Review of Cohen’s The Seuss, the Whole Seuss, and Nothing but the Seuss

David L. Murphy

            Charles Cohen’s The Seuss, the Whole Seuss, and Nothing but the Seuss (abbreviated hereafter as The Seuss) is noteworthy for providing four overarching themes.  The first theme is Cohen’s emphasis on a biographical interpretation of Seuss’ works.  The second theme is Cohen’s analysis of the artwork of Seuss.  The third theme within The Seuss that Cohen provides is an etymology of the cartoons in relation to the times that were contemporary to Seuss.  Finally, Cohen provides a fairly seamless transition back and forth from Seuss’ children’s books to his advertising campaigns, which is unusual.  Going through those four themes in respective order, I’ll provide a brief overview of what Cohen’s book accomplishes. 

            Cohen’s The Seuss progresses chronologically throughout and provides a biographical reading of Seuss’ works.  The Seuss provides much of the same information (and also much information that is different) that Judith and Neal Morgan provide in Dr. Seuss and Mr. Geisel. For instance, both cite, during Ted’s Dartmouth years, the watershed in Ted’s life when he was caught with bootleg booze and as a result, “Ted was removed from his editorship positions on both the magazine and the newspaper” (Cohen 57).  While such similarities speak to the accurate recording of the biographical facts of Seuss’ life, The Seuss and Dr. Seuss and Mr. Geisel differ in their focus and execution.  Whereas Dr. Seuss and Mr. Geisel simply tell the reader what is happening in Ted’s life, The Seuss is valuable because Cohen has provided numerous artwork samples to display to the reader.  The art samples that Cohen has collected are important because they provide insights into the creative methods that Seuss used to write, Seuss’ influences, and because the artifacts help to separate fact from fiction whenever Seuss chose to lie to interviewers.  For instance, Cohen traces the “Forensics” (6) of “stalking the elephant” (6) by using various works from Seuss’ early career to determine that Seuss’ idea of an elephant in a tree had been gestating for over a decade.  In fact, Cohen argues, Seuss had been developing the foundation for Horton Hatches the Egg for thirteen years.  By comparing how Seuss’ elephants evolved over time, Cohen was able to develop a biographical interpretation of Seuss’ work. 

            Cohen also analyzes Seuss’ artwork from a perspective that is not necessarily biographical; instead, during Seuss’ Judge years, Cohen analyzes Seuss’ cartoons according to their surrealist qualities.  While many of Seuss’ cartoons, Cohen acknowledges, are heavily dependent on Seuss’ background (Hilaire Belloc’s chamois upon the mountain, for instance, was a biographical influence), Cohen argues that cartoons “were the perfect venue in which to try out some odd pairings—fireman bobbing for apples; the proper way to doff a hat, as demonstrated with fish; and a tailor who sews buttons on ice cream” (90).  Cohen writes about how cartoons are, for Seuss, the choicest medium in which to explore his surrealist tendencies and his experiments with “deconstructing language” (92).  For Dr. Seuss, according to Cohen, the cartoon provided an apt medium for experimentalist works.  The two page cartoon, spanning pages 94 and 95 of The Seuss is exemplary of surrealist artwork and Seuss’ unique playfulness with language.  The spread depicts a number of invented animals, all of whom seem to be floating through space towards two drunkards, who seem to be imagining the animals in their bamboozled stupor.  The caption reads, “Saved at last—here come the St. Bernards!”  There are no St. Bernards pictured; the drunken men are hallucinating.  Cohen tells his readers that such drinking cartoons appeared shortly after the publication of André Breton’s Manifeste du surréalisme, at a time when the imagination was establishing itself as a main foundation of artistic creation (92).  Dr. Seuss, then, appeared to be in touch with European arts and avant-garde enough to incorporate the cutting-edge styles of his time into his own artwork. 

            The previous theme I discussed (which was Cohen’s analysis of Seuss’ artwork in other ways than biographical) is directly related to the etymology of Seuss’ work.  Seuss’ art—as can be seen by Seuss’ foray into Surrealism—often reflected Seuss’ contemporary time period.  Cohen’s book does an exemplary job of showing how Seuss’ work changed to fit the times, because Cohen has so many examples of Seuss’ work that the reader is able to track the chronological progression of Seuss’ times along with the work that was being published.  For instance, in the beginning of Cohen’s book, Seuss’ work can be seen to focus on issues associated with Dartmouth.  During the twenties, Seuss’ work sometimes dealt with Prohibition.  In ’29, Seuss touched on Surrealism, in the early ’40s Seuss opposed the Second World War with his cartoons, and during the Cold War, The Butter Battle Book spoke against the proliferation of nuclear arms.  The Seuss, because it reprints so much of Seuss’ work, is able to reflect the social/political times that Seuss’ work engages.  For this reason, if no other, The Seuss is an invaluable resource.

            The final theme I wanted to discuss concerns the natural way in which Cohen treats Seuss’ children’s books and his “other work.”  (By “other stuff,” I am referring to Seuss’ adult books [like The Seven Lady Godivas], Seuss’ ad campaigns, his Judge cartoons, etc.  In short, I am referring to everything besides Seuss’ children’s books.)  Cohen moves from discussing Seuss’ children’s books to the other work seamlessly.  Cohen’s narrative shift from children’s to adult fiction is a transition which is remarkable, because such a transition is unusual; many criticisms of Seuss’ work (such as Mensch and Freeman’s “Getting to Solla Sollew: The Existential Politics of Dr. Seuss,” Francelia Butler’s “Seuss as Creator of Folklore,” and others) treat only Seuss’ children’s books or his ad campaigns.  If the books and the campaigns are mentioned together in an article, the children’s books and campaigns are usually compared—not treated as part of a single author’s collection—as they are in Cohen’s work.  Cohen’s chapter “The Annual Brat-Books” is illustrative of Cohen’s seamless treatment of Seuss’ children’s books and other works.  The chapter begins with a brief biographical reading of the creation of And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street and progresses into an examination of “Ted’s Unorthodox Taxidermy Collection,” which is a menagerie of sculpted imaginary animals.  The significance is that Cohen does not discriminate in the amount of text devoted to what Dr. Seuss wrote for children and and the text devoted to the other work that Seuss did.  While Cohen does acknowledge that the audiences are different between the two types of work, Cohen nevertheless gives the two types of work equal treatment, which is moderately unusual among criticisms of Seuss.

            By treating four separate themes within Cohen’s book, I have tried to give an objective overview of what Cohen’s The Seuss, the Whole Seuss, and Nothing but the Seuss accomplishes.  Of the four themes discussed, I felt that The Seuss is especially useful for its multitude of illustrations which allows a reader to trace the time periods in which Seuss was writing, and to glean, from following the chronology of those illustrations, a rough idea of Seuss’ interests.  The Seuss should be read by anyone who is interested in an extensive catalogue of Seuss’ more obscure work, as Cohen’s research is extensive and of considerable depth.  Furthermore, because The Seuss is reasonably priced at $35, Cohen’s book should be affordable to those who have a little disposable income and an interest in all things Seuss.  But no matter how one attains a copy of the book, knowledgeable critics and casual readers alike should be thankful that Cohen has had the prescience to preserve and collect Dr. Seuss’ quirky work.