The Past Didn't Go Anywhere

This week we read essays written by Marc Aronson and Andrea Davis Pinkney, debating the merits of race- and/or ethnicity-based literary awards. Aronson argues that such awards encourage the balkanization of literature and make it easier for publishers, librarians, and the reading public to treat books written by and about people of color as a separate strand of literature.

Pinkney argues that, on the contrary, race/ethnicity-based awards open the door for writers and illustrators of color, and create a space for literature that would otherwise be ignored by awards committees (and, as a result, the literary establishment).

Reading the first two essays, I found myself thinking about Utah Phillips' spoken word collaboration with Ani DiFranco, The Past Didn't Go Anywhere. On the album, Utah talks a lot about issues of power and privilege, and about how we think about time and history. I was reminded of this album, because I think it's tempting to assert that we are living in a "post-multicultural" world in which books should be judged by their literary merit. But that assertion ignores the impact of hundreds of years of deeply embedded racism and presupposes that everyone has the same access to the structures of power.

Make no mistake about it, publishing houses and awards committees are part of the power structure. Both are still dominated by white people. Publishing is like a playground for the still-mostly-white liberal arts colleges and most librarians are white women. People tend to gravitate toward literature that speaks to them, which means that no matter how open-minded any given individual might be, as a group the literary world tends to favor authors that speak to a white, upper-middle class, female audience.

On one hand, I am drawn to Aronson's passionate defense of his position: so-called "multicultural literature" should be integrated into mainstream literature. It should not be relegated to a "separate but equal" shelf, hauled out during February and ignored the rest of the year. It should not be treated as if it is somehow different from "real" (aka, white) literature.

But I also agree with Pinkney's objections to Aronson's initial essay: the past didn't go anywhere. Hundreds of years of oppression and disenfranchisement does not simply flutter away in the face of how things should be. Awards for authors and illustrators of color serve the same function for "multicultural" literature as the old family resorts in the Poconos served for Jews: they provide an alternative option for a group that has been systematically denied entrance to white, mainstream establishments.

Reading Aronson's rebuttal to Pinkney, I was interested by how his opinion changed in the aftermath of 9/11. I was also impressed by his willingness to be transparent about the effect of 9/11 on his thinking. In particular, I think Aronson's emphasis on pragmatism makes a lot of sense. Perhaps race/ethnicity-based awards are necessary to correct past injustices, but we cannot use such awards an excuse to avoid addressing the ongoing corrosive impact of the past.

As a teacher, I plan to seek out a diverse variety of excellent literature for my students. I probably will rely on awards like the Coretta Scott King, the Belpre, and the Asian American awards to help me identify the best books to share with my class. However, I hope that as the years go by I will be able to rely less on those awards and find a wider variety of authors represented in mainstream awards like the Printz.

I am encouraged when I see authors like Paulo Bacigalupi and Gene Luen Yang being honored by the Printz committee. I think the more we integrate a variety of viewpoints into YA literature, the more we will break down the idea that some literature is multicultural (aka, marginalized) and some is mainstream (aka, real). The past doesn't disappear, but that doesn't mean we have to continue repeating the same mistakes. If we can encourage young people to distinguish texts based on their literary merit rather than the author's (or characters') skin color or national origin then we will be one step closer to Aronson's vision of a world in which multicultural awards are unnecessary.

You are what you read

YA literature is a little like pornography: it's hard to define, but you know it when you see it. Most YA lit is written about or from the perspective of a teenager, but just because a book is written from an adolescent's perspective doesn't mean it's YA lit. YA lit often deals with serious issues: drinking, cutting, abuse, sex, drug use. But plenty of non-young adult novels focus on the same topics. Stephen Roxburgh argues that YA literature tends to focus on transformation, and I agree with this assessment. However, as Roxburgh acknowledges, plenty of other novels explore issues of growth, change, and transformation These are essential tools of plot and character development.

I think the question of what constitutes YA lit has become even more difficult to answer in recent years, as the young adult novel has matured. It's no longer possible to identify a novel as "YA" just because it focuses on "teen problems." As the distinction between what constitutes a "teen plot" and an "adult plot" blurs, categorizing a novel as YA becomes more about identifying a certain tone or narrative voice. This distinction too, has been fading in recent years, as the boundaries between YA lit that's well written and YA that's enjoyable to read have eroded.

If the key to identifying YA lit can't be found in the characters, the plot, or even the tone of the novel, then what's left is the text's purpose. In other words, perhaps YA novels are YA novels because they were written to *be* YA novels. As Aronson notes, however, just because a novel is written for teens doesn't mean it contains a message - or that the message it contains is a positive one.

In spite of Aronson's observation that the mere act of reading does not guarantee strong character development, I am of the opinion that young people do benefit from reading. The positive impact of reading is not derived from any message(s) contained in any particular book(s). Rather, the benefit accrues from the accumulated exposure to new ideas. Even reading a book with which one disagrees has the effect of challenging the reader to think more deeply and engage intellectually.

On the moralist continuum, I fall squarely at the "read anything and everything" end of the spectrum. I think reading is one of the safest ways to explore the world and push your own boundaries. Kids are already thinking about sex, drugs, violence, and a host of other serious, "edgy" topics. Reading about such things is far healthier and less risky than experimenting with them in real life.

My attitude toward literature makes me a big fan of self-selected reading. Giving students choices about what they read reinforces their agency as readers, and by extension, thinkers and meaning-makers. My priority, as a teacher, is for students to read critically, independently, and frequently. Tying these goals to one specific book - or group of books - does not make sense to me, and I suspect it does not make sense to many students, either. While I certainly plan to offer guidance and steer students toward books of substance,

I hope I will be able to avoid rigid adherence to a particular canon of literature. I don't think the question is whether a book is young adult literature; I think the question is whether young adults are reading anything at all. If they are, then those books are - by definition - young adult literature.