Young Adult Literature: From Romance to Realism

by Michael Cart

  Accelerating this trend to acceptance is the increasing number of public figures now offering mixed-race role models—Tiger Woods, Keanu Reeves, Norah Jones, Halle Berry, Mariah Carey, and—not least—President Barack Obama! Small wonder that by 2008, the University of Illinois sociologist Jorge Chapa was telling the San Francisco Chronicle that biologically, race is a fiction.

  But, of course, race in America still matters and remains a highly sensitive issue, as the firestorm of controversy that followed the 2009 arrest by a white police officer of black Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates in his own home evidenced. The editor-author Marc Aronson—who published the Gaskins and Nash titles while he was still at Holt—has offered his own timely and thoughtful take on this complex issue in his young adult book Race: A History beyond Black and White (Seo/Atheneum, 2007).

  Nevertheless, interest in ethnicity continues to increase as Hispanics (an ethnicity, not a race, according to the census) now are the largest and fastest-growing demographic group in the United States. They are, in fact, the country’s largest minority, having surpassed blacks in that category in 2002. By 2008 their numbers had grown to 47 million, and, as those of mixed race, Hispanics were younger than the general population; in 2009 they accounted for 22 percent of all those under the age of eighteen, a 13 percent increase since 1980 (Fry 2009).

  It is estimated that by 2050, minorities will constitute 54 percent of the American population. Hispanics, numbering 133 million, will account for 30 percent. The Asian population, growing from 16 million in 2009 to 41 million in 2050, will account for another 9 percent, and blacks will grow in number from 41 million to 66 million and from 13 percent to 15 percent of the population.

  A Literature of Diversity?

  Given these extraordinary statistics and the sweeping post-1980s social changes they represent, are we any closer to offering young readers a viable literature of similar diversity and complexity? It is very difficult to marshal reliable numbers, but the Cooperative Children’s Book Center (CCBC) at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, has been making a heroic effort since 1985. That was when it began tracking the number of books being published by and about African Americans, but it soon expanded that purview. As the staff explain, “Because of the great interest in these statistics and with the increasing concern for accurate and authentic portrayals of people of color in literature for children, in 1994 we began keeping statistics for the numbers of books ‘by and about’ American Indians, Asian/Pacific Americans, and Latinos, as well [as African Americans].”1

  Since then, the staff note that while they have seen the actual numbers of individual titles ebb and flow over the years, they have yet to see what they continue to call multicultural literature make up more than 10 percent of the new books being published. That percentage drops to less than 5 percent when it includes only titles written and/or illustrated by people of color (i.e., people working from within their experience).

  In terms of actual numbers, the CCBC estimates that some three thousand trade hardcover books for youths were published in 2008.2 Of that number, 172 featured African Americans, 98 featured Asian Pacific Americans, 79 featured Latinos, and 40 featured American Indians. No need to reach for your pocket calculators: in 2008 a grand total of 389 books were published to give faces to how many tens of millions of young people who have been—and still are—regarded by too many as the “other.” The situation is even worse if you limit the number of books to those created by authors and artists working from within the culture. In that case, the totals for African American books shrink from 172 to 83; for Native Americans, from 40 to 9; for Asian Pacific Americans, from 98 to 77; and for Latinos, from 79 to 48.

