In the past century of English-Celtic predominance in children’s literature, to no small degree reinforced by Hollywood’s productions, it is easy to lose sight of the styles and masterpieces of story-tellers from other regions. Although Manga and Anime have both become must-haves of teenage pop-culture around the world, few readers have actual experience poring over volumes of Japanese fairy-tales or getting a taste of their characteristic, often eery, atmosphere. Even less is known about best-sellers or masterminds behind fictional creations with origins elsewehere, in the linguistic traditions of Russian and German, for example.
Politics have definitely not helped. Seventy years of the culturally all-powerful Soviet Union — the oppressive, socialist control — in the case of Russian; and the heritage of Nazi Germany’s obviously horrific connotations, in the case of the other, did not promote their authors to become natural choices outside their borders.
Germany’s case, in particular, is further segmented into periods of brilliance before Hitler’s accession — with a slow recovery after —, then occupied, and fragmented into Soviet-controlled East and U.S.-backed West Germany, both with their respective cultural ambitions and possibilities. West Germany, with a booming, capital-funded publishing market (until 1990), and the unified Germany after 1990 have been Europe’s main scenes and outlets of fiction, funneling literature from all over the world. The reason? The country is itself a massive market with a historically significant and qualified middle-class, readily consuming books and music through all media. With neighbouring Austria’s and Switzerland’s German speakers, and with millions of German-as-a-second-language speakers in linguistically cognate Holland and Scandinavia, the takeup is huge. Also thanks to the generous holiday allocations and the employee-friendly German pay-cheques, recreational readers and pensioners have been a target audience, assisted by these countries’ booming economies and the welfare states.
Soviet-oriented East Germany, on the other hand, had fewer possibilities and less access to the world market.
It did have, however, a youth culture and children’s literature paternalistically subsidised by the socialist state over four decades. These largely benevolent efforts by the cultural departments (i.e. bringing literature to the youth using state funds), along with the political desire to reveal western capitalism’s injustices through entertainment, led to numerous adaptations. Pre-1930 German writers sternly opposed to oppression and economic exploitation came as clear choices to the DDR’s (Democratic Republic of Germany) decision-makers.
Wilhelm Hauff (1802-27), Karl May (1842-1912), and Erich Kästner (1899-1974) were all thematically creative, culturally open-minded authors, dedicated to social fairness. Films and theatre adaptations of their various plots and novels quenched the thurst of young readers, TV-viewers, and middle-class families, all eager to consume hours, volumes, and vinyl records of narratives that ranged from the medieval orient to the American Prairie.
Characters such as Little Muck (a dwarfish recluse living in medieval Turkey) and Caliph Stork — a former Caliph of Baghdad turned into a stork with a magic snuff and a magic sword by an ingenius magician — both by Hauff, adopted motifs and narrative additions from The Arabian Nights.
As the cities of Germany and the Habsburg Empire swelled into the millions (in this case, the 1800’s), children generally attended school and had to be occupied after. Children’s and youth literature became a necessary and lucrative market-segment, supplying several dedicated authors with contracts worldwide.
Erich Kästner wrote in an era already publishing with a significant demographic of young readers in mind. His books (Emil and the Detectives, Lisa and Lottie, The 35th of May) are examples of splendid humour, operating knowlingly within the minds of school-goers hungry for wonder, mystery, and adventure. Besides children, adults — by then cut off from the hardships of the countryside — found great pleasure and wonder in stories and adventures set far away. Karl May — himself with a chequered past — wrote several complete works and story-cycles that appeared as books and as magazine-episodes.
His Oriental tales, running for eight years, and other publications included stories about Hadschi Halif Omar with tales like In the Kingdom of the Silver Lion; Through wild Kurdistan; and Oranges and Dates.
His “Western-themed” stories — Son of the Bear Hunter and The Treasure of Silver Lake, along with the fictional character Old Shatterhand — all became generational hits among German-speaking European readers, as well as their neighbours, in translation.
On their original publication, the narratives grabbed the imaginations of library-goers, while some decades later, generations within Eastern Europe’s socialism-dominated common market fell for the cinematographic experience. Once recreated in the studios, the adventures provided great entertainment on a cultural scene from Poland to Yugoslavia, where the productions of American, British, and French cinema were not politically welcome. There, youngsters had to be “steered” safely, away from delinquency, in an age when television’s range of broadcasts were uncomfortably limited. Cinema, therefore, often portrayed conflicts between American settlers and native Americans, which carried viewers to faraway lands, and served the purpose of educating the public about the superiority of Karl Marx’s socially progressive, government-imposed theory.
In the 20th century, West Germany’s true best-seller and modern mastermind behind children’s fiction was Michael Ende, whose books Momo and Neverending Story grabbed young readers...
which was comparable to the J.K. Rowling phenomenon some years later. Similarities exist between England’s Tolkien, who introduced magical characters from English and Celtic folklore, and between Harry Potter in combat with trolls in a British public-school setting. Neverending Story, too, is full of fantastic creatures; Falkor, the friendly, dog-headedand luckdragon, and Pyornkrachzark, alias Rockbiter — to mention just a few — also establish self-contained lore and mythologies that enchant young readers (and fantasy-oriented adults). The book has sold more than eight million copies around the world, while the 1984 film adaptation promoted the franchise further. With an added theme-song by the then celebrated Limahl (singer-guitarist from the GDR), the film grossed over $100 million. The fantasy-themed and slightly nerd-interest film’s exit song also features in Stranger Things Season 3, in which Dustin sings a duet with his near-fictitious girlfriend Suzie, while battling Russian communist infiltration with his junior school peers.
Should we, therefore, ignore German children’s authors? Based on the above, the answer is a resounding no, and, in fact, the topical-narrative heritage from several nations should be given a secure position on bookshelves and in public appreciation.
