One afternoon during the spring of 2019, I sat with two of my classmates as we scrambled to pull together our final papers and prep for the final exam in our literary theory and hermeneutics class. Taking a break from our frenzied typing, we decided to present our final exam outlines to each other and discuss what theorists might fit best. Midway through my presentation-turned-rant about how canonical literature is a matter of author-function, an older woman at the table beside us interrupted me.
Not only does one not expect a stranger to jump into one’s conversation about literary theory but also for that interruption to happen in a Grand Rapids coffee shop. (I grew up with a sense of the social magnanimity and ease in the South, not the prim politeness and efficiency of the Midwest.) It took me a moment to get over the surprise and actually register the extraordinary comments the woman was making. “I agree. I’m dyslexic and always had a hard time reading as a child, and we only had the dry old classics. But now I read YA, and it’s both interesting and accessible. I wouldn’t be a reader today if it weren’t for YA because I didn’t see the point in trying to read if it was just a boring old book.”
I tell this story because after recently infiltrating Jordan’s podcast, I came across a brief blurb on Twitter published by Book Riot. Its sins are grievous, the first and foremost being the author’s complaints about no “Sword-of-Martin-level cool” female characters, not to mention some accusations of speciesism and racism thrown in for good measure. It reminded me of my literary theory exam and this particularly horrible article published on Slate wherein the author berates adult readers for partaking in young adult literature, dismissing it as pleasurable, pointless escapism that has no relevance to the “real adult world.”
People like Ruth Graham raise my blood pressure more than the appalling adaptation of Artemis Fowl. They appoint themselves as the infallible experts of what constitutes worthwhile literature as they police the boundaries of the canon and “real literature.” These people believe more in the representation than in the things represented. People like to confer aesthetic status on canonical texts and utterly disregard the fact that human experiences span years, genres, and even arbitrary boundaries.
To say there is nothing of value in popular, accessible literature read by many in their formative young adult years is narrow, elitist, and preposterous. I acknowledge the pitfalls of the term “relatable,” but YA carves out a unique literary space that welcomes the young teenager as well as the middle-aged adult in a space filled with room for play. But there is nothing childish or inconsequential about the moral struggle in A Series of Unfortunate Events or the friendships crossing boundaries in The Bartimaeus Trilogy. More people have tattoos and stories about how The Raven Cycle saved their lives than they do of The Sound and the Fury. YA is doing important, vital work in the lives of many and is just as worthy of rigorous analysis and thought as any canonical text.
I’ll return to Redwall and leave you with this brief rebuttal to Book Riot. The Sword of Martin the warrior isn’t the point of Redwall. Jacques explicitly states that the sword is just a sword and virtues like kindness and mercy are what make a true Redwall warrior, not the sword. Secondly, there are plenty of badass female characters throughout the series, from Constance to Triss to Tiria. Triss even wields Martin’s sword. Finally, there’s a distinct moral code to Redwall—namely that wits and compassion always trump brutality and selfishness. This is a matter of an individual’s actions, not of their species. Characters like Blaggut and Verdegaus are laudable while Triggut and Tugga are deplorable. And ignoring such intentionally liminal characters is narrow and, quite frankly, ignorant (so, in character with the rest of the Book Riot blurb…).
If you love YA, I toast your love for YA and wish you many happy years. If you feel ambivalent about YA, I hope you understand how important it is to so many of us. And if you disdain YA … well, I have an awful lot of words to say to you.
YA, particularly science fiction and fantasy, has been a steady staple in my reading diet. There are some truly wonderful characters, worlds, and stories out there (for example, Kristin Cashore’s Graceling series, with a brand-new fourth book that I just finished reading this week).
I don’t have strong opinions about YA, and I’m glad you enjoy it. But I DO wonder about the word “adaption.” Something in my old English Major’s heart wants to correct that to “adaptation.” Are both correct nowadays?
Hi Paul! After a cursory internet search, “adaptation” is the full and formal word to describe such a process, but “adaption” appears to actually be the same in terms of semantics, though less common and disfavoured for publications. Thanks for bringing my attention to this; I myself wasn’t sure what whether adaptation or adaption was more appropriate.
As one who introduced YA into the English Department curriculum and taught it at Calvin for many years, I’m delighted to read your affirmation of the genre. Many a future English teacher told me how YA had reignited love and appreciation for literature.
Man, reading that article really ticked me off lol
Great response to it!
Ah yes. “Relevance.” Such a curious word. As if people can’t just read a book for the simple enjoyment of it. That doesn’t detract a book’s value, make one “better” than another. YA is just as needed, important, and applicable as any other work of literature.
Love this! I will forever be a fan of YA, especially the Bartimaeus Trilogy! The genre has a (perhaps unique) ability to blend entertainment and deeper themes–quests for identity, finding one’s place in the world, wrestling with newfound facets of reality–which I have found helpful in my own life, even in my mid-20s.