“What in the nation am I supposed to be?”: Child and Nation in two picture books from Ireland

Petros Panaou

Petros Panaou is a lecturer at the University of Nicosia, where he teaches children’s literature and language arts courses. Much of his work has focused on picture book analysis and comparative children’s literature, and is interdisciplinary in nature.  His published scholarly work includes: ‘What in the Empire am I supposed to be: Two Picture Books from Europe Propose Opposing Alternatives to Corporate Kinderculture’, in The Journal of Children’s Literature Studies 3.3 (2006), ‘The Infinitely Varied Mutual Contest of Sameness and Difference in Contemporary European Picture Books’, in What Do You See? International Perspectives on Illustration, Eds. J. Harding and P. Pinsent (2008), and ‘Political and cultural battles in a postcolonial picture book from Wales’ in International Research in Children’s Literature 1.1 (2008).

Petros Panaou undertakes a bold, perhaps daunting task: exploring the idea of nationhood from outside the nation in question.  Even more boldly, he uses literature for children as the medium for that exploration. Panaou offers two Irish picturebooks that exist in tension with one another: War and Peas from Northern Ireland and Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh (St Patrick and Crom Dubh) from The Republic of Ireland. After (briefly) contextualizing the worlds in which each book appears, Panaou explores the ideological approaches, in varying degrees of overt- and covert-ness, to the Irish famine and to Gaelic identity, respectively.We hope that this piece offers readers the impetus to explore national identity—your own, or another’s—through the lens of the books that nation offers to its children. 

(Caroline Jones – editor, Alice’s Academy)


In Nationalism in Ireland, George D. Boyce argues that Irish nationalism has been profoundly influenced by the power and proximity of Britain: “[T]he Gaels possessed a strong sense of cultural identity, which, under the impact of colonization, was transformed into a sense of national identity, and by the end of the Tudor period into embryonic ethnic nationalism” (19).  He defines nationalism as “the assertion by members of a group of autonomy and self-government for the group (often, but not invariably, in a sovereign state), of its solidarity and fraternity in the homeland, and of its distinctive history and culture” (19). While Boyce refers to the nationalism of Irish Catholics, this definition also fits, in a reverse manner, the nationalism of Protestants. Protestants do not assert their autonomy as a group because, as descendants of English settlers, they consider themselves part of the English nation—and England as their motherland—and wish to remain loyal to and united with “the Crown.” The following analysis of two picture books from the European Picture Book Collection (EPBC) [1] establishes connections mostly with Gaelic-Catholic nationalism; it should remain clear, however, that this nationalism exists for the most part in response to British colonialism/imperialism—which is itself in a sense an extreme form of nationalism—and in direct relation with and contrast to Protestant nationalism.

Irish Catholics--in spite of their diverse origins--came to share a common tradition; a tradition of spoliation and persecution. It is characteristic that land and religion were the two central pillars of this tradition of historical wrongs and unjust suffering: “Land and religion became central to this experience, and were resurrected to become the driving force of the resurgent nationalism of the nineteenth century” (Boyce 89). Interestingly enough, the picture book representing Northern Ireland in the EPBC is preoccupied with land and the picture book representing the Republic of Ireland in the collection is focused on religion.

(I)War and Peas - Northern Ireland

Michael Foreman, illustrator and author of War and Peas, is the award-winning illustrator of over 170 books. Foreman has persistently written about war and expressed intense antiwar feelings in several of his books. War and Peas could indeed be read as an antiwar, or antimilitaristic, story. Dr. Stuart Marriott, the scholar from the University of Ulster who submitted the book as Northern Ireland’s contribution to the EPBC, argues that “the moral imperative” in War and Peas is that “the people of rich countries are not only adequately fed but are replete; their refusal to help the hungry cannot possibly be excused or justified” (“Picture Books” 128). From this perspective, the book seems to be arguing for international social justice.

