Don’t Be the Tree
So Jesse Walker shares my discomfort with Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, but adds an esoteric twist:
That book is a common target, so much so that I have to wonder whether we’ve been missing the point of it all these years. Silverstein had a dark sensibility and a wicked sense of humor. Maybe he set out to write a bleak fable about kids who selfishly milk their elders for every drop they’ve got. Is it possible that he finished the manuscript, looked at it with satisfaction, and said to himself, Yep, that boy sure was a bastard?
Well it’s certainly possible, and if that’s what he thought then he certainly was right.
Mark Shea would say the same:
It’s children’s literature for Generation Narcissus, in which we learn the valuable lesson that It’s All About You–Forever. Take as much as you want because it would be wrong, terribly wrong, for the ones you exploit to judge you. At the end of the day there will be no consequences because Love means letting you do whatever you like without regard for relationship–Forever.
And ditto Eve Tushnet, in an old post that I think may be the source of my present dislike for the book:
… the tree is the villain. It spoils the child, gives him no basis for a real life in the world, and then martyrs itself so he can keep being dependent on it forever. There are reasons to martyr oneself… and some of them are awful.
Noah Millman and H.C. Johns, on the other hand, dissent from my verdict, and I appreciate the points they’re making. It seems to me now that the comment I left on Noah’s post was based on a too-quick misreading of his argument, and the idea that adults can benefit from seeing themselves in the child-turned-man rather than the tree does, I think, indicate a possibly fruitful reading; though if we’re trying to look at the story – as I was – through the eyes of a child, then as the above-quoted comments suggest the particular variety of “unconditional love” that the boy gets from the tree may not embody an especially healthy lesson.
Speaking of which, H.C. writes:
As sympathetic as my warped communitarian heart is to demands for mutuality, I think that the story’s lack of shared charity is actually its most powerful point. It seems to me that the story’s complexity comes from the fact that love isn’t always mutual, and it certainly doesn’t guarantee interpersonal justice. In fact, in some cases it can demand precisely the opposite: that we give until we have nothing left, and that the only compensation we can expect is the satisfaction from having done so. When I try to imagine what it must be like to raise a severely disabled child or deal with an addicted sibling or care for a mentally ill parent, this is the only understanding of love that can suffice… The love that gives until it is spent.
I hear this. But the problem, which I gestured at only very quickly in my original post, is that human love simply doesn’t end up leave its subjects “spent” in this way; there is death, to be sure, but that’s not a consequence of love in the way that the tree’s destruction follows upon the boy’s exploitation of it. The exceedingly rare occasions when actual martyrdom is demanded constitute plausible exceptions to this general rule, but the situations that the tree and the boy find themselves in aren’t at all like that, which makes it hard for me to resist the conclusion that there’s something downright unethical, if not quite villainous, in the way that the tree allows itself to be taken advantage of. Giving of oneself is noble, and when properly ordered it need know no real limits, but real love means sometimes having to say “I’m sorry, but that’s one thing you just can’t have”.
(Image via Wikipedia, and punchline modified shortly after posting.)
Filed under: media/culture, morality
I don’t see why you think the tree’s love is “spent” at the end of the book. The tree’s stump is exactly what the boy needs at that point of his life, and the tree is able to give to the boy what he needs. Has the tree been destroyed? Not really: Inasmuch as the purpose of the tree is to be in a relationship with the boy, the tree has fulfilled its purpose. True, it no longer has branches, but in this story the tree’s fulfillment is not in having branches but in providing for the boy.
I’m not saying that the love is spent – the tree is.
But that’s precisely what makes the story so exploitative! Even if you think – as I don’t – that trees have no purposes beyond those that humans assign them, once you’ve anthropomorphized the tree in the way that Silverstein does you can’t but read the relationship between it and the boy as a metaphor for human ones, and any human relationship that’s structured in the way that theirs is is going to be deeply unhealthy.
All this back and forth has me torn as to whether I should get this book for our vacation drive (full family audio, no individual radios) or avoid it like the plague.
Wind in the Willows is looking better all the time.
P.S. I realize that this was badly put in the body of the post.
real love means sometimes having to say “I’m sorry. . .”
Tell that to Ali MacGraw!
ridiculous . this is an amazing story !
