Kristen Corey

Professor Andrea Schwenke Wyile

ENGL 3973 - Children’s Literature 

11 November 2009

Forbidden Vegetables or Morning Cake?  A Reevaluation of Nutritional Content
> in The Tale of Peter Rabbit and In The Night Kitchen 

        Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit and Maurice Sendak’s In The Night Kitchen are two works that, for rather contrasting reasons, are very well-known examples of children’s literature . Sendak’s In The Night Kitchen—which features illustrations of a fully exposed young boy nearly baked into a cake by three mysterious graveyard-shift chefs— sparked great controversy upon its release, quite unlike Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit, which is often considered a safe story-time staple found on library, classroom, and home bookshelves for children across the continent. While these two picture books seem altogether different, there are in fact some striking similarities. Both Potter and Sendak present boisterous boys as their protagonists, who share a curiosity that takes them away from their safe places and into uncharted settings where they not only explore the environment around them, but also delight in its riches—namely, food, which provides “a means of rebellion and self-empowerment” (Keeling and Pollard 11) .  Furthermore, both Peter and Mickey  at one point or another manage to lose their clothes, escape becoming something to be eaten amongst an endlessly edible landscape and, finally, arrive in bed by the end of their stories . When each story does end, however, the reader is left with very different feelings and, I  would argue, varying levels of satisfaction as well. A comparative analysis of the main characters in these two picturebooks reveals the ways in which Potter and Sendak offer divergent ideals to the children who read their stories and, in turn, challenges the widely-accepted notion of Potter’s Peter Rabbit fulfilling the role of a “moral story,” while highlighting the more positive outcomes of Sendak’s imaginatively eccentric children’s tale .

        Both Potter’s Peter Rabbit and Sendak’s Night Kitchen make use of the common home-away-home narrative structure typical of children’s literature.  Since Peter and Mickey each venture into unfamiliar territories in their stories, an analysis of these foreign backdrops is a useful starting point.  While Mr. McGregor’s forbidden garden provides a starkly different setting than the light of the night kitchen , there are certainly some significant commonalities. One example is the influence of the authors’ personal surroundings on the construction of their respective adventure worlds. Potter’s garden is a place where nature is abundant and its creatures, for the most part, friendly and encouraging. Being a friend to animals and proclaiming a love for the natural world herself, it only makes sense that Potter’s stories would unfold within such a setting (Lear 42 ). In contrast , Sendak’s night kitchen strikingly resembles a city skyline forged from packaged pantry contents, complete with the full moon and a milk-jug skyscraper. This highly industrialized and commercialized fantasy land depiction is undoubtedly inspired by Sendak’s own childhood experience of living in luminous New York City during the 1930s (Lanes 86 ).

        Aside from being pleasing to the eye and tantalizing to the tongue, however, both of these environments have their dangers . In Potter’s garden, the main source of threat comes from Mr. McGregor and his disruption of the natural world. While the garden is indeed Mr. McGregor’s property, there remains a prevailing notion that nature does not belong to anyone, but rather, to everyone. From the perspective of Peter and, quite likely, the reader then, Mr. McGregor is, in fact, the character being portrayed as intruder. In addition to the obvious risk of being caught by Mr. McGregor directly, Peter also faces perilous obstacles—including a gate (20) , a gooseberry net (35), and a sieve (39)—all of which have been imposed on nature by this man. -->  Considering that Potter was known to be a recluse throughout her lifetime, one may read into the intrusive quality of the dangers presented in Peter Rabbit as echoing her own personal fears and apprehensions (Lane and Potter 201). This  perspective subtly laces Potter’s narrative with a notion that associates interface with danger and, in turn, safety with seclusion—a problem that is reinforced through several avenues within the stor y. In Sendak’s story, on the other hand,  a place that was, presumably, once Mickey’s usual kitchen has been transformed and taken over by three mysterious chefs, though these trespassers are depicted quite differently from Mr. McGregor. The only hazard that Mickey faces is when he falls into a pan of batter and the chefs unknowingly mix him in with the morning cake. This act is quite clearly accidental, as the illustrations show the three chefs working away merrily with closed eyes (4)  which do not open until later when Mickey fortunately escapes the cake before it is fully baked (6).[1]   Because the chefs seem to be oblivious to their misplaced ingredient, the sense of danger is very different here—it is rooted in ignorance, as opposed to intrusion. As with Potter’s writing, this aspect of the story may be attributed to Sendak’s own fears. As a child, Sendak notes that he fell ill quite often and, as a result, was confined to his bed—a form of seclusion that was perceived as stifling, rather than safe (.Sonheim ). In his childhood, Sendak exercised his imagination to compensate for the boundaries imposed by his bedroom, and, similarly, his story perpetuates a more imaginative and outgoing ideal than Potter’s. Certainly, Potter also explores this  to an extent, as Peter is quite outgoing when he runs “straight away to Mr. McGregor’s garden” (19); however,  his decision to do so is shown in a much more negative light, as the narrative describes him as being “very naughty” (19) and culminates  in an overall unpleasant experience for which he is punished. Mickey, on the other hand, is challenged to defeat the danger of being ignored, and is supported in his creative and audacious tendencies, which do not let him go unnoticed(*) .

