The Big Smallness

Niche Marketing, the American Culture Wars, and the New Children's Literature

Michelle Ann Abate

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781317362418
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

This book is the first full-length critical study to explore the rapidly growing cadre of amateur-authored, independently-published, and niche-market picture books that have been released during the opening decades of the twenty-first century. Emerging from a powerful combination of the ease and affordability of desktop publishing software; the promotional, marketing, and distribution possibilities allowed by the Internet; and the tremendous national divisiveness over contentious socio-political issues, these texts embody a shift in how narratives for young people are being creatively conceived, materially constructed, and socially consumed in the United States. Abate explores how titles such as My Parents Open Carry (about gun laws), It's Just a Plant (about marijuana policy), and My Beautiful Mommy (about the plastic surgery industry) occupy important battle stations in ongoing partisan conflicts, while they are simultaneously changing the landscape of American children's literature. The book demonstrates how texts like Little Zizi and Me Tarzan, You Jane mark the advent of not simply a new commercial strategy in texts for young readers; they embody a paradigm shift in the way that narratives are being conceived, constructed, and consumed. Niche market picture books can be seen as a telling barometer about public perceptions concerning children and the social construction of childhood, as well as the function of narratives for young readers in the twenty-first century. At the same time, these texts reveal compelling new insights about the complex interaction among American print culture, children's reading practices, and consumer capitalism. Amateur-authored, self-published, and specialty-subject titles reveal the way in which children, childhood, and children's literature are both highly political and heavily politicized in the United States. The book will be of interest to scholars and students in the fields of American Studies, children's literature, childhood studies, popular culture, political science, microeconomics, psychology, advertising, book history, education, and gender studies.

1 The Straight Dope

Ricardo Cortés’s It’s Just a Plant, Marijuana Use, and the Question of Prohibition Politics

From their origins, picture books have been associated with didacticism. From early examples like Heinrich Hoffman’s Struwwelpeter (1845), which demonstrated the evils that befell children who did not behave, to contemporary classics like Dr. Seuss’s One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish (1960), which offers instruction in both counting and color identification, these narratives routinely seek to educate as much as they strive to entertain.

While picture books have spotlighted an array of informational subjects over the decades, they expanded into a new and far more niche realm in early 2005 with the publication of It’s Just a Plant. Written and illustrated by Ricardo Cortés, the narrative was, as its subtitle explained, “A Children’s Story about Marijuana.” The text begins when an elementary-school-aged girl named Jackie discovers her parents smoking cannabis. Reflecting contemporary desires to be more open and honest with children, rather than lying to the young girl about what they are doing, her mother tells her the truth: “This is a ‘joint.’ It’s made of marijuana.”¹ Hearing about this substance for the first time, Jackie asks her parents a plethora of questions about it. To help her daughter obtain answers, her mother takes her on a bike ride around town to learn more about the plant: they make stops to talk with a farmer who cultivates cannabis, a doctor who prescribes it for her patients, and a group of young men from the neighborhood who use it recreationally. During this process, Jackie—and, by extension, the book’s child readers—learn what marijuana looks like, how it grows, what parts of it are used for different purposes, the effects it has when smoked or eaten, and even the different names by which it is known. “‘I call it ganja,’ said one of the men … ‘And I,’ said another,’ call it La La.’ ‘I call it cannabis sativa,’ said the third.” Of course, another key issue that Cortés’s text addresses is marijuana’s criminalization. This information comes, appropriately, from a law enforcement officer whom Jackie meets: “‘Young lady,’ answered the policeman, ‘These men were smoking what I call grass. And that is against the law.’”