When viewed from a localized, Irish perspective, however, the “moral” of the picture book becomes more explicit. Penni Cotton asserts that War and Peas (1978) is a parody, through which “the serious nature of the continuing friction between England and Northern Ireland is depicted as an allegory” (91). I would like to build on this reading, pointing to a more explicit “moral imperative” in the book, one that describes the political situation in Northern Ireland in terms of national “right” and “wrong”: Irish Catholics are justified to demand their independence from Britain, because they have the right on their side; English and Irish Protestants have historically oppressed and exploited them and even let them starve to death during the Irish Famine of 1845 to 1849. This idea constitutes the core of Irish-Catholic nationalism. The following statement by Avril Doyle, TD Chairperson of Famine Commemoration Committee in the Republic of Ireland, is illustrative:

The Irish Government wholeheartedly shoulders its responsibilities in acknowledging the importance of the Famine, which so signally marked us as a people, which vastly expanded our diaspora, and in which modern Ireland itself was born. (qtd. in Kinealy 1)

War and Peas begins with an unambiguous image of famine. King Lion and his animal subjects are looking in distress at a barren land, pictured as a horizontal, unbroken, narrow stretch of beige covering the lower part of the first two pages.  The rest of the space on pages 1 and 2 is left completely blank to emphasize the emptiness of the scenery. High above King Lion’s head, like an inescapable doom, hangs the following text: “King Lion looked around his country and was sad. For a long time there had been no rain, and the ground was hard and dry. Nothing could grow, and there was nothing left to eat” (Foreman n.p.). The animals engage in futile efforts to avert the natural disaster: “The birds had flown off to collect seeds, while the bigger animals tried in vain to break up the ground for planting” (n.p.). Similarly, the Irish Famine was brought upon the Irish by natural causes that local farmers could do nothing to prevent; the famine was caused by a fungus disease which made the potato plants rot.

King Lion’s last resort is to ask a rich neighboring country for help. So he embarks on a journey, followed by the Grocer, who also happens to be the Minister of Food. At this point, the idea of a historical wrong is introduced through Lion’s narration to the childlike Grocer about memories of lost grandeur: “It was a long journey, and the Lion told the young Grocer stories about the days when their country stretched across the world, and the animals roamed through forests and across broad grasslands” (n.p.). Not only is this a reference to a great national tradition, it is also an assertion that this is the way nature intended things to be, before man intervened and altered the natural order of things.

This connection to real animals and the injustice usually done to them by humans is important, since the neighboring country (presumably Britain) is inhabited by men. The British government is represented by a certain Fat King surrounded by his “portly courtiers,” and given the Anglo-Irish history, it is noteworthy that amongst these courtiers one sees an Archbishop, a judge, and an executioner. The Fat King not only refuses to give King Lion and his companion any of his abundant supplies of food, but also first questions King Lion’s royalty — like any decent imperialist would do — and then has his soldiers arrest them:

“Never!” yelled the Fat King. “You are too thin to be a king. Lock them up!” “We only came to ask for any extra food you might have,” said the Grocer nervously. “Our people are starving.” “Beggars, are you?” shouted the Fat King. “Why should we go to the bother of sending you food? It is too much trouble.” “We’d be glad to come and get it,” said the Lion. “ROBBERS!” bellowed the Fat King. “Arrest them! Burrrp! Now they’ve given me indigestion.” (n.p.)

The Fat King seems to be intentionally misinterpreting King Lion’s words, looking for an excuse to arrest him. The entire fat army, armed to the teeth, riding horses and driving military trucks and tanks, chase the two minute animals that travel on battered bikes. The Fat King practically launches an invasion against the starving, poor country for no reason other than his absurd accusations.

There is bitterness, a sense of injustice that runs throughout the story; bitterness caused by a wealthy nation’s unjustified reluctance to help a poor one and, even worse, its desire to subdue it. A similar sense of bitterness is central in the nationalist thought of Irish Catholics, since they view the famine as genocide by the British government who did not take adequate measures to alleviate it.

In Foreman’s story, the animals, like Irish Catholics, unite against the (in-)human foreign invaders. Victory comes easily, both because they fight united under a just cause and because the Fat King’s soldiers are so overweight they can hardly move. The Fat King and his followers are “the bad guys” and thus deserve the punishment they get; the food they have been withholding from the animals is literally thrown back “in their faces.”

The need for social and political redemption has always been promoted by Irish nationalist leaders. They were remarkably successful in promoting the idea of unity and fraternity in the nation, mainly because economic and social pressures fell on an already well-defined set of cultural relationships. Tom Clarke, a Fenian who spent fifteen years in prison for his part in a dynamiting campaign, is an illustrative example. He decided to dedicate his life to the Irish cause when he was merely a boy, in order to participate in “the overthrow of the system which was reducing his country to a desert and his race to extinction” (Boyce 307). Boyce explains that “this referred to the events of the famine years of 1847-49, which Clarke, of course, did not experience, but the folk memory of which he absorbed” (307).