  Why such miniscule numbers? There are many reasons, most of which we’ve already articulated: there still aren’t enough editors of color, there still aren’t enough writers of color, there still isn’t enough of this, there isn’t enough of that—but most of all, the sale of multicultural books simply isn’t generating enough dollars to entice publishers to significantly expand their offerings. Consider that over the course of its five years of existence, YALSA’s annual Teens’ Top Ten List—books nominated and chosen by teens themselves—has included only a single multicultural title, Gangsta Rap by the British writer Benjamin Zephaniah. This benign neglect may be due in part to a lack of worthy titles, but it also says something significant about the equation of popularity with teens and sales, something significant that has not escaped the attention of publishers that are at pains to package multicultural books in any way that might enhance their appeal. Sometimes this strategy is effective; sometimes it is not. Consider the case of Justine Larbalestier’s Liar, published in 2009. Its publisher, Bloomsbury, inadvertently sparked a firestorm of controversy when word reached the blogosphere that this novel about an African American girl with “nappy” hair was being packaged with a dust jacket featuring the photo of a white girl with long, straight hair. The author herself was among those complaining, telling Publishers Weekly that “the problem is longstanding and industry-wide. Whitewashing of covers, ghettoizing of books by people of color, and low expectations (reflected in the lack of marketing push behind the majority of these books) are not new things” (Springen 2009).

  Bloomsbury quickly decided to redesign the jacket, saying—in a very convoluted press release—“We regret that our original creative direction for ‘Liar’—which was intended to symbolically reflect the narrator’s complex psychological makeup—has been interpreted by some as a calculated decision to mask the character’s ethnicity” (Springen 2009).

  Well, yes, but … If this still seems a bit outrageous, it is also a vivid reminder that publishing and bookselling are profit-driven businesses, and—as we have seen—since the late eighties, they have become gigantic businesses, most of them—ironically—multinational. I say “ironically,” for if multicultural literature is a celebration of diversity, multinational corporations are a celebration of commonality: a single-minded focus on the bottom line. This is compounded by the fact that, since the mid-nineties or thereabouts, the traditional market for multicultural books—libraries and schools—has taken a backseat to the retail market, which means Barnes & Noble and Borders, Amazon, and increasingly big-box stores like Wal-Mart, Kmart, and Target.

  Larbalestier herself seemed to acknowledge this when she told Publishers Weekly, “However, we consumers have to play our part, too. If you’ve never bought a book with someone who isn’t white on the cover, go do so now. Start buying and reading books by people of color” (Springen, 2009). Otherwise, one suspects, these markets will continue to homogenize output and, in pursuit of sales, turn children’s book publishing (including YA) into what we earlier called event publishing. No wonder one editorial director glumly observed to me recently, “They only let me publish big books now.”

  As a result, it becomes ever more difficult for new writers—of any color—to break into print, especially if their work is perceived as midlist. This unfortunate phenomenon underscores the growing importance of small independent publishers like Lee & Low, Children’s Book Press, Cinco Puntos Press, Arte Público, and others that remain committed to publishing multicultural literature. (You can find and download a five-page list of these presses at the CCBC website, www.education.wisc.edu/ccbc.)

  Though I’m sometimes concerned about the proliferation of awards and prizes—like adding too much water to the soup, it tends to dilute the broth—there’s no gainsaying their importance to the evolution of multicultural literature. I’ve already mentioned the Coretta Scott King Awards, but let me also note—in the context of my earlier jeremiad about the difficulty of breaking into print—that the King awards have done a great service by adding a category for new talent, which encourages publishers to give new voices a chance to be heard. And let’s acknowledge, too, the recently created William Morris First Book Award from YALSA that will, we hope, further encourage publishers to take a chance on new and previously untested creative voices.

&
nbsp; Meanwhile, such other prizes as the Pura Belpré, Americas, and Tomás Rivera remain hugely important, too, in focusing attention on Latino writers. In the field of young adult literature, the Margaret Edwards Award has—to date—gone to two black writers, Walter Dean Myers and Jacqueline Woodson, though it has yet to go to either a Latino or Asian writer (though Gary Soto and Laurence Yep, respectively, would be natural choices).

  As someone who was involved with the creation of the Michael L. Printz Award, I’m delighted to note that this youngest of the major prizes seems to have the best record of diversity. Its first recipient, in 2000, was Walter Dean Myers, for his memorable novel Monster. In 2004 it was Angela Johnson’s turn for her novel The First Part Last. In 2002 An Na was the recipient for her first novel, A Step from Heaven. And Marilyn Nelson was a Printz honor recipient in 2006 for her book A Wreath for Emmett Till.

