"Little Archie" and "Little Lulu" Mix It Up

You have to take Art Spiegelman and Françoise Mouly seriously when they write in their introductory essay to The Toon Treasury of Classic Children’s Comics [2] that “some of the best twentieth-century literature for kids appeared in lowly comic books that deserve an honored place next to the more traditional classics on every well-read child’s book shelf.” This is the duo who, in the 1980s, insisted that powerful works of art and world-class literature could be composed of panels and word balloons—and backed up their hyperbole by producing RAW [3], the groundbreaking avant-garde comic art anthology that continued and expanded upon the 1960s underground comics revolution. RAW also serialized Spiegelman’s Maus [4], the graphic novel that established the medium’s credibility in a way no other work had before. When Spiegelman and Mouly speak, critics listen.

The new Toon Treasury tome, comprised of selected kids’ comics from the 1930s to '60s, sprawls over 350 pages containing 67 stories by 30 creators. Some of the characters will be familiar to all readers (Donald Duck, Lil’ Archie, Dennis the Menace), some to most readers (Little Lulu, Captain Marvel, Pogo), and others to just a few aficionados (Berp the Twerp, J. Rufus Lion). Last week I had the frustrating experience of trying to read a comic on a Kindle (not recommended!), so it was a joy to thumb through these exceptionally well-reproduced pages and revel in the irreplaceable pleasure of print. Though the comics have clearly been digitally cleaned up, they still retain a slightly weathered look—I could almost smell the newsprint.

For me, this book is an easy sell. I was a RAW intern back in 1990 and have a passion for the history of cartoons (and would have bought this book alone for Milt Gross’ eight-page “Patsy Pancake” story). But the book wasn’t put together for “historians, cartoonists, adult-comic fans, or scholars of the form,” Spiegelman and Mouly write. They “made this book for kids, selecting books that could be read to very young ages, then savored by kids mastering the secrets of reading—and then revisited often by them as they make the long march to adulthood.”

Does the book pass the kid test? My two daughters agreed to jump in and exercise their own critical judgment. The day I brought the book home, Eva, who is 9, was home sick from school. She read the whole thing in one sitting and over the next few days drifted in and out as I read it out loud to Charlotte, who is 7. Then Eva went back with Post-it notes and assigned each story between one and five stars.

Her five-star pieces included not just old favorites like “Little Lulu,” “Little Archie,” and “Uncle Scrooge,” but also new ones like Walt Kelly’s “Prince Robin and the Dwarves,” and André LeBlanc’s “Intellectual Amos” (featuring a bald-headed boy playing straight man to a silly ostrich). Both girls adored Sheldon Mayer’s “Sugar and Spike,” featuring two toddlers who speak fluently to each other in a language unintelligible to adults.

Spiegelman and Mouly say that comics featuring teenagers appeal most “to kids whose hormonal changes [are] just about to kick in.” But Charlotte studies old Archie digests like they are sacred texts, and her Barbies are in a perpetual state of pre-prom jitters. So while the girls enjoyed the novelty of seeing Archie, Veronica, and Betty as young children in Bob Bolling’s wonderful “Little Archie” story, the often-unaccredited Harry Lucey [5], my favorite teenage Archie artist, would have been a welcome addition to the collection. But that’s a minor quibble. The girls and I spent hours with this book and agreed together that it gets four-and-a-half stars overall.

Yet I’m balking at Spiegelman and Mouly’s characterization of these comics as some of the best literature for kids that the 20th century has to offer. Most of the work in The Toon Treasury was produced at a frantic pace. I would bet that there wasn’t one story in The Toon Treasury that took more than a week to write, draw, ink, and color. Some of the shorter pieces were likely knocked out in a day. Their makers are young talents honing their craft on their way toward bigger and better things (Harvey Kurtzman, Jules Feiffer, Walt Kelly) or animators enjoying the relative autonomy that kids’ comics afforded. Their work has a vigorous charm, but it will remind readers more of a Tom and Jerry cartoon than any Caldecott winner.

There are standout exceptions: John Stanley and Carl Bark, by contrast, spent the better part of their careers making kids’ comics, and their Little Lulu and Uncle Scrooge series, respectively, indeed belong on the shelf alongside classics by William Steig, Virginia Lee Burton, and Maurice Sendak. But for the most part, forcing the comparison between these pieces of ephemera and Sylvester and the Magic Pebble [6], The Little House [7], and Where the Wild Things Are [8], seems inapt, even unfair. The work in The Toon Treasury doesn’t have the emotional weight and feeling of consequence found in those classics, but it does have a zany seat-of-the-pants energy and that’s no small thing.

The Toon Treasury feels like some fantastically spirited all-ages vaudeville show. Ghosts, fairies, ogres, comedians, child actors, and a menagerie of talking animals light up the stage for a few moments before ceding the spotlight to the next act. And as in vaudeville, there is a charge of transgression in the air. Dan Gordon’s Anthony the Rogue is a pet cat who has a high opinion of himself. Despite living in the lap of luxury he sneaks out at night to pool halls and back alleys to mooch and steal. Mayhem ensues. Why does he do it? For kicks. The cat is all attitude, and even when he catches a beating for his behavior there is no moral lesson imposed or learned. This doesn’t feel like adult-sanctioned entertainment—making it that much more irresistible to kids. This is fun for fun’s sake. That’s all The Toon Treasury of Classic Children’s Literature needs to be.