The “Giving Tree” had a profound affect on my life and as a 38 year old man, I just recently turned to my father and thanked him once again for being, “The Giving Tree.” For me, the book tells the story of a parents willingness to do whatever THEY FEEL is best for their child and that each time they do they are transferring a piece of themselves to their child. Does a parent that addresses a conflict with “tough love” give less of themselves than the parent that offers their child open arms? If the book was about the kid, it would be showing us what happens to the kid when he has taken from the tree. It never does. It is all about the tree. Always there, for better or worse, just trying to do the best that they can.
So when I called my dad the “giving tree” it wasn’t because he was a sap that let me take advantage of him. It was because he was loaning me some tools to work on my house and I was going to be sure work damn hard to make sure I did a good job fixing up my house using all the knowledge he had given me.
I absolutely hated The Giving Tree, when it was given to my daughter upon her birth. I interpreted it as a metaphor for the male/female relationship, obviously not in a positive light. The relationship is completely exploitative; there are plenty of ways a still-intact tree could have provided for the boy’s different needs, when his demands cost the tree more and more of itself. I would have preferred to see the tree send the boy away in a snit, yet he keeps returning.
This is a very dangerous book to be putting in the hands of new mothers potentially suffering from post-partum hormonal adjustments.
Randy, this would be a poor choice for a car trip, unless you want to get into a combatitive discussion over what, exactly, it all meant. Probably the reading is done by some sickly sweet voice who makes it sound as if it is a New-Age self-help piece. Wind in the WIllows would be a better choice.
I agree with the post, to a slight degree, but I think it sort of misreads elements of Silverstein — the book, I think, is aimed largely at adults, and even young, non-parent adults, under the auspices of “children’s literature.” It seemed especially popular with people my age when I was in college, as a sort of tragic love story in miniature. The happiness of the tree, and the comfort of the boy-grown-man, at the end seems so pale, and miniature, especially in contrast to their former robustness, that it seems to capture a sort of tragic view of the world; that *this* is what we’re reduced to, finally. It is a pretty narcissistic story, if viewed with a narrow enough, and prescriptive, lens. Silverstein, like most artists, tended to both manipulate and exploit the conventions of his chosen genres, and I think he is both teasing out the injustice, and also the deep emotion, that underlies our contemporary notions of giving. The Giving Tree just pulls back to a fuller picture of the assumptions and values underlying something like Margaret Wise Brown’s The Runaway Bunny. But to say that Silverstein, or the book, is either for or against a certain view of giving or loving is to pervert the purposes of art. Being for or against something–that’s the logic of political posturing, or advertising, not art. Art makes emotions and values palpable and resonant–Silverstein is dramatizing notions of giving, and pursuing their consequences, just as Shakespeare is dramatizing notions of, say, sovereignty in King Lear, or Bruce Springsteen is dramatizing the conflict b/w two absolute value systems (the family and the law) in his song “Highway Patrolman.” You may be interested in this youtube clip, of Bobby Bare and his son performing a song written for them by Silverstein, that toys with similar subject matter: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmkNBYiUXg8
MWC, your interpretation says far more about your own problems than about the story. No one with an ounce of sense or decency would interpret it as you have. Jake’s understanding is the correct one.
Is it possible that the story is meant to represent a fantasy of/desire for an all-encompassing, ever-giving love–rather than setting forth an example for how someone is supposed to love? I don’t see the book as telling us what, ideally, love should look like. Instead it represents a fantasy which cannot be fulfilled. It would be more along the lines of Freud’s “thanatos,” in which no desire is frustrated; therefore, all desires are gratified. Freud called this the death instinct–or the desire to return to a ultimately gratifying, secure womb-like state. I think most of us do not experience love or give love in the way that Silverstein’s book portrays it–we are neither completely the boy, nor completely the tree. Love, for many of us, remains conditional. Others in our lives may love us, but they are still critical of us and can only love in a very limited, flawed human fashion–and vice versa. Silverstein’s tree, then, represents a fantasy that we can be loved, accepted, and nurtured no matter our whim, who we may be, how we may act. It’s a greedy desire for love, nurturance, and acceptance that helps soothes an overwhelming insecurity about our place in the world and our relationships to others in it.
Just a thought, anyway.
This book makes me SOB when I read it to my kids. I just hate the man the little boy grows up to be…
I hide this book so our kids do not pick it to read.
Is it possible that the tree represents a god/God-like figure?
Also, humanistic theorists might say that the tree would be someone who is “self-actualized.” So Gandhi and Mother Teresa would be considered “giving trees.” But the average human being would not attain such a state of enlightened being. The “average Joe” is mostly concerned by their own achievements–possibly living off the fruits, unknowingly, of a giving tree.
