In Search of Diversity in YA: What I Found and What I Learned

Recently, I revised my YA Literature syllabus to include mostly writers of color. (The required reading list appears at the end of this post).  The term "of color" is not without its problems, but it is the easiest and clearest shorthand to express how I tried to address the lack of diversity in my previous syllabi. Being white did not disqualify an author from inclusion, but when in doubt I favored white authors who either featured protagonists of color or GLBTQ characters (Francesca Lia Block, Emily Danforth, Marissa Meyer, Nick Lake).  In several instances, I included white authors writing about white people when they covered other areas in need of coverage in the syllabus, such as genre or format or international YA literature (Daniel Kraus, Janne Teller).

Let me be clear: this was not the first time I'd attempted to inject more diversity into my syllabi. For instance, I was always careful to include award-winning and popular writers of color such as Walter Dean Myers, Sherman Alexie, Gene Luen Yang, and An Na. However, these selections were definitely in the minority. I usually chose instead to emphasize the YA canon in my text selection, which was (and is) dominated by white-authored contemporary realism.  I thought that I had to cover those white authors in order to make certain that my students knew the YA canon. I figured they should be familiar with the "likely suspects" so that they could then hit the ground running and go on to advocate and build diverse collections.  I did not teach the canon uncritically, and continually emphasized the lack of diversity in YA literature.

Eventually, however, I found it too uncomfortable to recommend that future librarians build diverse collections while ignoring the problem in my own house. Did my students absolutely positively need to read John Green, Laurie Halse Anderson, Gayle Forman, and Marcus Zusak (much as I like and respect all these authors)?

No, they did not. So I set about aggressively populating my YA syllabus with authors of color. White authors were allowed, but they either had to feature characters of color or GLBTQ characters. Or they had to be Robert Cormier, but I even toyed with removing The Chocolate War from my syllabus in order to make room for more authors of color.

I should note that I added authors of color without screening them for protagonists of color, positive role models, authentic or accurate representation of people or cultures, or any other content-related criteria. My goal was simply to populate my syllabus mostly with authors of color. I didn't care what or who they wrote about, as long as it was an engaging book for discussion.

My journey was both exhilarating and horrifying. The field of YA literature is indeed dominated by white people--and I mean, REALLY dominated. There are so many white authors writing about white people with white models on the color that it's kind of funny. Or, it would be funny if it weren't so egregious. Review journals (other than Multicultural Review), review blogs, "best of" lists, and awards have an appalling lack of diversity--unless, of course, they are featuring "diverse" or "multicultural" lists, and even then many of the writers are STILL white, though they are at least writing about diverse characters.

Once I began to regularly peruse blogs like Diversity in YA, I was delighted to discover that authors I thought were white were actually not white, authors of popular and critically acclaimed books like Legend, Ash, and This One Summer. I also found some hella great literature (particularly speculative fiction)  that I hadn't known about, such as Alaya Dawn Johnson's The Summer Prince (the best YA Science Fiction book since Feed). Even in contemporary realism, there were some surprises among the less-often-taught writers of color, such as Coe Booth's excellent Tyrell and newcomer Sonia Manzano's the Revolution of Evelyn Serrano.

In other words, the books are out there. Yes, we need to publish more authors of color, but there are also many excellent diverse YA books out there that fly under the critical and pop culture radar.  Here are some of my theories about why:

1. Some of the best YA is actually not published as YA, but as genre fiction. If we don't stop at the YA publishing gate, there are lots of hidden gems teens will love, such as Nnedi Okafor's Who Fears Death and Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower. Review journals should consider going beyond publishing demographics in selecting books to review.

2. Some diverse YA is only available in hardback, such as Guadalupe Garcia McCall's Under the Mesquite and Joseph Bruchac's Killer of Enemies, making is less likely that teen readers (and students of YA literature) will be able to afford them. Unless they have won an award, YA books by authors of color, such as Kara Dalkey's Little Sister (1996), are at risk for going out of print. This fact alone is a good argument for having more awards designated for writers of color, with the caveat that we keep asking why diverse authors do not show up on "best of" lists or do not receive prestigious awards such as the Newbery or the Printz more often.

3. Diverse YA tends to show up on blogs, journals, and lists that are dedicated to promoting diversity. While blogs like Diversity in YA are great resources, I was disappointed to discover that some of my favorite blogs, including the otherwise excellent Reading Rants, did not review many of the titles I was considering for my class. Award committees, reviewers, bloggers, and other promoters of YA literature need to consider diversity even (and especially) when "Diversity" is not the theme of the week.

