Of course this will sell—as an E. B. White item and one that the publishers are pushing hard, playing it for an adult as well as a juvenile sale.
And that is where I think it really belongs, along with Robert Lawson's books, which reach children chiefly through adults. Thurber was another, but more justifiable on the score of a nice quality of whimsy, which Stuart Little—for me at least—lacks. This seems to me pseudo-fantasy, synthetic, and lacking the tenderness that makes a story such as Wind In The Willows wholly the children's own. Undertones and overtones of this story of a mouse in a human family are unjuvenile on all counts. The central story follows the make-believe as Stuart, complete with hat, cane, pin-striped trousers, and a stout heart, embarks on his small odyssey—a hairbreadth escape in a window shade (victim of a jealous cat), high seas exploits in Central Park, near tragedy in a garbage scow. Then comes the complete flop of the schoolroom episode and the romance.
The story would have a real chance on its own merits without these really appallingly bad episodes.