Books For Littles

Our super awesome volunteer coordinator Darian P. made captions!

Hello friends.
Today, we’re looking at another problematic book: Blueloon by Julia Cook.

If you’ve read my post and collection about talking to kids about shootings, you may have seen some rants I’ve done against Julia Cook’s books. This is a case of really great intentions, and filling a gap in what we need in children’s literature, but done extremely poorly.

If you’re familiar with Julia Cook, you might have seen her books boosted on Amazon and places like that. She churns out oodles and oodles of books without fully doing the research. I think she connects with one professional, throws out a book, and then doesn’t really refine it, test it with kids, or think about the implications of feeding into stereotypes. Her books are intensely sloppy. The sloppiest books I have ever seen.

There’s no quality control. It’s about quantity and people assuming that as long as a children’s book is about a topic, it must be a good thing. But it’s an example of childism and ageism: assuming kids will accept and deserve lower-quality literature. It’s basically giving them junk, like Happy Meal toys, and expecting that to do the job.

Today we’re looking at Blueloon, which is about bipolar disorder. Actually, it never really says that it’s about bipolar disorder. I’m just assuming, because she’s too lazy to address what they’re actually talking about.

So this balloon is sad and mopey. Imagine giving this to your kid who has bipolar disorder and saying, “Hey buddy, this is you.” The imagery is a little messed up. In other books she’s put people’s parents in a wood chipper without thinking about it at all.

The book begins:

“I’m supposed to be a regular balloon, but I’m just not having fun like the others. I’m kind of dull. I’m kind of flat. My string is tied up in knots.”

Identifying as dull or flat, rather than “I’m feeling something,” is a problem. A lot of people argue that children’s books should focus on human protagonists so kids can see themselves reflected instead of doing the mental gymnastics of translating metaphors like “this balloon represents a human.”

This is a good example of why we should be using human protagonists. Couching bipolar disorder in a balloon metaphor implies there’s a stigma that’s too heavy for kids to see directly. It implies that showing a human with bipolar disorder would be shameful.

So kids have to translate: balloon, up and down, knots in the string. It forces unnecessary mental gymnastics. It’s ableist for literal-thinking kids who can’t easily make metaphor connections. It’s also shame-based and stigmatizing.

The balloon talks about how it used to feel bright and happy. But if you’ve ever had a depressive episode or severe anxiety, that’s not always how it works. When you’re in that state, you’re not usually reflecting clearly on how things used to be. Your perception is distorted.

It’s more like: “I feel terrible now, and things have always been terrible. Maybe I just didn’t realize it.” One of the most dangerous parts of depression is the feeling that you are stuck and will always be stuck.

Which makes me wonder: did the author actually speak to anyone who has had these experiences?

I should point out that I am not bipolar. I probably miss things from an own-voices perspective. I do have OCPD (which is not OCD) and anxiety. I’ve also followed some of the Mad Rights movement, which focuses on accepting how you are rather than seeing yourself as broken.

But this book presents a broken balloon. It feeds the narrative that people with mental health conditions are lesser and must work toward a magical cure by the end of the book. If you don’t get there, you’re failing.

So what happens when the only book a kid can find about bipolar disorder is this? Instead of a message like: “You’re okay the way you are. Let’s work with what you have and find tools that help.”

Instead, the story shows a sad balloon surrounded by perfect balloons. The sad balloon wants to be like them because of ableism.

Then the book describes manic episodes using phrases like “crazy days.” This kind of language stigmatizes mental illness and uses “crazy” as a pejorative. Why not just call it a manic episode?

The author tiptoes around the terminology because words like “manic” feel stigmatized. But avoiding the real terms just adds confusion.

Later there’s a microaggression: someone tells the balloon to “snap out of it.” The book tries to be validating but doesn’t go far enough to explain why comments like that are harmful.

Then a “wise rock” psychologist appears. The metaphors become ridiculous. The rock repeatedly tells the balloon it looks terrible.

At one point the rock says:

“I understand why you’re depressed and why you feel so sad. Just hide under me for a little while and then you won’t feel so bad.”

So the therapist’s advice is essentially: hide under a rock for 15 minutes.

What happens if a child tries that and doesn’t feel better? The book implies that it should work. If it doesn’t, kids may feel even more broken.

After fifteen minutes the rock ejects the balloon and tells it it can’t stay there anymore. Maybe this is supposed to represent cognitive behavioral therapy, but it’s unclear.

The rock then says:

“You can start by deciding that you want to change.”

This feeds into the narrative that if you’re depressed or disabled, you’re simply not trying hard enough. The same logic people use when they say infertile people “don’t want a baby badly enough,” or someone with depression just needs to pray harder.

The advice is vague platitudes: believe in yourself, be yourself. But what do those actually mean? There are no concrete examples.

When people are depressed, their cognitive processing and creativity often drop. Expecting them to interpret vague metaphors and turn them into action steps is unrealistic.

The balloon then goes to a doctor who prescribes “fresh air.” Again, medication is hidden behind metaphor because the idea of taking medication is treated as shameful.

Why not just say the balloon is taking medication for its health?

Later the rock comments that the balloon looks better because it no longer has dents. The focus becomes appearance: if you look okay, you must be okay. That reinforces the stigma around people who mask depression.

The rock then suggests writing down everything that makes you sad and everything that has messed up your life. This implies depression always comes from external events, which isn’t accurate.

Then the book introduces yet another metaphor: a pie chart representing executive functioning. At this point there are so many metaphors that it becomes confusing and incoherent.

The book suggests exercising but gives no practical guidance on how to start. It’s just a list of things to do. Then suddenly the balloon is better.

The message becomes: if these tools don’t work for you, it’s because you didn’t want it badly enough.

And of course the story ends with a magical cure. Because apparently we can’t accept that sometimes these conditions persist and people simply keep living their lives with them.

So that is an example of a Julia Cook book.
Sloppy.
Insulting.
And very poorly done.

That was my rant about Blueloon.