  The name of the 2007 recipient offers a natural segue to another newly emergent literature that is giving faces—literally—to the formerly invisible. I’m referring to Gene Luen Yang, who in 2007 became the first person to receive the Printz for a graphic novel, American Born Chinese, published by First Second Books (this was also the first graphic novel to be shortlisted for the National Book Award).

  Other graphic novel imprints are also expanding our understanding of the world. Pantheon, for example, is the publisher of the Iranian artist Marjane Satrapi’s hugely successful two-volume memoir of her rebellious childhood in Iran, Persepolis and Persepolis 2, and Knopf has given us Mark Alan Stamaty’s Alia’s Mission: Saving the Books of Iraq.

  As continuing tensions in the Middle East have captured American readers’ attention, a handful of traditional print books—virtually all of them published as adult titles with strong crossover appeal—have also appeared to address conditions of being there. Several of the most popular—Azadeh Moaveni’s Lipstick Jihad and Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran—deal with Iran, and Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner (an Alex Award winner) is a coming-of-age novel set in Afghanistan in the 1970s. A crossover nonfiction book about that same country is Said Hyder Akbar’s Come Back to Afghanistan: A California Teenager’s Story. Virtually the only author writing about the Middle East for children and young adults, however, is the Palestinian American poet and novelist Naomi Shihab Nye.

  Another people of color who have been almost equally overlooked—at least in terms of authentic representations of their culture—are Native Americans. Only a handful of authors are currently writing from within that experience, among them Sherman Alexie, Joseph Bruchac, Louise Erdrich, Linda Hogan, Leslie Marmon Silko, and Cynthia Leitich Smith.

  Like YALSA, the International Reading Association sponsors an annual booklist selected by teens. Called Young Adults’ Choices, the list has been around since 1986 and involves the participation of seventh- through twelfth- grade students in selected school districts around the country. Perhaps because a book, to be eligible, must have received two positive reviews in professional journals, the resulting Choices lists do offer a slightly better representation of multicultural books than YALSA’s. Of the 270 titles selected since 2000, nearly 10 percent (26) could be called multicultural. In terms of races, cultures, and ethnicities represented, the titles group as follows: 15 are about African Americans; 5, about Asians; 4, about Hispanics; 1, about Native Americans; and 1, about a Black and Hispanic mixed-race couple. The authors represented are, for the most part, well-established names like Walter Dean Myers, Sharon M. Draper, Sharon G. Flake, Angela Johnson, Janet McDonald, Lensey Namioka, Gary Soto, and Pam Munoz Ryan.

  Ultimately, one wonders how many authors and how many books might be sufficient to represent the variety and richness of America’s new racial, cultural, and ethnic experiences? There is no answer to this question, of course, but it certainly invites discussion and the observation that it is not only quantity but also quality of content that will drive such conversations.

  My earlier introduction of the visual format also invites some discussion of the beautifully illustrated nonfiction that is now being published about the multicultural realities of American life, but that discussion will have to wait for a later chapter. Let me conclude this discussion by reiterating my belief that fiction remains essential to understanding our human condition in all its complexities. The heart has its reasons that the mind cannot know, which means we come to understanding not only through our head but also through our heart. It is fiction—the best fiction—that offers us essential opportunities for cultivating empathy, for feeling sympathy and emotional engagement with others. This leads me to another essential point: multicultural literature is indispensable because it enables us not only to see ourselves in the pages of good books but also to see others, to eavesdrop on their hearts, to come to understanding and to what I can only call commonality.

  The world is changing apace—for good or for ill. But change has always visited our lives whether or not we’re ready. And it remains literature that can help us cope with this sometimes-vexing and often-perplexing fact of life.

