Littérature scientifique sur le sujet « New York Times bestseller children's literature »

Frankel A: Once Upon a Potty: His (Hers). New York, NY: Barron's: 1980; list price $4.95. (#3 on the 1988 bestseller list of books on child care of the Ingram Book Co, distributors of trade books). It is hard to tell why this book is categorized with books on child-rearing. It is essentially a children's book without much information and virtually no guidance, except perhaps to emphasize that toilet training often takes a long time. Using the euphemisms, "poo-poo" and "wee-wee," the book colorfully and graphically depicts the story of Joshua, his new potty, and his first successful experience with it. The pictures show only a mother and not a father having a role. Young children may not recognize the potty as such because the example is atypical. The companion book is identical except that the leading character is named Prudence. The book is certainly easy to read and at an early elementary level.

Dreikurs R, Stoltz V. Children: The Challenge. 2nd ed. New York, NY: Dutton; 1987; list price $7.95 (#9 on the 1988 bestseller list of books on child care of the Ingram Book Co, distributors of trade books). Dreikurs considers development based on the mutual regulation between parent and child. Addressing issues in discipline and behavior from infancy to early adolescence, he perceives the parents' role as model, nurturer, and instructor, although mothers are given more responsibility for child-care than fathers. Various methods are offered for resolving conflicts in a range of typical problem situations. Techniques involve active listening, use of natural consequences, limit setting, etc. From toilet training to sibling rivalry, children's motives for misbehavior are explained. The text illustrates both theory and practice in child-rearing so that the principles learned are not only corrective and instructive, but also preventive. The difficulties of parenthood, peer, media, and sibling pressures are addressed but not the needs of special children. There is some presumption that families are intact and that a homemaker is present. The book is well-organized and rated as easy to read. Fairly believable vignettes illustrate parents' and children's contributions to situations of conflict. A section at the end of the book gives parents an opportunity to practice and review newly learned skills and principles.

B. Ingersoll. Your Hyperactive Child: A Parents' Guide to Coping with Attention Deficit Disorder. New York: Doubleday, 1988; list price $8.95 (No. 19 on the 1990 bestseller list of books on child care from Ingram Book Co., distributor of trade books). This scholarly book offers thorough coverage of current research on the medical aspects of attentional problems and yet manages to lend clarity to the topic. The description and inclusion of various behavior rating scales is quite helpful. Several of the fad treatments such as optometric training and dietary restrictions are thoughtfully discussed although rather gently dismissed. The book also offers brief but quality advice for teachers and parents on improving communication between home and school, keeping track of assignments, and use of token economies and other reward systems. Other valuable approaches such as self-monitoring and self-reinforcement, tutoring, summer school, and counseling receive insufficient attention. The most serious omission is the lack of emphasis on attentional problems in relation to academic deficits and the need to rule out learning problems as a part of making the diagnosis of Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. Otherwise, the author offers excellent recommendations for parents on managing children's behavior and helping them with peer relationships.

Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi E. Murkoff, & Sandee E. Hathaway. What to Expect The First Year. New York: Workman Publishing, 1989; list price $12.95 (No. 3 on the 1989 bestseller list of books on child care from Ingram Book Co., distributors of trade books). This book is a thorough, month-by-month account of health and development in the first 12 months of life. Additional chapters address: selecting a physician, purchasing baby clothes, furniture and equipment, and making decisions about circumcision, breast and/or bottle feeding. Advice on lifestyle and career issues, paternal leave, and child care is practicable and presented without alienating sanctimony. Alleviation of parental anxiety is a central focus. However, the authors appear cavalier and ill-informed when they suggest that parents should ignore most developmental delays and avoid developmental comparisons among children. Much more valuable are the messages about discipline—the authors teach sensitive, supportive parenting skills with emphasis on developing children's self-esteem and independence through encouragement and preventative behavior management. The text's medical coverage is comprehensive and current, addressing such topics as APGARs, reflexes, SIDS, preventing Reye's Syndrome, benign heart murmurs, and various first-aid treatments. Issues in nutrition, feeding and baby food recipes are also covered. The comprehensive index and table of contents make the book easy to use, although the assumption of intact families with resources, the detailed presentation of topics and difficult reading level, suggest that the book is most useful to educated parents.