As librarians, we stand by the principles of access, diversity and intellectual freedom--or at least, we hope so. I've noticed, however, that the professional literature emphasizes "defending" such principles rather than proactively putting them into action. Intellectual freedom goes beyond defending access to the collection, and even beyond building the collection: librarians need to be advocates for diverse literature in libraries, bookstores, classrooms, and popular culture. As I discovered while putting together my syllabus, I had overlooked many fine books by writers of color because I had not sought them out assiduously enough. In addition, while I am not proud of this, I had also unconsciously filled "spots" in my syllabus, treating one writer of color as a "representative" without seeking other writers of color. For instance, I spent five minutes debating whether to assign Sherman Alexie's Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian OR Eric Gansworth's If I Ever Get Out of Here, before I realized I could assign BOTH. (Since Gansworth's novel is not available in paperback, I did not assign it this time, but I definitely will assign both Alexie and Gansworth next time). I share this shameful moment in my professional behavior to illustrate how even well-meaning progressive types can harbor unexamined racism in their professional practices.  I'll keep examining my prejudices if you will.

Meanwhile, despite continued racism in publishing, education and librarianship, there is some truly amazing literature for teenagers by writers of color that should be featured in YA literature classes and YA literature collections. Even in a diverse city such as Los Angeles, I found that not a few titles I wanted to vet for my course were only available at one or two public library branches (out of 74) and often in neighborhoods dominated by the race or ethnic group of the author. Perhaps it needs saying again, more often, and louder: Diverse YA literature is for everyone.

Including adults!

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Young Adult Literature Texts
Fall 2014

 Abdel-Fattah, Randa. Does My Head Look Big in This? Reprint edition. Scholastic Paperbacks, 2008.

ISBN 0060736259

Alexie, Sherman. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian. Reprint. Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2009.

ISBN 0316013692

Allende, Isabel. City of the Beasts. Reprint ed. HarperTrophy, 2004.

ISBN 0060535032

Block, Francesca Lia. Weetzie Bat. 10^th Anniversary ed. HarperTeen, 2004.

ISBN 0060736259

Booth, Coe. Tyrell. Reprint Edition. Push, 2007.

ISBN 0439838800

Cormier, Robert. The Chocolate War. 30^th Anniversary Reprint edition. Ember, 2004.

ISBN 0375829873

Danforth, Emily. The Miseducation of Cameron Post. Reprint edition. Balzer + Bray, 2013.

ISBN 0062020579

de la Pena, Matt. Mexican WhiteBoy.  Ember, 2011.

ISBN 0440239389

Fukui, Isamu. Truancy. 1^st ed. TorTeen, 2010.

ISBN 0765322587

 Johnson, Alaya Dawn. The Summer Prince. Reprint ed. Arthur A. Levine Books, 2014. ISBN 0545417805

Kraus, Daniel. Rotters. Reprint ed. Ember, 2012.

ISBN 0385738587

Lake, Nick. In Darkness. 1^st ed. Holt McDougall, 2014.

ISBN 1619631229

Lo, Malinda. Ash. Reprint edition. Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2010.

ISBN 9780316040105

Lu, Marie. Legend. Reprint ed. Speak, 2013.

ISBN 014242207X

Magoon, Kekla. The Rock and the River. Reprint edition. Aladdin, 2010.

ISBN 9781416978039

Manzano, Sonia. The Revolution of Evelyn Serrano. Reprint edition. Scholastic Press, 2014.

ISBN 0545325064

Merey, Ilike. A + E 4ever. Lethe Press, 2011.

ISBN 1590213904

Meyer, Marissa. Cinder. 2^nd ed. Square Fish, 2013.

ISBN 1250007208

Mosley, Walter. 47. Reprint ed. Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2006.

ISBN 0316016357

Na, An. A Step from Heaven. Reprint edition. Speak, 2003.

ISBN 0142500275

Ostlere, Cathy. Karma: A Novel in Verse. Reprint edition. Razorbill, 2012.

ISBN 159514384X

Ostlow, David and Micol. So Punk Rock: And Other Ways to Disappoint Your Mother.

1^st edition. Flux, 2009.

ISBN 0738714712

Pratchett, Terry. Nation. Reprint ed. HarperCollins, 2009.