This is where nationalism meets socialism. After the famine, Irish socialism became quickly conflated with Irish nationalism; class struggle and racial conflict were united into one and the same thing. The Irish Socialist Republican Party (“Republican” meaning in support of the creation of an independent Irish Republic) and later the Socialist Party of Ireland had a clear objective: to establish an independent Irish socialist state “based upon the public ownership by the Irish people of the land, and instruments of production, distribution and exchange” (Boyce 300-301).

It is quite significant that, with the exception of King Lion, all the animals in War and Peas are dressed in farmer’s or worker’s clothes. The animals would be living in a heavenly socialist community had there not been the famine. Because of the famine, however, they lack “the land, and instruments of production, distribution and exchange” (Boyce 301). The Fat King unintentionally provides them with all of these by the end of the story:

“Then the Lion looked at the defeated Fat King and smiled. “But you have helped us, after all,” he said. “Just look at those fields. Your army trucks have dug up our land and now the seeds will grow. There will be plenty for everyone!” (Foreman n.p.).

In this ironic fashion, this wish-fulfilling story comes to a happy ending.

According to the EPBC website, the book was chosen by Marriott because “it provides a way in which complex and difficult ideas about the relationship of nation states can be understood by young children” (EPBC). While I acknowledge this aspect of the book, I also believe that, in several instances, it becomes a rather “closed text”, which limits its possible interpretations and oversimplifies complex ideas, hiding behind the alibi of its readers’ young age. As Peter Hollindale has shown, ideology will find its way in a children’s book anyway, but the manner in which this ideology is incorporated and presented and the degree of respect paid to the reader varies. In the case of War and Peas, I am afraid the book leaves very little space for personal reflection and independent formation of opinion; it tells the reader what to feel and think.

There are quite a few oversimplifications in the story. To begin with, during the Great Famine more than one million unfortunate Irish died and were buried in the very clothes they wore so as to save the money needed for coffins, while another million were forced to emigrate. No-one even gets sick in the picture book.  War, especially a war against a bigger and stronger country, will cause a considerable amount of devastation, tragedy, and death. On the contrary, war in War and Peas is presented as a harmless game. Finally, inter-ethnic problems of this kind, especially ones that are connected to a centuries-long history of colonial oppression, cannot possibly be solved “by mistake” as it happens in the picture book. I am not suggesting that art should strive to mimic life; what I am rather arguing is that children deserve stories that penetrate the surface of difficult issues and provide opportunities for deep and serious reflection.            

The story does argue for a just cause, but it also sets up a clear-cut binary. It describes two opposite groups: on the one hand we have a monstrously cruel and selfish people and on the other hand a most sympathetic group of animals in distress. Everything is depicted in opposites; from the “race” they belong to (humans vs. animals) to the lands they inhabit (paradise vs. desert). These opposites are exaggerated through Foreman’s impressive pictorial style; the Fat King’s land, for instance, is a surrealistic landscape of giant food items, while the animals live on an empty strip of beige. The illustrator’s persistence in presenting a world of distinct opposites supports the idea that all humans in the story are “bad” while all animals are “good”. What happens when we transfer this binary to real-life Northern Ireland? Are all Protestants “bad” and all Catholics “good”?

Stories that reinforce binaries contribute to the perpetuating of sectarianism, especially in a place like Northern Ireland, where the two groups are not only entrenched in their distinct identities, but they additionally tend to demonize each other. Marriott himself recognizes this situation: “[I]n a whole variety of ways the group often labeled Protestant or Unionist is different, and sees itself as different, from that labeled as Catholic or Nationalist” (“Culture” 88). The ways in which the two groups differ, or perhaps even strive to differ, from each other cover every social and cultural aspect of life in Ireland: they often live in separate geographical and residential areas, they have different employment and unemployment patterns, they belong to different religions, they have contrasting political affiliations, they attend separate schools, and even enjoy different sports and entertainments. Marriott completes his ethnographic summary: “As is well known, such divisions and divergences have their roots in the history of at least the last three hundred years and at times, notably in the last twenty five years, they have led to ferocious conflict” (“Culture” 88).

