There has been some discussion in the book world lately about the prevalence of absent and/or dead parents in children’s literature. In an interesting article in Publishers Weekly called “The Ol’ Dead Dad Syndrome,” editor and author Leila Sales argues that dead parents in children’s literature are not only troublingly common, they can sometimes be symptomatic of lazy writing–after all, it’s easier to write a book if you don’t have to figure out the main character’s relationship with their parents.
Dead and absent parents in children’s books
Now, you may be less than shocked to learn I have written a children’s novel with an absent parent (or at least a parent who is either flying around the universe or currently living in Milwaukee who could say really??). Wherever he is, Jacob Wonderbar’s dad is not living at home with Jacob.
Although I am biased on this subject, I definitely agree with Sales that there is a certain appeal to just getting the parents out of the picture so the kids can go have their adventures. Roald Dahl perhaps knew this better than anyone when he had James’ parents run over by a rhinoceros at the beginning of James and the Giant Peach, and Sophie is already living in an orphanage in the beginning of The BFG.
And yet despite my good luck in the parental department (I had the incredible fortune of growing up with two relatively normal parents who managed to raise me to adulthood without getting run over by rhinoceroses), virtually all of my favorite books as a child involved kids having to fend for themselves with dead or otherwise absent parents:
James and the Giant Peach
The BFG
Tom Sawyer
Island of the Blue Dolphins
By the Great Horn Spoon!
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
and many many more
The tradition has been carried on in modern children’s classics such as A Series of Unfortunate Events (orphans), Harry Potter (orphan), and The Hunger Games (fatherless), not to mention in movies as diverse as Star Wars (thinks he’s an orphan, father actually a deadbeat/Sith) and The Lion King (father killed by wildebeests).
And it’s not exactly a new tradition. Early and medieval stories across cultures, from Cinderella (orphan) to Aladdin (fatherless), feature characters who lack one or more parental units.
Why are stories with absent parents so timeless?
So what is up with all those dead parents?
I’m not a psychologist or an anthropologist or even a cultural historian (though I play one on a blog), but I am a former twelve-year-old, and I can remember how thrilling it was to read books where the kids were off on their own, fighting and outsmarting adults, dealing with harsh landscapes, facing their deepest fears, making unforgettable friendships, and, while I didn’t know it at the time, learning how to be adults.
Around the age the books in this list are so appealing, we’re starting to imagine life without our parents, we’re starting to develop our own opinions and thoughts, and we’re starting to realize that our parents are not always right about everything (eventually we’ll learn that they were right about more than we realized at the time).
Dead parents, I would argue, are an externalization of this nascent independence. We’re starting to imagine life on our own and love to read about kids who have been suddenly thrust into that position. A tradition this common cannot be accidental.
Modern twists on an old form
Now, that’s not to say that we don’t need more authentic (and living) parents in young adult literature. Sales rightly points to the incredible Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You by Peter Cameron as an example of a richly rendered life with two different, compelling, divorced, and refreshingly alive parents, and my client Jennifer Hubbard presents a richly rendered two-parent household in The Secret Year.
But even still, it’s inevitably going to be a rare book that features a happy, stable child with happy, stable parents. We’re always going to be drawn to stories about children having adventures on their own, or as in the case of Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You and The Secret Year, living in broken or flawed families during troubling times.
There’s a reason why when you reach “happily ever after” it means the story is over.
Need help with your book? I’m available for manuscript edits, query critiques, and consultations! And if you like this post, check out my guide to writing a novel.
Originally published at The Huffington Post
To be honest, I'd like to see the author of a YA book challenge herself or himself by writing decent parents for the hero or heroine. Not dead parents. Dead parents is the classic Disney-esque plot device. Even C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe has absent parents.
Yeah, it's magical for a teen to imagine being off on one's own, but as a parent, I take umbrage…umbrage I say!
On the other hand, it is a way to set up inner conflict and pain for your protagonist so…what the hay!
Dear Mr. Bransford:
This is a tough one. I agree children need their own adventures without
their parents, but I believe books can be written where the parents are
there, but minimal and still have a well-written book that will keep the
children's interest.