In 2015, the North American short story writer Lucia Berlin (1926–2004) was ‘rediscovered’ when her posthumous collection, A Manual for Cleaning Women, became a New York Times bestseller. It has since been translated into more than twenty languages, and has been received with particular enthusiasm in Spain and Latin America. Many of her stories are set in Chile or Mexico, where she lived for many years. This article proposes that Berlin’s adolescence in Santiago, her bilingual education, and her studies with Spanish novelist Ramón J. Sender at the University of New Mexico had important impacts on her writing. This connection has yet to be made: Berlin is most often associated with North American ‘dirty realism’, or other anglophone movements. I argue that we are wrong to place her work exclusively in the context of her country of birth, and propose that we read her alongside the hispanophone writers she learned from. In my first section, I describe Berlin’s experience in Santiago as a young, privileged North American, and explore how this formed her identity as an outsider–insider, or insider–outsider. In my next section, I focus on Berlin’s undergraduate years in New Mexico, charting her interests in liminal and domestic spaces, which may have been encouraged by Sender. In my final section, I examine the stories with Chilean settings that she published in 1988, and ask what prompted her to return to the country of her adolescence on the page.

Adam Grant is a renowned psychologist, best-selling author, and top-rated professor at the Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania. His books, including “Give and Take”, “Originals”, “Option B”, “Power Moves” and “Think Again” have sold millions of copies, been translated into 45 languages, and earned him the #1 spot on the New York Times bestseller list. As one of TED’s most popular speakers, with over 30 million views, Grant’s insights on work and leadership resonate with audiences worldwide. He is recognized as one of the world’s 10 most influential management thinkers and has received prestigious awards for his scientific achievements. Adam Grant continues to inspire individuals and organizations to challenge norms and drive positive change.

Happy fall and early winter everyone! It seems most of the book festivals and meetings have passed for the year but there are certainly award announcements worth noting. TD Canadian Children’s Literature Awards Town Is by the Sea, written by Joanne Schwartz and illustrated by Sydney Smith, won the TD Canadian Children’s Literature Award ($50,000) When the Moon Comes, written by Paul Harbridge and illustrated by Matt James, won the Marilyn Baillie Picture Book Award ($20,000) #NotYourPrincess: Voices of Native American Women, edited by Lisa Charleyboy and Mary Beth Leatherdale, won the Norma Fleck Award for Canadian Children’s Non-Fiction ($10,000) The Assassin’s Curse by Kevin Sands won the Geoffrey Bilson Award for Historical Fiction for Young People ($5,000) The Hanging Girl by Eileen Cook won the John Spray Mystery Award ($5,000) The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline won the Amy Mathers Teen Book Award ($5,000) Young readers were asked to pick their favourite book from the shortlisted TD Canadian Children’s Literature Awards titles in an online poll. This year, Barbara Reid took home the $5,000 award for Picture the Sky. 2018 Governor General’s Literary Award Winners Announced Young people’s literature — text (English): Sweep by Jonathan Auxier Young people’s literature — illustrated books (English): They Say Blue by Jillian Tamaki Young people’s literature — text (French): Le chemin de la montagne by Marianne Dubuc See full list of Governor General Literary Award winners here: https://ggbooks.ca/#finalists Vancouver Children's Literature Roundtable (VCLR) is hosting an event to celebrate Award-Winning BC Children’s Authors and Illustrators 2019January 30, 2019, 7 – 9 pm UBC Golf Club - see the website for more details I will leave you with a nice summary of the best illustrated children’s books of 2018 selected by The New York Times.

