The Original Mythbuster

Dear Astrid Lindgren,
You are (or were because Wikipedia tells me that you’re now very dead) a world renowned children’s book author. You have been translated into 95 languages and sold over 145 million copies of your books. And for some reason, up until now I’d never heard of you. And it could have stayed that way.
Earlier in the week, Mia went to the library to pick out books. She returned with a copy of your Lotta’s Easter Surprise. That evening, Mia and I sat down to read it. It was fairly insipid, boring, populated with whiny characters and had a slightly depressing atmosphere about it. Luckily, Mia got bored after a few pages. Beth had better – or worse, depending on how you look at it – luck. She made it through to the end. And she was more than a little surprised when, two pages from the conclusion, you attempted to blow my child’s belief system out of the water.
There, in black and white, shittily illustrated, was the revelation that Santa doesn’t exist. Worse (yes, it can get worse), you took the Easter Bunny down with him.
Luckily, Beth was reading ever so slightly ahead and was able to maneuver quickly around these landmines. Mia was none the wiser.
Question – why did you feel it was necessary to fuck with my child’s belief system, especially in so unassuming a manner? And shouldn’t a book containing said revelation come with a big-ass warning sticker on the front that says something like DANGER: This Book Will Fuck Your Kid Up And Make Him Cry And He’ll Never Believe Another Word You Say, Especially That Thing About Uncle Phil Moving To The Farm In A Remote Part Of Western Canada That Oddly Has No Phone or Mailing Address.
Word of warning to you parents out there – Astrid Lindgren is not to be trusted. And with all those books still in print, who knows what else she’s revealed? The Tooth Fairy? Monsters in the closet? The Kennedy Assassination? Mom and dad’s horizontal dancing sessions in the bedroom? Is nothing sacred?!
Warm regards from the right side of the dirt,
Chris