Why you shouldn’t read Little Black Sambo
Because it’s a case study in how not to write a story, even though it’s just been republished in Japanese. And for the sake of this discussion, we’re going to disregard the racism of it.
The story reeks of something that’s been made up on the spot, as if a child had just asked us “tell me a story”, and we’d been caught on the hop and started, “Er, right, er, well, there was this giant, see, and, yes, that’s always good start, and, er…”
The plot concerns the eponymous hero, with two unimaginatively-named parents, who takes a walk through the jungle. On the way he meets four tigers in turn, and gives them each an item of clothing to prevent them from eating him. Finally, in a pointless and surreal turn of events, the tigers turn into melted butter after chasing each other round a tree, and the hero’s mother makes pancakes out of them.
When I first read the story the following things stood out…
First, the hilariously botched encounters with the tigers. In the first encounter Little Black Sambo gives away his coat, which is fine. The second encounter is also straightforward:
And Little Black Sambo went on, and by and by he met another Tiger, and it said to him, “Little Black Sambo, I’m going to eat you up!” And Little Black Sambo said, “Oh! Please Mr. Tiger, don’t eat me up, and I’ll give you my beautiful little Blue Trousers.” So the Tiger said, “Very well, I won’t eat you this time, but you must give me your beautiful little Blue Trousers.” So the Tiger got poor Little Black Sambo’s beautiful little Blue Trousers, and went away saying, “Now I’m the grandest Tiger in the Jungle.”
But the third encounter starts like this:
And Little Black Sambo went on, and by and by he met another Tiger, and it said to him, “Little Black Sambo, I’m going to eat you up!” And Little Black Sambo said, “Oh! Please Mr. Tiger, don’t eat me up, and I’ll give you my beautiful little Purple Shoes with Crimson Soles and Crimson Linings.”
But the Tiger said, “What use would your shoes be to me? I’ve got four feet, and you’ve got only two; you haven’t got enough shoes for me.”
And you can almost hear the author thinking “Yes, damn-it, what use would they be?” And then she comes up with this wonderful er-um-yes-but-no-but continuation:
But Little Black Sambo said, “You could wear them on your ears.”
“So I could,” said the Tiger: “that’s a very good idea. Give them to me, and I won’t eat you this time.”
No, tiger, that’s a very stupid idea. The fourth tiger is offered an umbrella, and when he says that he needs all his paws for walking, the author has Little Black Sambo suggesting he tie the umbrella in his tail. “So I could” says the tiger.
The second thing that stood out was the butter incident:
And they still ran faster and faster and faster, till they all just melted away, and there was nothing left but a great big pool of melted butter (or “ghi,” as it is called in India) round the foot of the tree.
Talking animals is the stuff of classic fairy tales, but tigers turning into melted butter (or “ghi,” as it is called in India — thank you for that educational aside which serves no purpose whatsoever) is just weird.
And finally, the rather jarring end of the story, after the butter has been used to make pancakes:
And then they all sat down to supper. And Black Mumbo ate Twenty-seven pancakes, and Black Jumbo ate Fifty-five but Little Black Sambo ate a Hundred and Sixty-nine, because he was so hungry.
Which to me is rather reminiscent of Dr Evil’s ransom demand.
So, all in all, a story which really doesn’t bear printing, let along reprinting. Oh, and I almost forgot — it’s also racist.
