Juvenilia is the name given to creative work produced by recognized authors and artists when they were children and young adults. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth century was a fruitful time for juvenilia, especially that of writers. Jane Austen, the Brontë family, and Dante Gabriel Rossetti, amongst others, among others, wrote extensively when they were young. Many of their manuscripts have survived, and a few are available on the Internet. The childhood and adolescent creative work of authors who became famous provides interesting comparison with the work of children and students we know in our lives. As editors of Stone Soup we have published extraordinary work by young writers, work that compares favorably with the best juvenilia. What makes writers, though, is not what they write as children and teenagers, but that they keep on telling stories throughout their lives. The juvenilia you will find on the Internet, in your local libraries and in the creative work publish in the pages of Stone Soup will provide entertainment for yourself, for your children, and for your students. And remember, after getting lost in the world of Jane Austen and the Brontë family, come back to us for the latest and most wonderful work by young people, being written today! To get you started on your journey through juvenilia, we have pulled together some links for you below. If you are interested in the original manuscripts, many of them tiny, handmade and handwritten books belonging to the authors, the British Library web pages have some excellent images and short articles of and about them. Jane Austen (1775-1817) Love and Freindship [sic], circa 1786, age 11 (see also our post on the 2016 movie by Whit Stillman with the same name, but actually based on a later novel, Lady Susan) Frederick and Elfrida, circa 1788, age 12-14 The Three Sisters, circa 1790, age 15-16 You can read more about Jane Austen’s juvenilia, and see images of some of her original hand-written notebooks, at the British Library website. Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855), Emily Brontë (1818-1848), Ann Brontë (1820-1849), (and Bramwell Brontë, 1817-1848) The young sisters and their brother created entire imaginary worlds–such as Emily’s Gondal and Bramwell’s Angria– which they wrote about prolifically in their youth, and produced tiny handwritten newspapers and magazines for themselves. The Brontë Sisters Web by Mitsuharu Matsuoka More links from Great Britain about the Brontës There are notes about and images of the Brontës’ notebooks, and an interesting video of a discussion about the Brontës’ juvenilia (in which experts handle the tiny original materials), at the British Library website. Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) Poems written around 1843, age 14-15
Special Feature
Special Feature: Kids React to Gun Violence
Sometimes at Stone Soup we receive several submissions that have to do with the same topic. Over the past weeks, we’ve received several related to gun violence, most notably school shootings and police brutality. In light of the shooting in Santa Fe, Texas today, Friday, May 18, 2018, we’ve decided to publish a selection of these sadly relevant pieces online. Drawing by William Drewes, 13 There is a lockdown on October 23, 2015. by Aidan McClure, 7 Lullaby by Rebecca Beaver, 13 Seventeen Graves by Kate Kuan, 11 Plus, a reminder to read our March blog piece, 5 Ways Children Can Make a Difference by Lucy Regnier Kline There is a lockdown on October 23, 2015. by Aidan McClure, 7 It was very scary! We had to hide in the coatroom for an hour and a half. Everybody was freaking out except for me, you know, because I am writing this. The police needed to give us an emergency early dismissal but not the good kind. Some people hid under their desks. We didn’t get to have lunch at school. The people who are working on the track left early. Mrs. Fitzgerald turned on Johnny Appleseed. Someone named Madison is writing about this to remember. I said I wasn’t afraid. Well now I am. Hu hu hu hu. That’s me breathing loud. I do that when I’m scared. I’m pretty sure everybody is terrified, even our fish is terrified. I will never forget this day. They’ll probably make my mom leave early too. I can’t wait until I get home and by the way I am still hu hu hu huing. They are starting to call the buses now thankfully. Some people think that they are going to die. Back to top Lullaby by Rebecca Beaver, 13 This little boy Shot dead- 17 Got into an “altercation” His killer claimed self defense And got away free Florida 2012 That’s where it went down This little boy Hood pulled up Iced tea in hand Skittle in back pocket A figure, observing from inside a van Zimmerman— I’m not even sure he was a man Called the police Said he was afraid Of the little boy Was ordered “Stay put. Keep away.” Wait. Soon the world would know their fate He didn’t Slowly slithered out of his van Stalked the little boy’s way Stared In his eyes So bright, so full of life Suddenly, the “man” Reached for his gun—the bullets… BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Tore through him Dressed in red— Alone, the little boy died Hood pulled up Bright eyes dull Light; gone No one seems to care He’s gone, his killer free He becomes a symbol Of injustice Gun violence Police brutality But when all is said And all is done He was just a little boy Loved by a mother Who doesn’t want a symbol She wants her son Here, safe, alive She wishes with all her heart She had been able to tell him she loves him Say goodbye And sing her son Her poor, sweet baby A lullaby. Back to top Seventeen Graves by Kate Kuan, 11 A terrible loss on Valentine’s day Students and teachers dead in the fray How did so many lives end this way Because no one saw the signs He aspired to murder and told others so Through an Instagram profile that showed he was a foe But no one noticed and no one would know No one saw the signs Cruz was nineteen, and passed a background check Nobody knew he would take a trek To a school where his expulsion was put into effect Nobody saw the signs Seventeen gravestones ringed with wreaths Because bullets were shot from their metal sheathes Each grave for a person who no longer breathes Because no one saw the signs Back to top
