Books like Millennial Monsters — picked by fans

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.

A group of toys discarded by their former owners get together to find a new home and someone to love them. I love this book because it shows children that they need to take responsibility for taking care of their possessions. By personifying these toys, kids learn how easily a friend or loved one’s feelings can be hurt. It helps them learn about empathy and compassion. Readers get the message that respecting feelings and the rights of others is a desirable trait.

Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale is more than the story of a child’s missing beloved object. It is about the everyday things that a father and daughter do together. It is about the lengths a dad will go to fix a problem he was slow in figuring out. It is about the love between father and daughter. This story is so relatable, you can’t help but falling in love, and reading over and over with your kids. Or by yourself. Just because.

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.

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?

Shepard’s roughly-hatched illustrations are a symbiotic match for the scruffy charm and humour of Milne’s stories.

Only a couple of chapters feature snow, but they loom so large in my imagination—Pooh and Piglet following their own footsteps in search of the legendary Heffalump; and building Eeyore’s new house at Pooh Corner to shelter him from the snowstorm (unwittingly using Eeyore’s existing house as their source of wood).

As Eeyore gets buried in the snow, I can feel the cold wind with each economical scratch of Shepherd’s pen nib.