100 Books Like Millennial Monsters

I am generally not a big fan of hardcore academic theory, but this collection of essays edited by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen gave me a steady stream of "aha!" moments when I first read it about twenty years ago.

I struggled a bit with some of the jargon here, not to mention the fact that it only deals with monsters in the Western tradition, but I know of no better book for helping readers understand why humans create (and need) monsters, what roles monsters play in affirming (and undermining) social norms, and what the study of monsters can reveal about the anxieties and fault-lines in the cultures that spawn them. “Monsters are our children,” Cohen writes at one point: that still blows my mind after two decades of chewing on it.

I was fascinated by yokai, the weird and wonderful creatures of Japanese folklore, well before they became a thing on social media and in global pop culture. Of all the books designed to introduce yokai to Western audiences, Michael Dylan Foster's is by far the best at explaining how the Japanese understand these legendary creatures and their roles in Japanese culture throughout history.

His stories of kappa and oni and monstrous umbrellas with arms and legs are hilarious, creepy, unforgettable, instructive, and revealing. If I have one gripe about this book, it is that Foster dismisses Godzilla and other kaiju as not being yokai. He’s wrong, but everyone deserves one mistake, especially in an otherwise excellent book.

Dinosaurs are the gateway drug to kaiju: most Godzilla fans began as kids fascinated by T-rexes and brontosauruses. I was blown away when I discovered W.J.T. Mitchell’s wonky, geeky, and wonderfully eccentric exploration of why we love dinosaurs, actual monsters (albeit prehistoric ones we can only experience today as skeletons in museums) rather than monsters conjured from our darkest imaginations.

Mitchell’s book is lots of fun to dip into, like a jarful of monstrous candy, but reveals in wonderful detail how dinosaurs (just like the creatures of folklore or fiction) are blank slates onto which a culture’s anxieties and aspirations can be inscribed.

I have never been that interested in cryptids, although few words bring a smile to my face as quickly as “Bigfoot” or “Yeti.”  I found Eric Cheezum’s Chessie a great read because it takes cryptids seriously, not (of course) as actual, yet-to-be-documented creatures, but as media manifestations of more profound cultural and social transformations, ruptures and yearnings.

Cheezum’s insight into cryptids impressed upon me that the folkloric creation of monsters occurred not just in some distant European past but even in Virginia retirement homes in the 1970s. The book also reminded me that monsters can be as “real” as one imagines. The next time I drive by the Chesapeake Bay, I’ll be looking for Chessie!

Toys! Dolls! Amusement Parks! They aren’t just playthings and play places; they are part of our national character and our consumer culture, as well as our private objects and experiences. Childhood is manufactured—created in our homes, communities, schools, and yes, by play. This book has a lot to say about our history but it is also a fun reminder of the things many of us grew up with or wish we had. It just might have you rooting through your attic or old photo books.

Koala is the most terrible! He has a terrible face. And terrible paws. And terrible eyes that follow you everywhere! If you love to make up voices, you will find that Adam's repeat of "I don't like Koala" is subversively fun. Unleash your inner naughty child! When Adam receives Koala as a gift, he thinks there can be nothing more terrifying. His parents don't understand and all attempts to ditch this crazy stuff toy come to nothing. And then one night, Adam worries there might be something even more terrible than Koala. This one is absolutely brilliant as a read-aloud.

Bossy, responsible Ruby is planning Grandma’s birthday party, and as usual, little brother Max has his own ideas. Ruby has invited her dolls to the party, but Max places his favorites—like the Ear-Splitter Space Cadet—at the table, swiping costume bits off Ruby’s dolls to disguise the imposters. Ruby is confused by the extra guests: “It must be a bad counting day. We need another chair.” Young readers will see what’s really happening—and Max’s facial expressions emphasize what he’s up to. What will Grandma think of the unusual guests?

This book was originally published in 1930 and also goes back a long way in my own life as well. I have fond memories of my father reading this story to me when I was young, acting out all the parts of the story, using different voices, and more. Despite being little and unassuming, the Little Blue Engine uses hope and belief to get over the mountain. Without belief in ourselves we often can’t even begin to try, but the Little Blue Engine chose to trust in himself and it paid off - big time. We can all use a little more belief in our own abilities to create massive change in our lives.

Like millions of others, I grieved when the magnificent Calvin & Hobbes cartoon strip came to an end. So, this last published collection was one to savour.

I loved how Bill Watterson would draw snowy scenes, bringing them to life with a few ragged strokes of India ink, and there are few better examples than the last strip he ever created, which closes this book.

“Everything familiar has disappeared! The world looks brand new!… It’s like having a big sheet of white paper to draw on!” declares Hobbes (that connection with an un-started picture’s potential is one reason I find snow so visually compelling).

“A day full of possibilities!” replies Calvin. “It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy…”

The final huge panel sees them launch into the expanse of white on their sled, whose tracks trace the topography with glorious minimalism: “… Let’s go exploring!”

What an end to ten… show more.

Pooh Bear and his friends have been favorites since I was old enough to hold a book. A. A. Milne’s poetry is wonderful, but when Pooh and Piglet come on the scene, there’s a special magic. Clinically depressed Eeyore and bossy Rabbit and motherly Kanga entertained me long after I was technically the right age for reading their stories.

I love this collection because it includes so many favorites and really takes you on a journey through the charming world of the Hundred Acre Wood.