Greetings everyone! This issue of Deakin news focuses primarily on several events happening across Canada, including a few shortlist announcements. Awards Finalists for Newfoundland and Labrador Book AwardsFor a list of finalists read more at the Canadian Children’s Book Centre Website VCRL 2018 Information Book Award Shortlist Announced For a list of the 10 titles on the shortlist, see the VCRL website.Roundtables voting deadline: October 31, 2018Winner announcement: November 2018 Events Telling Tales FestivalWestfield Heritage Village, Rockton OntarioSunday September 16, 2018 The Children’s Book Bank Presents An Evening with Emma DonoghueThursday, September 20, starting at 6:00 pm at Daniels Spectrum 585 Dundas Street East in Toronto, Ontario Word on the Street TorontoHarbourfront CentreSunday September 23, 2018 (includes a “kids zone” area) WordFest - Calgary, ABOctober 8-15, 2018Memorial Park LibarySee the Youth Program for details The Annual VCLR Illustrator’s Breakfast: How do they do that?October 13, 2018 | University Golf Course | Vancouver BC Breakfast & presentations: 8:00 am - 12:00 pmWorkshop: 12:30 – 1:30 pmEarly Bird Rates end September 23, 2018 Book Bash: Canadian Children's Literature FestivalSaturday, October 20 from 12:00 - 4:00 p.mHarbourfront Centre To conclude, I leave you with this quirky list of books from The New York Times entitled “Charming, Plucky Picture Books That Ease Back-to-Class Jitters.” All the best for an enjoyable fall and happy reading! Hanne Pearce

Hello! As this issue quickly follows our last there are only a few news items to share with you. The Forest of Reading / Festival of Trees 2019 which is a national festival, held its largest event in Toronto from May 14 to 16. Students read a variety of Canadian children’s books throughout the year and then vote on their favourite book. Awards are then granted for books in a variety of different categories. The Canadian Children’s Book Centre has a lovely summary article about the festival that includes a lengthy list of all the winners. You can also see all the nominees for the various awards on the Ontario Library Association website. The Vancouver Children's Literature Roundtable (VCLR) has announced it’s Information Book Award Shortlist. It includes eight juvenile non-fiction titles. Voting for winners continues into the fall and the winner will be announced in November. The Canadian Children’s Book Centre’s Annual General Meeting will be taking place on Wednesday, June 5, 2019 at 6:00 pm. CCBC members and the general public are welcome to attend: Room 224, Northern District Library / 40 Orchard View Blvd. / Toronto, Ontario M4R 1B9 On a final note, the Children’s book author Judith Kerr passed away earlier this month. Kerr was known for her book The Tiger that Came to Tea. The New York Times recently published an obituary tribute to Kerr. Best wishes for a wonderful summer! Hanne

Introduction It is very common for children’s films to adapt, rework, or otherwise re-imagine existing cultural material. Such re-imaginings are potential candidates for fidelity criticism: a mode of analysis whereby an adaptation is judged according to its degree of faithfulness to the source text. Indeed, it is interesting that while fidelity criticism is now considered outdated and problematic by adaptation theorists (see Stam; Leitch; and Whelehan) the issue of fidelity has tended to linger in the discussions that form around material adapted for children. In particular, it is often assumed that the re-imagining of cultural material for children will involve a process of “dumbing down” that strips the original text of its complexity so that it is more easily consumed by young audiences (see Semenza; Kellogg; Hastings; and Napolitano). This is especially the case when children’s films draw from texts—or genres—that are specifically associated with an adult readership. This paper explores such an interplay between children’s and adult’s culture with reference to the re-imagining of the horror genre in children’s animated film. Recent years have seen an inrush of animated films that play with horror tropes, conventions, and characters. These include Frankenweenie (2012), ParaNorman (2012), Hotel Transylvania (2012), Igor (2008), Monsters Inc. (2001), Monster House (2006), and Monsters vs Aliens (2009). Often diminishingly referred to as “kiddie horror” or “goth lite”, this re-imagining of the horror genre is connected to broader shifts in children’s culture, literature, and media. Anna Jackson, Karen Coats, and Roderick McGillis, for instance, have written about the mainstreaming of the Gothic in children’s literature after centuries of “suppression” (2); a glance at the titles in a children’s book store, they tell us, may suggest that “fear or the pretence of fear has become a dominant mode of enjoyment in literature for young people” (1). At the same time, as Lisa Hopkins has pointed out, media products with dark, supernatural, or Gothic elements are increasingly being marketed to children, either directly or through product tie-ins such as toys or branded food items (116-17). The re-imagining