Like Jake above, The Giving Tree also had an impact on me as a child. My parents read it to me and my sisters all the time, and I just recently bought a copy of it for the child my wife and I are expecting. And I definitely agree that the book is less about the boy and more about the tree, and as for the notion that such a giving kind of love will produce narcicissm and a tendency toward exploitation in the receiver, all I can say is that the book and the kind of love it explores has had the opposite effect on me. The tree made me acutely aware of my own selfishness in light of its unconditional giving, and made me want to not be an eternal, exploitive receiver of love, but rather to find ways in my own life that I can be the tree to others. I think that is the purpose of the book: It is completely up to the receiver of the giving to decide where to go with it. Will the boy continually take advantage of the tree, or will he find ways to be the tree to others?
As most of these posts would show, we each get something different out of the story – which in my opinion is the mark of true art. You all can argue all you want as to what it means. The true meaning is what you interpret and what you gain from reading the story.
Really? I loved this book as a kid. It’s a terrific metaphor for the unconditional love parents have for their children. And what makes it so great is that any fool can realize that the boy in the end should be forever thankful for everything the tree (parent) did for him. My mother is that giving tree, because of all she sacrificed for me. I am not the boy, exactly, because I didn’t chop my mother to bits for her last inch of utility, but I am the boy because I could not have the wonderful life I do now without my mother’s sacrifices. I understand her unconditional love and I’m truly grateful for it. And I know how proud my mother is to see the life I have now because of her.
You’re saying that no parent who read this story to their kid felt like Shel Silverstein understood what it’s like to be a parent? And that no kid reading this story realized how grateful the boy should be for the tree?
In short, I think you’re all nuts.
Nerf is right. Sometimes the example of a story is a bad one. It has been years, no make that decades, since I read this story but I rember it as a warning that if you take too much from those you love you can destroy them. Just because something is freely given does not mean you should take it. I will re-read it soon.
The tree is Christ.
Ditto Andrew. I say be the tree. Hope the boy figures it out later in his life and is the tree as well. All we can do is try to make life better for other people during the short time we’re here.
It is also an envromentalist argument that if you take to much from nature in the end you can take it all.
When my children were small, I received this book as a gift from a good friend who loved it and felt it perfectly exemplified unconditional love. She expected me to read it to my children. When I read the book I was horrified and promptly threw it out–I didn’t want it in the house. It’s refreshing to finally come across others who experienced it the same way. It was one of the few instances I censored my kids books. I also had to toss their Berenstein Bears books (too badly written) and the Care Bears (boring to the point of despair).
I think the criticism of the tree’s actions are misplaced. If you look at the story as a metaphor for mankind as the boy and the tree as the forests of the world, the story fits fairly well. The trees give, mankind takes. I doubt that was Shel Silverstein’s main point, but for me, it’s part of the subtext and grounds it in a bit of reality.
If I can build on Charlie’s point, I’d like to tell you why I love this book. I read it at my mother’s memorial service for two reasons: 1) She was a teacher who loved Silverstein and 2) My sister and I always knew that Mom would do anything she could for our well-being. We never took advantage (much), but we knew she was there for us when we needed her.
That’s all. Sorry to bring the room down, but remembering that moment makes me sad and happy at the same time.
Watching this video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TZCP6OqRlE) of Shel Silverstein narrating an animated version of the book, I think he had roughly the same take on the story you do. Listen to his voice, the pauses, etc. when the boy cuts off the branches and carries them away, whistling. He sounds horrified.
It may have been too subtle for most readers to catch his point, but I think this was Silverstein’s parable on the evils of spoiling a child. The tree does everything for the boy’s happiness and the boy still ends up miserable (“Life’s not fun”). After reaching the end of the book, I don’t think many parents want to be the tree, and I don’t think many kids want to be the boy.
No, it’s not. Christ rose triumphant at the end, and didn’t go to his death as a way of indulging humanity’s every last whim.
And Silverstein was a Jew.