My children's book "An Adventure with Joshua and Hoppy Frog" available
through Amazaon.com, teaches children self-worth. As you know frogs are
not the cutest little creatures, but Joshua and Hoppy Frog learn that
beauty is all in the eyes of the beholder. Grammy (Joshua's grandmother)
teaches this graciously and beautifully in the story to Joshua and Hoppy
Frog. Grammy kisses the frog on his nose, he blushes. Joshua and Hoppy
Frog become best friends.
At one of my booksignings, a teacher from Canada purchased my book and
later called to tell me how my children's book affected an autistic
student. She gave me the greatest compliment, she said for the first time
this student sat through a book calmly and was intrigued. Interesting,
she expressed that this student liked Grammy.
I am currently finishing the final touches to my second children's book,
"An Adventure with Josuah and Rocky the Otter" this book teaches courage.
And Joshua's parents are in this book.
I look forward to reading your book.
Sincerely,
I think that the abundance of dead parents is very similar to what we are seeing now with the abundance of dystopian novels for teens.
If your world has no over-riding parental force, you have the ability to make decisions for yourself and make changes to your life.
Similarly, when the bureaucracy & laid-out life plans that kids today see themselves buried under are completely destroyed, teens become able to change their society as a whole.
Post-apocalypse is to society what a dead parent is to a family.
(And my two favorite examples of authors who deal amazingly well with parental relationships are Dana Reinhardt in all her books and E Lockhart in her Ruby Oliver series.)
I think the people who point out that a dead parent (or parents) gives a child protagonist an immediate sympathy are missing what's obvious in their words — it's an UNEARNED sympathy. Characters should earn our sympathy through their deeds or the development of their character, not through contrived circumstance. In that, Leila Sales is absolutely right — it's a cop-out.
The children's and YA books I loved best had children who persevered in spite of the presence of their clueless-at-best, antagonistic-at-worst parents — it gave the conflicts not only an element of realism but of rich complexity. I understand that crafting these complex conflicts it's not easy, but writing quality fiction isn't, either. It's not right to reward shortcuts around that.
The problem of unearned sympathy is actually far worse in adult suspense/thriller novels. Think of all the "supermarket suspense" novelists out there — Tami Hoag, Sandra Brown, Alison Brennan, Karin Slaughter, Lisa Gardner, Lisa Jackson, Rick Mofina, Kevin O'Brien, etc. Every single one imbues the protagonist with a built-in tragedy. Either the hero or heroine saw her parents/siblings/children/best friend killed, or was the lone survivor of a torture-rape serial killer, or is dealing with cancer, or some such contrivance. In every case, the sympathy is unearned, just assumed. And worse, that assumed sympathy gives the protagonist an unfettered license to behave irritably, petulantly and anti-socially because their victimization, I guess, gives them the right to run roughshod over everyone. By virtue of their tragedy, they've earned the moral high ground wherever they are.
I find this unbelievably cheap. Because what have such characters really earned from us as readers? Nothing, as far as I can see. Same with kids. Kids aren't likable because they're tragic. They're likable for what they do and likable because what they do makes them what they are — brave, strong, forthright, perseverant etc.
I agree with Sales' overall point, and I appreciate Nathan clarifying that: That you don't have to get rid of the parents. But how the parents were gotten rid of has to fit naturally into the story and fuel the growth of character within the character as its own living subtext. Just saying: "This kids parent's were tragically killed, therefore you must love him or her and excuse everything he or she does" just doesn't cut it. THAT is lazy writing.
I think the people who point out that a dead parent (or parents) gives a child protagonist an immediate sympathy are missing what's obvious in their words — it's an UNEARNED sympathy. Characters should earn our sympathy through their deeds or the development of their character, not through contrived circumstance. In that, Leila Sales is absolutely right — it's a cop-out.
The children's and YA books I loved best had children who persevered in spite of the presence of their clueless-at-best, antagonistic-at-worst parents — it gave the conflicts not only an element of realism but of rich complexity. I understand that crafting these complex conflicts it's not easy, but writing quality fiction isn't, either. It's not right to reward shortcuts around that.
