The challenge and the glory of young adult literature. (includes a list of cross-over books)(Bibliography) Marc Aronson.

Source: GaleGroup InfoTrac OneFile
Year: 1997
Volume: 93
Issue: 16
Start Page: 1418

Abstract: The term 'young adult literature' is usually given to coming-of-age novels written specifically for teen readers. However, many wonderful coming-of-age stories written for adults would also make good reading for teens. An examination of the 'young adult' category is given.

Full Text: COPYRIGHT 1997 American Library Association

What is YA fiction? A catchall term that describes whatever teenagers happen to read? "Adult Lite," a bridge to be crossed on the way to real books? Or a genre of its own? These questions lead to others: What are books for younger readers? Are they merely tools along a road of emotional, psychological, and intellectual development? Should they be judged vertically, as steps up to adult literature, or horizontally, as literatures in their own right?

It is not hard for thoughtful adults to appreciate picture books as a distinct artistic genre. With 32 pages, 13 or 14 spreads, and carefully selected language, they are a recognizable form, like an ode or a sonnet. It's also easy to see how their form poses an artistic challenge, with the best books succeeding, not just because they appeal to kids, but because they use constraint as opportunity. That's the very definition of classicism.

Classical precision, spareness, and constrained invention--which leave plenty of room for madcap humor, free play, and psychological depth--are the hallmarks of great books for younger readers. These books meet the challenge of presenting basic human feelings economically and without becoming trite or maudlin. But what happens when the classical style of books for younger children encounters the storm and stress of adolescence? The most visible achievement of YA literature is that it extends and applies the spare language, the focused story, and the sharply etched conflicts of fiction for younger readers to the multilayered, often ambiguous situations of the dawning adult world.

Classic coming-of-age novels capture the innocent passion of adolescence, when children begin to sense the layers of human existence, experience the desires, and work out the ideals that will add depth to their character and provide them with a road map on their journey. To capture this period of awkward intensity without descending into melodrama is a difficult aesthetic challenge. Books that don't meet the challenge (however popular they are with YA readers) mistake sensational subjects--incest, anorexia, sex, and violence--for heightened experience. Those that succeed embody the crises of adolescence even in seemingly small acts, not just in artificially inflated confrontations. It is precisely at this point, where small, everyday happenings and the passionate feelings of adolescence come together, that we run into the boundary separating coming-of-age novels put out by juvenile departments from ones that are published as adult fare.

Adolescence is a frequent motif in adult literature, with many novels and memoirs beginning in childhood and never leaving the teenage years. This seriously blurs the question of the nature of YA literature. Adult publishers favor two very different styles of books cast in an adolescent voice: those with marquee quality--that is, they are written by a famous author, representative of a hot genre (for instance, books about Asian Americans or gays), or about an extreme experience; and those that have resonance, which is the style that yields the best adult coming-of-age literature. Works such as Kincaid's Annie John (1985) or Shea's Hula (1993) distill adolescent experience, investing even the smallest act with an adult's knowledge of tragedy and sense of depth.

Both of these types of adult coming-of-age novels describe events or emotions that are part of the lives of adolescents, but they are not aimed at a teen readership, for example, in terms of complexity of language. Works such as McCullers' Member of the Wedding and Salinger's Catcher in the Rye clearly speak to YAs, which is why they are assigned in classes and enjoy ongoing popularity. They certainly conform to the descriptive criteria of coming-of-age literature. They do not, however, fit within the specific genre called YA that subset of books for young readers aimed at adolescents.

The matter of overlapping genres is further complicated because at least some adolescents, often those praised as the best readers, purposefully steer clear of YA books. They gravitate to adult science fiction and fantasy, for instance, with its lengthy names and tangled plots, precisely because it isn't concise. This is one reason why many seemingly logical efforts to publish sf and sword-and-sorcery specifically for teenagers have failed. YAs who read adult sf do so precisely because it's not tailored for teens. That's also part of the appeal of adult best-sellers by writers such as Stephen King and John Grisham. The idea of being able to read "ahead" is worth more to some teens than being able to understand everything they're reading.

This brings us back to adult coming-of-age novels: the very qualities of language and tone that make them not YA literature make them excellent for teenage readers. But what happens when these books arrive at a publishing house in manuscript form? Because adult publishers have such distinct agendas for coming-of-age fiction (hot topic versus literary depth), some wonderful manuscripts fall between the cracks. As an editor of YA literature, I am thrilled to discover these texts. The very qualities that make them a slight misfit for adult lists make them high-quality YA literature. But the fact that these well-written books about adolescence find a home on YA lists does not mean that they truly fit the YA category. Is a publishing accident forcing us to squint so we can jimmy, slide, and crowbar books into slots that aren't right?

If we look again at the classic model of children's literature, we must conclude that this is so. These coming-of-age novels weren't written for teenagers. Their authors didn't pay attention to language, length, or other constraints that mark books for a younger readership. And these novels are certainly out of place if YA literature is defined as writing that ushers teens on to adult books. As a working editor, I cannot be content with such easy guidelines for picking books.