TT is right on. Schwenkler’s reading of The Giving Tree, along with other ‘conservative’ critiques like Walker, Shea, Tushnet et. al., is exactly the kind of morally reductive reading that English departments tiredly try to get students to move beyond somewhere in high school or at latest, early college. While there’s nothing wrong with recognizing that the boy’s behavior is interpretable on some levels as ‘exploitative’ or ‘narcissistic’, to then stop at that point and stamp the text with some kind of fixed interpretive label is to insist that it, and by implication, probably many, many other other children’s books, must serve some sort of clear didactic purpose. This is a McGuffey-Reader approach to literature which suits no book well, and especially not an ambigious, primal, poetic classic like The Giving Tree.
I loved the story because it taught me what I never wanted to be. I loved the tree and loathed the child, and recognized the capacity of the child in me to take love and giving for granted. So I grew up and didn’t.
The Giving Tree is bad, but it’s not quite as horrible as that rainbow fish book about the beautiful fish who has to tear off his own scales and distribute them so he won’t be prettier than his friends. The hell?
WTF is “conservative” about any of this? Jesse’s a libertarian, and I think that Eve and Mark and I are all reading it through primarily Christian lenses.
And Tam: The Rainbow Fish is the primary focus of that Jesse Walker post I began by linking.
OK, I didn’t read through all the comments, so forgive me if this has been stated already…
My take on this is that the boy is searching for happiness by taking what is offered, when in fact, the tree achieved happiness by giving of itself. Similar to “Rainbow Fish” in the sense that sacrifice for others is the path to a good life. Too simplistic? When in doubt, I prefer to keep it simple.
@ John S. – I guess I tend to see what strike me as reductive and didactic-minded readings of texts as being essentially ‘conservative,’ but that’s probably unfair on my part. I agree there’s nothing overtly political about these critiques.
But what about the larger point of ambiguity vs. didacticism? Isn’t it fair to say that the tree is Mother, Earth, Jesus, Nature, all of these and yet none exactly, at the same time? The boy is every child, all of humanity, and a negative example, again simultaneously? One could argue that children are not alive to these sorts of ambiguities, but I would disagree – they are automatically by virtue of their lack of interpretive framework. Naive reader shares some of the best qualities of the most sophisticated readers – they absorb and mull, rather than pigeonhole.
But the tree DIDN’T achieve happiness! It ended up as a stump, and was lonely and miserable for most of its life.
Regarding the tree as Christ –
I heard from a a person who claimed to be a childhood friend of Silverstein’s (a well known Christian author named Brennan Manning) that Silverstein actually converted to Christianity and wrote The Giving Tree as an allegory for his understanding of Christ. I have no way to verify this, obviously.
I thought my comments were largely about literary ambiguity, and how even when an author thinks he’s put a “moral” into a story it isn’t necessarily the message every audience will take away. From the post: “it’s probably a mistake to dwell on authorial intent. One of the pleasures of reading is finding your own meanings in the text, and that applies to children’s books as much as adult literature.”
When my children were small, a good friend gave me this book as a gift, expecting me to read it to my children. She felt it exemplified true unconditional love. When I read it I was horrified at it’s message–for both children and for adults–and promptly threw it out. After all these years, it’s refreshing to discover others who feel as I did. It was one of the few instances I censored my kids’ books. I also had to toss the Berenstein Bears books (too badly written) and the Care Bear books (too vapid and painfully boring). This was the only time I had to toss one of their books because it was just plain creepy.
Given Silverstein’s liberal bent and the fact that he chose to live in northern California, among the redwoods, couldn’t we assume a more literalist interpretation?
The tree is a tree, or mother earth, even. The lessons seem straight forward there. The way the earth gives us so much and asks for nothing in return. The degradation the earth undergoes when we strip so much of it.
&c.
I also think TT is right on:
“But to say that Silverstein, or the book, is either for or against a certain view of giving or loving is to pervert the purposes of art. Being for or against something–that’s the logic of political posturing, or advertising, not art.”
This book is great because it offers so many interesting and contradictory interpretations not all of them simple or pretty, (cf all above comments). I remember being a little creeped out by it as a kid. I think that’s a feature not a bug.
I have no problem with ambiguity. The central point of this post was that the usual, and extremely didactic, reading of the story as an exemplification of the nobility of love and self-gift misses out on the obviously disordered nature of the relationship.
Hi Jesse W. Well, you certainly did say that, and my hat’s off to you – although now it looks like John S. may have misrepresented you a bit! You perhaps undercut your point a bit, though, when you present a very un-alive-to-ambiguity reading of The Rainbow Fish. I can’t say for certain, however, not having read that book.