of horror for children demands our attention for a number of reasons. First, it raises questions about the commercialisation and repackaging of material that has traditionally been considered “high culture”, particularly when the films in question are seen to pilfer from sites of the literary Gothic such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) or Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897). The classic horror films of the 1930s such as James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931) also have their own canonical status within the genre, and are objects of reverence for horror fans and film scholars alike. Moreover, aficionados of the genre have been known to object vehemently to any perceived simplification or dumbing down of horror conventions in order to address a non-horror audience. As Lisa Bode has demonstrated, such objections were articulated in many reviews of the film Twilight, in which the repackaging and simplifying of vampire mythology was seen to pander to a female, teenage or “tween” audience (710-11). Second, the re-imagining of horror for children raises questions about whether the genre is an appropriate source of pleasure and entertainment for young audiences. Horror has traditionally been understood as problematic and damaging even for adult viewers: Mark Jancovich, for instance, writes of the long-standing assumption that horror “is moronic, sick and worrying; that any person who derives pleasure from the genre is moronic, sick and potentially dangerous” and that both the genre and its fans are “deviant” (18). Consequently, discussions about the relationship between children and horror have tended to emphasise regulation, restriction, censorship, effect, and “the dangers of imitative violence” (Buckingham 95). As Paul Wells observes, there is a “consistent concern […] that horror films are harmful to children, but clearly these films are not made for children, and the responsibility for who views them lies with adult authority figures who determine how and when horror films are seen” (24). Previous academic work on the child as horror viewer has tended to focus on children as consumers of horror material designed for adults. Joanne Cantor’s extensive work in this area has indicated that fright reactions to horror media are commonly reported and can be long-lived (Cantor; and Cantor and Oliver). Elsewhere, the work of Sarah Smith (45-76) and David Buckingham (95-138) has indicated that children, like adults, can gain certain pleasures from the genre; it has also indicated that children can be quite media savvy when viewing horror, and can operate effectively as self-censors. However, little work has yet been conducted on whether (and how) the horror genre might be transformed for child viewers. With this in mind, I explore here the re-imagining of horror in two children’s animated films: Frankenweenie and ParaNorman. I will consider the way horror tropes, narratives, conventions, and characters have been reshaped in each film with a child’s perspective in mind. This, I argue, does not make them simplified texts or unsuitable objects of pleasure for adults; instead, the films demonstrate that the act of re-imagining horror for children calls into question long-held assumptions about pleasure, taste, and the boundaries between “adult” and “child”. Frankenweenie and ParaNorman: Rewriting the Myth of Childhood Innocence Frankenweenie is a stop-motion animation written by John August and directed by Tim Burton, based on a live-action short film made by Burton in 1984. As its name suggests, Frankenweenie re-imagines Shelley’s Frankenstein by transforming the relationship between creator and monster into that between child and pet. Burton’s Victor Frankenstein is a young boy living in a small American town, a creative loner who enjoys making monster movies. When his beloved dog Sparky is killed in a car accident, young Victor—like his predecessor in Shelley’s novel—is driven by the awfulness of this encounter with death to discover the “mysteries of creation” (Shelley 38): he digs up Sparky’s body, drags the corpse back to the family home, and reanimates him in the attic. This coming-to-life sequence is both a re-imagining of the famous animation scene in Whale’s film Frankenstein and a tender expression of the love between a boy and his dog. The re-imagined creation scene therefore becomes a site of negotiation between adult and child audiences: adult viewers familiar with Whale’s adaptation and its sense of electric spectacle are invited to rethink this scene from a child’s perspective, while child viewers are given access to a key moment from the horror canon. While this blurring of the lines between child and adult is a common theme in Burton’s work—many of his films exist in a liminal space where a certain childlike sensibility mingles with a more adult-centric dark humour—Frankenweenie is unique in that it actively re-imagines as “childlike” a film and/or work of literature that was previously populated by adult characters and associated with adult audiences. ParaNorman is the second major film