On Arthur, Alcott, and Anónimo.

 By Clara Heberling
        Throughout the McConnell Center’s programming last year, there seemed to be a particularly strong focus on education―particularly education in its didactic, formative sense. A
diverse range of works, from Jonathan Haidt’s Anxious Generation to C.S. Lewis’ Abolition of Man, painted a picture of a crisis in the quality of content that our society exposes to children. Then, on the other end of the spectrum, we read different versions of the Arthurian legends, which all demonstrated the ability of a story to imbue good values to its readers. 

        With such a focus on this theme, I went into last summer with the theme of education—specifically the formative education of children—on my mind. Since I was studying abroad, this equated to flying across the world with an oddly specific and arguably pretentious topic that I was dying to explore.
        Luckily, opportunities presented themselves in Spain to analyze both American and Spanish didactic stories that could perhaps serve a role analogous to the Arthurian legend’s enduring influence on English citizens. These opportunities arose because I was blessed to have a study abroad advisor that understood the power of books. In his office, there was a huge bookcase full of both English and Spanish texts. I quickly realized that a good way to curb homesickness was to engage with popular American texts―both classics like Of Mice and Men and more recent bestsellers like The Da Vinci Code. One such book was Little Women, which, despite its fame, I hadn’t previously read. Chapter after chapter, I couldn’t stop thinking that the book was a perfect example of the type of stories that are important in a child’s education. Each chapter, although cohesive, also stood alone as a lesson advocating a different value: inter alia, Meg learns humility, Jo learns temperance, Beth learns confidence, and Amy learns generosity. Mrs. March serves as a wise narrator throughout the stories, explicitly stating the importance of certain virtues and of faith in God and loyalty to country. Further, the beginning of the book is set during the Civil War, and the March family provides an example of a patriotic family, sacrificing their own pleasures for the good of the country, imbuing civic pride in the novel. There is even a chapter of the first novel in which Laurie is visited by a group of British siblings. The Americans and Brits engage in lighthearted games, and, despite some duplicitous strategies of the English, the March sisters emerge victorious. Both of these latter features augment the civic pride aspect of the novel, making the book a uniquely American story and an excellent choice to implement into a young student’s education. (1)
        Of course, given my efforts to learn the language (along with the guilt-inducing look my advisor gave me), I was inspired to pick up a couple of Spanish texts as well. One such text was a well-worn book titled Lazarillo de Tormes. Although I hadn’t heard of the character before, he quickly began to show up everywhere. He was quoted on the walls of museums, there were statues of him throughout the city, and gift shop shelves held depictions of the young protagonist. Further, he was mentioned in both my Spanish history and Spanish literature class in different contexts. The book was published anonymously in 1554, and it follows a young boy, Lazarillo, as he works as a personal servant for men in various professions. Although all his masters have money, none treat him particularly well, and he eventually abandons all of them. The unflattering depictions of the upper class, particularly religious men, makes the book a compelling critique of social hierarchy and economic stratification. Lazarillo de Tormes is generally recognized as the first novela picaresca (2), a Spanish genre that follows a young, lower-class protagonist, as they interact with a world that doesn’t treat them with respect.
        At first, a story following a boy making mischief does not seem like the perfect example of a didactic novel. And, as a disclaimer, I do not claim to be well-read in Spanish literature, and I’m sure there are numerous better examples of classic stories that communicate lessons to children. However, I found Lazarillo particularly interesting to analyze under this framework because of the historical context of Spain in the middle of the twentieth century. Although many virtues are universal, there are also particular situations in which certain values will be especially pertinent. During the autocratic dictatorship of Franco, in which uniformity was paramount and elite interests determined political action, a story that espoused ideals of free-thinking and questioning corrupt authority figures would be perfect for advancing society. The educational formation of children is inherently subtle, so there is no explicit connection that has been drawn between Larazillo and the return of democracy to Spain. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if the classic story, among many other factors, helped form a generation that wasn’t satisfied with bowing to the will of elite interests. As I continue to interact with Spanish history and literature, this is certainly a question I would like to explore, especially under the analytical framework of elementary pedagogy that the McConnell Center has helped me develop over the past year.

(1) Shockingly, I don’t think I am the first person to come up with this idea, as evidenced by how many adaptations the novel has inspired, spreading the messages of the book in different ways. The Broadway and cinema adaptations have both had a decidedly feminist angle. As a kid, despite not having read Little Women itself, I read two books that were inspired by it: a volume in a series that focused on a mother-daughter book reading Little Women, which emphasized the valuable relationship between mothers and daughters, and an imagined continuation of the novel that saw Jo as a lesbian nurse in World War II. Clearly, people are inspired to reinterpret the story to adapt it to the modern day, which I believe is a marker of an enduring didactic tale.  

(2) The English translation is “picaresque novel.” It comes from the Spanish word picaro, which translates to rascal. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn would be an American example of such a novel.  

Clara is a McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville in the Class of 2028. She is studying Spanish and political science.