This is a tempest in a teapot – but that’s what happens when you try to prick the balloon of a beloved children’s classic! Seriously, though, I think we owe the best children’s literature some respect in the sense of allowing it to be allegorical, metaphorical, ambiguous, etc., just like we do with adult classics. Kids handle the complexity in their own way. And I am unwavering in my belief that The Giving Tree is among those best works of children’s lit. I think I have at least a little company on this page. : ).
I wonder if readers are wrong in reading a moral into the story. Maybe the point is simply that these kind of relationships happen–not that they are good or bad. Certainly both the boy and the tree end up diminished in the end, but also not without consolation. Why do we always expect children’s literature to be black and white? Perhaps what’s remarkable about the book is its complexity.
I related to this book, both as a child and later as the father of a little girl, in very different terms than most of the commenters thus far. It struck me as a cautionary tale, of sorts. The most prominent theme seemed to be that to behave like the child–aware only of his immediate needs and with no thought of the effects fulfilling those needs had on those around him–was indeed a poor way to live life. I viewed it as instructive to self-aware children (or adults) in the costs of self-absorbment, as well as a story about how not to treat the ones you love.
John (B.): I think The Rainbow Fish is an intentionally didactic book written by someone who didn’t recognize that his story could yield an ugly message (several ugly messages, actually, though I just focused on one of them) along with the moral he intended to impart about the virtue of sharing.
My favorite kids’ books are not didactic, or if they are they wear their messages lightly. Someday I suppose I’ll write an article or blog post sharing my enthusiasm for Harold and the Purple Crayon (surely the most solipsistic of children’s classics) or the Harry the Dirty Dog series or the stories of Daniel Pinkwater.
The fact that the book can be compellingly read from such various angles, many of them invoking passionate anger about the relationship between boy and tree, tells me that the book served its purpose precisely.
I’m not sure who the kid would be that would read this book and come away thinking that the boy is someone to model him/herself after. It always just depressed the hell out of me.
The tree is codependent, enabling, and lacks all boundaries. This is not love; it is enmeshment and is unhealthly for both parties.
Edwin Friedman, family therapist, tells a contrasting parable:
A man was standing in the middle of a bridge high over a river. As he was enjoying the view, another person came up to him. The second person had a rope tied around his waist. He handed the free end of the rope to the man on the bridge, climbed up on the rail, and jumped over the edge. The poor man on the bridge was barely able to hold onto the rope. He shouted to the man who was hanging below, “I can’t hold you. Climb up right away before I can’t hold you any more.”
The man who was hanging, replied, “No. It’s your responsibility to hold me and keep me safe.”
The man on the bridge pleaded, “I really don’t have the strength to hold you much longer. Please climb up now!”
The other man just hung there. So the man on the bridge let go of the rope and went on his way.
[...] and I was a bit unnerved by it, I’m surprised at how much conversation it has generated: Upturned Earth » Don’t Be the Tree. But then again, it is Shel [...]
I find many of the negative views of the book completely in line with it’s core message. Primarily, a parent is going to do whatever they feel is best for their child. The woman above who threw the book away rather than allow her children to read it is showing unconditional love. Doing what she feels in the best interest of her child. I suspect that my initial shock at the thought of her not sharing what I consider to be a wonderful book is very similar to her reaction to the thought of me touting it as a great piece of literature.
The secondary message and the one that is hardest to accept is that no matter how hard you try, no matter if you make all the best choices to protect your children and raise them with all the tools they need to be successful adults, sometimes they just grow up to be SOB’s. For me, knowing at a young age I couldn’t just rely on my parents “gifts” because if I did I would end up like the old man sitting on the stump was a good message to have.
Of course, instead of throwing the book away, you could always read it to a child and ask them what they think instead of assuming how they would process the story. If you read this book to a kid who by the end has decided that “gimme, gimme, gimme” is a good way to live, essentially, longing to be that old man sitting on the stump having completely exploited the tree. It probably has more to do with the kid than the book.
I loved this book as a child. I read it again as an adult with a 5 year old, and absolutely HATED it, for all the reasons mentioned in the post.
As a child, I was horrified by the book. I remember thinking the boy selfish and blinkered — I definitely came away with the moral that there are good people out there who will love you with everything they’ve got, and you have a personal responsibility to protect them from themselves, in a way.
That said, I sort of thought it was good. It was thought-provoking, because I knew a lot of other kids who thought they had every right to take whatever the tree was giving. So on one hand, it established childhood boundaries for me, and it also was an eye-opener about how other people viewed the world.