Akin to all of the other niche market picture books profiled in this project, It’s Just a Plant was not released by a mainstream press. Instead, the narrative was published by Magic Propaganda Mill, a small, independent imprint that the author-illustrator cofounded with Ramona Cruz and which releases only books that he has written. It’s Just a Plant, in fact, was the press’s first publication. Cortés’s decision to focus on cannabis in his picture book was far from an arbitrary choice. Echoing the confluence between niche market modes of production and the American culture wars that I traced in the “Introduction,” the narrative was written and released during a time of increased national controversy over marijuana laws. In spite of the more than seventy-year federal ban on growing, possessing, or selling the plant, “Marijuana is the most commonly used illegal drug in the United States” (Gottfried 4). As Christine Van Tuyl has written, “More than 100 million Americans aged twelve or older—or 40.2 percent of the population—have tried marijuana at least once in their lifetimes” (“Foreword” 9). In addition, “More than 3.2 million Americans smoke it on a daily basis” (Van Tuyl, “Foreword” 9; Van Tuyl, “Facts” 111). Furthermore, according to Ed Rosenthal and Steve Kubby, “Over 65 million Americans use it either occasionally or regularly” (ix). Given these statistics, one former judge conceded: “Cannabis has achieved a status similar to that of alcohol in the waning days of Prohibition” (Gerber xvi). In examples ranging from the admissions by prominent public figures such as Newt Gingrich, Al Gore, and Michael Bloomberg that they have used it² to the presence of marijuana-themed clothes, stickers, and even water bongs for sale at stores in any local mall, it seems clear that, official legislation aside, “Marijuana is part of American culture” (Rosenthal and Kubby ix).

It’s Just a Plant reflects this reality. Rather than pretending that the criminalization of cannabis curtails widespread usage, Cortés’s picture book acknowledges the fact that many men and women—including those who have children—smoke it on occasion. In fact, in an interview shortly after the release of his book, the author-illustrator pointed out an eye-opening statistic: “there are over six million parents out there that are smoking marijuana” (“Personal Story”). Cortés wrote his narrative for this niche audience. As he remarks on his website: “Many parents have tried marijuana, millions still use it, and most feel awkward about disclosing such histories (many duck the question) for fear that telling the truth might encourage them to experiment too” (“About the Book,” par. 2). As a result, his picture book is geared for this specialty demographic who are facing this exact conundrum. In the words of Cortés again, “It’s Just a Plant is a book for parents who want to educate their children about the complexities of pot in a thoughtful, fact-oriented manner” (“About the Book,” par. 5).

Of course, Cortés was not the first person to broach the subject of marijuana with young people. By 2005, when his text was released, an array of printed and visual materials discussed the subject. These examples included the infamous Reefer Madness-style movies of the 1930s, the “Just Say No” campaigns during the 1980s, and the juvenile nonfiction books like Drug Facts: Marijuana released in the opening decade of the twenty-first century. That said, It’s Just a Plant offers a vastly different message about marijuana. As the title of the book suggests, Cortés does not call attention to the widespread use of cannabis in order to condemn it. Protagonist Jackie learns that marijuana is illegal, but this fact is not the final word on the subject. Instead, the book encourages her—and, by extension, its youth audience—to question prohibition politics. Drawing on reasons ranging from the enjoyment that marijuana safely provides to millions of responsible adults to its longtime use as a raw material for making clothes, fuel, medicine, and rope, the picture book challenges the criminalization of cannabis. As the author-illustrator has said about the aim or intent of his text, the “‘drug facts’ [that] children learn in school can be more frightening than educational blaming pot for everything from teenage pregnancy to terrorism. A child’s first awareness of drugs should come from a better source” (“About the Book,” par. 4). It’s Just a Plant serves this precise purpose. The picture book breaks from the longstanding literary treatment of and mainstream messages about marijuana control.

This perspective has caused It’s Just a Plant to become both famous and infamous. To date, Cortés’s text has gone through three editions and been translated into more than a dozen languages (“Marijuana for Kids,” par. 5). Although the book is published by a small independent press, it echoes the niche marketing model of distribution by being available for sale at major online booksellers like Amazon and Barnes & Noble; it was also featured, for a period in 2007, “as a kitschy offering at the Urban Outfitters chain” (Garofoli, par. 48). Similarly, recalling the common means by which niche market materials generate buzz and garner publicity, this controversial book about a controversial topic has been a media sensation, with discussions of it appearing in print, radio, television, and especially Internet venues. It’s Just a Plant has been reviewed in magazines and newspapers across the country, and its author has been profiled in media venues ranging from The Village Voice to The O’Reilly Factor.³ Assessments of the book have been as divided as the divisive subject that it addresses. Cortés’s narrative has been praised for offering an alternative way to approach an important, but often difficult, subject for parents to discuss with their children. As Martha Rosenbaum, the director of the Drug Policy Alliance, has written: “many parents worry about how much to admit about their own past or present marijuana use. They fear ‘opening the door’ if they say anything at all that is remotely positive about their experiences, and that their children will believe they condone drug use if they offer neutral information and ongoing, supportive conversations” (par. 3). It’s Just a Plant offers a much-needed means for doing so. In the words of Rosenbaum, the text “provides parents of young children with a realistic tool that enables them, through reading together, to open early discussions about marijuana” (par. 5).

