The best classic kids’ books featuring heroes with poor impulse control

Everyone should spend 30 minutes each day admiring Calvin and Hobbes, the best comic strip ever made.

Calvin is one of the truly magnificent heroes of children’s literature, an embodiment of all the imaginative and moral power that kids have and grownups don’t.

His best friend, Hobbes, is a profound thinker as well as an intermittently alive stuffed tiger, and together they live, squabbling and happy, in their own crazed world, triumphing over parents, teachers, and other authorities with dazzling illogic and hairbreadth escapes to other realities, much more interesting than this one, where you can evade chores by traveling into a future when they’ve already been done or mysteriously shrink to the size of an insect and wreak revenge on bullies.

Obviously, the Cat in the Hat is the King of Mayhem. But is he a hero?

I have to admit, The Cat in the Hat made me nervous as a kid—the Cat’s a force of chaos; the house is ruined; Mom will be mad! Even the happy ending seemed too precarious to enjoy and also involved lying to Mom, which, in my experience, never turned out well.

But when the Cat returns in The Cat in the Hat Comes Back, he seems, after a spate of insanity, to become sympathetic to the protagonists’ fears (they are awfully law-abiding, those kids), and he reforms to the extent of providing a solution to the problem he’s created: VOOM, which in my opinion is a metaphor for nuclear power, is a great cleaning agent and soon everything returns to its original tranquility, proving that the while the Cat in the Hat is a vexed hero, he’s also a Cat with a Heart.

Departing from the surreal is Ramona, the antihero-turned-hero of Beverly Cleary’s Beezus and Ramona series.

Ramona is an entirely realistic child who is filled with passionate desires and intense feelings, all of which she acts on, even when she knows better. The interesting thing about these books is that Ramona was introduced as a foil and annoyance to her long-suffering older sister, Beezus.

But anyone with blood in their veins would find Ramona preferable to Beezus, and so, clearly, did Beverly Cleary, who switched her focus from color-inside-the-lines Beezus to wild Ramona with her varying confusions and longings—such as her insurmountable urge to boing the ringlets of another little girl in her class, which earns her a suspension, and her equally irresistible yearning to kiss little Davy—and in doing so, created a hero beloved for over fifty years.  

Unlike the sensitive, bullied, internally or externally wounded protagonist common in today’s mid-grade novels, Harriet the Spy is tenacious and smart and fights fire with fire. What a hero! 

She sneaks into buildings to spy on unsuspecting grownups; she keeps a notebook to record her uncomfortably truth-filled observations of her schoolmates; and when she is ostracized because of it, she first retaliates with ferocity and then lies through her teeth, which effectively rehabilitates her.

Harriet the Spy is a refreshingly honest look at social hypocrisy, with an admirable hero who won’t back down and won’t stop being herself. If it were published now, it would probably be banned. 

Of course, if you’re talking classic impulse-control-challenged YA heroes, you’re almost obligated to mention Holden Caulfield.

So, okay: Holden Caulfield. But now let’s talk about Earl, who is not the protagonist of Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl, but the protagonist’s incredibly foul-mouthed, incredibly short, incredibly angry, incredibly funny sidekick and creative partner, who will windmill-kick you in the head if you mention his height to him.

Nonetheless, when alerted to the fact that the Girl is indeed Dying, it’s Earl who insists that Greg (Me) step up and be her friend, and it’s Earl who has the moral compass to teach Greg that compassion is more important than dignity. Earl might be a chain-smoking high-school dropout, but he has standards.