LGBT themes in contemporary YA

I recently reread that classic YA novel The Catcher in the Rye-- one of my own adolescent favourites -- for the first time since the 1980s.  According to The Guardian, it ranks as the 72nd best novel of all time.  Robert McCrum's excellent short piece on the "defining novel of teenage angst and alienation" happens to mention that "by 1981, it was the second most taught book in the United States." Certainly it was on the required reading list of my small town Texas high school -- despite the drinking, smoking, sex and profanity that made the book so infamous.  A friend who observed me reading the book wondered if I found it "dated" in 2015.  The truth is that its 1949 New York City setting was already "historical" when I was reading the book in 1981. The way that Holden spoke, the particular slangy language he favoured, was already unrecognisable to a 1980s teenager. But the eternal, durable qualities of the book -- mostly the poignant, hilarious, distinctive voice of Holden Caulfield -- were pretty much intact in 2015, and not much diminished since my first reading experience.  The only aspect of my rereading that I found really quite different was my awareness of an undercurrent of homosexuality running through the book.

Towards the end of the book, Holden spends the night with one of his former teachers -- a Mr. Antonlini, who is presented is a heavy drinker recently married to an older woman "lousy with dough".  Holden wakes up on the couch to discover that Mr. Antonlini is "sort of petting me or patting me on the goddamn head".  Holden bolts from the apartment in a complete panic, even though it is the middle of the night.  Although he acknowledges that he might have misinterpreted the situation -- thus, making it grey area for the reader's interpretation as well -- he also comments that "when something perverty like that happens, I start sweating like a bastard.  That kind of stuff has happened to me about twenty times since I was a kid.  I can't stand it." (p. 174)

My intention is neither to prove or disprove Holden's possible homosexuality -- although this blog post makes a really plausible case for the former, if you are interested -- but rather to point that how very much the world has changed since The Catcher in the Rye was published in 1951 . . . or even since I first read the novel in 1981.  Did I pick up on Holden's "protest too much" diatribe against all things "perverty" as ambivalence when I first read the book?  It's doubtful.  At the time, one of my best friends was a lesbian -- not that we even had a word for it, much less realised that her unhappiness might have something to do with repressed sexuality.  I thought she was a "punk" -- mostly because she favoured safety pins as a fashion accessory and was the only person I knew who listened to The Sex Pistols and the Dead Kennedys.  She was the first person I knew who self-harmed, and we didn't have a word for that, either.

The present generation of 13-25 year olds live in an entirely different world when it comes to LGBT rights and self-expression.  June, 26, 2015 was the landmark date on which the United States Supreme Court ruled in Obergefell v. Hodges that same-sex marriage cannot be prohibited by a state.  Considering that homosexual activity was illegal during 1951, and indeed not technically legal in all states until June 26, 2003, a mere 12 years in a nation's history are the entire formative years of a present-day 25 year-old.  What might seem a gradual softening of attitude to a 45 year-old or a 70 year-old is just the way it has always been to someone who is currently 15 years-old.  No surprise then that the current generation of adolescents are entirely more comfortable with, and approving of, LGBT rights than previous generations.  This is certainly reflected in YA fiction.

One of the reasons that Holden's discomfort with "perverty" behavior so jarred is that I read The Catcher in the Rye just after completing a reading list of contemporary realistic fiction.  In I'll Give You the Sun, the male protagonist falls in love for the first time -- and has his feelings returned, although the baseball player that he falls for must battle some homophobic attitudes in the sports world.  In Grasshopper Jungle and This Is Not a Love Story, the main characters experience their sexuality as a bisexual spectrum.  Although having sexual feeling for both sexes is not presented as unproblematic, it is definitely presented as something entirely normal and typical.  In Me Being Me is Exactly as Insane as You Being You, the protagonist's father has come out as gay -- which has precipitated the parents' divorce.  Although the young male narrator has some discomfort with this change in his life, as I said in my review of this book, the discomfort is more to do with change in general than his father's homosexuality in specific.  Recently I read Holly Black's new fantasy novel The Darkest Part of the Forest in which a faerie prince is rescued by a teenage girl, but then falls in love with her older brother.  Yes, the author delights in subverting all of the usual fairy tale conventions, but she is also reflecting a world in which this outcome is seen as equally possible.