I liked the Giving Tree. I don’t think anyone comes away with the moral that you should be like the tree. I certainly didn’t, and I first read the book as a child.
But the tree DIDN’T achieve happiness! It ended up as a stump, and was lonely and miserable for most of its life.
This is plainly false. The book ends (IIRC) with the phrase “and the tree was happy”. Indeed, the tree is described as “happy” throughout the book, whereas the boy is never satisfied.
Well sometimes only “sort of”. In any case, if you identify happiness with flourishing rather than mere sentiment, the tree – or what remains of it – clearly isn’t happy at the end of the book.
“The book ends (IIRC) with the phrase “and the tree was happy”. Indeed, the tree is described as “happy” throughout the book, whereas the boy is never satisfied.”
This is almost true. There is one point when the boy walks away and it says, “And the tree was happy… but not really.” It is as though the tree’s happiness has less to do with keeping the boy happy, and more to do with the boy being present. The book ends with the tree being happy because the boy has returned just to sit and be present. So I think you have to take into account that, within the text, the tree has its own coming to terms with happiness and how to go about loving others. At the end of the book, they BOTH understand that the co-dependent exploitive relationship did not make them happy, but they were able at last to find happiness in the giving of one another’s presence.
This book is so misunderstood. It’s a parable, but an odd one, since it has no meaning. I guess a null parable. Something a lot like Vonnegut but with better illustrations.
That is, it’s set up as a story to teach kids some awesome lesson but then, of course, does not come through.
The meaning is in the absence of meaning from what should be a heartwarming story but is, in the end, just a life.
[...] Schwenkler, in his new post, answers Johns: I hear this. But the problem, which I gestured at only very quickly in my original post, is that human love simply doesn’t end up leave its subjects “spent” in this way; there is death, to be sure, but that’s not a consequence of love in the way that the tree’s destruction follows upon the boy’s exploitation of it. The exceedingly rare occasions when actual martyrdom is demanded constitute plausible exceptions to this general rule, but the situations that the tree and the boy find themselves in aren’t at all like that, which makes it hard for me to resist the conclusion that there’s something downright unethical, if not quite villainous, in the way that the tree allows itself to be taken advantage of. Giving of oneself is noble, and when properly ordered it need know no real limits, but real love means sometimes having to say “I’m sorry, but that’s one thing you just can’t have”. [...]
I think it is wrong to say the tree “allows” itself to be taken advantage of. Consent, without much recourse really, might be a better term. It’s a tree, for crying out loud. Allegorically what it represents “can’t” move, but it didn’t chop itself down.
It’s a dark commentary on reality for many people, and not one wherein there are heroes… Read More and villains, so it doesn’t fit into some neat activist model.
It’s really something to save until the kiddos are older when you’re trying to help them understand why they should use birth control, or to put it more PC in puritanical America-land, “wait” before having kids. You can point at the tree, and say, “see that sweet tree giving itself…wait awhile because that’s the commitment”.
(Ignore “… Read More” in the middle of the above post, it’s a cut and paste error from where I originally made this comment.)
Uhh … I can say firsthand that, no, “the commitment” of parenthood is very little like what the tree endures.
If the book is interpreted to be about a Man exploiting Nature for his own selfish needs then I don’t understand why Conservatives don’t like this book. It seems to be the conservative ultra-capitalist mantra these days.
Perhaps because there’s nothing conservative about that at all.
And to make matters worse, the tree is a SHE (check the beginning of the book where the tree is referred to in the feminine tense). So when I would read this book to my three young boys, I would get enraged that they would think that it was ok to use women and not give anything back…one night, in the middle of the story, I had had it and tore the book in half and threw it in the trash! Sorry, Shel!
The Giving Tree, in my estimation, is about endurance. The tree endures throughout the growing and maturation of the boy from child to elderly man. It is also important to note that the “boy” iterates what he needs and the tree offers it to him whenever it perceives that it has what the boy needs. It is also clear that the word used is “need”; not want. If the boys every want was fulfilled, then I would equate it to being spoiled. Also, he endures for long periods of time without asking for anything. True, he also does not return to give anything to the tree that is nurturing, except his undying affection and trust. Yes…whenever he has an issue in his life that he cannot resolve for himself, he turns to the one thing that has never failed him – the tree. Or, in this case, Tree. As a survivor of child abuse, I love the example of love enduring beyond all measure of strife. And, even when there is little left that is obvious, when called upon to help in a time of NEED, it (love) straightens up what is left and proudly offers itself as a servant; not feeling abused but, rather, feeling loved.
