{"id":23902,"date":"2025-08-26T08:26:10","date_gmt":"2025-08-26T08:26:10","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/23902\/"},"modified":"2025-08-26T08:26:10","modified_gmt":"2025-08-26T08:26:10","slug":"the-celebrity-picture-book-boom","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/23902\/","title":{"rendered":"The Celebrity Picture Book Boom"},"content":{"rendered":"

There are no guilty pleasures in childhood. It is only as an adult that I feel a certain sheepishness when recalling one of my favorite picture books, \u201cAnn Likes Red<\/a>,\u201d by Dorothy Z. Seymour, which was originally published in 1965. Wedged between the vaunted volumes of Gorey and Scarry, \u201cAnn Likes Red\u201d stuck out both literally, for its squat stature, and literarily, for its hazy lesson in self-assertion. Ann visits a department store with her mother, where saleswomen attempt to sell her on a variety of dresses and belts. Our heroine rejects every color but her favorite. When a shoe salesman, who has not been privy to the preceding pages, attempts to fit Ann\u2019s foot with a tan sandal, he\u2019s lucky he doesn\u2019t get a kick in the jaw. In the end, Ann tries on her monochromatic outfit before a mirror, looking pleased as punch. It\u2019s a tale of consumerism, superficiality, and petulance. I adored it.<\/p>\n

The Culture Industry: A Centenary Issue<\/strong>
Subscribers get full access. Read the issue<\/a> \u00bb<\/p>\n

Well, shame, cast thy gaze elsewhere. The arc-less antics of Dorothy Z. Seymour have nothing on this century\u2019s celebrity-penned picture books, slim volumes that have infiltrated bedroom bookshelves like a pack of moralistic hobgoblins. I do not have children, nor am I a child, so it is not for me to say how many readers were lifted from their pigmented doldrums by Julianne Moore\u2019s \u201cFreckleface Strawberry<\/a>.\u201d But it is for me to say that having a child qualifies you to write a children\u2019s book the same way that using a toilet qualifies you to be a plumber.<\/p>\n

The industry is on a roll. The pandemic and post-pandemic years have seen a spike in narratives from familiar faces such as Serena Williams, Hoda Kotb, and Bette Midler. The actor Max Greenfield is the author of \u201cI Don\u2019t Want to Read This Book<\/a>\u201d (the word play wears atrophic). The journalist Savannah Guthrie is the author of \u201cMostly What God Does Is Love You<\/a>\u201d (not what God mostly does where I come from). Dog-dad Chris Pine is the author of \u201cWhen Digz the Dog Met Zurl the Squirrel<\/a>\u201d (short-tailed squirrel befriends dog seeking similar). It might be more efficient to list the celebrities who have not published a picture book. Childhoods are like opinions; everyone\u2019s got one.<\/p>\n

Children are not sitting in the bath musing about the P.R. needs that drive celebrities into a publisher\u2019s office. But grownups can do the math. Other forms of supplemental income come at a cost. Brand partnerships are a transparent cash grab. Cameo videos demand the ceding of pride. A children\u2019s book, however, offers the opposite of abasement. It provides protection, allowing famous people to expose their vulnerabilities without being dismissed as self-pitying. They can bolster their own authenticity, crediting themselves with the challenges they faced before we knew them. And, in a culture where every mundane detail of a celebrity\u2019s life is sought, is the fault entirely theirs that these rainy-day projects are up for sale?<\/p>\n

These tomes for tots tend to fall into thematic categories, the most prominent being perseverance and individualism. You will know you are reading a perseverance book because it will feel as if it emerged from a human brain rather than a human navel. This is not a condemnation; there are bad brains and there are good navels. But perseverance stories involve moments in which things might not work out, whereas individualism books are less likely to feature their characters, avatars for their illustrious creators, messing up. The protagonists simply exist. I believe it was Oscar Wilde<\/a> who said, \u201cBe yourself, everyone else is not going to be as famous when they grow up.\u201d<\/p>\n

There is no means of calculating the number of units moved as gag gifts, but my copy of \u201cC Is for Country<\/a>,\u201d by Lil Nas X, an individualism book that I got secondhand from a used-book seller, arrived inscribed to Baby Roger. \u201cThis guy might be a one-hit-wonder,\u201d our giver scribbles, \u201cbut he wrote a song that cracked us up so I thought this book would make your mama smile!\u201d Baby Roger is also informed of his good fortune, for he \u201chas the best mommy and daddy.\u201d Which might be true. They got the book out of the house.<\/p>\n

In 2019, Lil Nas X surprised a group of schoolchildren with a live performance of his hit song, \u201cOld Town Road.\u201d What followed was two and a half viral minutes of the kind of shrieking that would send Peppa Pig into a jealousy spiral. It\u2019s hard to envision kids mustering equal enthusiasm for \u201cC Is for Country,\u201d where form overshadows function. \u201cA is for adventure,\u201d \u201cX is for extra\u201d (is it, though?), and \u201cI is for itty-bitty pony,\u201d a presumptuous purloining of \u201cP.\u201d But the real issue is the absence of Plot. A boy rides a horse, eats spaghetti, goes to bed. In lieu of a single twist or obstacle, the book champions originality, a virtue it never exhibits.<\/p>\n

