Tales of a Twenty Sixth Grade Nothing

Another YA novel down, another… six (?) to go! This time… Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and finally I am reintroduced to that oh so cutestrating character from my childhood, Fudge aka Farley Hartcher.

Back in the employ of ‘the man’, my collection of Judy Blume’s have become less like a box of smarties and more like a stale packet of Super Lemons – I still like them, but I’m not compelled to consume them one after the other before another single solitary minute passes. It’s taken me several weeks to get through ‘TOAFGT’ but finally last night the denouement was reached and the book is no longer spreadeagled on the bedside table with current page marked.

I can’t think of a good reason to outline the basic plot of the book, as that is the role of Wikipedia, but here’s what I think of it:

I am challenged by one basic thing with this book: Peter, who is a lovely, well-adjusted nine year old with impeccable manners and a strongly developed sense of right and wrong, was raised by the very same parents as Fudge, an uncontrollable, self obsessed two year old. The same woman who taught Peter to be respectful to adults and nurturing and patient with his brother is now teaching Fudge to be selfish and unpleasant by rewarding his bad behaviour and making him the centre of his own universe. Let’s pretend for a moment that these are real people – would the large age gap between the kids, which is possibly indicative of several years of infertility and/or miscarriage, have changed this woman’s parenting style so considerably? Was Fudge the miracle baby that the adult Hartcher’s tried so hard to have and as such they’re parenting powers are weakened by his very existence? Or perhaps Pee-tah grew into the nice boy he is DESPITE his parents rather than because of them. Or perhaps Peter isn’t really that nice at all and it’s just that I have been suckered in to seeing the world through his eyes by the powerful prose of J Blume.

Some more questions in brief: Would a child really be hospitalised for swallowing an incy wincy turtle/ flowers/ teeth despite demonstrating no sign of distress or symptoms of sickness (a question for an Emergency Department Doctor, if only I knew one)? Would a man/father/husband really have to ask his nine year old son where the peanut butter was kept and if so would he experience no shame about this fact? Is a pet dog a wise replacement for a pet incy wincy turtle, especially in an apartment building? When visiting New York, do important people really opt to stay with the family of their advertising executive rather than in a hotel? Do assistant’s of advertising executives really get to sit in on the filming of commercials that are filmed the same day as they are cast in a ready-made AVAILABLE studio? Would a parent ever say ‘eat it or wear it’ to a naughty two year old and not expect some sort of ramifications down the track?

That is all.