During the early years of homeschooling my children, I kept seeing Elsa Beskow’s name pop up on lists of “living books.” Educator Charlotte Mason used that term to describe captivating works of high literary merit that also cultivate a love for learning. At the time, I usually had to request an interlibrary loan for Beskow’s picture books because my local library didn’t stock them. But alongside the rise in popularity of home education, classic tales like Beskow’s are experiencing a revival in interest. These stories from early 20th century Scandinavia have had enormous staying power in the English-speaking world. The 2018 publication of box set collections of Beskow’s titles by Edinburgh publisher Floris Books only further bolstered this interest.
One look at Elsa Beskow’s whimsical children’s books makes it obvious why she is called “the Swedish Beatrix Potter.” The attention to detail, a reveling in the natural world, and a commitment to beauty in Beskow’s vibrant watercolor and ink illustrations set her on par with her English counterpart. Set deep in the forest of childhood imagination, Beskow’s simple stories feature talking flora and fauna, charming adventures, and (unlike in Potter’s books) plenty of fairy magic.
Not only is Beskow a favorite of adherents to certain educational philosophies, she was an educator herself. Not coincidentally, she was also a mother of six boys. Thus, I must imagine, like many of her young characters, she spent ample time exploring the woods. Her works feature themes especially enticing to the Waldorf school of thought developed by Rudolf Steiner. Steiner’s commitment to nature-based play, holistic learning, fairy tales, and positive interactions between adults and young people has always resonated deeply with my own parenting aspirations, even as I never became a strict Waldorfian myself. Like the Waldorf school, Beskow’s enchanting books are solidly anchored in the natural world, although she incorporates imaginative elements of magic, fairy, and whimsy alongside reality. Her tales often follow the natural rhythms of the year, tracing the weather changes from one season to the next or highlighting seasonal celebrations like the summer solstice.
Beskow’s obvious interest and familiarity with botany allows her to guide the reader deeply into the magical world of the forest. While most children today would not be familiar with many of the plants and flowers that Beskow references, this is not a drawback, but a benefit. In The Flowers’ Festival, for instance, little Lisa is disappointed to miss the Midsummer celebrations but is invited by the beautiful Midsummer Fairy to enjoy the solstice with the flowers. While some of Lisa’s fellow partygoers (Mrs. Beetroot or Mrs. Potato) might reference plants familiar to the young reader, how many children would be familiar with Miss Pelargonium? In this colorful tale, plants like melanpyrum, bird’s foot trefoil, and bleeding heart are anthropomorphized characters that bring richness to Beskow’s forest world.
The effect is similar to British writer Robert MacFarlane’s efforts in his book, The Lost Words: A Spell Book, to expose children to words describing the natural world, such as “kingfisher” or “bluebell.” He is convinced that such familiarity with the language of plants and creatures is necessary to a full experience of the world around us. It is a human act as old as Adam to give names to the natural things we see. And this deeper knowledge through language leads to a greater delight in God’s world. When our language becomes diminished and less specific, our appreciation is likewise decreased.
I remember driving with a friend in high school and commenting on the height of the pine trees lining the road. “How do you know what kind of tree those are?” she asked in surprise. “To me, trees are trees.” I realized then that when she saw the trees lining the road, they simply blended in with every other tree because she had no language for this particular kind of tree. Reading Beskow’s nature-based stories, by contrast, inspires readers to overcome this lost knowledge and foggy view of the world around us and learn about the flowers and plants in our own backyards. When reading Beskow’s picture books to my children, growing up in swampy Florida and harsh Texas, Beskow’s Swedish forest experience was far from relatable. Still, the stories inspired us to encounter and name the flora and fauna of our own surroundings.
Beskow’s tales also challenge the highly risk-averse trends of modern parenting. In her stories, children initiate their own adventures; then they must navigate them. In Woody, Hazel and Little Pip, the Acorn children sail through the forest on an obliging leaf, only to find themselves stuck delivering freshly laundered beards to the gnomes. They must plan their escape by disguising themselves and hiding in a hollow tree before being discovered by their friend Mr. Squirrel and returned to their mother, Mrs. Acorn.
But as a children’s book editor, what captivates me most when I return to Beskow’s books is her meticulous commitment to write for the young child. These are tales to savor and enjoy. They are not didactic or, as is common in children’s publishing today, written merely to communicate a message that makes grown-ups feel virtuous about purchasing the title (whether it is actually interesting to a young person or not). Beskow’s stories are written with the young reader in mind and with the understanding that children are worthy of stories that are beautiful, charming, and sometimes silly. They are stories with an understanding of the young child’s psychology and her desire to know what happens next when following the simple narrative. They aren’t works of meticulous world building. After all, we do not know the backstory of Mrs. Potato or Mr. Cornflower. We do not know how Mr. Squirrel first became friends with Mr. and Mrs. Acorn before rescuing the Acorn children from the gnomes. As with classic fairy tales, the reader is simply plopped into a world of surprises, wonder, and magic. The events of the narrative take priority above the characters’ inner thoughts, motivations, or histories.
Beskow also wisely cultivates a young child’s love for how tasks are done, step-by-step. Some of the stories remind me of picture books like Donald Hall’s The Ox-Cart Man, Patricia Polacco’s Thunder Cake, or even Laura Ingalls Wilder’s classic chapter books about pioneer life, because they walk the young reader through various practical tasks and how to achieve them. While grown-ups might miss the magic of such practical details, these simple tasks fascinate children who are just learning how the world works. Beskow’s charming story Pelle’s New Suit asks: How is a new suit made? What are the steps between shearing a sheep and weaving wool into a suit for little Pelle? When enjoying this story, I think of my youngest daughter’s absolute glee when she visits my mother, who has taught her the proper way to make a bed, set the table, or add ingredients to the soup. These tasks that seem like drudgery to grown-ups are still exciting to the young child. Beskow understands this truth.
The contemporary landscape of children’s publishing too often offers the lowest common denominator to children, from the most garish colors to the most crass jokes. By contrast, Beskow’s timeless stories offer enchantment, a love and respect for the child reader, a connection with the natural world, a rediscovery of language, engagement with healthy risk, and an invitation to see the magic in our own backyards–if only we can have the child-like eyes to recognize it.