  Another Diversity: Risky Behaviors

  According to the National Longitudinal Study on Adolescent Health (Add Health, for short), “The main threats to adolescents’ health are the risky behaviors they choose” (Resnick et al. 1997). Unfortunately, such behaviors continue to be every bit as diverse as adolescents’ ethnic and racial identities (and are sometimes related to them, though the Add Health study found that performance in school and the amount of unsupervised time spent with peers were more reliable predictors of risky behavior than race or income) (Stepp 2000).

  Ranging from physical and emotional violence to drug and alcohol abuse, from risky sexual behavior resulting in sexually transmitted diseases and unintended pregnancies to driving recklessly and carrying weapons to school, risky behaviors remain very real factors in the daily lives of twenty-first-century teens, even though the incidence of specific, individual dubious behaviors waxes and wanes.3

  No matter how much things change, however, one thing remains constant: “You have to realize that all adolescents are going to take risks,” Lynn Ponton (1999, 55), the author of The Romance of Risk: Why Teenagers Do the Things They Do, asserts. “Adolescents define themselves,” she continues, “through rebellion and anger at parents or other adults, engaging in high-risk behaviors including drinking, smoking, drug use, reckless driving, unsafe sexual activity, disordered eating, self-mutilation, stealing, gang activity, and violence.” And the company of “a toxic best friend or group of friends can escalate bad behavior,” she concludes.

  The incidence and magnitude of such behavior can be exaggerated, however, and often is by the sometimes-sensational media attention it receives. Researchers who continue searching for the source of teen behavior that is inarguably risky are giving these circumstances more serious consideration. Are the teens themselves the cause, or is it their parents—or could it be the absence of their parents? One of the most interesting things that author Patricia Hersch found in researching her book A Tribe Apart was that while teenagers may claim they want privacy, they also crave and need attention. “Every kid I talked to at length,” Hersch told Newsweek magazine, “eventually came around to saying without my asking that they wished they had more adults in their lives, especially their parents” (Kantrowitz and Wingert 1999, 38–39).

  What impact this might or should have on the long-standing tendency of young adult authors to exclude significant adult characters from their books is moot. But it gives pause that so often the adults who do appear—be they parents or teachers—are presented as the cause of rather than the solution to the problem plaguing a teen protagonist.4 Or that, in the interest of empowerment, teens are shown as having to resolve their problems by themselves without adult interference.

  But perhaps the tide is turning even here, for in recent years, some salutary (even exemplary) titles have finally begun appearing, books showing meaningful, supportive relationships between teens and caring adults—books l
ike E. R. Frank’s America, Joan Bauer’s Hope Was Here, and Benjamin Alire Saenz’s Last Night I Sang to the Monster, to name but a few.

  I say “caring adults” instead of “parents,” by the way, because diversity has clearly visited this area of adolescent lives as well. As social circumstances have continued to change, the old definition of family has changed dramatically, too. The rapid growth of fractured, nontraditional, blended, and in-transition families poses its own set of challenges, wrenching adjustments, and new risks to today’s young adults. The challenge to authors, editors, and publishers of young adult books is how to keep pace with these changes and how to artfully incorporate them into the literature of realism for the twenty-first century. Meanwhile the opportunity for young adult librarians and teachers to provide a caring adult presence in teen lives has increased exponentially.

  Violence and Its Consequences

  The riskiest of teen behavior involves violence and related injury, which remain the leading causes of death among all youths ages five to nineteen—67 percent from injury, 16 percent from homicide, and 14 percent from suicide (FindYouthInfo.gov 2008).5

  These are startling—and sometimes shattering—statistics. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, “a number of factors can increase the risk of a youth engaging in violence. Among them: a prior history of violence; drug, alcohol, or tobacco use; poor family functioning; poor grades in school; poverty in the community; and association with delinquent peers.”6 (The Department of Justice has reported a steady resurgence of gang problems in recent years; see Egley and O’Donnell 2009.)