from the animation studio Laika Entertainment. Following in the footsteps of the earlier Laika film Coraline (2009)—and paving the way for the studio’s 2014 release, Boxtrolls—ParaNorman features stop-motion animation, twisted storylines, and the exploration of dark themes and spaces by child characters. The film tells the story of Norman, an eleven year old boy who can see and communicate with the dead. This gift marks him as an outcast in the small town of Blithe Hollow, which has built its identity on the historic trial and hanging of an “evil” child witch. Norman must grapple with the town’s troubled past and calm the spirit of the vengeful witch; along the way, he and an odd assortment of children battle zombies and townsfolk alike, the latter appearing more monstrous than the former as the film progresses. Although ParaNorman does not position itself as an adaptation of a specific horror text, as does Frankenweenie, it shares with Burton’s film a playful intertextuality whereby references are constantly made to iconic films in the horror genre (including Halloween [1978], Friday the 13th [1980], and Day of the Dead [1985]). Both films were released in 2012 to critical acclaim. Interestingly, though, film critics seemed to disagree over who these texts were actually “for.” Some reviewers described the films as children’s texts, and warned that adults would likely find them “tame and compromised” (Scott), “toothless” (McCarthy) or “sentimental” (Bradshaw). These comments carry connotations of simplification: the suggestion is that the conventions and tropes of the horror genre have been weakened (or even contaminated) by the association with child audiences, and that consequently adults cannot (or should not) take pleasure in the films. Other reviewers of ParaNorman and Frankenweenie suggested that adults were more likely to enjoy the films than children (O’Connell; Berardinelli; and Wolgamott). Often, this suggestion came together with a warning about scary or dark content: the films were deemed to be too frightening for young children, and this exclusion of the child audience allowed the reviewer to acknowledge his or her own enjoyment of and investment in the film (and the potential enjoyment of other adult viewers). Lou Lumenick, for instance, peppers his review of ParaNorman with language that indicates his own pleasure (“probably the year’s most visually dazzling movie so far”; the climax is “too good to spoil”; the humour is “deliciously twisted”), while warning that children as old as eight should not be taken to see the film. Similarly, Christy Lemire warns that certain elements of Frankenweenie are scary and that “this is not really a movie for little kids”; she goes on to add that this scariness “is precisely what makes ‘Frankenweenie’ such a consistent wonder to watch for the rest of us” (emphasis added). In both these cases a line is drawn between child and adult viewers, and arguably it is the film’s straying into the illicit area of horror from the confines of a children’s text that renders it an object of pleasure for the adult viewer. The thrill of being scared is also interpreted here as a specifically adult pleasure. This need on the part of critics to establish boundaries between child and adult viewerships is interesting given that the films themselves strive to incorporate children (as characters and as viewers) into the horror space. In particular, both films work hard to dismantle the myths of childhood innocence—and associated ideas about pleasure and taste—that have previously seen children excluded from the culture of the horror film. Both the young protagonists, for instance, are depicted as media-literate consumers or makers of horror material. Victor is initially seen exhibiting one of his home-made monster movies to his bemused parents, and we first encounter Norman watching a zombie film with his (dead) grandmother; clearly a consummate horror viewer, Norman decodes the film for Grandma, explaining that the zombie is eating the woman’s head because, “that’s what they do.” In this way, the myth of childhood innocence is rewritten: the child’s mature engagement with the horror genre gives him agency, which is linked to his active position in the narrative (both Norman and Victor literally save their towns from destruction); the parents, meanwhile, are reduced to babbling stereotypes who worry that their sons will “turn out weird” (Frankenweenie) or wonder why they “can’t be like other kids” (ParaNorman). The films also rewrite the myth of childhood innocence by depicting Victor and Norman as children with dark, difficult lives. Importantly, each boy has encountered death and, for each, his parents have failed to effectively guide him through the experience. In Frankenweenie Victor is grief-stricken when Sparky dies, yet his parents can offer little more than platitudes to quell the pain of loss. “When you lose someone you love they never really leave you,” Victor’s mother intones, “they just move into a special place in your heart,” to which Victor replies “I don’t want him in my heart—I want him here with me!” The death of