The story seemingly ends with the coming of peace. The future, however, does not seem too peaceful, since the Fat King remains in complete ignorance regarding the difference between “peace” and “peas”:

Burrrp!” said the Fat King.
“Peace,” said the Lion.
“No, no, no,” groaned the Fat King,
“don’t mention peas, ever.”
“Peace,” repeated the Lion.
“Never heard of it,” said the Fat King.
“What’s the recipe?” (Foreman n.p.)

One possible “moral imperative” could be that peace with “this kind of people” is impossible. 

(II) Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh - The Republic of Ireland
[St Patrick and Crom Dubh]

The Republic of Ireland achieved its independence during the beginning of the twentieth century and has been striving ever since to cement the replacement of colonial culture by a national one:

Ireland is the only Western European country that has had both an early and a late colonial experience. Out of that, Ireland produced, in the first three decades of [the twentieth] century, a remarkable literature in which the attempt to overcome and replace the colonial experience by something other, something that would be “native” and yet not provincial, was a dynamic and central energy. (Deane 3)

I read Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh - the Republic of Ireland’s contribution to the EPBC - as a reaffirmation of national identity or, to be more precise, as an expression of the nation’s dominant cultural identity.

Irish nationalists, both Catholics and Protestants, have always aimed to unite the ethnically diverse inhabitants of Ireland under a common cause, since both national and anti-colonial struggles unavoidably need a “people of the nation” to succeed. The native Irish, in exclusion of the descendants of British or Scottish settlers, found one such common denominator in the Gaels. Boyce argues that, even though the Gaels were in essence one of the many waves of successive invaders, later generations of Irishmen “have all found it necessary to come to terms with the belief that the Gaels in some sense represent ‘the Irish in the infancy of their race’” (25). An appeal to Gaelic identity and Gaelic historical rights also functioned as defense against foreign invasion. The Gaelic League, founded in 1893, was part of a nineteenth-century Gaelic revival that strived for “the preservation and advancement of a national identity based solely on the Gaelic cultural and linguistic heritage” (Boyce 237).

Literature had an important role to play. Hyde joined Yeats and other Irish intellectuals in the founding of the Irish Literary Society of London in 1891 and the National Literary Society in 1892. While these societies initially had the vision of an inclusive literary movement, which would contribute to the establishing of a common Irish tradition and embrace all Irishmen regardless of their origins and persuasions, the political reality eventually led it to more exclusivist visions (Boyce 234-235). Yeats - even though criticized by some for his use of the colonizer’s English language - inspired a whole generation of Irish rebels, who finally achieved Ireland’s partial independence. Even so, the Republic of Ireland that won independence in 1922 was not a united, ideal nation. Political and social divisions, but most importantly religious-ethnic divisions were fragmenting the nation’s unity. This is why Gaelic cultural enthusiasts “wanted to make Ireland not only free but Gaelic as well, to the exclusion of nearly everything else” (Boyce 22).

The Gaelic language has been central in this effort, and while attempts to re-establish Gaelic as the Irish vernacular eventually failed, the use of Gaelic in literature — children’s literature especially — has had a better fate. Patrick H. Pearse himself (barrister, poet, politician, journalist, soldier, educator, school-master, the first president of the Irish Republic and a national hero who died in the battle for independence) initiated the tradition of writing stories for children in Gaelic. Frank Flanagan recognizes in Pearse’s work the birth of Irish children’s literature: “If we were to identify a point in the history of the Irish language at which a literature for children was born it would unarguably be in the writing of Pearse” (70). Flanagan lists the main characteristics of Irish children’s literature, as they were established by Pearse: “Pearse forged a new recognition that stories for children (and for adults) could be attractive, could be written in accessible Gaelic, could be set in the Irish countryside, could challenge the cultural and linguistic hegemony of Britain” (70).

Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh conforms to all of the above. It is an “attractive” story, illustrated in vivid colors and structured around a plot that has rhythm and movement. It is written in Gaelic and although I cannot determine whether it is written in “accessible Gaelic,” I can see from the translation (published on EPBC’s website) that the story is communicated in simple, short sentences [2]. Moreover, as both Crom Dubh’s farming activities and the illustrations of rural scenery demonstrate, the story is “set in the Irish countryside.” Finally, the book “challenges the cultural and linguistic hegemony of Britain” through its use of Gaelic and through its focus on and reinforcement of the Gaelic-Catholic tradition.

Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh is published by An Gúm, the official state publishing house. Flanagan informs us that since the foundation of The Republic of Ireland, reversing the decline of the Irish language via vigorous attempts to generate suitable children’s literature in Gaelic has remained one of the state’s major political and cultural aims (71).  The Gaelic-Catholic cultural identity has not always been the privileged one in Ireland; in contemporary Northern Ireland it still has a minority status. Gaelic was viewed for centuries as an “inferior tongue”:

In the early seventeenth century the Irish language (Gaelic) began a catastrophic decline. From being the language of the vast majority of the people and their rulers (the Chieftains of the old Gaelic order) it became, increasingly, the language of the poor and the dispossessed. The Act of Union in 1801 abolished the native Irish parliament and reinforced the perception of Ireland as a political and economic province of Britain rather than an independent entity. The Union was not just political and economic, it was also cultural. (Flanagan 67)

In a parallel history, Irish-Catholicism has undergone centuries of persecution. As a reaction to this persecution, the Irish essentialized — idolized even — their Gaelic-Catholic identity and eventually nationalized it as a means of resistance to colonization. Catholics responded to oppression and discrimination in an interesting and perhaps unexpected way; they took up the Protestants’ conflation of Catholicism with Irishness, internalized it, and turned it against the oppressors and originators of the stereotype.

St Patrick and Crom Dubh, as a retelling of the legend of pagan Crom Dubh’s conversion to Christianity, provides the necessary link between the pagan-Gaelic history of Ireland and its Christian Catholic tradition. Pictorially, the book is laden with symbolic representations of this link. The shamrock combined with the prevalent green color is such a pictorial representation. The shamrock is strongly connected with the Holy Trinity, Saint Patrick, and Catholicism, while the green color represents the native peoples of Ireland and their historical roots. On the inside front cover, a shamrock grows on the first letter of pagan Crom Dubh’s name, while even the smiling sun is turned into a shamrock, symbolizing the omnipresent God. In front of the sun, a golden bird sits on a shamrock, singing God’s message. In another instance, the sun is associated with St Patrick while the moon is linked to paganism. The movement of animals and humans from left to right depicts a moving away from the moon and towards the sun.

St Patrick is Crom Dubh’s neighbor and friend. Dubh sends him a joint of meat with his young servant only to receive a strange response: “Deo Gratias.” After sending the same present three times and always receiving this same incomprehensible response, furious Dubh pays St Patrick a visit. St Patrick places three joints of meat on one end of a scale and a piece of paper that writes the phrase “Deo Gratias” (“Thanks be to God”) three times on the other; the pieces of meat are outweighed. Thus, Dubh realizes the value of Patrick’s faith and gratefulness to God and endorses the new religion.

The conflation of national and religious identity, of Irishness and Catholicism, is evident both within the story and within the Republic of Ireland’s dominant culture. It is noteworthy that St Patrick is the state’s national Saint and that a national festival, known as “Crom Dubh’s Sunday” takes place each year on the nearest Sunday to the 1st of August to celebrate Crom Dubh’s conversion to Christianity. Catholicism is a strong force that unites the Irish of The Republic of Ireland. Even the Gaelic language is not such a strong homogenizing force, since different regions used to speak different dialects. One of the most interesting parts of the story is its reference to these dialects:

The boy went back to his master. “Did Patrick thank me?” asked Crom Dubh. “I don't know because I didn’t understand what he said” answered the boy. “He didn't speak in the Mayo dialect, perhaps it was Kerry Irish.” (Rosenstock n.p.)

“Did Patrick thank me today?” asked Crom Dubh. “I don’t know what he said” answered the boy. “He didn’t speak in Mayo Irish, perhaps it was Cork Irish.” Crom Dubh was very unhappy at that. (Rosenstock n.p.)

If one dialect speaker is unable to communicate with a speaker of the other dialect, then one can safely conclude that Mayo, Kerry, and Cork Irish are drastically different from each other. In fact, a linguist would be reluctant to consider them dialects of the same language. However, St Patrick’s answer, “Deo Gratias,” is neither Mayo nor Kerry nor Cork Irish; it is Latin, the unifying language of religion.