ISBN 0061433039

Rapp, Adam. Punkzilla. Reprint edition. Candlewick, 2010.

ISBN 0763652970

Saenz, Benjamin Alire. Aristotle & Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe. Reprint edition. Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2014.

ISBN 1442408936

Satrapi, Marjane. Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood. 1^st edition. Pantheon, 2004.

ISBN 037571457X

Smith, Sherri L. Orleans. Reprint edition. Speak, 2014.

ISBN 0147509963

Stiefvater, Maggie. The Raven Boys. Reprint ed. Scholastic Paperbacks, 2013.

ISBN 0545424933

Tamaki, Mariko and Jillian. This One Summer. First Second, 2014.

ISBN 159643774X

Taylor, Drew Hayden. The Night Wanderer: A Native Gothic Novel. Annick Press, 2007.

ISBN 1554510996

Teller, Janne. Nothing. Reprint edition. Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2012.

ISBN 144244116X

Yang, Gene Luen. American Born Chinese. Reprint edition. Square Fish, 2008.

ISBN 0312384483

Narnia Reconsidered Pt. 2: Susan

I maintain, even after I learned that Susan was "no longer a friend of Narnia," that there was nothing wrong with Susan but the patriarchy. Yep, the good old fashioned patriarchy. Someday maybe I'll write about women in children's fantasy--not girls, women--and analyze how often they are portrayed by male authors as fussy, ineffectual stick in the mud mothers who reinforce the rules while the boys (and sometimes the girls) go exploring and discover things. Paging Dr. Freud! Dude fantasy writers, please go see your therapist.

Or maybe I'll just read more of Ana Mardoll's Ramblings about the Chronicles of Narnia, which she deconstructs brilliantly, skewering Lewis' sexism and racism without flinching. Fans of Susan--even fans heartbroken by her "betrayal" of Narnia--should check out this post and others re: Narnia on this amazing blog.

I admit that, as a kid, Susan was a distant second fiddle to my favorite, Lucy. She was the one who was always reluctant to start adventures, counseling caution and foresight (often quite practically, as in Prince Caspian, wherein Susan is the one to suggest they maybe outta find some food soon), but ultimately being too much of a woman for battle. The Horse and His Boy was the first book to really trouble my daughters about Susan's status: why, for example, does Lucy go to war against the Calormenes, performing "as good as a man...or as good as a boy, at any rate" while Susan is a "real grown up lady," more woman than girl, and therefore stays home from the war. Never mind that she is a kick ass archer and swimmer, nor that she participated in battles as a teenager. For Lewis, growing up into a woman means leaving the battles behind in favor of "lady stuff" like nylons and lipsticks, of which (along with parties) Susan has always been inordinately fond.

As a 'tween reader of the Chronicles, I fancied myself a tomboy, despite my inept performance at most games involving balls, precisely because I scorned things like lipstick and nylons. Lipstick was for painting wounds on my Barbies, and nylons were for putting over my face in order to impersonate robbers and terrify my little brother. Parties? At the time, these consisted of parties of the slumber variety, which (when I was invited at all) were the 6th grade Catholic school version of psychological Abu Ghraib. I exaggerate. But still, any party that involves a crowd of tween girls taunting you to take off an article of clothing makes staying a girl and fighting in Narnian wars seem a hell of a lot less scary. I'll admit it--Susan's world was scary. I felt more comfortable in Lucy's kinder, gentler boy-land.

Lucy got to fight with the boys. Susan had to stay home with her lipsticks. As a kid, I was sure which side I was on.

My daughter C., on the other hand, had always loved Susan. This was pre-revelation that Susan was no longer a friend of Narnia, of course. In fact, C. went as Susan one year for Halloween. She wore a red velvet dress, a gold cape, a tiara, and cowboy boots. She carried, of course, Susan's bow and arrow and her horn, a gift from Aslan. For C., it was a very big deal that Susan got the horn, the instrument that allows the blower to call for help during the darkest, most dreadful circumstances. It was also a big deal that Susan was beautiful, and gentle, yet also a kick ass archer. I think it fascinated my daughter that you could be feminine AND shoot arrows like a boss. Perhaps this says more about her generation than it does about the merits (or demerits) of Susan. For little girls today, femininity does not rule out, well, ruling. For my generation, you had to masquerade as a boy or a man to get any respect.