Some aspects of adolescence haven't changed all that much in the last 65 years  -- hopefully, adolescents will always be more innocent and idealistic than their life-bruised elders -- but when it comes to sexuality, it is a braver, more permissive world out there.

Visit TRAC's website to see the complete list of YA Classics and Hot for Summer contemporary fiction.

Me Being Me Is Exactly as Insane as You Being You

15 year-old Darren Jacobs is grappling with:
1) his parents' recent divorce
2) his father's coming out as gay
3) his body image
4) his sexual feelings
5) his confused emotions about at least 2 girls
6) the way that his parents suddenly seem like different people
7) the way that his parents have lives that don't necessarily have him at the center
8) general weirdness

Like Judy Blume, that trailblazer of realism in children's and YA literature, author Todd Hasak-Lawy speaks candidly about the body and adolescent sexual awareness.  Darren might be awkward and self-conscious and mute, more often than not, but the voice of the narrative is self-assured.  Darren's anger, confusion, contrariness and monosyllabic tendencies seem entirely appropriate for his age, gender and situation in life.

There seems to be a trend in realistic YA fiction for strong language (which was not so present in Blume's writing), sexuality and references to drugs and alcohol.  It may not be what parents want their children to read (ie, a sanitized version of of adolescent life), but it probably rings truer for the life that most adolescents are experiencing.  Also:  Is just me, or does it seem like LGBT themes and characters and storylines are really pervasive at the moment?  Fun Home just won 5 Tony awards, Caitlyn Jenner is on the cover of Vanity Fair, and the last three realistic YA novels I have read all feature a gay character -- and not even as the protagonist or the main theme, but in a studiously casual way . . . as if to say, "this is just our new normal".  Darren is not completely comfortable with his father being gay, but it's not really the homosexuality per se as much as the fact that his life is changing too quickly.  It's just one of many things that Darren is dealing with, and the storyline deals with it in straightforward, sensitive way.  Like most adolescents, (if not all), Darren is much more interested in his own sexual experiences than his father's.

It's difficult to stand out in a crowded YA field, but this book will be remembered as "the list" book -- and maybe for its catchy title (which suits a story in which there is father-son therapy and a love interest in rehab).  The narrative is told through a series of lists -- some of them brief, and some of them so lengthy that they threaten to stretch the concept to its breaking-point.  It is an arguably gimmicky way of telling a story, but it mostly works.  Much of the humour of the book takes place between the title of the lists and their contents.  It also is an efficient way of breaking up the text, which is always a plus for reluctant readers, male readers, impatient readers and readers who read a lot for their work (me).  Unfortunately, and this would be my main criticism of the book, the overall length of this book starts making even an indulgent and (mostly) entertained reader feel:  enough already.  Didn't YA books used to be between 180-200 pages on average?  Just because J.K. Rowling wrote door-stoppers that sold millions doesn't mean that every YA author needs to deliver such a high word-count.  This story would have greatly benefited from being more tightly edited.  It just goes on a bit too long, even though its separate parts are both entertaining and worthwhile.

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Reading Aloud

When I was in graduate school, working on a M.Ed. in Reading Education, I was exposed to the ideas of Jim Trelease -- author of The Read-Aloud Handbook, and a tireless and inspirational promoter of reading aloud.  The Big Idea central to Mr. Trelease's philosophy is that we are more likely to do something if we find it pleasurable; ergo, if we can make reading pleasurable, then children (not to mention teenagers and adults) are more likely to do it.  There is a logical progression to this equation:  the more frequently we read, the better reader we will become.  The better reader we become, the more successful we will be at school (and also life -- as books are one of our best sources of emotional/ethical enrichment).  There is an enormous wealth of research in the field of education and it mostly boils down to this:  the more a child reads, the better.