It is my “pie-in-the-sky” belief that love, true love, is unconditional and invests itself wherever it is needed, regardless of any reutrn on its investment. The type of love that Tree examples I know I can trust and bank on. Also, as I read The Giving Tree, the realization that I want to love and give in that same unconditional way became clear. Not because I’m a sap, but because I believe that if we love only to get a return on our investment then we are misguided in our giving.
John, why do you keep maintaining that the tree isn’t happy? Do you think the author is lying when he writes that she IS happy, over and over? Sounds like you’re doing some extra interpretation.
And when did we decide to read linear arguments into a story like this? It’s not meant to be a persuasive article. I still remember the deep feeling of sadness I felt when I finished it, even as a young boy. Kids don’t take notes: “Well, clearly I need to emulate the boy/tree because children’s books tell me what my opinions ought to be.”
Think of Tolkein: Attempts to put Christ or Nazi Germany into his works are misguided, and antithetical to his expressed intent for the stories. They are completely open-ended allegories, if even allegorical at all. Likewise, why can’t a we let a compelling story about a tree who loved a boy and gave everything while the boy kept taking simply be a story, rather than an Aesop fable? I still don’t know what to feel about the tree’s love or the boy’s taking again and again so he could live his life, and I love that such a simple story yields so many complex feelings and reactions. Personally, as I don’t want my kids thinking in black and white, I’ve been more than happy to read them this tale of gray.
What if the tree, is a tree…isn’t that just what trees “do”
Where did we get this notion of “art” as some sort of unsullied, superior being elevated on a pedestal? Many of these posts argue that politics and advertising supposedly force us to believe one thing, but “art” would supposedly never force us to see anything any one way. As I see it, “art” is just as much an argument as any other form of communication. “Art” may be multileveled and open to interpretation, but it does have a point of view, a unique perspective on the world.
Sometimes, John, it’s nice to just enjoy the book. Shel is celebrating giving. That’s it. Nothing worthy of any deep anxiety. Anymore than Jesus’ life was some endorsement of crucifixion. It wasn’t. But many people love to use Jesus’ crucifixion as evidence that he wasn’t so wise after all. Mostly to justify their own failures of the heart, I suspect.
Sometimes it’s nice just to appreciate what others have to offer us.
This isn’t the Lorax, it’s the Giving Tree. A metaphor for parents, their sacrifices and unconditional love for their kids, and the hope that they can leave something for them well after they are gone.
Seriously, has narcissism also tainted appreciation of children’s literature?
It’s not about “me” and gratitude expressed. It’s about giving, and giving fully.
Sheesh.
I know this has very little to do with the fascinating continuing discussion about the merits of the book but it does indeed engage in me the problems with censorship.
When I read the book, I felt a horror that the boy could destroy the tree to provide for himself. How could he treat something that loved him so shabbily??? It seemed breathtakingly selfish to me and did make me think of how my parents sacrificed their lives to have four children.
But the trouble with reading a book like this and deciding that it would damage people and then stop other people for reading it happens frequently with powerful works in our world. It seems to me that deciding a work of art is dangerous and stopping others from reading or experiencing it is trading on a very narrow view of what art does.
A book as powerful and multifaceted as this should always be made available to people so they can draw their own lessons from it.
Steve,
I don’t think anyone has actually argued for art being unsullied, or on a pedestal (I think you’re the first to introduce these notions to the comment thread). Since I’m the person who brought up advertising and political posturing, let me explain what I meant: that the “for or against” mindset is a poor framework for interpreting, or analyzing, a work of art. I argue that good art doesn’t pick a side (that’s what propaganda is for), it instead delves into a subject matter, or medium, to what is (or could be) there. I think The Giving Tree goes into the dark corners of something that IS usually placed on a pedestal, as an unquestioned good; the book pushes the act of giving, not to expose it necessarily, or even critique it, but to see what all lies hidden beneath it. It usually goes without saying that giving is a good thing, but the best art explores exactly those things that go without saying, and lets them get said and (more importantly) recognized and felt. That is far from being unsullied or purified — often, it means going to impolite places. Hallmark cards are for nice sentiments about giving, bad satire is for easy critiques of giving, but good art is for explorations of the dimensions of giving. To say Silverstein is for or against giving would be like Da Vinci was for or against Mona Lisa’s smile, or Robert Frost was for or against stopping by woods on a snowy evening. It’s not that it sullies the art to explore that line of questioning, it’s just that it skips right past all of the richness and complexity of the artwork.
