Dull Pickles
BY IAN GRONAU I November 10, 2009
Patty Wolcott, illus. Blair Drawson. Pickle Pickle Pickle Juice. Random House, Inc., New York, 1991.
ISBN: 0-679-81928-2 (trade)
In Ms. Wolcott's redundant little volume Pickle Pickle Pickle Juice the word "pickle" is said a grand total of twenty eight times over the span of eleven pages; a count of two and a half pickles per page. An observant eye can quickly undress this pickle advertisement masquerading about as an innocent children's book by the first glance. Keeping that in mind, one can be reasonably certain that a United Pickle Lobby exists somewhere in a corporate dungeon and that this collective decides the fate of pickle consumerism nationally, and perhaps abroad. Some of the bigger players aren't hard to identify: Vlasic and Claussen for example; and they all have a common interest to protect; pickle patronage. A subpoena of their corporate spending logs would, no doubt, showcase Wolcott and Drawson comfortably salaried under the deceptive heading: "consulting fees". The thin veil that is Pickle Pickle Pickle Juice's plot serves no other purpose than to be an opportunity to subconsciously batter your child with the word "pickle" twenty eight times per read. If, indeed, this is not a scandalous pickle endorsement as I speculate, then it is, instead, the most poorly thought out and insignificant addition to literature on the subject of pickles or pickle juice the world over.
Let the meaningless plot illustrate for itself what a colossal failure in decency it really is: a young man, aptly named Peter, begins to pick pickles and put them in a pile. He, wastefully, picks "millions" of pickles whilst the pile grows larger and larger until, quite inexplicably, it pops and leaves behind a pond of pickle juice. Oddly, this pickle explosion is a call for great celebration, rather than alarm, among the townspeople who promptly cast their sail boats afloat and set up a pickle juice stand. It ends abruptly with everyone drinking pickle juice and enjoying general merriment.
Yes, our children aren't very bright; they eat legos and defecate in their pants, but must we treat them like complete imbeciles? Why delay the development of common sense any further than already necessary? For instance: you cannot pick a pickle. You pick a cucumber and subsequently pickle it. Why is this detail left out? Has rudimentary agricultural knowledge become obsolete without my knowing? Also, much to my own surprise, apparently when several million gallons of pickle juice flood the countryside the natural response is- "time for a party!" environmental consciousness be damned. Most puzzling of all though is that there is no story to this story; Pickle Pickle Pickle Juice manages to be almost completely inane in every way. It details a series of illogical events that arbitrarily climax in an attempt to mean nothing. If we insist on regaling our cabbage headed spawn with tales of whimsical fancy we can at least do so with the intention to leave them enriched by the process; attempt to steer them away from all this loathsome frivolousness; excite some sagacity.
If this book were an animal it would be a leprous dog with hollow dark eyes that are one sharp look to the left away from popping out of their decaying sockets. Any parent who acts on behalf of decency and class won't let the children cuddle with this dog on the kitchen floor; they'll do the right thing and take the old leper out back, put a gun to its head, and blow its rotting brains out. As a prudent reviewer and human being, I suggest not reading this senseless malarkey to your children, no matter how inherently dumb they are; unless, of course, you want them to grow up to be miserable little idiots, then by all means; carry on.
Comments
