The Giving Tree
8.78 / 10 1.3M ratings
- Language
- English
- Published
- 1964
- Publisher
- HarperCollins
- Pages
- 57
- ISBN
- 9780060256654
Since it was first published in 1964, this simple and profound story has become one of the most beloved and debated classics in children's literature. It begins with the tender relationship between a tree and a young boy. The tree loves the boy, and in his youth, he loves the tree, spending his days climbing her trunk, swinging from her branches, and eating her apples. The tree is happy. But as the boy grows older, his desires change, and his visits become focused on what the tree can provide for him.
With each stage of the boy's life, the tree offers parts of herself to fulfill his needs, finding joy in the act of giving. This timeless tale explores the nature of unconditional love, selfless sacrifice, and the complex balance between giving and taking. It is a moving story that invites reflection on what it truly means to love and to be happy, leaving a lasting impression that resonates differently for both children and adults with every reading.
With each stage of the boy's life, the tree offers parts of herself to fulfill his needs, finding joy in the act of giving. This timeless tale explores the nature of unconditional love, selfless sacrifice, and the complex balance between giving and taking. It is a moving story that invites reflection on what it truly means to love and to be happy, leaving a lasting impression that resonates differently for both children and adults with every reading.
Subjects
Other editions (5)
Listen to the summary Narrated summary
Once there was a tree, and she loved a little boy. Every day he would come to her, his small hands gathering her fallen leaves to weave into a crown, and he would play king of the forest. He would scramble up her trunk, his feet finding holds in her bark, and swing from her branches until the sun dipped low. When he was hungry, he would eat her apples, and when he was tired, he would sleep in the cool shade she cast upon the grass. The boy loved the tree very much. And the tree was happy.
But time, as it always does, went by. The boy grew taller, his face lost its roundness, and his visits became less frequent. The tree was often alone, waiting. One day, he came back, but he did not climb or swing. "I am too big to climb and play," he said. "I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money." The tree had no money, only leaves and apples. "Take my apples, Boy," she offered, "and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy." So he climbed her trunk one last time, gathered her apples, and carried them away. And the tree was happy.
A long time passed before he returned. The tree shook with joy, her leaves rustling a welcome. "Come, Boy," she said, "climb up my trunk and swing from my branches." But he was a man now, with worries etched around his eyes. "I am too busy to climb trees," he said. "I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and children." The tree had no house to give. "The forest is my house," she said softly, "but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy." And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away. And the tree was happy.
Many more years drifted by, and when the boy came back, he was weary and stooped. The tree was so glad to see him she could hardly speak. "Come, Boy," she whispered, "come and play." He shook his head. "I am too old and sad to play. I want a boat that will take me far away from here." The tree looked at what remained of herself. "Cut down my trunk and make a boat," she said. "Then you can sail away… and be happy." And so he cut down her trunk, and made a boat, and sailed away. And the tree was happy… but not really.
After a long, long time, when the tree was nothing but an old stump, the boy came back one last time. He was an old man now, his back bent, his steps slow. "I am sorry, Boy," the tree sighed, her voice like the wind through a hollow log. "I have nothing left to give you. My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak for apples," he said.
"My branches are gone," she continued. "You cannot swing on them - "
"I am too old to swing on branches," he replied.
"My trunk is gone. You cannot climb - "
"I am too tired to climb."
"I am sorry," the tree whispered. "I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump."
The old man looked at the stump, low and weathered in the grass. "I don't need very much now," he said quietly. "Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired."
The tree straightened herself up as much as she could. "Well," she said, her voice a little stronger, "an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest." And the old man did.
And the tree was happy.
But time, as it always does, went by. The boy grew taller, his face lost its roundness, and his visits became less frequent. The tree was often alone, waiting. One day, he came back, but he did not climb or swing. "I am too big to climb and play," he said. "I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money." The tree had no money, only leaves and apples. "Take my apples, Boy," she offered, "and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy." So he climbed her trunk one last time, gathered her apples, and carried them away. And the tree was happy.
A long time passed before he returned. The tree shook with joy, her leaves rustling a welcome. "Come, Boy," she said, "climb up my trunk and swing from my branches." But he was a man now, with worries etched around his eyes. "I am too busy to climb trees," he said. "I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and children." The tree had no house to give. "The forest is my house," she said softly, "but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy." And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away. And the tree was happy.
Many more years drifted by, and when the boy came back, he was weary and stooped. The tree was so glad to see him she could hardly speak. "Come, Boy," she whispered, "come and play." He shook his head. "I am too old and sad to play. I want a boat that will take me far away from here." The tree looked at what remained of herself. "Cut down my trunk and make a boat," she said. "Then you can sail away… and be happy." And so he cut down her trunk, and made a boat, and sailed away. And the tree was happy… but not really.
After a long, long time, when the tree was nothing but an old stump, the boy came back one last time. He was an old man now, his back bent, his steps slow. "I am sorry, Boy," the tree sighed, her voice like the wind through a hollow log. "I have nothing left to give you. My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak for apples," he said.
"My branches are gone," she continued. "You cannot swing on them - "
"I am too old to swing on branches," he replied.
"My trunk is gone. You cannot climb - "
"I am too tired to climb."
"I am sorry," the tree whispered. "I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump."
The old man looked at the stump, low and weathered in the grass. "I don't need very much now," he said quietly. "Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired."
The tree straightened herself up as much as she could. "Well," she said, her voice a little stronger, "an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest." And the old man did.
And the tree was happy.
What other readers say
Liked
Many readers praise The Giving Tree for its profound emotional impact and delicate storytelling, describing it as majestic and a work of pure genius. It is frequently lauded as a timeless classic, simple yet deeply moving, capable of sparking legitimate disagreements and discussions that endure for decades. Reviewers appreciate its ability to be enjoyed by both children and adults, with many noting that its deeper meanings resonate more profoundly with seasoned readers. The book is seen by some as a beautiful portrayal of selfless, unconditional love, often likened to parental devotion or the generosity of nature. Its open-ended nature is also celebrated, as it encourages critical thinking and allows readers to interpret the characters' actions and the story's message without being overtly preachy. For some, it offers a deeper understanding of human nature, reciprocity, and the concept of sacrifice.
Disliked
Conversely, a significant number of reviews express strong negative reactions, finding the book deeply troubling and even toxic. Many critics view the relationship depicted as a horrifying condemnation of dysfunctional co-dependence, where one party is endlessly used and diminished by the other. The boy character is frequently described as selfish, ungrateful, and never learning from his actions, while the tree's endless giving is seen as pathological martyrdom that destroys its own boundaries and self. Some interpret the story as an unhealthy model for relationships, particularly for children, suggesting it might inadvertently teach selfishness or the expectation of endless self-sacrifice. Concerns are also raised about its potential to make young readers feel sad, upset, or even fear death, and some reviewers see it as a metaphor for societal issues like patriarchy or the exploitation of natural resources.
In short
Ultimately, The Giving Tree stands as a highly controversial and polarizing work that consistently elicits powerful, often opposing, emotional and intellectual responses. Its enduring legacy lies in its capacity to provoke profound thought and extensive discussion across generations, a testament to its simple yet ambiguous narrative. This makes the book particularly suited for readers, both young and old, who appreciate literature that challenges them to delve into complex themes, question character motivations, and engage in meaningful dialogue. However, it is not recommended for those seeking a straightforward, unequivocally positive moral lesson or a simple, feel-good story. Parents considering it for children are advised to be prepared for an open conversation about its various interpretations, rather than presenting it as a singular, clear-cut parable.
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