The New York Times excels in hand-wringing about non-issues. That’s not a slam; it’s just how I see things. Doesn’t stop me from reading, but sometimes you just gotta shake your head. One recent eye-roller focused on the “power” of YA lit, an exercise in silliness that tried to answer the question: how come so many adults seem to be reading YA lit? (Although I did get a chuckle out of the guy who declared that adults should read adult books, you slackers.)
Frankly, I think all this navel-gazing goes back to the uneasiness many adults felt when they were captivated by Harry Potter. Remember how they had different covers for adults so they could read in public and not be embarrassed? (And, yes, they put all the books in plain brown paper bags, like bottles of booze.) This whole thing about adults reading YA is one of those non-issue hand-wringers that have people moaning over cocktails: Why aren’t we reading Ulysses? (Really, they ought to be saying: But I just don’t get it. What the hell’s Joyce talking about? Say, remember when reading used to be fun and it was all about the story?)
Still, adults reading YA is an interesting question. Yet, in some ways, who cares? I don’t recall anyone getting all hot and bothered that adults might have liked, say, Watership Down (all those cute, furry, warlike little bunnies out to find females) or Lord of the Flies or . . . well, you get my drift. If adults like YA, more power to ya, that’s what I say. If you pick up one of my books, I’d be ecstatic.
But I’m not convinced that SO MANY adults are turning to YA lit. Rather, I think that certain YA books succeed is telling a story many or only certain adults like (more on that in a sec), and that those few books are both marketed quite cannily and turned into media events (as, for example, the recent Hunger Games movie and campaign; really some interesting reading there on the power of marketing to generate buzz where none might have existed).
YA lit may also be appealing to some adults for other reasons, too. Most YA books are frequently much easier reads than more highly self-conscious, literary fiction which calls so much attention to the crafting of each sentence (and don’t just take my word for it; this has been pointed out before). Although I know I’m going to get a lot of howling about that because there is just as much beautifully written literary YA, too. Believe me, I know that; in fact, I’d like to think that, every now and again, I manage to pull that off myself. But the reality is that YA lit is a tad easier; the action is much more direct; the pacing faster (closer to thriller pacing, frequently); POV is frequently limited to first-person which means that identification with the primary protagonist is much more rapid. It’s easier to slip into the story–and story-telling is the primary focus. A lot of YA is out to tell a great story.
Really, it’s not that YA lit is so much more powerful. I mean, honestly, do you really think a ton of adults are all that interested in reading about kids fretting over the various indignities you suffer in high school? (Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt.) Or what happens when your boyfriend goes off to summer camp and you have to stay home? I’m not making fun; I’m really not; what I’m suggesting is that the “power” of YA lit is a specious argument just as what constitutes a YA novel is pretty tough to define. I’ll bet there are YA books you’ve read that made you take a step back and think, “Whoa, that’s not YA.” The book may be marketed as YA, but it’s not. Just because a protagonist is supposed to be 16 or 17, for example, doesn’t mean that the story feels authentic as a teenage/YA voice or narrative. (I remember a few where I was . . . huh? I don’t think so . . . ) But because YA is so hot–a genre that seems to be highly marketable and attractive to tons of cross-over authors–I can see the temptation in marketing a book as YA when it isn’t, and you know it when you read it. You just do.
So what I do think we’re talking about here are a) a few stories that captivate adult audiences because the story’s got enough complexity to reach beyond teenage concerns and b) readers–and predominantly young women–for whom a very, very large number of YA books focus on things that still concern them even when they’ve left high school and moved off into college and beyond: namely, relationships. Love. Romance.
Don’t believe me? Think about it a second. Go to any bookstore. Go to this FANTASTIC blog post on various YA covers and take a long look; then go over to the adult romance section and compare. Go on; I dare you. Think about the YA stories out there. Yes, yes, there are all types and subgenres; I’m not arguing that. But I think we can all agree that a high number focus on romance and love relationships. This isn’t anything to be ashamed about; love and sex and relationships are things adolescents think about, a lot. But many of the more successful YA books incorporate romance as central to the plot, and I think that only goes to show that the demographic toward whom the vast majority of YA lit is pitched is still concerned with that well into adulthood. Women read more than men; women also read more romance; romance still makes up the largest market share of the reading public and romance e-books are big sellers, no matter which way you slice that pie. So the idea that the same girls grow into the women who will still pick up a YA novel that’s heavy on the romance–and we all know which books we’re talking about here–isn’t so much an indication of YA’s power as much as it speaks to YA’s ability to continue to tap into the same concerns these girls carry into adulthood.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I love writing YA; it’s hard work for me and I think I deal with some pretty heavy things. I anguish over every single sentence, and I’m not kidding. I’m not demeaning YA or suggesting that it’s somehow a “lesser” literature. Far from it; what I take issue with is the idea that YA is more “powerful.” I don’t even know what that means, frankly, unless “power” is a synonym for “some YA books are bestsellers for adults and kids.”
Really, what it comes down to? It’s the story. YA or not, if the story sucks, people won’t read it. If the story is great and just happens to be YA, people will.
End of story.
I’ve been there, done that, but the T-shirt doesn’t fit any more. Actually, I think it’s a cleaning rag now…
But seriously: I suggested ‘The Scorpio Races’ for my book group (they’re all writers!) and the member who teaches writing, at a university!, replied (and I quote): “Sorry, I’m not interested in reading a YA book. Life is too short.”
It will be interesting to see what her reaction when the group meets next week and I mention that my YA ms has acquired an agent.
Well, first off, congrats on the agent 🙂 That’s fabulous.
But I don’t think it will mean much to your group or that teacher, and I know a bunch of adult reading groups who don’t bother with YA. That’s fine; I don’t bother much with adult romance or literary fiction. But if these people are also writers, then that might be a bit of a problem or point up that this group isn’t the best fit for you. (Slap me when I go too far.) Anyone who would suggest that ANY book written about kids or teens–say, Charlotte’s Web or Wrinkle in Time–isn’t worth your time, etc. . . . well, they’re not worth YOUR time. Book group dynamics and pecking order aside (and all groups have them), that’s how I feel. That kind of response betrays a mindset that they might THINK is about GREAT literature versus pablum for the masses but is all about snobbery as well as a host of other issues (insecurity’s right up there, too). Now your group may be one geared toward adult lit, so for them TO try a YA book would be . . . well . . . boring for them or suspect. I really can understand a book group not wanting to spend time on a YA book; I really can. YA isn’t for everyone. (For that matter, no genre is.) They may have had the same response if you’d suggested Ender’s Game because it’s scifi.
But for a TEACHER to dismiss it (or any genre) with that kind of remark points up a problem with that particular teacher (and a ton of creative writing classes). Writing is, yes, about communicating ideas, but BEING a writer means being an entertainer. Oh, and making a living, which you can’t do if you’re not open to trying out new ideas or genres or at least understanding how and why the genre works.
Reading a book–or writing one–shouldn’t be mental gymnastics unless you want to seek out that particular kind of book for fun (that’s why some people really love those thousand word crossword puzzles; they like the challenge). So I have nothing against “hard” or “dense” reads. But I have everything against anyone who suggests that the only good literature requires complete silence and a dictionary at your elbow.
Werd, as they say (Full disclosure because I am actually not all that much of a hipster): I did have to check the Urban Dictionary to make sure it meant what I thought it did from context…).
At least I can claim it as my first official Diss, and think how much fun it will be when I use it in my Newbery Acceptance Speech.
VBG 😉