Norman’s grandmother is similarly dismissed by his mother in ParaNorman. “I know you and Grandma were very close,” she says, “but we all have to move on. Grandma’s in a better place now.” Norman objects: “No she’s not, she’s in the living room!” In both scenes, the literal-minded but intelligent child seems to understand death, loss, and grief while the parents are unable to speak about these “mature” concepts in a meaningful way. The films are also reminders that a child’s first experience of death can come very young, and often occurs via the loss of an elderly relative or a beloved pet. Death, Play, and the Monster In both films, therefore, the audience is invited to think about death. Consequently, there is a sense in each film that while the violent and sexual content of most horror texts has been stripped away, the dark centre of the horror genre remains. As Paul Wells reminds us, horror “is predominantly concerned with the fear of death, the multiple ways in which it can occur, and the untimely nature of its occurrence” (10). Certainly, the horror texts which Frankenweenie and ParaNorman re-imagine are specifically concerned with death and mortality. The various adaptations of Frankenstein that are referenced in Frankenweenie and the zombie films to which ParaNorman pays homage all deploy “the monster” as a figure who defies easy categorisation as living or dead. The othering of this figure in the traditional horror narrative allows him/her/it to both subvert and confirm cultural ideas about life, death, and human status: for monsters, as Elaine Graham notes, have long been deployed in popular culture as figures who “mark the fault-lines” and also “signal the fragility” of boundary structures, including the boundary between human and not human, and that between life and death (12). Frankenweenie’s Sparky, as an iteration of the Frankenstein monster, clearly fits this description: he is neither living nor dead, and his monstrosity emerges not from any act of violence or from physical deformity (he remains, throughout the film, a cute and lovable dog, albeit with bolts fixed to his neck) but from his boundary-crossing status. However, while most versions of the Frankenstein monster are deliberately positioned to confront ideas about the human/machine boundary and to perform notions of the posthuman, such concerns are sidelined in Frankenweenie. Instead, the emphasis is on concerns that are likely to resonate with children: Sparky is a reminder of the human preoccupation with death, loss, and the question of why (or whether, or when) we should abide by the laws of nature. Arguably, this indicates a re-imagining of the Frankenstein tale not only for child audiences but from a child’s perspective. In ParaNorman, similarly, the zombie–often read as an articulation of adult anxieties about war, apocalypse, terrorism, and the deterioration of social order (Platts 551-55)—is re-used and re-imagined in a childlike way. From a child’s perspective, the zombie may represent the horrific truth of mortality and/or the troublesome desire to live forever that emerges once this truth has been confronted. More specifically, the notion of dealing meaningfully with the past and of honouring rather than silencing the dead is a strong thematic undercurrent in ParaNorman, and in this sense the zombies are important figures who dramatise the connections between past and present. While this past/present connection is explored on many levels in ParaNorman—including the level of a town grappling with its dark history—it is Norman and his grandmother who take centre stage: the boundary-crossing figure of the zombie is re-realised here in terms of a negotiation with a presence that is now absent (the elderly relative who has died but is still remembered). Indeed, the zombies in this film are an implicit rebuke to Norman’s mother and her command that Norman “move on” after his grandmother’s death. The dead are still present, this film playfully reminds us, and therefore “moving on” is an overly simplistic and somewhat disrespectful response (especially when imposed on children by adult authority figures.) If the horror narrative is built around the notion that “normality is threatened by the Monster”, as Robin Wood has famously suggested, ParaNorman and Frankenweenie re-imagine this narrative of subversion from a child’s perspective (31). Both films open up a space within which the child is permitted to negotiate with the destabilising figure of the monster; the normality that is “threatened” here is the adult notion of the finality of death and, relatedly, the assumption that death is not a suitable subject for children to think or talk about. Breaking down such understandings, Frankenweenie and ParaNorman strive not so much to play with death (a phrase that implies a certain callousness, a problematic disregard for human life) but to explore death through the darkness of play. This is beautifully imaged in a scene from ParaNorman in which Norman and his friend Neil play with the ghost of Neil’s recently deceased dog. “We’re going to play with a dead dog in the garden,” Neil enthusiastically