C. was disappointed to find out about Susan's disavowal of Narnia, but her questions are quite revealing. Rather than asking why Susan was no longer a friend, she cut right to the chase: Why didn't Susan remember Narnia? How could she seriously claim that it was all a game the Pevensie children played as kids? C.'s practical bent in this line of questioning is worthy of Susan herself. Deny Narnia? Why in the world would you do that if you'd spent an entire lifetime in Narnian time ruling it as queen?

I tried to comfort C. as I would have comforted myself. I told her that Susan might go back to Narnia someday. In fact, a friend of a friend has allegedly written a fan fiction novel about Susan's (adult) journey back to Narnia. Definitely an idea I wish I had come up with. But when the Last Battle came around to its conclusion, C. was no longer satisfied. How could Susan come back to Narnia if Narnia were at an end?

Eventually, C. abandoned Susan. She has plans to be Lucy for Halloween this year. I can tell that her heart isn't in it in the same way.

For all of C.S. Lewis' extraordinary imagination, he failed to imagine a world outside of patriarchy. Girls may be boys, but women are always women. And women ultimately have no place in Narnia. (Except the grandmotherly figure of Polly, but I'd argue that post-menopausal women in Lewis' mind were not "women" in the same lipsticky, nylon-clad sense. Though I bet Polly still liked to party).

Next up: My best friend, Jill!

Narnia Reconsidered Part I: Lucy

I'll admit a personal bias here. C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia was my favorite series as a 'tween (this, of course, long before 'tweens had a name). Actually, to call it my favorite series is an understatement: I actually believed Narnia existed, and would search for entrances to that magical world in closets (we had no wardrobes), attics, and the drain pipes from the hospital that opened into the woods behind our house. I never found Narnia, but I did find a cache of very dirty magazines hidden at the entrance to a boarded up lead mine. That, however, is a story for another time.

My girls are now big fans of Narnia, and always ask me which book was my favorite. Honestly, I was fond of all of them, even the much maligned Last Battle, wherein the dwarves reject Aslan, the Calormenes are pilloried in racist fashion as godless "darkies" and we learn that Susan has abandoned Narnia. More on Susan later. But I loved hearing about heaven as another Narnia, and the steadfast Jill was the heroine I'd been seeking ever since Lucy was banned from Narnia, having used up all of Aslan's passes and grown too old. More on Jill later, when I extol The Silver Chair. For now, let's just say I saw the merits of all the books, though The Voyage of the Dawn Treader struck me, at times, as dull. Naturally, it is my daughters' second favorite, after A Horse and His Boy. (What about Hwin and Aravis? More on Aravis later). First, and foremost, was Lucy.

Lucy was the first heroine that I identified with, despite the fact that she was the youngest of the four Pevensie kids, and I was a classic uptight, anxious first-born. She was, after all, the one who discovered Narnia in the wardrobe, the one who befriended the first Narnian (Tumnus) and the one who never stopped believing even when her siblings mocked and (in Edmund's case) betrayed her. In the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, she uses her diamond vial to heal Edmund's death wound.  In Prince Caspian, it is she who figures out that they've landed in Narnia again and takes up her bow and arrow against King Miraz's army.  In the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, she treats Eustace gently when everyone else has given up on him. In the Horse and His Boy, now an adult, she fights the Calormenes alongside the men. Prince Corin describes her as "as good as a man...or as good as a boy, at any rate."


I liked Susan, but I adored Lucy. I felt as if we'd grown up together, and when Aslan tells her she can't return to Narnia, I was heartbroken. What kind of Narnia would it be without Lucy in the mix? (It turns out, a funnier one--Eustace steals the show, and Jill is more than his match in both battle and sarcastic barbs. But I'll get to Jill eventually. I promise).

Lucy was a proto-feminist heroine: a girl in a man's world who was gentle and kind, yet nevertheless kicked ass in battle. Of all the Narnian heroines, it was she that I most wanted to be. Interestingly enough, while my daughters adore Lucy, it is Susan that has most captured their fascination. Well, Susan and the talking horses of A Horse and His Boy. We listened to that one on our long road trip east this summer, and (Anti-Calormene racism aside) it holds up remarkably well. It does make me wonder, though--why doesn't Lucy appeal in the same way that Susan does?

My theory--which I welcome you to challenge--is that Lucy never really leaves the realm of childhood. There is always something innocent about her, even after she becomes a teenager, even after she envies Susan's beauty in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader. For 'tween readers, Lucy is the little sister--the one you dote on and protect. Susan, on the other hand, is the older sister--the teenager, the young woman, the one you look up to and yearn to be someday.

