole

 

(Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2005)

 

Almost two decades ago, penguins were having a moment. “Trending,” we would say today. In 2005, the $8-million documentary, “March of the Penguins” grossed $127 million at the box office. “Happy Feet,” an animated feature, followed in 2006, with a risky budget of $100 million. Happy ending: it took in $384 million. 

 

Preceding these was a 2004 article in The New York Times, “Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name,” featuring Roy and Silo, two chinstrap penguins in the Central Park Zoo, described as “completely devoted to each other.” The article noted that Roy and Silo were not a zoo penguin anomaly. “Before them, the Central Park Zoo had Georgey and Mickey, two female Gentoo penguins who tried to incubate eggs together. And Wendell and Cass, a devoted male African penguin pair, live at the New York Aquarium in Coney Island.” There were more scientific revelations, including reference to a book that noted homosexual behaviour in 450 species. 

 

Interesting. But let’s get back to penguins and that Central Park pair, Roy and Silo. In 2005, they starred in the nonfiction picture book, And Tango Makes Three. Book shelf lives are short and this penguin title would have gone the way of the dodo by now but for book bannings and missions to remove certain content from elementary school libraries. On the positive side, it also gets a mention every June during Pride month when publications put out lists of gay books. I finally decided to browse the book myself.

 

Opus in a fruity hat...

did that ruffle tail feathers?

My first impression was neither a sense of shock nor pride at the suggestion of gay penguins. (Note: “gay” is never used in the book.) Instead, I was aghast that Roy and Silo would be held up as gay icons of the animal world. I am no penguin aficionado—in fact, I’ve never seen either of the box office hit movies I mentioned in the first paragraph. Perhaps penguins are true “bird brains” in the sense they’re not all that bright. My favorite penguin is Opus, a clever, amusing comic strip creation of Pulitzer Prize-winner Berkeley Breathed, appearing in the classic syndicated titles “Bloom County,” “Outland” and, at long last, just “Opus.” Neither Roy nor Silo would be able to match wits with Opus. As the book explains, the pair gathered stones, as penguins do, to make a nest. With the nest in place, “[e]very night Roy and Silo slept there together, just like the other penguin couples.” In time, they realized that the mama penguins perched on the other nests had each laid an egg.

 

It gets embarrassing. “Roy and Silo had no egg to sit on and keep warm. They had no baby chick to feed and cuddle and love. Their nest was nice, but it was a little empty.” Hoo boy. Good thing they’re cute in their little tuxedos. Let’s not make them grand marshals at any Pride parade. 

 

The rock that would not hatch.

It gets more embarrassing. “One day Roy found something that looked like what the other penguins were hatching and he brought it to their nest. It was a rock”—um, kinda like the stones that made the nest?—“but Silo carefully sat on it. And sat…” The two took turns sitting on the rock. SPOILER ALERT: “But nothing happened.”

 

Really, book banners, is this a story you want to keep away from impressionable young children? If you’re homophobic, it seems this book may even help your cause. Being gay makes you dumb. Maybe conservative media would run with it, appearing on Fox News with the news banner, “Homosexuality kills brain cells.” 

 

I don’t know. Far be it for me to offer fuel to enemy lines.

 

I suppose when you’re singularly focused on “gay is bad” you don’t bother with nuances or any sort of critical thinking. The book explains that Roy and Silo are “boys” (forgoing males since that term may be too sophisticated for its targeted readers) and “they did everything together.” Everything includes bowing, singing, walking and swimming. 

 

Again, I’m feeling neither proud nor scandalized.

 

At any rate, on to the smut…

 

Penguins necking

Maybe all hell broke loose though when Roy and Silo “wound their necks around each other.” To be clear, neither hugging nor kissing is mentioned. Certain adults might read all sorts of lascivious behavior into that, but a kid (whose development understands “boys” but not “males”) is going to think that’s the equivalent of joshing, play-fighting or putting their arms around one another. This is what primary students do. Who’s taking this to supposedly taboo terrain? I suppose it’s the one human character in the book, Mr. Gramzay, a zookeeper, who must finally make book banners rabid, when he “thought to himself, ‘They must be in love.’” Sounds sweet to me. 

 

Typical young girl reaction: “Ahhhh” because any mention of love elicits that. Typical boy reaction: “Ewwww” because any reference to love is gross. This isn’t a knee-jerk homophobic response. Young boys are socialized to think lovey-dovey stuff is icky. 

 

I’m having a moment, wondering how many book banners might be more like Silo and Roy than they’d like to believe, someday being reincarnated as penguins who would wait for their own rocks to hatch. Naturally, they’d dismiss the absurdity and heresy of such speculation since reincarnation is not a Christian concept. But I’m still wondering.

 

A Pro Life moment, lost on rabid banners.

Eventually, Gramzay finds an egg that needs tending and sets it in Roy and Silo’s nest. They’d done such a good job of tending to a rock, after all. (Kudos, guys! It didn’t roll away!) Unlike the rock, the egg hatches. Gramzay calls the chick Tango, reasoning, “because it takes two to make a Tango.” Most primary kids won’t know that a tango is a dance so, whoever is reading to them can explain this. I suspect kids will just be happy that the baby was born. If anything, they’ll wonder why the egg came up as a spare during nesting season. The author’s note at the back of the book tells readers that the egg was one of two belonging to penguins Betty and Porkey, but that pair had never been able to care for two at once so, basically, one of the eggs would need to be tended to by other penguins to hatch. Seems like an above and beyond pro-life effort the book banners could have spun, but winding necks and loving “boy” penguins had already been duly offensive.

 

I'd forgotten the mention of "two daddies." 

In the two decades since,it doesn't seem to 

have radically altered the penguin world.

I’m sorry, it seems preposterously silly to get stirred up over this book and to seek to keep it away from children. There is no doubt that banning efforts have led to more young and older readers reading this book than would ever have been imaginable. For young penguin lovers—and, relax, easily triggered conservatives, I’m speaking generally of affection, not bestiality; what makes people’s minds go to such places anyway?—I’d recommend the picture books 365 Penguins, wherein a growing domesticated colony is content to be stashed in filing cabinets or stacked as pyramids, and Penguin and Pinecone, about another dopey main character who befriends, yes, a pinecone. It’s a super cute story, at least. (Where are the activists seeking smarter portrayals of penguins in children’s lit?) 

 

Personally, I’m not giving the Tango book another thought. I’d rather spend twenty minutes reading old “Bloom County” comics, smiling over Opus and saving any offense for the antics of Bill the Cat. In fact, that’s exactly what I’m setting out to do…