The problem of unearned sympathy is actually far worse in adult suspense/thriller novels. Think of all the "supermarket suspense" novelists out there — Tami Hoag, Sandra Brown, Alison Brennan, Karin Slaughter, Lisa Gardner, Lisa Jackson, Rick Mofina, Kevin O'Brien, etc. Every single one imbues the protagonist with a built-in tragedy. Either the hero or heroine saw her parents/siblings/children/best friend killed, or was the lone survivor of a torture-rape serial killer, or is dealing with cancer, or some such contrivance. In every case, the sympathy is unearned, just assumed. And worse, that assumed sympathy gives the protagonist an unfettered license to behave irritably, petulantly and anti-socially because their victimization, I guess, gives them the right to run roughshod over everyone. By virtue of their tragedy, they've earned the moral high ground wherever they are.
I find this unbelievably cheap. Because what have such characters really earned from us as readers? Nothing, as far as I can see. Same with kids. Kids aren't likable because they're tragic. They're likable for what they do and likable because what they do makes them what they are — brave, strong, forthright, perseverant etc.
I agree with Sales' overall point, and I appreciate Nathan clarifying that: That you don't have to get rid of the parents. But how the parents were gotten rid of has to fit naturally into the story and fuel the growth of character within the character as its own living subtext. Just saying: "This kids parent's were tragically killed, therefore you must love him and excuse everything he or she does" just doesn't cut it. THAT is lazy writing.
And don't forget the lovely "max and ruby" series, (books and tv show). Watching two young bunnies that can't be more than 9 and 3 live alone and do mundane things like, take the bus across town by themselves, or, cook on the gas stove, is always fun. hehe
I admittedly got a little eye-twitchy over some of the implications lately that having dead/absent parents is "lazy writing" because the author doesn't have to develop a parent/child relationship. I feel like it implies that the only reason writers choose to give parents the axe is because we just don't wanna write in another character.
To which I say bullocks. That attitude completely ignores 1.) the nuances of the psychological break of kids moving away from their parents and doing things on their own, and 2.) the fact that every kid DOESN'T grow up in a traditional two-parent household. I didn't. So, what, I'm supposed to always include a healthy nuclear family or else I'm being lazy? Please.
I absolutely agree that it's important and valuable to have fiction that shows all the nuances of parent-child relationships, including the good and healthy ones. But there are real, valid reasons for an author to choose absent parents as part of their narrative.
Here's a little trick you can play if you've omitted the parents:
If you pick your spot (usually nearer to the end of the story) then you can bring the parents in, temporarily, and for some reason, I have no idea why, it will often be a magical moment.
Remember that scene in Catcher In The Rye when Holden was in Phoebe's bedroom, and suddenly she jumped up in bed from having heard the parents coming in. Temporarily, the parents were in the story – it was a fleeting moment (and note how it happened near the end of the story), but that scene was charged with electricity. What made that scene particularly engaging, I think, was that Salinger kept the parents on the periphery – we never actually saw them.
It can be a very powerful trick to play – you avoid having to deal with the whole parent/child relationship nonsense, while simultaneously putting the kid back in his place: doing this serves to remind the reader that the 'adventure' is only temporary, and that normalcy will have to return.
Even something as simple as a phone call home can temporarily shatter the bubble in which you've placed your kid.
But inevitably, I think it's really just about getting away from the parents – why? – because they can drive you crazy.
Plus, kids don't want to read about parents! Parents are boring characters in a YA book. Kids want to read about interesting KIDS, doing cool, save-the-day kinds of things.
Even Charles Schultz made all adults (teachers/parents) monotone and/or invisible!
If Mr. Wonderbar Snr had been living at home with young Jacob, the kid might have got a healthy sensible upbringing, never been tempted to trade a nutritious food item for a dodgy spaceship he had no qualifications to drive, and there would be no Cosmic Space Kapow.
The book would then be titled JACOB WONDERBAR AND YET ANOTHER PRODUCTIVE DAY AT SCHOOL WITH NO FUNNY BUSINESS. JWAYAPDASWNFB for short. Very catchy…
You parents were only RELATIVELY normal, Nathan? Relative to whom? Why am I getting visions of a rhino rampaging through rice paddies?