This week the idea of "reading aloud" has resurfaced as a hot topic and Big Idea.

Tony Little, the retiring Head Master of Eton College, has published a book called An Intelligent Person's Guide to Education and one of his bits of advice to parents is this:  read aloud to your teenagers.  A recent article in The Times even led with this idea, perhaps because it is so basic and old-fashioned that it seems archaic . . . or revolutionary.  At a historical moment when many families are more likely to communicate by text than actual conversation, it is an idea that feels positively 19th century (pre-radio, pre-television, pre-computer, pre-Netflix).

The rationale for reading aloud has always been clear:  in the words of Mr. Little, reading aloud "develops listening skills" (which surely are on the wane) and it "fosters a love of literature". Also, when children/teenagers are read aloud to, it kindles their interest.  Over and over again, whether in my own home, in the classroom or library, or in Book Clubs, I have seen the truth of this play out.  If you read an excerpt from a book, your audience is quite likely to want to continue on with that story.  Reading aloud whets the appetite.

My daughters are both avid readers and many of my friends have asked how "I" managed to accomplish this.  First of all,  I read aloud to my children.  Secondly, I surrounded my children with books.  Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, my children grew up observing me reading.  As any parent knows (or should know, at any rate), what we DO is much more important than what we SAY.  I truly believe that the best example we can set, if we want our children to be readers, is to read ourselves . . . to them, with them and in front of them.

The Door That Led to Where

This is a book which deals in history, time-travel, murder, intrigue and missing persons.  It is also a book about identity – the importance of knowing who you are and where you come from.  Most of all, it is a book about the importance of work – and being given the chance to do something with your life.

AJ Flynn and his friends Slim and Leon are only 16 years old, but they have already been more or less written off as worthless and irredeemable.  Raised by inadequate parents in broken families on a grim housing estate, they have inherited a modern London which has little use for them.  They are the boys in “hoodies”; obscured, undifferentiated and up to trouble, no doubt.  Their lives have barely begun, but their futures already seem hopeless.  The novel begins with a sharp dig at a society which rates a person by their exam results:  “You will never amount to anything, AJ Flynn.  Not with one GCSE.”

The motif of magical doors is central to the plot.  A door is the device by which AJ travels back into the past, back to London in the 1830s.  Unsolved mysteries are there; missing people are trapped there.  AJ alone has the power to keep the door opened or closed; and yes, you can read that as a metaphor.  Doors are literal and symbolic both – and simultaneously.  When AJ is given the opportunity of a job interview, his whole life – both past and future – hinges upon that door.  “He wondered if by going through the door that led to Baldwin Groat’s chambers he had altered everything.  He had gone in jobless, hopeless and nameless, and come out with a job, a glimmer of hope and a name he’d never heard before.” (p. 12-13)

A door is not the freshest symbolic device, but Sally Gardner makes good use of it.  She is a writer with a rich imagination and talent for mashing up genres.  London appears, as both vivid setting and varied character, in the majority of her novels – and this is doubly true of The Door That Led to Where.  I,Coriander takes place on London Bridge as England sways precariously between the rule of Royalists and Puritans.  In The Red Necklace, a young gypsy boy travels between London and Paris as a first-hand witness to the French Revolution.  In all of these novels, history is liberally laced with magic – a fresh surprise for readers who think of history as a dry and dusty thing.  From cataclysmic historical events come phoenix opportunities . . . perfect for a young character who has the imagination and courage to fashion his or her life into something new.

Gardner is a writer who consistently champions the underdog.  Perhaps her best-known novel is Maggot Moon, which won the Carnegie Medal in 2013.  This dystopian story is about a young boy, Standish Treadwell, who exposes a huge lie in the totalitarian state described as the “Motherland”.  Readers with an awareness of history will catch parallels to the Nazi regime and Cold War schemes, but the setting of the book is original – and wholly in the fantasy realm.  Standish has mismatched eyes and a dyslexic brain; the whole point is that he sees things differently from most other people, and this is both advantage and disadvantage in a society that demands compliance and conformity.  Like the author, who has spoken openly about her struggles with dyslexia and mainstream education, Standish has been written off and marginalized.  But people who are at the margins, unnoticed and ignored, also have a power – and this is a theme that Gardner returns to again and again.

