The Giving Tree Review

My review of Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree was officially expunged from the records of goodreads.com today with no notice. I am endeavoring to resurrect it. Thank you to Tracy for having the foresight to anticipate censorship. [UPDATE: I'm happy to report that the original review was reinstated on goodreads.com on 02/25/08. Now the world at large may at last enjoy this poignant, life-changing piece of writing.]

Okay, this is some motherfucking fucked-up shit right here. The Giving Tree is the straight-up wack story of how this selfish little ass-faced prick kicks it with this full-on saintly tree. Everything's fine for a while, with the lil' prick all getting up in there and saying to the tree, "Yeah, you know you my bitch," but then all of a sudden, this jumped-up prick goes through puberty, gets his chia on or some such shit, and so he's off screwing the skank-ass bitches on the block all damn day and can't spare one motherfucking minute for this poor old tree who is waiting for him and is looking all motherfucking sad and droopy. So this little punk-ass bitch comes up to the tree--this is a motherfucking tree, hear?--and asks her [it's a sexy-ass lady-tree] for some g's. Well, the tree is all, like, "I ain't got no cash, bitch. What part of me says ATM on it?" And she should have held up there, but--no--this tree gets all fucking benevolent and is like, "Well, I've got mad apples you can go hustle on the streets." So this ass-faced prick just, like, boosts all these damn apples and leaves this tree with, like, its weave all out and shit. So next, after working the streets with his crew, little bitch boy comes back, looking all old and jacked-up, and asks the motherfucking tree for a goddamn crib. So the tree's like, "Hol' up. Do you see Coldwell Banker all up and down in here? I think not." But then, being all kindly and shit, the tree is like, "But I got mad branches..." And what? She motherfucking takes it in back for this fool again. Later, another goddamn time, punk-ass bitch comes back, looking all old and saggy and wack now, and he's like, "Bitch, what you got for me now?" "Awww, hell no," tree says, but then she starts getting all soft and shit again and says, "Why don't you cut down my trunk or some such shit and go 'head and whittle a pimped-out yacht, full-on Hamptons-style?" He's like, "Yeah, I thought so, bitch." And then--guess the fuck what?--little shriveled up, played-out mack comes on back wit his ass all hemorrhoided and shit. He look nasty and old. Tree is like, "I know that you ain't come to ask me. All's I am is a motherfucking stump, motherfucker. How you gonna come back at me like that?" This punk-ass bitch is all drooling and jacked-up and just wants to sit the hell down. What does motherfucking tree do? Says, "Hell no! You motherfucking fucker get your motherfucking ass face out of here 'fore I cut you up good: give you some mad tree fungus, motherfucker!" The motherfucking end.

Okay, so that's not really the way The Giving Tree ends, but maybe it's the way it should. Some time ago, my ex-girlfriend and, afterward, long-time co-dependent friend gave me The Giving Tree as part of my birthday gift. I loved it, but I hated it, too, because I felt so bad for the tree who is endlessly shat upon by this worthless "Boy"--as he is always known, regardless of age; I longed to console the tree and, maybe a little, to condemn this book as yet another emotionally-scarring "children's" entertainment in the manner of Old Yeller. Don't give me any shit about learning valuable lessons. The only lesson I learned was that human beings are nothing but steaming piles of corn-freckled feces, and that I wanted to found a not-for-profit shelter for unloved trees and rabid dogs and any other nonhuman thing, living or not, which was either unwanted or despised.

Having said all this--and although I don't approve of the treatment of the giving tree--this book is very moving and very delicate. The delicacy is somewhat counteracted when the reader turns over the book and sees the author photograph of a thoroughly evil-looking Shel Silverstein. He looks like the sort of person who would burn down whole forests of rare giving trees just for kicks. Picture Othello just before he strangles Desdemona.

If you--and, yes, I'm talking to you personally--are not moved by the plight of the tree after reading this book, then perhaps it's time to check yourself: are you the giving tree or are you the motherfucking taking tree? Or are you the sneak-out-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-steal-all-my-shit tree?