BTW, I'm a former twelve-year-old too. What a coincidence!
Maine Character, in TREASURE ISLAND Jim Hawkins does not really have to rely on himself and no one else. He joins a crew of treasure hunters and must at times rely on them, ill-assorted though they are. At other times they must rely on him. Some of them, at least, become a sort of second family to him. Jim is also the only teenage character in the novel.
The teenage protagonist of my YA series has two parents, both alive and well, and well balanced. They even embark (literally) on an expedition with him, along with a kid brother. Then things get complicated…
I think having one, or both, parents absent makes the reader feel sympathy for the child. How can you not fall in love with an orphan? It just makes it easier to feel for the character.
Also giving the divorce rate these days a majority of people can relate to growing up without one or both parents.
I'm late to this post because I don't check you daily, Nathan. But I did once write a long essay (over twenty pages) on fairy tales using the Jung collective unconscious theories.
Most of the time the lack of a (good) parent is about the child's desire to be in charge and therefore, rejection of the need of a parent. But, they also are not completely ready to be on their own, especially in the beginning. So they have an idolized parental figure: the fairy godmother in Cinderella, Obi-wan in Star Wars, the fairies in Sleeping Beauty, etc. These idolized parental figures often give the MC something needed in order to ultimately face the shadow (bad guy) and ability to make the final decision/act that makes the MC triumphant.
Ironically, at this point, the wiser and more independent MC sometimes returns to the parent they rejected before. I'm thinking of the movie Pleasantville here (one of my personal favorites).
I've critted some MG stories where the parents are around, and it's just hard for the young hero to come across as a protagonist when parents are around to keep him/her in line. Most moms and dads don't want their twelve year olds driving the action in some great escapade. 😛
Nathan, you've said most of what I would have argued in the first place. To add to these arguments, the reality is that there are many, many children living in households without a parent. So not only is it about coming to the cusp of adulthood, it *is* also about living without a two-parent household. And, really, if we think about it, throughout history, how many mothers died in childbirth, fathers went to war, etc., etc. When I think about it, isn't the two parent household an atypical phenomena?
As a single mom of three very young girls,I would never let my children run off to these kinds of adventures on their own. Writing around a parent who is actively involved in the lives of their children is difficult if the children are meant to stretch their wings.
It's the children's version of a call to action. The loss of the mentor or guide. Killing Buddha, if you will. It's very archetypal, just disconcerting when considering the larger ramifications of those literary choices. Still, at any age, a hero or heroine cannot fully embrace their adventure under the wings of a loving and ever-present parent.
The Magic Tree House series by Mary Pope Osborne does a good job of mitigating this, by giving the children solid parental influences while allowing them the reasonable pleasure of playing in their backyard woods. The "magic" of their adventures resolves any time issues very Narnia like experience, so they are never really gone for a period of time that would be deemed suspicious by said parents. And usually they have hot chocolate waiting for them when they return home. It's a good compromise and my children enjoy these books a great deal.
It seems a little perverse to me, too, but I also write about orphans, and I adore reading books about orphans. Kids in jeopardy, or depending upon themselves, automatically give the reader something to root for.
And after all, we're only killing fictional people who never existed in the first place. In the scheme of things, including the scheme of children's literature, it's probably not the worst thing. 🙂
~Alice M. Roelke~ The Space Station Murders, May 2011
My writing blog: https://thewritinglifeforme.blogspot.com/
My publisher: https://museituppublishing.com/musepub/
Writing credits: https://sites.google.com/site/aliceroelke/
While my MC was adopted, during the entire book, both her adopted and her natural parents are very much alive, but they have the good sense to not get in the way too often. A teenage satyr still has to make her own way in the human world.
Both of my parents died when I was 7 years old so, as a kid, reading about orphans who accomplished great things or took part in amazing adventures offered me a lot of hope. Now, as a writer, I almost always create protagonists who are parent-less, whether they're children or adult characters. It's not out of laziness but because I "write what I know." Creating a character who has been shaped by the complexities of losing their parents comes naturally to me because that's who I am.
Besides, I'm totally convinced that you have to be an orphan to do great things in life. Just ask Spiderman or Batman or Anne Shirley…