Book Review: Everyone Poops

I had the same teacher for two A.P. English classes in high school. The first thing he made us do in each class was memorize the definition of the word "literature." He quizzed us and grilled us, and would randomly prompt us to recite it aloud. He pounded this definition into our heads so thoroughly that I still remember it, about seven years later. That definition is as follows: "A body of work, oral or written, prose or verse, excellent in form and expression, articulating the universal concerns of the human condition." It's hard to believe that contemporary literary scholars waste their time with hacks like Shakespeare and Milton when perhaps the ultimate example of literature has gone largely unnoticed: a little gem entitled "Everyone Poops," a children's book written and illustrated by Taro Gomi.

For those who can't tell, I'm being facetious. "Everyone Poops" may seem like a comedy bonanza, but, as the saying goes, all that glistens is not gold. Not to say that the book doesn't have its unique charm, it's just a little... weird. I think the main reason is that the book was originally written in Japanese, and then translated to English. This leads to some strange sentences that don't flow very well. These lines, for example, appear on two consecutive pages: "A one-hump camel makes a one-hump poop / And a two-hump camel makes a two-hump poop / Only kidding! (Gomi, 4-5)" And these two pages that end the book: "All living things eat, so / Everyone Poops (25-27)" What's wrong with these lines, you ask? First of all, the author is misinforming impressionable youngsters about the poop formation of camels. Secondly, the entire book seems to dispense with proper punctuation altogether. As a former Creative Writing student (and this is essentially a bastardized English degree) this drives me up the wall. And perhaps most importantly, the prose style of these lines simply sounds awkward; there is no natural sense of rhythm or cadence, at least not in the translation. It reads almost like a haiku (but without the structured syllables), or like the minimalist, free-form poetry of William Carlos Williams.