announces to his brother, “and we’re not even going to have to dig him up first!” Somewhat similarly, film critic Richard Corliss notes in his review of Frankenweenie that the film’s “message to the young” is that “children should play with dead things.” Through this intersection between “death” and “play”, both films propose a particularly child-like (although not necessarily child-ish) way of negotiating horror’s dark territory. Conclusion Animated film has always been an ambiguous space in terms of age, pleasure, and viewership. As film critic Margaret Pomeranz has observed, “there is this perception that if it’s an animated film then you can take the little littlies” (Pomeranz and Stratton). Animation itself is often a signifier of safety, fun, nostalgia, and childishness; it is a means of addressing families and young audiences. Yet at the same time, the fantastic and transformative aspects of animation can be powerful tools for telling stories that are dark, surprising, or somehow subversive. It is therefore interesting that the trend towards re-imagining horror for children that this paper has identified is unfolding within the animated space. It is beyond the scope of this paper to fully consider what animation as a medium brings to this re-imagining process. However, it is worth noting that the distinctive stop-motion style used in both films works to position them as alternatives to Disney products (for although Frankenweenie was released under the Disney banner, it is visually distinct from most of Disney’s animated ventures). The majority of Disney films are adaptations or re-imaginings of some sort, yet these re-imaginings look to fairytales or children’s literature for their source material. In contrast, as this paper has demonstrated, Frankenweenie and ParaNorman open up a space for boundary play: they give children access to tropes, narratives, and characters that are specifically associated with adult viewers, and they invite adults to see these tropes, narratives, and characters from a child’s perspective. Ultimately, it is difficult to determine the success of this re-imagining process: what, indeed, does a successful re-imagining of horror for children look like, and who might be permitted to take pleasure from it? Arguably, ParaNorman and Frankenweenie have succeeded in reshaping the genre without simplifying it, deploying tropes and characters from classic horror texts in a meaningful way within the complex space of children’s animated film. References Berardinelli, James. “Frankenweenie (Review).” Reelviews, 4 Oct. 2012. 6 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.reelviews.net/php_review_template.php?identifier=2530›. Bode, Lisa. “Transitional Tastes: Teen Girls and Genre in the Critical Reception of Twilight.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies 24.5 (2010): 707-19. Bradshaw, Peter. “Frankenweenie: First Look Review.” The Guardian, 11 Oct. 2012. 6 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.theguardian.com/film/2012/oct/10/frankenweenie-review-london-film-festival-tim-burton›. Buckingham, David. Moving Images: Understanding Children’s Emotional Responses to Television. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1996. Cantor, Joanne. “‘I’ll Never Have a Clown in My House’ – Why Movie Horror Lives On.” Poetics Today 25.2 (2004): 283-304. Cantor, Joanne, and Mary Beth Oliver. “Developmental Differences in Responses to Horror”. The Horror Film. Ed. Stephen Prince. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2004. 224-41. Corliss, Richard. “‘Frankenweenie’ Movie Review: A Re-Animated Delight”. Time, 4 Oct. 2012. 6 Aug. 2014 ‹http://entertainment.time.com/2012/10/04/tim-burtons-frankenweenie-a-re-animated-delight/›. Frankenweenie. Directed by Tim Burton. Walt Disney Pictures, 2012. Graham, Elaine L. Representations of the Post/Human: Monsters, Aliens and Others in Popular Culture. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2002. Hastings, A. Waller. “Moral Simplification in Disney’s The Little Mermaid.” The Lion and the Unicorn 17.1 (1993): 83-92. Hopkins, Lisa. Screening the Gothic. Austin: U of Texas P, 2005. 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This chapter explains how the Twin Peaks universe has expanded beyond the mediums of film and television and into the areas of literature and digital media, which inspired countless works of fan-made artwork and fiction. It reviews a brief survey of some of the key paratexts that interlock with David Lynch's Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, which opens up new facets and insights into the film's narrative. It also mentions The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer, which was written by Lynch's daughter Jennifer and published in October 1990 in between airing of the first and second seasons of the Twin Peaks series. The chapter details the The Secret Diary's initial release that reached number four on The New York Times bestseller list during the height of Twin Peaks mania. It explains book stands as a powerful testimony of the harmful and damaging effects of sexual abuse.