By contrast, when the narrative is examined by individuals positioned on the other side of the culture wars debate about this subject, It’s Just a Plant has been heavily criticized and even outright condemned. Viewed from this socio-political perspective, the picture book has been rebuked as a poignant example of permissive parenting and the declining state of morality in the United States. In 2005, for instance, Republican Congressman Mark Souder denounced the book for what he cited as its pro-marijuana message, even reading passages of the text into the Congressional Record (Garofoli, par. 46). Meanwhile, Bill O’Reilly suggested that Cortés was irresponsible for writing a children’s book about cannabis. As he told the author-illustrator when interviewing him on his cable show: “I don’t know if a sympathetic book to marijuana does [young people] any good” (Cortés, “Personal Story”). Echoing this viewpoint, the nationally circulating magazine Entertainment Weekly titled its review of the book “Outrage of the Week” (“Outrage” 91).

In the pages that follow, I argue that It’s Just a Plant is controversial for reasons that extend far beyond the book’s niche focus on questioning the criminalization of marijuana. The tumult surrounding Cortés’s narrative emanates from a second equally powerful, but as-yet unspoken, source: its advocacy for child agency. In stark contrast to the steadfast prohibition about marijuana in materials for young people, It’s Just a Plant makes a case that individuals, including children, have the right to decide about this issue for themselves. Cortés has his protagonist Jackie and, by extension, his child readers, talk with a marijuana grower, doctor, and users so that they can learn about the plant from a variety of different perspectives, ask questions, and generate their own opinions about it. While It’s Just a Plant does not condone marijuana use among youth, it also does not condemn it among adults. Rather, Cortés’s text makes the case that individuals ought to be able to learn about the issue and, ultimately, make their own informed decision about it. Even more radically, It’s Just a Plant urges young people who disagree with current public policy about cannabis to work toward social change. For all of the lip service paid in the United States during the twenty-first century to empowering children, valuing their opinions, and encouraging their ambitions, it is ultimately this message about child activism and even youth civil disobedience that makes It’s Just a Plant threatening, at least as much as its ostensible focus on marijuana—and perhaps even more so.

Reefer Madness: The Criminalization—and Demonization—of Marijuana in the United States

As Solomon H. Snyder has aptly noted, “The history of marijuana is one of déjà vu” (v). Both positive and negative attitudes about the plant fade and then reappear, establishing a cyclical pattern where cannabis is valued followed quickly by a period in which it is vilified.

This process long predates the appearance of marijuana in the United States. As Randi Mehling reminds us, “For thousands of years, cannabis has enjoyed historical significance as a recreational drug, a useful fiber, an oil, an edible seed, and a medicine” (8). The first documented instance of cannabis cultivation dates back 12,000 years ago (Mehling 8). According to W. Scott Ingram, “The Chinese were the first people to use cannabis for food, clothes, paper, and medicine” (37). Western trade routes brought the plant to Europe: “In the nineteenth century, the British imported these therapeutic strategies from their Indian colonies” (Snyder v).

By this point, cannabis had long been present in the United States. As Ted Gottfried reveals, “Hemp was a major crop for American colonists. They used it to make paper, clothing, and rope” (6). Indeed, in an etymological fact that has been largely forgotten today, “the word canvas comes from the word cannabis” (Ingram 19). The plant was such a crucial raw material for the Anglo-European settlers in North America that, as Rudolph J. Gerber has noted, “America’s first law on marijuana, dating from 1619 in Virginia, required farmers to grow hemp” (2). An analogous situation applied to the New England area. As Ingram has documented, “Cannabis … was one of the first crops grown in the Massachusetts Bay Colony” (43).⁴

The outbreak of the American Revolutionary War only heightened the need for cannabis. Cut off from British imports as well as from many former sources of trade, “[r]ope and sails (also made from hemp fiber) were so important that some colonial assemblies declared that any man who raised hemp or worked in a ropewalk for at least six months did not have to serve in the military” (Ingram 45). Furthermore, “Thomas Jefferson once claimed that America’s future depended upon hemp agriculture” (McMullin 13). As a result, it was cultivated widely. “Entries from George Washington’s diary in 1765 show that he personally planted and harvested cannabis for both fiber and medicinal purposes,” Mehling documents (10). Moreover, according to Gerber, “Jefferson probably wrote The Declaration of Independence on hemp paper. Betsy Ross made her first American flag of hemp fabric” (2).

