I am a lover of champagne and popular culture and am fascinated with how humor can be used to confront taboo topics and subvert familiar orthodoxies. As a cultural critic, I study how visual artists challenge notions of childhood innocence by adding images of drinking and drunkenness to their adaptations of children’s texts and childish objects. Through these re-imaginings, we see how children’s culture is drinking culture. The most important lessons about alcohol and childhood in the drinking curriculum walk a fine line between humor and dread. My other books include Graphic Girlhoods: Visualizing Education and Violence and Witnessing Girlhood: Toward an Intersectional Tradition of Life Writing (with Leigh Gilmore).
I wrote
The Drinking Curriculum: A Cultural History of Childhood and Alcohol
In this irreverent abecedarian, Gorey’s signature black and white etchings depict how unsuspecting children meet an absurd and macabre end. Each letter of the alphabet details a terrible fate. Each time I read it, I laugh out loud.
My personal favorite remains “Z is for Zillah who drank too much Gin.” An innocent Zillah sits looking out at the viewer, glass in hand and an almost empty bottle of gin on the table while across from her sits a skeleton-headed baby doll in a white gown. This is an example of how Gorey satirizes nineteenth-century cautionary temperance texts in which small children die after taking just one sip of alcohol.
I appreciate both how Gorey employs visual humor to skewer sentimentality and how he uses the picture book format as well as childish objects in his art to rupture fictions of childhood innocence. Gorey knew that sometimes terrible things just happen, and that often adults’ cautionary tales are a cover for more intimate and everyday kinds of harm.
A new, small-format edition of one of Edward Gorey’s “dark masterpieces of surreal morality” (Vanity Fair): a witty, disquieting journey through the alphabet.
The appalling schoolgirls that attend Ronald Searle’s fictional girls’ boarding school drink copious amounts of alcohol, smoke, and regularly set the school on fire. In Searle’s cartoons horror and humor are tightly wound. But don’t let the girls’ boarding school gym slips, high black socks, boater hats, and hair bows fool you. These young ladies grin at violence and delight in rule breaking.
Searle drew the second and third St. Trinian’s cartoon while he was a Japanese prisoner of war during World War II. Remarkably, Searle kept a visual record of his time in captivity, including self-portraits, four hundred secret sketches of prisoners and the brutalities of the guards as well as seventy-two cartoons, including the second and third St. Trinian’s drawings which were published in 1945 after his return from the war.
Ronald Searle takes us back to the world of the Gothic Public School in The Terror of St Trinian's . In this gloriously anarchic academy for young ladies we witness shootings, knifings, torture and witchcraft, as well as many maidenly arts. The subject of many evergreen films, St Trinian's is synonymous with the sort of outrageous behaviour that would make a convict blench. This book also contains a selection of Ronald Searle's work from the non-school books, including The Rake's Progress , Souls in Torment and Merry England, etc. and their publication in one volumes stakes Searle's claim to be…
I love all of Lynda Barry’s comics, but It’s So Magic! is my favorite collection.
Barry’s adolescent heroines steal wine from parents and from synagogues; they drink the cheap stuff like Boones Farm Apple Wine, and concoctions of mixed hard liquor made from whatever they can find in their houses that give the reader a hangover just thinking about it.
Barry’s graphic narratives also include stories of sexual abuse that are visually overlaid with gross-out drinking humor that will make some laugh and others turn away. Through visual humor, she brings into view both drinking girls and knowledge about sexual assault often hidden from view.
Barry’s alternative lessons remain radical in this politically fraught time when neo-temperance advocates attempt to tie #MeToo to abstinence, once again trying to enforce the idea that girls and women are to blame if they drink too much alcohol.
Lynda Barry s Ernie Pook s Comeek... made the world look wild, ugly, joyful, and mysterious.' The New Yorker. Maybonne Mullen is 'riding on a bummer' according to her little sister, Marlys. As much as teenage Maybonne prays and tries she just can t connect to the magic of living. How can she when there s so much upheaval at home and school, not to mention the world at large? And yet Marlys always seems able to tap into it. In It s So Magic, the Mullen family dynamics are in flux. Uncle John makes a brief return to town…
This bookcomes in the form of a small baby board book. On the back of this parody of a board book, the author asks “Are you a parent? Are you thirsty? Too many of us allow our infant sons and daughters to lay about idly napping, drinking milk, and sometimes ‘turning over.’ Why not have them mix you a cocktail? Thanks, Baby!”