Although AJ Flynn has largely "failed" in the exam system, he has self-educated himself through a love of reading.  At first, the library was just a safe and quiet haven from his chaotic home life; later, he discovers the power of books.  His knowledge of Dickens gets him noticed at his first job interview, when lack of confidence and the wrong clothes would have sunk him.  Not everyone has a "Jobey's Door" to time-travel through, it's true, but books provide a door of sorts . . . the author definitely makes that point.

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Tribute to Terry Pratchett

Walk into nearly any bookstore or library at the moment and you will see a curated collection of Terry Pratchett's prodigious literary output.  If you've never read a Terry Pratchett novel, there is no better time to begin; and if you don't trust me, then check out the testimonials from all of these well-known writers who have been influenced and entertained by his work.

Pratchett has always been an ideal writer for teenage readers.  He's all for a judicious amount of anarchy, and few writers (if any) are more closely associated with a particularly irreverent style of humour.  Pratchett writes about big ideas, and the complexity of human nature, but always with his inimitably light touch.  He uses the limitless parameters of fantasy to ponder on serious things in a humorous, sometimes even silly, way.  He is realistic about human nature, but never cynical.  Pratchett understands that human beings will inevitably lower the tone, not to mention the occasion, but that they many unexpectedly rise to it as well.

Although he is best-known for his Discworld novels, Pratchett has also written several stand-alone novels for the Young Adult audience.  Two of them, Nation and Dodger, are "more or less" historical novels -- both set during the 19th century.  But this being being Pratchett, history gets tinkered with; especially in the case of Nation, where it is spliced with fantasy alternatives.  

In Dodger, Pratchett recreates a recognisably Dickensian version of London and liberally borrows from (or pays tribute to, depending on how you look at it) one of Dickens' famous characters: the Artful Dodger, from Oliver Twist.  To further blur the lines between fact, fantasy and fandom, Charles Dickens is himself a character in the novel -- in the substantial role as a journalist/writer and mentor to the title character.  The entire novel is a wonderful Pratchett/Dickens amalgam:   It's there in the language, that rather more ornate sentence structure associated with the 19th century; it's there in the characterization; and it's also there in highs and lows of Victorian society. As Dickens did in so many of his novels, Pratchett gives us a bottom-up view of things. Dodger, an orphan, is a tosher -- in other words, he makes his "living" by skimming through the sewers -- panning for gold through mud and muck. His aim is invisibility; and if that doesn't work, he has learned how to twist and turn his way out of trouble. Dodger is the embodiment of Pratchett qualities:  practical, irreverent, resourceful, cheeky, but always very kind -- at least to those who deserve his kindness.  Evil is always "having a go", as Pratchett might say, but it doesn't get to win.

One of Pratchett's most unusual novels is the award-winning Nation, which is an alternative history of our world set during the mid-19th century.  It takes two natural disasters, a flu pandemic and a tsunami, and it sets up an intriguing series of "what if" scenarios in the shadow of Charles Darwin's game-changing discoveries.  One of the main characters is Mau, the 13 year-old boy whose entire island nation has been wiped out when he is away completing his adult-initation ceremony -- which, fortuitously, involves building his own canoe.  The other protagonist is Ermintrude, who manages to survive a shipwreck and takes that opportunity to change her name to Daphne.  Without common language or culture, Mau and Daphne must learn to both communicate and cooperate with each other.  Their mutual survival depends on it.  And like every generation before them, they must decide what to keep and what to discard when it comes to the belief systems they have inherited.  

