Dare to be dull

Double Dutch skipping is among the retro activities extolled in The Daring Book for Girls. (HarperCollinsCanada)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, kids weren’t glued to their instant message bubbles and the word “sidekick” denoted an actual person and not a rhinestone-encrusted toy. Young ’uns scampered about freely, their lives an endless loop of hopscotch and knee scrapes — at least, that’s what certain cultural artifacts would have you believe.

For such a youth-oriented society, we certainly seem to have lost sight of the innocence of childhood. And it isn’t just grown-ups who’ve taken note. Witness this year’s runaway publishing success, The Dangerous Book for Boys, by Gonn and Hal Iggulden. Chockablock with retro tips on everything from building a tree house to tanning animal skin, this handsome book, inspired by Robert Baden-Powell’s 1908 Boy Scouts guidebook, has sold 1.6 million copies and has been optioned by Hollywood über-producer Scott Rudin.

HarperCollins wasted no time in commissioning a girl companion for the holiday season. The Daring Book for Girls, furiously cranked out by writers Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz, is cast in the same mould as the earlier version, with everything from the line drawing illustrations down to the rough, clothbound cover (though only the girls’ version comes in a glitter-dusted Tiffany blue).

With a first print run of 550,000 copies, the publisher is banking on another winner. So far, it’s working: Two weeks after its publication, The Daring Book for Girls was already in its fifth printing and had edged the unstoppable The Secret out of the No. 4 spot on The New York Times’ “how-to” bestseller list.

For the girls’ version, “dangerous” has been changed to “daring,” though “demure” would be closer to the mark. Comprising roughly 100 chapters, the book makes a point of touching on activities as intrepid as white-water rafting and changing a car tire. The bulk of the you-go-girl message turns up in the historical chapters and brings to mind the World Books that lined the walls of every 1950s rec room. With titles like “A Short History of Women Inventors and Scientists” and “Queens of the Ancient World” I-V, the chapters in The Daring Book tell inspiring tales of ladies who’ve done all right for themselves. Some of these educational passages contain gems (who knew Julia Child was a spy before she came into the kitchen?), while others underscore the book’s hasty turnaround time.

In their introduction, Buchanan and Peskowitz, each of whom has a nonfiction book on motherhood under her belt, say they wrote The Daring Book in the face of the digital age, to give girls “ideas for filling a day with adventure, imagination — and fun.” Indeed, sitting here at my computer, parsing the book’s text and depriving myself of sunlight, is the sort of less-than-daring 21st-century nonsense the guide is trying to deliver me from. Thus, I am the perfect guinea pig to see whether this book can inject some derring-do into one’s life.

(HarperCollinsCanada)

I pack my bag with duct tape, a hair band, a flashlight and a good book — a few of the items listed in the “Essential Gear” section. I remember to twist my hair up in a pencil (“perfect for when you’re on the run, in the midst of a project, or otherwise too busy adventuring to fuss with your hair”). The effect is more than a whiff Victorian, but my roommate indulges me with “Looks wild!” (wink, wink) and I’m set for my afternoon of adventure on the mean streets of Brooklyn.

My first stop is the corner deli, where I buy a bottle of lemonade for the lemonade stand I’m about to open (“a great way to earn a little spending money and meet your neighbours”). Since there’s nowhere to sit outside my apartment building, I set up shop on a park bench. None of the passersby seem to take me seriously. Could it be because I’m muttering “chimichianga,” one of the book’s suggested “fun words to say”?

While I wait in the cold, I write my grandmother a long-overdue thank-you note, using the Daring Book’s three easy steps (say thank you, state when you plan on using the gift and let the recipient know you look forward to seeing them soon). My letter comes out a little pat, and I can’t help but tack on a spazzy postscript informing my grandmother of a vaguely lesbian thriller I think would be to her liking.

I look up to see that my lemonade business is still less than bustling. Dejected, I lower myself to the ground and make use of the sit-upon, a “homemade waterproof cushion that makes the perfect seat … for any use you can imagine.” (I fashioned it earlier in the day out of plastic bags, newspaper and duct tape.) It’s hard as a plank of wood, and it might be the most unpleasant thing I have ever sat on. I guess there’s something daring in renouncing creature comforts.

Time to build a paper airplane. I pull a sheet of paper out of my bag and follow the book’s instructions until I end up with what looks like a … paper bracelet. Using the authors’ “lift and thrust” method, I make the toy fly through the air with a nice spin, but my spirits dampen when a little girl whizzes past on her bicycle and says tauntingly, “That looks like a paper tunnel!”

As she rounds the corner, a bird swoops in to inspect my “plane.” I get a little two-for-one thrill out of this: Bird-watching is a Daring Girls-sanctioned activity. I consult my book and determine my new friend is no blue jay or ruby-throated hummingbird. Black of feather and morbidly obese, she appears to be a diabetic pigeon. She wobbles away before I can draw her.

I make the rounds and offer the drink to the parents in the park, but they look at me dubiously. At last, I come across a street cleaner resting on a bench. He accepts my offering warmly and introduces himself as Boo. Then he asks whether I’m a student and gestures at my book. When I explain why I’m carrying it around, one side of his mouth slowly spreads into a smile. “Where I come from, we didn’t play those kinds of games.”

The Daring Book shows you how to write an old-fashioned thank-you note in three easy steps. (HarperCollinsCanada)

It’s a challenge to read The Daring Book without envisioning the girl it will appeal to. Sensible and stone-faced, she is given to performing violin sonatas at her parents’ dinner parties. She won’t mind that the book lacks the cheekiness of its male forerunner. In addition to being crammed with fun stuff like pictures of icky insects, a section on dinosaurs and a definition of in flagrante delicto — G-rated, but still — The Dangerous Book for Boys has the added advantage of being engagingly, even provocatively, written. In the portion on “Girls,” the brothers Iggulden dare to tell their readers to keep their talk of urine to a minimum when chatting up a young lady. “[Make] one joke, perhaps,” they advise, “and then a long silence while she talks about herself...”

To peruse Daring for similar provocations is not recommended. Even the book’s section on boys has been safeguarded against the most protective of fathers. “Boys can be excellent friends,” the authors write. “In general, they like to do things, and that makes them rather fun.” A promisingly titled section — the “Truth or Dare” portion of “Slumber Party Games” — also takes the wimpy road. Readers are informed that it’s a good idea to set some ground rules. “So that nobody gets in too much trouble … nothing that would get a girl in hot water with her parents.” Well, that rules out just about everything — except pressing flowers. (From Page 18’s instructions on preserving blossoms: “We like this project because it mixes daintiness with power tools.”)

If only flowers were in season. To be honest, if I want a book with real verve, I should probably head back to the library. With its emphasis on anodyne activities like making friendship bracelets and Japanese T-shirt folding, The Daring Book is more Laura Bush than Lara Croft.

The Daring Book for Girls is published by HarperCollins and is in bookstores now.

Lauren Mechling is a New York writer.

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