I’m about to very effusively sing the praises of a children’s book series--and by children’s book, I don’t mean novels for kids. I mean picture books. Yes--I am (technically) an adult, and I’ve read many books, but the “Frances the Badger” series by Lillian and Russell Hoban still sticks out in my mind for its sheer perfection and amazing heroine.
Preternaturally self-possessed and incredibly precocious, Frances is one of the best characters in children’s literature. Some may say that bears of the Pooh variety or rabbits by the name of Peter are far more beloved, but they would be plain wrong. Frances is just all around great at life. Here's why:
1. She’s whimsical.
It’s not enough that Frances is an adorable woodland creature who wears little dresses and jumps rope; things only get more twee. She has an invisible friend named Alice. She gallops around on a broom she named Champ. She drew a picture of three-legged cats and caterpillars to decorate her little sister Gloria’s birthday party. She’s a creative speller. When she ran away from home, it was to under the dining room table, and she packed prunes for sustenance. She has a coffee can of gravel that she rattles, just to keep everyday life a bit more interesting. Frances, you beautiful maverick.
2. She knows how to eat.
Though she went through a picky eater phase--after all, who didn’t--Frances recovers with the best school lunch of all time. I’m not exaggerating. She brings cream of tomato soup and a tiny basket of cherries. In elementary school, the fanciest my lunch ever got was ants on a log with chocolate chips instead of raisins. Frances knows how to create a fine dining experience; she just so happens to have a vase of violets and a doily for her desk; a treat for all the senses, not just the taste buds. Meanwhile, her classmate Albert eats a hard-boiled egg and a pickle for lunch. Think of your peers Albert; think of what your lunch is doing to them.
3. She makes up adorable songs.
I’m not even kidding; these aren’t songs that are cute because they were made for children. They’re legitimately incredible, spanning a wide variety of topics, from the alphabet and the behavior of poached eggs to the sartorial habits of breaded veal cutlets. They’re too numerous to list; suffice it to say that one entire book in the collection is dedicated to them alone. I’m not going to be so brazen as to say that her songs put some poetry to shame but… they do.
4. She doesn’t have time for sexism.
Remember pickle and egg eater Albert? He refused to take Frances on his day of wandering--who does he think he is, McCandless?--Because he would have to ruin his day by explaining things to her. To be honest, it seemed like his wandering mainly consisted of eating the contents of his kitchen, except outdoors. Among other things, he had two packages of cupcakes and five sandwiches. Slow down there pal. Between all the foods, he was also going to catch snakes and frogs: something girls can’t do. To top off this injustice, he and his friend Harold hold a no girls allowed baseball game.
Frances knows exactly what to do; arrange an even better outing, the only proviso of which is that no boys are allowed. And since she’s also a very perceptive badger, she makes sure to pack an insanely amazing picnic basket--again, see number two--as proof that she knows how to hold a real outing, and also as a two fingers up gesture to Albert, that fan of elaborate and large lunches. When he asks her what good an outing is without boys, she gives the sort of perfectly worded retort you always wished you had at the ready; “It’s just as good as a ballgame without girls, and maybe a whole lot better.” Keep preaching sister. However, Frances is also merciful; after getting Albert’s assurances that the ridiculousness of no girls allowed sporting events is well and truly in the past, she graciously allows him to join them on what he calls the “eating,” in a slight Freudian slip.
5. She knows how to handle bullies.
Beware; the incident I’m about to relate is incredibly harrowing and involves a manipulative snake in the grass named Thelma. Frances has been saving her pennies for a real china tea set with blue flowers on it. Thelma--knowing full well that the set is on sale in the candy store that very day!--tells Frances they don’t make them anymore, and that she’ll benevolently sell Frances her own set, an ugly and boring plastic one, that way Frances will at have a tea set. Frances, sweet natured and innocent, agrees, at which point you start shouting, “Don’t trust her Frances! She threw a boomerang at you! She’s a bad egg!” But to no avail. They’ve even proclaimed the sacred “no backsies,” the childhood version of a blood oath.
When Frances discovers she has been double crossed by Thelma, who promptly went out and bought the dream tea set, she uses her wits to outsmart that backstabbing traitor. Frances puts a penny in the sugar bowl of the plastic tea set and then calls Thelma up, asking if she can keep what’s in the sugar bowl. Thelma immediately claims she left some money, or perhaps a ring in the sugar bowl, when we all know that what she really forgot in there were her morals.
Frances tells her she’ll trade for the china tea set--which Thelma claims was the last one and very hard to find. When Thelma discovers the penny, she accuses Frances of tricking her, saying that she’ll have to be careful around her from now on. Again, Frances espouses wisdom beyond her years and has the perfect retort at the ready; “Do you want to be careful, or do you want to be friends?” You just got told Thelma. Rethink your interpersonal relationships.
Frances already has more poise and wits than I ever will. All I can do is hope that one day, I’ll be half the badger she is.