Another reason why Pratchett is the ideal Young Adult author because he returns again and again to the theme of origins and rites-of-passage.  There is self-knowledge in the sense of knowing where you came from; but more important by far is determining where you are going.  In I Shall Wear Midnight, it is stated explicitly:  the main thing about life is figuring out who you are and what you are good at.  Sometimes, often, that means taking a firm stand.  Tiffany Aching must solve a really big problem (literally a "trial by fire") entirely on her own.  Older and more experienced witches watch from the sidelines, but it is always clear that Tiffany must act alone -- and with self-won wisdom.  At the end of the novel, when she completes her task, she dons the black robes symbolising adulthood.

Terry Pratchett's final tweet stated the very simple and most classical ending:  The End.  But as with all great writers, his stories will endure . . . and are still waiting to be discovered by a whole new generation of readers.

Book to Film

I don't know how many times, over the years, I've had a student reject a recommended book by saying:  "I've already seen the film".  With this in mind, TRAC's latest book list is focused on books which will be making their way to the big screen soon.  If you are the type of reader who won't read a story once the plot has been "spoiled" for you, then we would like to alert you so that you can get to the book first.

Some of the books on our list, for instance DUFF and The Seventh Son (based on Joseph Delaney's The Last Apprentice/Wardstone Chronicles series) will be released in the next few weeks.  (Both films have recently been released in the US).  Others, like John Green's Paper Towns will be part of the summer film schedule targeted at teenagers.  Then there are the complex fantasy worlds of popular YA novels like Mark Frost's The Paladin Prophecy and James Patterson's Maximum Ride series.  These books have been "in development" for a while, and may continue to languish in Hollywood purgatory throughout 2015.

I never have the "book vs film" problem for a variety of reasons.  If I see the film first, and like it, then I'm always keen to read the book and fill in all of the extra details.  No film, no matter how long, can ever be as comprehensive as a book.  Years after I began seeing the Harry Potter films with my (then) young children, I read the books.  Even though the films do a faithful, even magical, job of bringing the stories to life -- I still preferred the books -- which felt so much more "complete" in their detail.  There are a few films which manage to improve on their source material, but the majority of them don't in my opinion.

Unlike many readers (or film-goers, for that matter), I don't read primarily for plot and the story isn't ruined for me if I already know what happens.  I actually enjoy seeing how the book and film versions may differ, rather than being annoyed by changes.  Perhaps I'm in the minority in this opinion, though.  My daughter hates it when anyone "spoils" the plot for her, and a casting decision which strays from the written description of a character can send her into a frenzy of complaint.

Most films made from popular series (The Hunger Games, Divergent, etc) tend to be pretty faithful to their source material -- presumably to avoid reader revolt.  But it also depends on authorial clout, which tends to be proportional to the novel's success.

Lesser-known novels can get so bent out of shape by the movie-making process that their storyline and/or characters are nearly unrecognisable.  DUFF is a good example of this kind of book-to-film transformation.  Written by an 18 year-old author named Kody Keplinger, DUFF (the book) has an edginess and a darkness that the film definitely lacks.  Dysfunctional parents are an important element in the book's plot.  Main characters Bianca and Wesley both have absentee parents; his are removed from their children's lives, and Bianca's are major emotional liabilities.  The film makes the main characters next-door neighbours and almost entirely remove the parents from the plot; the entire dynamic of Wesley and Bianca's friendship/courtship is changed.  In the book, frankly casual sex is presented as an escape mechanism from emotional problems.  I can understand why the film-makers smoothed down the rough edges, and made the story more acceptable for a younger audience, but it is hardly the same story.  Sex is taken out of the equation in the film, with social media providing whatever conflict still exists in the plot . . . and it's not much. You might enjoy the film, which is rather sweet and silly; but it's no substitute for the book.  In my opinion, that is nearly always the case.

Buffalo Soldier

As I was reading my way through UKLA's longlist for 2015, I came across Tanya Landman's Buffalo Soldier.  I had two overriding thoughts about this particular book:  (1) that it was a beautifully written story of a fascinating historical subject, and (2) who will read it?  In commercial terms, it seems like a totally unfashionable book -- which will only get into adolescent hands, if at all, through the encouragement of a persuasive teacher or librarian.  I found it compelling and memorable, certainly, but can we trust in books to find their own readers?