So trees love, and feel, and speak to people? Sorry, but no.
Actually that’s false. The word the boy consistently uses to express his demands is “want”.
Uhh, maybe because the author doesn’t always write that? The tree is only described as happy when the boy is or has recently been around, and when he cuts down the trunk and leaves her as a stump she is described as being “happy … sort of”, which of course is just a way of saying “unhappy”. Plus, by my lights any “happiness” that involves letting a person do whatever he or she wants to you just so that you can sometimes be together isn’t a happiness deserving of the name; it sounds more like battered spouse syndrome to me. If that’s “extra interpretation”, then maybe you can fill me in on why that’s such a bad thing.
Agreed. The question is whether the metaphor is a healthy one or not.
I haven’t had time to read all of the comments but I have to point out that this book is clearly based on a Russian Folk Tale my mom told me when I was a very little girl.
And I gotta say, my mom explicitly added at the end, “Your mom is not like that. I love you, but I am not going to give you everything you want at the total expense of my life.”
Believe me, I got the message and always found this tale v. creepy. BTW, my mother was an excellent mom and raised us all to be secure and independent adults.
IOW, she didn’t do everything for us but when appropriate, made us do it for ourselves.
I recall not admiring the tree, or wanting to emulate the tree, but feeling sorry for the tree in a kind of pathetic sense. Maybe the tree was happy, but I was saddened.
I suppose one could say the tree was a bit of a sap. (Sorry.)
It really is just a damned tree. The boy is human and as everybody knows, nature was placed here as a resource-reserve for human endeavor. The tree was pleased to fulfill this purpose, since it was unlikely to be able to uproot itself and get itself a timeshare in Daytona.
The boy is American capitalism and the tree is the land we took to make the United States, although I suppose the tree could be the world since we have gladly traded cutting down our own trees for cutting down trees in developing countries where the labor is cheaper. Maybe that’s where the boy took the boat he made from the tree, on a WTO tour.
No, that’s The Lorax (which I do like). If Silverstein were telling an environmentalist tale, the tree would’ve gotten pissed.
It’s about being a parent, as Silverstein said several times.
[...] I recently found several blog posts that cut down (pun intended) The Giving Tree – one of my favorite children’s books of all time – as “overrated“, “a bleak fable about kids who selfishly milk their elders for every drop they’ve got“, and “downright unethical, if not quite villainous, in the way that the tree allows itself to be taken adv….” [...]
I have HATED the giving tree for YEARS!!!! I am so glad to see other like minded people. I too feel that it is about a selfish narcissistic boy and an enabling, martyred parent (namely mom). It displays a very dysfunctional relationship. The problem is, especially for women, that we are taught that this is *exactly* the type of woman we are supposed to be, with our husband, our parents, our kids, and now our jobs. And many other people do just what the boy did, suck you dry until nothing is left. It’s a warning tale to stand up for yourself, have a backbone, set limits and boundaries. Unfortunately, too many people romanticize it as “Awe, that’s so sweet. It’s unconditional love.” Puke! Men want it as sons, and then expect their wives to do it to. Shift the Paradigm. It’s no longer all about you (and it really never was). But I see many of the posts here are from men, especially the ones singing in praise of the all sacrificing mother. How many of those moms had no sense of self, lacked an identity of their own, and probably were depressed, lost, and popping pills or swinging back drinks to numb the fact that nobody really cared about their needs and wants. I think the book should come with a warning label. Another bad one is “I Love You Forever”. A stalking mom. Not good.
If you find “The Giving Tree” disturbing, then you should read the children’s book, “Love You Forever” by Robert Munsch.
This one is particularly troublesome–with aged Mom sneaking through adult man-son’s window at night when he’s sleeping in order to whisper in his hear how much she loves him. If you want to talk about a more direct (and alarming!) message of what love constitutes between mother and child read this . . . and beware. Completely cringe-worthy.
[...] American Conservative has an interesting take on a classic kids [...]
Am I odd in that I don’t analyze this story to death? I liked the story as a kid; I never looked at it as the tree being the villain because she spoils the boy or the boy as a villain because he uses the tree…
Good grief, I just read it for the story, not for all this ridiculous underlying message crap.