Stuart Little

In a letter to his editor, White said about the book:

You will be shocked and grieved to discover that the principal character of the story has somewhat the attributes on appearance of a mouse. This does not mean that I am either challenging or denying Mr. Disney’s genius. At the risk of seeming a very whimsical fellow indeed, I will have to break down and confess to you that Stuart Little appeared to me in dream - all complete with his hat, his cane, and his brisk manner. Since he was the only fictional figure ever to honor and disturb my sleep, I was deeply touched and felt I was not free to change him into a grasshopper or a wallaby. Luckily, he bears no resemblance either physically or temperamentally to me. I guess that’s a break for all of us (“The Simply Elegant Letters of E. B. White.” NPR Radio).

The reference to “Mr. Disney” is, of course, a nod to Mickey Mouse, who was created in 1928—almost 20 years before Stuart Little. Fortunately for White and his editor, each mouse has carved out a unique legacy within children’s entertainment. Stuart Little has more than proven its value through its enduring appeal to generations of readers.

However, that doesn’t mean the book has never had detractors. Anne Carroll Moore was a librarian and children’s author who was enormously influential in what books for children were adopted by libraries across the country. She also had a pronounced preference for the saccharin. Despite having been a longtime friend of White and his wife Katherine, Moore openly despised Stuart Little and opposed its inclusion in library collections.

Moore sent White a 14-page letter criticizing the story, describing it as the product of “a sick mind” (Lepore, Jill. “The Lion and the Mouse.” The New Yorker). She particularly objected to the blend of fantasy and realism, feeling that it would be confusing to children, who would be unable to distinguish between the two modes. Moore’s objection is ironic, given that Moore wrote a children’s story called Nicholas: A Manhattan Christmas Story, featuring an eight-inch-tall boy who goes about the city of New York meeting a variety of historical, fictional, and magical people. While Nicholas has been all but forgotten, Stuart Little remains a popular and much-beloved children’s classic. Nevertheless, the blend of fantasy and reality has been one of the major criticisms that has followed the story since its publication.

Another criticism pertains to the episodic nature of the book’s chapters. Though there is a loose plot (after the disappearance of his friend Margalo, Stuart sets out in search of her), the book is more like a collection of 10 to 15 short stories. The structure prevents the book from building to a classical climax and dénouement. However, in a Bildungsroman—or growing-up story, which Stuart Little is—the heart of the story is not in the events or actions of the narrative. It lies in how the character gradually develops toward adulthood. Each episode adds a piece to the puzzle of the growing adult.

White said that while the story appears to be for children, he isn’t particular about who reads it. Stuart’s character development is in some ways a very adult story, especially in the last five chapters. One of White’s contemporaries, the writer and literary critic Edmund Wilson, told White that he ought to have “[developed] the theme more in the manner of Franz Kafka (“The Lion and the Mouse”). Kafka is best known for his masterpiece “The Metamorphosis,” about a man who wakes up one morning to find he has been transformed into a giant cockroach—most definitely not a children’s story. White was in equal parts bemused and appalled by the criticism.

For some readers, Stuart himself is off-putting. His manner is often so self-confident as to be downright boastful. He can be curt, as in his interaction with the bus driver; vain, as when he is showing off to impress Snowbell; pompous, as when he is a substitute teacher; and outright rude, selfish, and childish, as during his disastrous date with Harriet.

A story’s protagonist does not have to be likable, and this is especially true in a Bildungsroman story, in which the intent is merely to deeply understand the character. To really appreciate Stuart requires the reader to have a sense of humor and a willingness to embrace an imperfect person with both likable and unlikable qualities. In that light, it is remarkable that so many millions of children—who are often thought to lack a comprehension of complexity and nuance—have loved such a flawed protagonist.

The final criticism, shared even by many of the book’s fans, is the indeterminate ending. Western storytelling typically favors stories with a distinct beginning, a middle that rises to a dramatic climax, and an ending in which the protagonist clearly triumphs (or fails). In many children’s fantasy stories, especially historical folk tales, the hero wins the battle, gets the prize, and goes home to great acclaim. Stuart, on the other hand, drives off into the sunrise in search of the ineffable. Readers never learn what becomes of Stuart after he drives away.

If one views the book as a Bildungsroman, this is an appropriate closing. Adulthood isn’t an ending. Nevertheless, some readers feel that the open ending is uncomfortable. Fans tend to project the formal ending that feels most satisfactory to them; Stuart either finds Margalo, or he returns home to New York and settles down, or he keeps driving northward into the wide beautiful world forever.