My daughters were all about Susan...until they learned that she grows up to reject Narnia.

Coming next: Girls, Boys, and Men...but No Women.

Giggles, Secrets, and Whispers

Compared to other girls their age, my daughters have had relatively few playdates. As twins, people often remark that they "have each other" and while this glosses over the times when "having" your sister means pinning her to the floor and beating the shit out of her, the point is well taken. Living with your best friend means you simply aren't driven to seek out friends or have other girls over to your house, because there is already a girl in your house. She sleeps in your bedroom, wears your clothes, and is always there--sometimes right in your face--but loneliness is seldom a problem. For my girls, the entire day is one long playdate.

The other reason my kids haven't had a lot of playdates is because the girl culture at their elementary school is cut throat, often vicious, and largely unmonitored by adults. While students are evaluated within an inch of their lives in the classroom, once recess and lunch begin, the giant eye of Sauron vanishes. I don't mean to suggest that teachers are evil--it's constant TESTING and assessment that attempts to suck every kid into the darkest depths of Mordor. Most teachers use recess and lunch to grade papers (if they're lucky); others catch up on the massive amounts of paperwork that come with being an educator. In order to do their job--educate--they have to fight everything in the system that prevents them from actually teaching kids, which includes a mind numbing amount of busy work. Thankfully, they are well paid and respected by society. Oh wait...they're not?

Teachers are a subject for another day, though. What I want to write about now is the girl culture that develops when students are left basically alone to "play." Some of it is benign, of course, but in my experience it can become pretty psychologically vicious. It is not that girls are mean, exactly, but because they aren't encouraged to express themselves physically, they find other ways of taking out their frustrations. Some girls who have very little control over their home environments come to school and attempt to exercise control there, and the mother of all control mechanisms is friendship. It is far more complicated than popular v. unpopular kids, though these lines in the sand are drawn. Rather, it is about who is friends with whom--more specifically, who is BEST friends with whom, and most importantly, who is your BFF (Best Friends Forever). It's a hell of a lot of pressure for 8 year olds. The girls my daughters played with consistently tried to sabotage their bond, playing them off against one another, threatening not to be friends with one unless she shunned the other, called one "the nice one" or "the smart one," reliably generating enough angst to take us through to dinner and beyond.  Though there are obvious (and sometimes similar) problems with boy culture, the scene at this school made me actively encourage my girls to befriend boys. Whatever other shit they were up to, the boys didn't seem to be jockeying for each other's BFF status, or spending a lot of time talking, period.

At any rate, the few playdates my girls have had simply exported this nastiness to another environment. Too many afternoons ending in tears made me shy about calling up other parents to set up a date. After all, my girls "had each other." They weren't lonely, they weren't asking to play at other kids' houses. It seemed easier to avoid the whole issue. We found one friend who was reliably kind--a friend that I'd adopt into my home, actually, were she not beloved by her large, loud, friendly family--and we focused on her for about a year. No tears, lots of giggles and laughter. The girl scene was crazy and cupcake-fueled, but ultimately positive. Whenever hurt feelings were an issue, the girls were able (with the help of a grown up) to work things out.

Now that we've moved to another city and left this amazing friend behind, I will admit that I am worried. What will the girl culture be like here? Will the girls be able to make new friends that won't use their twin bond against them?

So far, so good. Last night, the girls had a playdate with the daughter of two old friends of ours. After some initial shyness, within minutes they were throwing mud at each other and screaming with laughter. While the adults chatted, the kids whispered, told secrets, giggled, and generally exhibited all the same behaviors that the "mean girls" on the playground always did--but they weren't excluding or shaming anybody. Some of their jokes were inappropriate and there was some open defiance of parents. Shocking, I know. But it was all part of their small community of three, which was so rock solid by the end of the evening that they schemed together in the bathroom for ways to convince us to allow them another playdate the next day.

I'm not sure what the moral of the story is, other than that playdates for our kids seem to go better when we are close friends with the other girl's parents. But I will say that girl culture is complex--like anything else, it can either be leveraged for dark purposes, or harnessed in the service of good, joyful, community feeling. For parent (of girls OR boys), and especially parents of tweens, how do you navigate the swamp that is the proto-adolescent social scene? What "rules" of interaction do you have for your kids, and what kinds of things (negative or positive)  do they report from their playdates?