There is a short OpEd piece from the New York Times making the rounds on my twitter feed. It’s all about how the author thinks that adults should read adult books and leave the YA to the pre-teen girls. I’m not going to link to it, because such a ridiculous and obviously baiting statement doesn’t need any more traffic than it’s already getting. And while I realize that his opinion is ridiculous and obviously baiting, there was something else about it that caught me up short. The author states that he himself is embarrassed when he sees adults reading YA and seems to somehow believe that his personal embarrassment should jump from him to the reader. He clearly finds his feelings and opinions to be more valid or informed than that of the poor soul caught up in what he assumes to be a poorly written dystopian world.
I grew up in a pretty small town and I am very familiar with this kind of skewed mutual embarrassment. The kind of embarrassment that you don’t really feel until you realize that the other person thinks that you should be embarrassed. Then you’re almost obliged to give in to it out of propriety. It took me moving away to college and several years of making poor decisions based on the wants of others to realize that this embarrassment was a thing that I could actually control. Without getting too deep into the philosophy of it, I had the all too mundane realization that I am my own person and free to make my own choices. What a relief that is, to know that I can do things that make me happy and not have to answer to anyone else with a twig up their hind end about my happiness.
I recently got a pretty daring haircut, for me anyway. (I always want to go for the fauxhawk, and I always remind myself that I’m not quite that cool yet.) While the response to it has been largely favorable I can still hear my mother and the people I left behind in that small town commenting on it in my head. How silly and frivolous all of these brain phantoms find me. Why don’t I just grow up? Why don’t I stop wasting my time on concerts and writing stories about steampunk vampires in space and playing around on my movie podcast? Why don’t I settle down and have children and buy a house like an adult? I do wonder if the writer of the New York Times piece would agree with these voices. And then I remember that it doesn’t matter, because I’m happy. I can read YA in public. I can wear ridiculous clothing. I can get all the stupid haircuts I want, and anyone who wants to bring my happiness down must not find as much joy in such things as I do and therefor really aren’t worth my time.
I’m preaching to the choir here, but YA is a LARGE umbrella. Stephanie Meyer is not JK Rowling is not John Green is not RL Stine. If you don’t like Twilight (paranormal romance) that doesn’t mean you won’t enjoy Looking for Alaska (young adult literary). If you don’t like Harry Potter (fantasy) then you might like Goosebumps (horror). Just like in adult books, there are different shades of YA literature with different intended audiences. Honestly, while I wish I’d had Looking for Alaska as a teen, its message still rings true to me in my adult life and I’m very glad to have been able to read it. I don’t personally think I could work in YA, given the types of stories I’m tempted to tell, but I greatly admire the writers who do. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak is one of the most devastating and beautiful books I’ve ever read, and it’s only made better by the fact that it’s accessible to a younger crowd.
I almost pity people with the attitude of the New York Times piece. How heavy must all of those societal restrictions they’ve built up around themselves be? How boring must their very serious adult conversations become after a while as they circle around in the same, stagnant pools of approachable thought? I think they must miss out on an awful lot, with their lists of approved reading and watching and listening. It’s one thing to find something simply not to your taste, but it’s another thing entirely to look down on a whole genre simply because of the way it’s marketed. Hey, if you try something find you don’t like it, at least you’ve given it a go and not written it off from the start.
I’m going home in two weeks. I’m going to flaunt my ridiculous haircut absolutely everywhere and take pride in having allowed myself to become who I wanted to be, even as the adults around me try to make me someone else.
KL! 
March 29, 2012 at 11:54 am
The rest of the pieces in that NYTimes bit were pretty well written. I enjoyed the one about the YA book club. I think his piece said it best – YA books aren’t boring (for the most part) and that is why people flock to them – sometimes as a reader you don’t want to be bored or devote FULL BRAIN to something – you want to be entertained, emotionalized, etc and YA books, for better or worse, work in the quick-snap universe of NOW NOW NOW, so, they are great for that.
I have my qualms with YA literature, but, I wouldn’t be embarrassed because someone else is reading them. Good on them! Then I’ll ask the if they ever read What The Birds See, because that is one powerful YA novel.
March 29, 2012 at 12:42 pm
I think it’s a false impression that a lot of people have, that because something is YA it will allow you to turn your brain off and will snap along at a clip. A lot of YA IS thoughtful and deep and powerful, even while a lot of it is fluff. On the other end of the spectrum, there are a lot of adult books that are fluff too. Good Omens is my favorite book, but it’s not deep and full of the meaning of life, which is fine because it’s not supposed to be. I greatly enjoy my pretensions, and I can get them in both YA and ‘adult’ fiction, which is why I find that particular argument I alluded to so flawed. I do quite enjoy some of the other arguments, though. I like seeing these things debated, even though it seems to happen every other month or so these days.
I have not heard of What The Birds See! I will have to look it up!
March 29, 2012 at 2:56 pm
I don’t know, I like to think that Good Omens *is* deep and full of the meaning of life. It’s funny, but it’s also one of those books that celebrate “Ain’t life just awesome? Aren’t humans just great?” with unbridled enthusiasm. And to me that’s definitely what comes closest to the meaning of life.
But I get your point – essentially, it’s not a book that requires a lot of thoughtful involvement. Still, I think simpler books can also hold great meaning, ultimately. They just use simpler terms for their arguments.
March 29, 2012 at 3:02 pm
I agree with that wholeheartedly, actually. That celebration in GO is one of the things I love about the book, and simpler books can absolutely hold greater meaning. The last chapter of Without Blood by Alessandro Baricco kind of knocked me on my ass, even though the book itself is very plainly written and is a slight 112 pages. There is a lot of emotion hidden between each one of those words.
I just don’t think that simple YA books are any less thoughtful than simple adult books.
March 29, 2012 at 4:29 pm
I love it too! The fact that it manages to deliver a very important and “serious” message through a very funny book is one of the things I admire about GO.
I’ll keep Without Blood in mind, too. I have a lot of stuff to read, but I’m always happy to read smaller books, especially if they’re that good.
Oh, yes, we agree, the fact that a book is YA or not has absolutely no influence on its level of complexity, be it in ideas or in style. I remember seeing Philip Pullman saying somewhere that sometimes, YA novels are more complex than many “grown-up” books, because YA, even with books of “lower quality”, so to speak, is often oriented on very dramatic, very essential themes, such as life and death, struggle and the refusal to give up in the face of adversity, that kind of stuff, while many books which are considered “more mature” are about how much sex and how much Häägen-Dasz the Chick Lit Heroine Du Jour can have. Which, um, depends on your definition of mature. While even the bad YA literature is about saving the world.
March 29, 2012 at 4:34 pm
Right? I enjoy both sex and Häägen-Dasz, but Jemima J didn’t really teach me any more about being a woman or a person or make me ruminate on the deep, philosophical trenches of my soul. Which, to be fair, I tend to do at the drop of a stocking anyway.
Do let me know if you get to Without Blood. Baricco is one of my Go To rec guys. I absolutely adore his style.