“Deo Gratias” are the two words with which the story ends: “‘Oh Patrick’ said Crom Dubh, ‘Please baptise me and all my household and family, for the love of God.’ Crom Dubh and his people were baptised on that very day, the last Sunday in July, long long ago. Deo Gratias” (Rosenstock n.p.).  This last “Deo Gratias” differs from the others in the story because it is not articulated by one of the characters. It is uttered by the narrator, but it feels as if it is spoken by the entire Irish nation, which embraces all of Crom Dubh’s “people” and their descendants: fictional characters, narrator, and readers. If you are Irish, you know what “Deo Gratias” means because, inherently, you are also a Catholic. The real-life situation is, of course, far more complex; and thus, one might also argue, perhaps my interpretation should also be more nuanced.

What in the nation are children supposed to be then? Dubh’s servant, and mediator between him and St Patrick, is a young boy; the boy, however, proves too naïve and inexperienced to understand the meaning of St Patrick’s words. In addition, Dubh’s family consists of four young girls — whether one of them is his wife and the other three his daughters remains unclear — who are baptized with him in the end of the story. In the last image, two of the girls are looking innocently up into Dubh’s eyes, while the other two are facing St Patrick, who is sprinkling holy water on them. Children are expected to continue national and religious traditions, following in their ancestors’ footsteps. Innocent childhood is protected and guided by the two adult protagonists of the story. In stark contrast to War and Peas, this picture book portrays children as innocent, unknowing, naïve, and in need of guidance and education. Unlike War and Peas, Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh does not communicate the need for drastic changes; here the child is expected to respect and perpetuate the established order, as represented by St Patrick and Crom Dubh. Thus, there is no place for corrupted, arrogant adults and there is no need for small animal-warriors.

“What children are supposed to be” depends on the nation. As we have seen, the picture book from The Republic of Ireland envisions a child that will look up to her forefathers and the Irish national symbols; a child who will accept and continue the Gaelic-Catholic tradition. The picture book submitted by Northern Ireland, on the other hand, prefers a child-fighter who does not accept the current social order and rejects political and economic oppression; a child who has a clear sense of who the enemy is and fights in unison with her fellow-nationals against foreign powers. Different constructs of nation-ness bring about different constructs of child-ness. We are reminded of Robert Coles’ postulation: “A nation’s politics becomes a child’s everyday psychology” (qtd. in Stephens 3).



1. The collection, an EU sponsored project initiated in 1993, is used by educators in numerous European grade schools, and purports to bring to children across Europe at least one picture book from each member state. The EPBC includes four books from the United Kingdom, each representing Northern Ireland, England, Scotland, and Wales.

2. At this point, I would like to recognize the limitations of my reading of the story, which stem from the fact that it is entirely based on the English translation. The story is written in Gaelic for an audience of insiders, so I only have access to a text which is “mediated” through translation.

Works Cited

Boyce, George D. Nationalism in Ireland. New York: Routledge, 1995.

Cotton, Penni. Picture Books Sans Frontiers. Staffordshire: Trentham, 2000.

Deane, Seamus. Introduction. Nationalism, Colonialism, and Literature. By Terry Eagleton, Fredric Jameson, and Edward W. Said. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota, 1990.

EPBC. Jan. 2008. National Centre for Research in Children’s Literature. 15 Jul. 2008 <>.

Flanagan, Frank. “Children’s Literature in The Republic of Ireland: Historical Background.” European Children’s Literature: Papers Presented in Douai, France. Ed. Penni Cotton. Kingston Hill: Kingston U, 1996. 67-76.

Foreman, Michael. War and Peas. Middlesex, England: Picture Puffin, 1978.

Hollindale, Peter. Ideology and the Children’s Book. Woodchester: Thimble Press, 1988.

Kinealy, Christine. The Great Famine: Impact, Ideology and Rebellion. New York: Palgrave, 2002.

Marriott, Stuart. “Picture Books and the Moral Imperative.” European Children’s Literature II: Papers Presented in Austria. Ed. Penni Cotton. Kingston Hill: Kingston U, 1998. 121-133.

---. “Culture, Identity and Children’s Literature in Northern Ireland.” European Children’s Literature: Papers Presented in Douai, France. Ed. Penni Cotton. Kingston Hill: Kingston U, 1996. 87-96.

Rosenstock, Gabriel. Naomh Pádraig agus Crom Dubh. Dublin, Ireland: An Gúm, 1995.

Stephens, Sharon, ed. Children and the Politics of Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1995.


Petros Panaou

Volume 13, Issue 2 The Looking Glass January/February, 2009

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