All in the Timing
Why reading ahead of your grade level isn’t necessarily a good thing.
by Dashka Slater
June 8, 2009
In second grade, Perl's daughter was in a book club that had
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson as one of its suggested titles. Perl — and other parents who know the book — quickly steered the group to other choices. Not to spoil it for you, but two-thirds of the way through the book, the protagonist's
best friend — a fifth-grade girl — dies in a freak accident.
"I think there's something to be said for not taking the power away from that," Perl remarked. "You kind of dilute it if you read it too soon. Either it has a huge impact and makes you afraid of an accident taking someone close to you, or — if a kid doesn't
quite get it on an emotional level — then you've read it and it hasn't affected you at all. A book like that, if you read it at the right age, it has power, but you also gain the power to deal with it."
But if you're not already steeped in the world of children's books, how do you avoid being blindsided by a book like
Terabithia — or by far less literary reads like the snarky, materialistic
Clique books? The best resource I've found is
Common Sense Media, which flags all the things that I weigh when I'm thinking about the right age for my son to read a book — not just sex and violence, but also consumerism, emotional intensity, and overall message. Reviewers suggest appropriate ages for
books (nine in the case of
Terabithia; twelve for the
Clique books), and alternative options on the same topic. "Even great books, kids can start too early," explains Carrie R. Wheadon, senior book editor for the site.
I don't always love Milo's choice of books, but for me, the best antidote to bad books is good books. Milo is free to read pretty much anything he chooses on his own, but his dad and I also read him books that we choose. On road trips we listen to books
on CD, and bedtime is still the time of day when we snuggle up with a shared book. Those read-alouds are a chance to introduce books Milo might not read otherwise, particularly classics whose old-fashioned language makes them more challenging on the page or
books that take a while to get going. The books that we read together are a wellspring of family in-jokes and shared references and as the frenetic pressure of homework, sports, and activities devours an ever-increasing portion of the day, that cozy half hour
with
Treasure Island or
Alice in Wonderland feels like one of the last protected enclaves of childhood.
Not long ago, a friend of mine told me — in the boastful tone parents inevitably fall into when talking about their kids' reading habits — that her twelve-year-old daughter doesn't read children's books anymore. "She's only interested in adult books," she
said proudly. My heart sank, partly because of all the wonderful books her daughter is missing out on, and partly because I know that Milo will leave the world of children's literature eventually as well. I hope that when he does, it won't be to impress adults
or improve his test scores, but will simply be because the books he loves as a child lead him, like stones across a river, to books he loves as an adult. Children's books will be there for him as long as he wants them, changing as he changes, and eventually
becoming so precious that when the time comes to share them with his own child, he'll wait for the perfect moment to pass them on.
©2009 Dashka Slater and Babble Media
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