Author Tanya Landman is British, but she has written two YA historical novels (Apache and Buffalo Soldier) that are peculiarly American in their setting and subject matter.  Set in the American West during the 19th century, they describe a time of huge turmoil.  The Civil War has (technically, at least) set African-American slaves free at the same time as the policy of Westward Expansion threatens to take away the freedom of Native Americans.  In an era where women have little autonomy and no legal rights, Landman puts a female protagonist at the center of all this cultural upheaval.  Like all best histories, the narrative simultaneously educates its readers about a specific historical moment whilst illuminating emotions and ethical conflicts which seem eternally relevant.     But here is the rub:  like Selma or 12 Years A Slave, this novel deals with some uncomfortably dark history all too vividly described.

The story begins on a Southern plantation at the tail-end of an era.  The narrator of the story is a young female slave, named Charlotte by her absent mother and called "girl" or "child" by everyone else.  In a few efficient chapters, the author gives a colorful sense of Charlotte's circumscribed life:   her place in Cookie's kitchen, her concerns and fears.  When General Sherman and his soldiers raze the plantation, those slaves who haven't run away are suddenly left homeless and quite helpless.  Rather than enjoying the glorious freedom they have been promised, they are struggling just to stay alive in the burnt-out South.  After Charlotte loses her protectors, the prospect of being alone and female is unbearable.  In a bold and desperate gambit, she disguises herself as a young man and joins the Army.  After a period of training, Charlotte (now Charley) is transported West to fight the "Indian Wars".  She has become a Buffalo Soldier.

As is so often the case with what seems improbable, there was real-life precendence for this fictional story.  Cathay Williams was a former female slave who managed to join the 38th Infantry Regiment and serve as a Buffalo Soldier for two years before her true identity was discovered.  Landman takes some dramatic liberties only in the sense that her heroine is transformed into a soldier (and sharpshooter) far superior to Cathay Williams.  Charley finds herself in the thick of it:  from dramatic skirmishes with fierce Apache tribes to the equally intense battle for respect within a mostly racist Army.  (There are a few significant exceptions.)

This book is also very much about the growth of a political consciousness.  At the beginning of her story, Charley's only motivation is her instinct for survival.  As a former slave, she has been used to taking orders and certainly accustomed to privations and abuse.  This "training" serves her well in the Army.  But gradually, as they witness a trail of broken promises, Charley and some of her fellow soldiers begin to question the treatment of Native Americans by the U.S. government.  In one of the novel's most dramatic moments, and there are many, Charley will be forced to choose sides -- and the tough decision will be all her own.

There is a dedicated Buffalo Soldier Museum in Houston, Texas, and I wanted to visit it before writing my review of this book.  But despite the interest of seeing actual artifacts (mostly farming, household and weaponry), in terms of a narrative, I really learned nothing that I had not already learned from my reading.  Whether it was the inferiority of the weapons and animals given to the Buffalo Soldiers, or the derivation of their name, author Tanya Landman had already covered it.  Rather than being a criticism of the museum, I would prefer to emphasize this as a tribute to the book.

I had intended to write about Buffalo Soldier in February, in honor of Black History Month, but really the story of the fight for equality is relevant during any month.  As John Legend and Common referenced in their acceptance speech for "Glory" at the recent Academy Awards, there continues to be great inequalities in the United States in terms of poverty, educational opportunities, incarceration and victimization by the police force.  Interestingly, the founder of the Buffalo Soldier Museum mentioned that when he had taken a group of African -American teenage boys to visit Fort Davis, where many Buffalo Soldiers were stationed, it was the first time that many of them had been out of their own "zip code" in Houston.  In other words, not only had these boys never been outside of Houston, they had never seen anything of the world beyond their own limited neighborhood.  It's difficult to imagine, really, but it certainly stuck in my mind.  It also made me think of Charley, who  had never been off the plantation until the Civil War ended in 1865.

We don't all have the same opportunities for travel, which is exactly why books -- with all of their world-expanding potential -- are such a vital resource.  I do hope that this excellent book will find readers for its journey.

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