        Another intriguing connection between Peter and Mickey is the representation of their clothing, and loss  thereof which  they each experience. The absence of Mickey’s clothing during a significant portion of Sendak’s In The Night Kitchen has been controversial for some time—so much so that there have been reported instances of librarians sketching diapers onto Sendak’s illustrations of the naked Mickey before allowing them on their bookshelves (West 125-26).  While it is easy to read into the potentially inappropriate aspect of this creative decision , a closer reading may reveal the symbolic value  of Mickey’s freedom from his pajamas. That is to say, the clothing in both Peter Rabbit and In The Night Kitchen is  representative of a constraint placed on the protagonists.  This  can be captured in a simple comparison of illustrations from the two books—contrasting the image of a valiant and proud fully-exposed Mickey (16-v) with an awkward and rigidly confined depiction of Peter as his mother fastens his jacket for him (12). Peter’s clothes not only restrict him on a social level,[2]  but also, and more prominently, on a practical level. When Peter encounters Mr. McGregor, it is only after losing both of his shoes that he is able to run on all fours, fast enough to temporarily escape Mr. McGregor’s view (35). Clearly, the clothing that his mother dresses him in inhibits Peter from his natural instincts; Mickey, on the other hand, is freed from such inhibitions when he falls out of his clothes and explores his imagination—an equally natural instinct for children to channel. I would argue that removing Mickey’s garments is Sendak’s way of encouraging readers to activate their own imaginations and open up to the simple delights of literature, instead of inhibiting their reading experience with analytic lenses and trivial social concerns .[3]  Furthermore, Peter’s clothing later becomes additionally problematic by actually putting him in danger, when he gets “caught [in a gooseberry net] by the large buttons on his jacket” (35). Luckily, he escapes, but there is no doubt that his mother will be cross with him for losing his distinguished, and “quite new,” attire (35). It is ironic  that the very clothing that constrained Peter, and almost consigned him to the McGregors’ keeping for good, is later used for a scarecrow, acting to keep the other animals out of the garden—a warning for those creatures who otherwise exist freely unclothed in their natural environment . As with the earlier mentioned facts about the impact  of Potter’s and Sendak’s personal experiences on their stories, the ideas represented through clothing in both of these examples are also congruent with the respective authors’ backgrounds. Potter’s properly-clad Peter signifies an element of confinement that can be added to the previously discussed concept of “safe” seclusion—despite the fact that Peter’s clothes actually trouble him a great deal within the story. In opposition, Sendak’s Mickey of the nudist predilection stands for a freedom of imagination and the courage to boldly step outside of pre-governed societal boundaries , which seems to be just what Sendak has done with his notorious Night Kitchen illustrations.

        The Tale of Peter Rabbit and In The Night Kitchen are both brought full-circle as they conclude when the main character is put to bed. These final images, though similar in nature, evoke very different emotions in the two stories.  After falling back into his bed, Mickey is magically returned to his cozy, clothed, “cakefree” state and Sendak’s illustrations convey a comforting sense of contentedness over his successful achievement (18-r). Peter’s bedtime, however, is accompanied by a sick stomach and an unpleasant dose of camomile tea from his mother. Potter’s final rendering of her main character (66) shows him tucked away into bed at the far end of the rabbit-hole while his sisters sit by the fire with his mother. Here, Peter is both literally and figuratively secluded from his family and confined to his bed. It may seem unjust to display Potter’s ending in a negative light such as this, since Peter did disobey his mother and the consequences he pays are directly caused by his own actions. After all, Mickey’s adventure was quite evidently the product of his imagination or a dream of some sort, and therefore his story requires no conclusive moral and can enjoy its happy ending. Regardless of these truths, however, the audience of the literature must be taken into consideration. There is no question that young readers will be sensitive to the underlying emotions and ideals presented by each of these stories. They do not need to analyze elements of the books neither to understand that Peter is being punished for his adventure and empathize with him for feeling excluded by his family, nor to perceive Mickey as a hero  in his story who freely uses his own devices to save the day and make it safely back home. I would argue, though, that children are less likely to initially grasp the more pragmatic differences between the two journeys presented in these books, especially considering that Mickey’s more fantastical adventure requires a higher level of abstract thinking in order to be conceptualized as such. Developmentally then, children are more likely to assimilate the values woven into the narrative of a given book before displaying full comprehension of some of the more complex details of the story. It is for this reason that authors of children’s books are left with the large responsibility of feeding children with literature that is both worthy of and beneficial for consumption .