Channing Tatum\u2019s \u201cThe One and Only Sparkella<\/a>\u201d is another individualism story, in which the narrator\u2019s peers are turned off by sparkles. Our protagonist, Ella, requests that other kids call her Sparkella, a self-inflicted wound if ever there was one. She dims her light to fit in, eating a sandwich without sprinkles. \u201cThe world doesn\u2019t seem ready for me,\u201d she laments. Eventually, \u201cwith a little help from her dad,\u201d she learns the importance of being herself. It\u2019s perfectly legal to encourage confidence in children. And who better than a famous actor to insinuate that divergence will age, like a fine wine, into assurance? But the more these authors bang the drum for standing out for standing out\u2019s sake, the more tedious their books become. Rather than being silly, \u201cSparkella\u201d describes silliness. It\u2019s the illustrated equivalent of Hollywood executives muttering \u201cThat\u2019s funny\u201d instead of laughing.<\/p>\n

This flaw is also present in directives for authenticity like Matthew McConaughey\u2019s \u201cJust Because<\/a>,\u201d a whirlwind of unobjectionable truisms (\u201cJust because you threw shade, doesn\u2019t mean I\u2019m out of the sun\u201d), and \u201cThe World Needs More Purple People<\/a>,\u201d by Kristen Bell and Benjamin Hart. Purple people are the best sort of people (somewhere, Ann of \u201cAnn Likes Red\u201d is weeping into a crimson tissue). Their characteristics include using one\u2019s voice, gardening, working \u201csuper-duper hard,\u201d being handy, and asking questions befitting a dating app: \u201cHave you ever met a dolphin?\u201d The book is thoroughly executed, positing many routes to cyanosis, but in tackling everything, it grips nothing. I haven\u2019t felt such pressure to be abstractly wonderful since \u201cI Promise<\/a>,\u201d by LeBron James, in which readers are encouraged to \u201cbe a team player and a winner.\u201d Collections of agreeable statements can create a loose sense of camaraderie. But so can watching a stranger with toilet paper stuck to their shoe, and at least there\u2019s a story there.<\/p>\n

None of these books lead with \u201cchildren should be seen and not heard,\u201d because none of them were written by my maternal grandmother. So the question is not \u201cWhat vile lessons are these famous people propagating?\u201d but \u201cWhat are they offering instead?\u201d \u201cPeanut Goes for the Gold<\/a>,\u201d by Jonathan Van Ness<\/a>, of \u201cQueer Eye,\u201d is also about uniqueness but with a raison d\u2019\u00eatre. Peanut is perhaps the first nonbinary rhythmic-gymnast guinea pig in literary history. On one level, the book exists for its description. On another, it exists to get kids in the habit of using someone\u2019s preferred pronouns, even if that someone is a domesticated rodent in a leotard. Alas, the innovation ends there. \u201cPeanut has their own way of doing things,\u201d the book states, meaning that Peanut likes doing cartwheels on a basketball court. During a gymnastics competition, Peanut sticks their landing. They get a perfect score from every judge.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s illuminating to compare \u201cPeanut Goes for the Gold,\u201d an individualism book, with John Cena\u2019s \u201cElbow Grease<\/a>,\u201d a perseverance book. \u201cElbow Grease\u201d is the story of the smallest truck at the demolition derby. Even with all the gumption in the world, the eponymous Elbow Grease does not win his climactic race. His proffered lesson is more nuanced: \u201cIf you only stick with what you\u2019re good at, you\u2019ll never learn anything.\u201d Elbow Grease and Peanut face different challenges: one is waiting for a growth spurt, the other is waiting on the world to change. Elbow Grease has the luxury of setbacks; Peanut needs the win. But all children deserve the pleasure of suspense.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s more under the hood in Dale Earnhardt, Jr.,\u2019s \u201cBuster and the Race Car Graveyard<\/a>,\u201d the platonic ideal of a perseverance book. Buster and his friends are ninety-nine per cent anthropomorphization, one per cent inspiration. Their favorite activities are arbitrarily assigned (telling ghost stories, picking pumpkins). But the descriptions of the graveyard are downright Saundersian. Branches crackle, roots gnarl, dried leaves swirl through the pages. The cars are startled by a\u00a0ghost car named Brenda (a perfectly imperfect name), who introduces them to other friendly ghost vehicles, most of whom have experienced deadly crashes and now honk funny. The book is about bravery, though there\u2019s a tonal funkiness to espousing the merits of driving two hundred and eighty miles per hour to \u201cages 4 to 8.\u201d Perceptive parents will know that Dale Earnhardt, the author\u2019s father, died in 2001 when his car slammed into a retaining wall on the Daytona International Speedway. This is a son\u2019s jaunty fantasy of the afterlife.<\/p>\n

Such depth is lacking from the actress Eva Mendes\u2019s saccharine \u201cDesi, Mami, and the Never-Ending Worries<\/a>,\u201d which fits squarely into the subgenre of mental perseverance. Desi has trouble falling asleep because of an endless cycle of intrusive thoughts about monsters. After her mother takes a tumble into existentialism (\u201cWhat if you tried to separate yourself from your thoughts?\u201d), Desi, like Buster, faces her fears. This book\u2019s rightful home is in the waiting room of a child psychologist\u2019s office, where it should be presented in the same spirit with which Dum-Dums are left in a dentist\u2019s reception area. And yet, we have ourselves a noble motivation, encouraging anxious children to harness the power of their imaginations. \u201cDesi\u201d wants to help. But is that enough?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"There are no guilty pleasures in childhood. It is only as an adult that I feel a certain…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":23903,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[266],"tags":[20129,359,434,20128,18,117,19,17],"class_list":{"0":"post-23902","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-books","8":"tag-authors","9":"tag-books","10":"tag-celebrities","11":"tag-childrens-books","12":"tag-eire","13":"tag-entertainment","14":"tag-ie","15":"tag-ireland"},"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23902","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23902"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23902\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/23903"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23902"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23902"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23902"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}