In the tumultuous Federalist period, cannabis acquired a new significance. As Ingram has discussed, “Hemp … was more than just fiber for clothes, rope, and sails. It was used for money as well. Paper money had almost no value in the colonies. … One trade item that had value for every colonist was hemp. It became the ‘money standard’ for the first decade of the new United States” (45). By the end of the eighteenth century, however, the use of cannabis as a raw material for items like rope, clothes, and sails began to decline. In the words of Gottfried: “The invention of the cotton gin in 1793 meant the end of hemp as an American crop. With the cotton gin, farmers could more easily separate cotton fiber from the cotton plant. Cotton became cheaper to produce than hemp. Many hemp plantations switched to growing cotton” (6).

This shift, however, did not mean the end for cannabis. Akin to its usage in China, India, and Great Britain, the plant acquired a new life as a treatment for physical ailments and, of course, as a recreational intoxicant. According to Connolly, by the late nineteenth century, “people had discovered the drug’s other properties—it seemed to create feelings of pleasure and make people feel good. A new chapter in marijuana use was about to begin” (9). Growing awareness about the relaxation that many people experienced when they smoked marijuana in a cigarette, consumed it as an oil added to food, or inhaled the vapors from burning it in a hard resin form known as hashish, changed popular perceptions about the plant forever. Charles Baudelaire, the nineteenth-century French poet, famously wrote about how smoking hashish loosened his inhibitions and furthered his creative abilities.

Back in the United States, recreational use of cannabis became associated not with aristocratic writers and artists, but with the growing cohort of new immigrants from Mexico. Within this context, cannabis acquired both a new name—“marijuana” or, as it was then more commonly spelled, “marihuana”—and a whole new reputation. After centuries of cannabis being valued as a crop used for food, oil, fuel, and medicine among Anglo-European Americans, now, in the hands of Mexican immigrants, it was vilified. As Ingram has discussed, “Although most Americans knew the terms cannabis and hemp, the term marijuana and its use by newcomers led to an anti-immigrant backlash” (49). Rudolph Gerber expands on this assessment: “Law enforcement’s campaign against this ‘marijuana menace’ targeted foreigners, inferior races, sexual deviants, and social misfits” (3).

Regardless of the specific user, cannabis was linked with a whole host of pernicious physical and psychological effects. Indeed, one expert characterized cannabis as “a diabolical substance, a drug that could enslave a man in its addiction, destroy his moral fiber, turn him into a degenerate and a parasite, and unleash the mad dog that hitherto had been securely restrained in his erstwhile healthy body” (Abel, par. 12). These sentiments reached a fevered pitch during the 1930s. “In 1936, a movie called Tell Your Children was financed by a small church group who wanted to deliver a strong cautionary message to parents about the ‘evils’ of marijuana in a mock documentary format. Soon after the film was shot, it was re-edited and released as Reefer Madness” (Mehling 12–13). The film shows, among other scenarios, a jazz musician smiling cravenly after smoking a joint, a teenaged girl brought to sexual ruin by reefer, and a formerly upstanding young man partaking in a killing spree while under the influence of the drug. Reefer Madness was certainly the most famous (or infamous) scare film about marijuana, but it was far from the only one. A number of other marijuana-themed movies were released during this era. Bearing titles like Devil’s Harvest and Marijuana: Weed with Roots in Hell, their viewpoints on cannabis were clear (Gerber 6).

While the national frenzy over marijuana was certainly fueled by the increased racial, cultural, and class conflicts precipitated by the Great Depression, it was also greatly aided by the advocacy of one particular person: Harry J. Anslinger. The founding director of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics from 1930 until 1962, he was one of the most vocal opponents of marijuana. Indeed, as Gerber has written, “Almost single-handedly, Anslinger planted the seeds of our nation’s legal pot jungle” (4). Calling marijuana noth...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• 1 The Straight Dope
• 2 Nip/Tuck Truth
• 3 Good Things Come in Small Packages
• 4 Will Power
• 5 Boys Gone Wild
• Epilogue
• Works Cited
• Index