Admittedly, there haven’t been many of late. In the last year, Young Adult literature has managed to reignite my passion for reading. A surprise for me since, by the time I was a teen, I had already moved on from Young Adult literature. I should say, I am a voracious reader. For cripes sake, I have a Master’s in English, so I better love to read. Yet, most of my studies focused on the classics, or surveys of things like Modern Drama and Women in Literature. When I graduated, I thought, “Now is the time. Now I will get caught up on all those books I couldn’t read, while I was busy with school. Books everyone talks about, like Seybold’s The Lovely Bones, or anthologies that tout “The Best American Short Stories” for the year.
I took recommendations from friends. Scanned the reviews and the book clubs for the books many considered must reads. I bought a ton of books. I read and read and read. And I discovered something. About myself.
Too many of the books and stories left me feeling dissatisfied and empty. I discovered gritty, ugly characters, and the horrific things that can happen to innocents. I was introduced to characters that cared about nothing at the beginning of the novel and were far more indifferent by the end of a 300 page journey. Judging by many of the things I read, our world and the people in it have very little to redeem themselves. We are an unhappy race of people, and flat, hopeless characters full of ennui are representative of what modern society is about.
My reaction? Tossing a book across the room and wondering how I could get those wasted hours of my life back. I want books that make me think about possibilities. I long for stories that make me care about growing and stretching personal boundaries, whether you’re ten or eighty. I want something more than shock value, empty relationships, and one-dimensional characters who let the world happen to them. And what in the hell ever happened to somebody believing in something heroic and standing up for it?
Maybe young adult novels allow a greater flexibility to explore hope and uncertainty of the future. Perhaps that’s because the characters are of an age where possibility exists. I’m not talking about the Hallmark movie of the week with happy-ever-afters. Great Expectations and Othello do not have fairy tale endings, but they leave you with something. A few hours of entertainment and a little magic. I’m talking about still believing in the possibility of BECOMING MORE, BELIEVING IN MORE, HOPING FOR MORE than current literature tells us is possible.
THAT is what I found when I picked up a YA novel.
So, what am I reading outside of YA these days? Not much. I’m rereading my classics and settling in to my YA section, while I wait for the publishers to believe me – the reader – is capable of MORE.
Tags: Road Trip Wednesday, YA Highway
November 12, 2009 at 7:10 am |
Really beautifully written post. I’ve not branched out of YA (and MG) so much lately either, for similar reasons, although I try not judge books intended for older audiences–there are some pretty great ones of those too.
November 12, 2009 at 8:41 am |
Excellent post, Cory.
November 12, 2009 at 8:44 am |
That was very, very well-said. So many YA books have exactly that type of magic that you’re talking about.
November 13, 2009 at 10:08 pm |
Great post. I love your experience and your resolutions about modern literature. It’s so nice to discover what you really love!
November 24, 2009 at 11:25 pm |
You hit it right on the head. I work as a librarian when I’m not moonlighting as a short story author, and really; it’s a wonder people even bother to read these days!! Half the adult books that make it to bestseller status I can’t even bear to swallow. The world is bad enough as it is — when I pick up a book to read, I want to *escape* it, not wallow in it.
YA is one of the few genres right now that seems to avoid that particular literary pitfall. (thank goodness!)