Coming-of-age books that were written for adults present still another difficulty. Today's teens gather information from MTV and explicit talk shows; they see R-rated movies and advertisements filled with sexual content; they listen to gangsta rap. How can we publish novels that match this level of experience and still respect readers who, by definition, are not yet adults? Adolescence is the period of life in which moral boundaries are the most contested and the least well-defined, varying greatly by region, class, ethnicity, religion, community, and family. Those of us who publish for young adults are caught in a moral dilemma: How can we set a standard for our readers when there isn't one established in the surrounding culture? Unless we set standards, we give up our identity as publishers for teen readers, but when we set standards, we are forced, with each new submission, to reconsider the parameters.

I am only able to deal with these quandaries by viewing coming-of-age fiction as a Venn diagram of intersecting experiences and literatures. Teenage reading is made up of age subsets preteens looking ahead, true teens excited to see their own experiences in print, and young adults eager to leave childhood and its literature behind. Each of these age sets encompasses many sorts of books. A child may shift in and out of these categories, reading ahead in a favorite genre, reading at grade level in another, or playing catch-up by reading middle-grade fare in an area he or she finds tough going. Coming-of-age literature is the place where picture books for older readers meet sprawling yarns of long ago and far away; it is where first date meets sex for sale; it is where controlled vocabulary meets modernist reinvention of language. Its essential characteristic is lumpiness. As a whole, it is much like adolescent life, filled with transitions, confusions, and overlappings of adult and childhood sensibilities.

This mixture of lumpiness and precision makes us uncomfortable. Although we sense in these books a passion and intensity unequaled in any other category of fiction, we can't, as adults, decide exactly what coming-of-age literature is. We are vaguely embarrassed by it and feel that it is not as finished or defined an art form as the picture book or the chapter book. I suggest that we look at all coming-of-age books bifocally--for what they say to teenagers concerned with the here and now and for what they say to them as adults in the making.

Straddling these two worlds is no easy task, but it is immensely rewarding. The aspiration, instability, and ferment that come with YA literature are both its challenge and its glory.

RELATED ARTICLE: Written for Adults; Published As YA

The stories behind the books listed below are much the same. The novels were all written for adults, often by authors who had already established themselves as writers for grownups. Pete Hautman, for example, writes funny, high-velocity adult fiction about con artists and the like. Most of the authors had little knowledge of YA publishing, so it was usually an alert agent or editor who made the connection to a YA audience, a link that turned out to be a wonderful surprise for some of the writers.

Block, Francesca Lia. Weetzie Bat. 1989. HarperCollins/Charlotte Zolotow, $12.95 (0-06-020534-2) paper, $3.95 (0-06-447068-7).

In a poignant story of grief, family, and enduring friendship, Weetzie and her friend Dirk, who is gay, each find a true love and set up housekeeping together.

Brooks, Bruce. Moves Make the Man. 1984. HarperCollins, $15 (0-06-020698-5); paper, $3.95 (0-06-447022-9).

Jerome, the first African American in his school, knows the "moves" you need to survive--in basketball and with people--but his white friend Bix refuses to learn how to fake.

Cormier, Robert. The Chocolate War. 1974. Pantheon, $20 (0-394-82805-4); Dell, paper, $4.50 (0-440-94459-7).

When Jerry Renault refuses to sell candy for his parochial school, he makes an enemy of Brother Leon, who turns a blind eye on the activities of a vicious school gang.

Hautman, Pete. Mr. Was. 1996. Simon & Schuster, $16 (0-689-81068-7).

A complex time-slip fantasy in which a boy travels into the past, where he experiences the horror of World War II and unknowingly meets and starts to fall in love with the woman who eventually becomes his grandmother.

Hobbs, Valerie. How Far Would You Have Gotten if I Hadn't Called You Back? 1995. Orchard, $19.95 (0-531-09480-4).

Bron Lewis grapples with her father's attempted suicide and her attraction to two very different young men, one of whom is a sexy local "bad boy."

Jenkins, Lyll Bercerra de. Honorable Prison. 1988. Puffin, paper, $3.99 (0-14-032952-8).

In an unspecified Latin American country in the 1950s, Marta and her family suffer under a military dictatorship.

Kim, Helen. The Long Season of Rain. 1996. Holt, $15.95 (0-8050-4758-1).

In a novel set in Seoul in 1969 and textured with local color and domestic details, 11-year-old Korean Junehee tells the heartfelt story of her mother and her family.

Mori, Kyoko. Shizuko's Daughter. 1993. Holt, $15.95 (0-8050-2557-X).

Yuri is 12 when her mother commits suicide, and it's the legacy her troubled mother left, Yuri's artistic talent, that helps Yuri survive.

Mowry, Jess Babylon Boyz. 1997. Simon & Schuster, $16 (0-689-80839-9).

Three boys alienated from their peers and from mainstream society form an alternative family and struggle to survive in an inner-city neighborhood in Oakland.

Sacks, Margaret. Beyond Safe Boundaries.1989. Dutton/Lodestar, $13.95 (0-525-67281-8): Puffin, paper, $3.95 (0-14-034407-1).

Growing up in a Jewish liberal home in South Africa, teenage Elizabeth disapproves of apartheid, but she doesn't think it really has much to do with her life--until prison and murder invade the intimacy of her family.

Marr Aronson, a vocal advocate of YA literature, is senior editor at Henry Holt and currently teaches a class on coming-of-age fiction at the Writers voice in New York City.