Frog and Toad and Dog and Bear and Bink and Gollie

I have started to notice a solid genre in children's picture books. I'll call it "the quirky loyal friendship" book, and it usually consists of three or more stories in a single volume, all of which involve two unrelated friends that have no parental figures, siblings, or other friends. One friend is usually taller, more responsible, and completely amused by and adoring of his other, shorter, more whimsical, spontaneous friend. Arthur Lobel's Frog and Toad series is probably the origin of this genre, and its apex. The appeal of Frog and Toad is in their absolute loyalty to one another despite their rather different personalities, and Toad's ridiculousness is never ridiculed but rather cherished by Frog, which then clues in the reader to feel the same affection for Toad. The Frog and Toad series is really an ingenious creation in so many ways, particularly for its insulated world in which Frog and Toad seem to be the only conscious beings. There is danger in their world (like snakes or dreams), but there is safety in their friendship. Besides, Toad is really funny--and the image of him yelling at his new seeds to grow, which never does not make my kids laugh quickly turns into beauty when he stays out all night with them so that they won't be afraid of the dark. It is this affection that compels us, and the books are, justly, masterpieces.

There were probably many imitations of Frog and Toad in the 60s and 70s of which I know nothing about, but I have noticed this formula working to wonderful effect in two recent books, Dog and Bear and the 2010 Geisel Award winner, Bink and Gollie. I am not going to discuss Dog and Bear, by Laura Vaccaro Seeger, too much other than to say it is for a younger child than Frog and Toad is but it is equally clever: Bear, a stuffed bear, is the Frog character: bookish, thoughtful, responsible, but also a little timid and introverted. Dog is more like Toad: impulsive, demanding, silly, adventurous, and sensitive. The two live in some sort of home without owners or other children. Their universe is so small that the reader can't possibly imagine anything happening outside of the facts of their friendship. Bink and Gollie, by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee, is the latest iteration of this effective genre, and it is fantastic. I came across it when I was looking for the "Mercy Watson" books by Kate DiCamillo at the library and I quickly read it to determine whether it would make a good gift for one of the kids. I was so taken with it that I just checked it out and read it with the family at home. I eventually returned it, keeping it in my memory bank for later purchase.

But my mom got it for us for Valentine's Day, so that is nice. I do not wish to make more of the book than I need to, but, much like Dog and Bear and Frog and Toad before it, it contains three stories that center around a tall, bookish, particular girl named Gollie and her friendship with a short, wild, impulsive, affectionate girl named Bink. Their adventures usually contain a small disagreement and an imaginative reconciliation. Bink is very funny, and Gollie's reactions are protective and admiring, as all good friends should be. Their universe is insular, again, where no parents or other friends can be seen. The materials of their mythology are skates, pancakes, peanut butter, and socks, a little like the materials of Dog and Bear's mythology are books, a monkey doll, a blanket, a bone, and strawberry-flavored desserts. Bink appears to be about 9, and presumably lives alone, as does Gollie, who might be 10.

The book is charming to a fault, and Kate DeCamillo is keeping up her streak of really good children's books. But I'll finish by thinking about the genre itself. Why does the whimsy of imaginative loyal friends so appeal to us? I'll try to answer this question by answering three more questions: Why are these books illustrating an insular world? Why must there be three (or more) different, if interrelated, stories? Why must the friends be so different? To answer the first subdivision question: Perhaps in the idea of childhood friendship there is a feeling of protection, where parents don't matter, the outside world does not exist, and the only thing with any power is the loyalty of one friend to another. Certainly when a friendship is working, it exists only within itself, and if it is concerned with all the outside stuff it is not really a friendship but an acquaintance of convenience. The form of each book, vignettes, makes sense with the friendship theme as well, primarily because friendships happen in episodes rather than linear plot narratives. A friendship noticed over time veers into the epic story of love, which might not work for whimsy. These friends are not brothers, and their friendship is totally dependent on moments rather than time--their loyalty has much more to do with the compatibility of the moment rather than the endurance over years. With each story, a moment of friendship is illuminated, and those moments matter more than the whole. The final question, why the friends need to be so different, only has to do with affect, I think; two friends thinking alike just becomes smug after a while, while two opposites who are fiercely loyal moves us, I would say. Don't know why--just happens that way. That is why I am always moved by my own friendship with my spouse, I guess. Maybe that is the reason this genre is so appealing to me: my own marriage has a similar amount of whimsical insularity--I like it that way.