Each page includes a mixology template for different members of the family. I particularly like the first recipe- a martini for mama. Additionally, like educational shape recognition texts that purportedly teach babies to organize visual information, Brown inserts easily recognizable liquor brands, Bombay Sapphire distilled London dry gin and Martini dry vermouth.
That the martini is the mother’s drink tickles the viewer to question whether gin is mother’s helper or mother’s ruin. Brown’s tongue-in-cheek board book foregrounds alcohol as pleasure and a baby that brings ease rather than misery.
Many people are parents, and many parents are thirsty. Yet too many parents allow their infant sons and daughters to lie about idly: napping, drinking milk, and whatnot. Why not put them to work? Observe how tots enjoy the shapes and colors, all the while learning how to mix a variety of basic cocktails. Thanks, Baby!
This picture book is one of the only contemporary books for children that shows drinking for pleasure.
After a mouse gets eaten up by a wolf, he meets a duck that lives in “the belly of the beast.” The two become fast friends and live happily in the wolf’s stomach. Together they make soup, dance to records, and enjoy the finer things in life. When the wolf complains of a stomachache, the duck calls up a cure for him—advising that he eat a hunk of good chess, a flagon of wine, and some beeswax candles.
After the wolf does so, mouse and duck don top hats, tuxedo jackets, bow ties and sit down to feast, raising their glasses of wine to the health of the wolf. Ultimately, duck and mouse save the wolf’s life and in return he grants them their wish to return to their home in his stomach.
One of the final double page spreads shows duck dancing with abandon as Mouse, wearing a cape and a pan on his head, wields a hockey stick and a vinyl record. Moderate drinking and intoxication lead to pleasure rather than pain in this book.
They may have been swallowed, but they have no intention of being eaten... A new comedy from the unparalleled team of Mac Barnett and Jon Klassen.
"A subversive delight ... an unexpected, hilarious collaboration" Guardian
Early one morning a mouse met a wolf and was quickly gobbled up...
When a woeful mouse is swallowed up by a wolf, he quickly learns he is not alone: a duck has already set up digs and, boy, has that duck got it figured out! Turns out it's pretty nice inside the belly of the beast - there's delicious food, elegant table settings and,…
The Drinking Curriculum brings the taboo topic of alcohol and childhood into the limelight and examines how a paradoxical set of cultural lessons about childhood are fueled by adult anxieties and preoccupations. By analyzing popular and widely accessible texts in visual culture―temperance tracts, cartoons, film, advertisements, and public service announcements―I demonstrate how youth are targets of mixed messages about intoxication. Those messages range from the overtly violent to the humorous, the moralistic to the profane. Offering a critical and, at times, irreverent analysis of dominant protectionist paradigms that sanctify childhood as implicitly innocent, The Drinking Curriculum centers the graphic narratives our culture uses to teach about alcohol, the roots of these pictorial tales in the nineteenth century, and the discursive hangover we nurse into the twenty-first.
My book is fantastical historical fiction about two characters who're wrestling with the monstrosity of their grief.
It takes you into London high society, where Ambrose tries to forget about how much he misses Bennett and how much he dreads becoming as cold as their Grandfather. It takes you to the family's country manor house, where Mattie isolates and old ghosts start to come out of the woodwork.
It's a story about loss and depression; it's a story about friends who don't let you walk through the valley of death alone.
Ambrose Bancroft returns to London society with his younger sister, hoping they'll leave ghosts of memory behind. They have only each other left. While Ambrose attempts to draw Mattie out, dragging her to balls and threatening to seek suitors for her, his sister recoils from his meddling. Finally, when Ambrose compels her to attend art class before she's ready, Mattie paints something horrific enough to banish them from society in public disgrace.
At Linwood Manor, Mattie and Ambrose aren't as alone as they think. Taking advantage of Mattie's desperate need to find freedom, a vanishing room lures Ambrose's sister into…