        In keeping with the food metaphor of children being consumers of picturebook literature, a similar analogy can be made to deduce the ways in which Potter and Sendak are feeding children,  by examining the actual depiction of food in each book. Peter Rabbit features “lettuces…French beans; and…some radishes” (23) as well as a supper of “bread and milk and blackberries” (68) for Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail. This overall nutritious platter of fresh fruit and vegetables parallels the common notion that The Tale of Peter Rabbit is a prime example of wholesome literature for young readers, and this bite-sized book itself is just the right fit for “little hands” (Linder and Potter 95). Conversely, Sendak’s In The Night Kitchen serves up several processed and prepackaged ingredients, such as salt, baking soda, jam, condensed food, yeast, shortening, sugar and, of course, morning cake. The delectable delineation of having “cake every morning”  (18-v) is possibly enough for some critics to align In The Night Kitchen with Marilyn Kaye’s model of  “twinkie books—”  the fast-food equivalent of literature which “can be read quickly and require minimal mental effort…there  is no need to read between the lines, or analyze, or even concentrate” (qtd. in  Wyile and Rosenberg 1).  Through my own close readings of both Peter Rabbit and In The Night Kitchen, I would find it extremely problematic to deem either of these delightful children’s stories as belonging to a class of “twinkie” literature, considering the layers of meaning and level of thought they each stimulate. As mentioned in my introductory comments, however, I do have slight reservations about maintaining Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit as a quintessential moral story for young readers. Although the core values portrayed in Potter’s story are indeed important ones—and one would be delusional to suggest that children should outright defy their parents’ wishes for the sake of adventure, as Peter does—it seems as though the avenue through which they are conveyed here is, perhaps, not the most effective. At the risk of exhausting my metaphor I will propose that, while Potter has respectable intentions, the narrative of Peter Rabbit seems to, in a way, force-feed these ideas to children who may, much like Peter himself, be left dissatisfied or even sickened upon digesting the contents of this story. On the contrary, Sendak’s approach offers more of an “everything in moderation” mantra. Mickey does not once indulge in the appetizing landscape which surrounds him and therefore is left free of the tummy-ache that Peter undoubtedly experiences; similarly, Sendak offers his readers a tempting smorgasbord of imaginative opportunity, but does not encourage them to binge on such ideals to the point of disconnecting from reality.  

        To conclude, I will further support my arguments by examining the final images that each of these two picturebooks leave with the reader. As discussed earlier, Potter’s penultimate illustration in Peter Rabbit pushes Peter, both figuratively and visually, to the margins of his own home, barely visible from his bed in the background. Indeed, the final page-turn of the book  evidently removes Peter from the story entirely. While the intention is likely to reinforce the moral of this story by shifting the focus to the well-behaved triplets, I contend that ending the story on this note conveys a much stronger message about Peter’s punishment—he is left lonely, alienated, and even forgotten. This builds upon the earlier established notions of seclusion and confinement, and ultimately perpetuates a damaging set of binary oppositions wherein a child has the choice to either conform or rebel, remain solitary or experience invasion, or—the most potent of all—is either good or bad.  The obvious dangers embedded in such social constructs lies in the nonexistence of any middle ground within which children may explore, grow, learn lessons, and construct their own morals. I believe that Maurice Sendak’s Mickey of the Night Kitchen boldly bridges the gap between such oppositions, making this middle ground his play-place. This is echoed in Mickey’s free flux between reality and fantasy, as well as dress and bareness. Just when the story seems to finish, Sendak’s final page-turn reveals one last glorious portrayal of the heroic Mickey, who is duly thanked for rediscovering imagination, defeating social confinement, opening the eyes and mind of the reader and, of course, saving the morning cake.  In this reevaluation of two highly noted examples of children’s literature, I applaud Sendak for his daring and delicious upset of the picturebook ideal. Further, it is my hope that adult critics of this literature are motivated to open up their palates to the world of flavors available, for the benefit of  the children who, otherwise, may only experience that which is put onto their literary plates.  There is no question that my own children will find Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit on their bookshelves someday, just a bunny-hop away from Maurice Sendak’s In The Night Kitchen.  

Works Cited