Young Adult Literature: Misunderstood

By Anne Rong

The first young adult novel I ever read was The Hunger Games. I remember feeling so grown-up as I stepped foot into my public library’s young adult (YA) section for the very first time. There were no screaming infants or skipping toddlers; there was only perfect silence and a whole room of brand new books.

Hunger Games was just the launch pad. The world of Panem entertained me, sure, but more importantly, Katniss convinced me that it was time I start reading YA. I wanted to read about more characters like her: an independent teenage girl, simply trying to help her family, who I could look up to. Within days, I was back at the library, browsing that seemingly endless sea of YA books.

But it wasn’t always like this for (almost) teen readers like me.

The 1960s is considered the beginning of the young adult literature category. In 1957, the Young Adult Library Services Association was founded, becoming the first to use the term “young adult” to represent 12-18 year old readers. 1967 brought The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton, often referred to as the first novel written for teenagers. By the ‘70s, the category was enjoying its first “golden age” - a period marked by classic authors like Judy Blume and Lois Duncan.

Today, the YA section at any library is countless times larger than it was fifty years ago. Teen readers, like me, have hundreds of thousands of YA books to choose from. But now, half a century later, a different issue plagues YA.

Hunger Games, Twilight, Harry Potter. These are the books most people think of when they hear the term, “young adult.” And beyond these famed series, many believe the rest of the category to be shallow, low-quality literature that exists solely to entertain. A 2013 article from a then-college student sums up the fallacy well. “YA novels are training wheels riddled with tired, predictable tropes, imitated concepts and condescending writing, aimed at teens perceived as unready to read a real adult book.” This mistaken stereotype leads teens and adults alike to give up on all YA novels. Teens skip straight to reading adult books and adults shun any “young adult” story. An entire genre full of invaluable literature is overlooked. But young adult literature deserves so much more credit, appreciation, and attention.

YA is so open to innovation because the category’s lines are blurry and the adolescent age range is ever-ready for fresh ideas. Authors are free to take writing in any direction, meaning YA books cover just as many, if not more, subjects than other categories. The genre still contains its fair share of love triangles and vampires. But as I dove deep into the shelves of YA, I quickly found that most of the books are about so much more than that. I discovered The Fountains of Silence, about a Spanish-American teen uncovering the suffocating truth of life in 1950s Franco's Spain through photography. I devoured The Silence That Binds Us, about a girl using writing to fight the racist accusations thrown at her Asian-American community in the aftermath of her brother’s suicide. I analyzed Tradition, about teens struggling to battle the toxic masculinity and rape culture engraved in the history of their elite prep school. And these are just three examples out of a category growing by over 30,000 thousand books each year.

There is one way, however, every YA book is connected: in their power to teach both teenagers and adults about themselves and their world. I read YA because it gives me a glimpse into hundreds of other teenage lives; lives that are so different from my own, and yet so familiar. These characters might live in a century of the past, or in a kingdom that doesn’t exist, or with parents that are the antithesis of mine. What matters, though, is that the challenges they face and the truths they discover feel real and relevant. They are young people, like me, growing up, like me. And through fiction and words, I can confront the struggles and lessons that I, too, am facing and learning. I can connect story to reality - to better understand who I am.

YA is not only for “young adults,” though. The benefits of these novels stretch far beyond the intended audience and touch readers of all ages. Empathy and compassion are seeped in the pages of YA, offering lessons of universal struggles and intergenerational connections essential to humanity.

A few weeks ago, I read The Enigma Game, by Elizabeth Wein. Her World War II thriller stars a 15-year-old girl, Louisa, who takes a position caring for an elderly German woman, Jane, near an airbase in Scotland. At the core of the story is Louisa’s blossoming friendship with her “grandma” Jane. Between intercepting enemy transmissions and helping the RAF exploit a smuggled German code machine, the two grow from strangers to family. Together, they listen to old records, read classic novels, and snack on bread and (contraband) butter. As I read, this precious bond between young Louisa and old Jane reminded me of my own relationship with my grandparents. Louisa’s ceaseless determination to care for Jane and her incredible faith in their friendship made me see parallels between our lives; helped recognize the reliance and respect I, too, have for the grandparents in my life. Eventually, there is a bombing, a fire, a fall. Jane lies dying beneath an icy sky. Louisa sings to Jane until her last breath the song Jane once sung when they first met. And I wondered: what will I do when my grandparents die? Will I be able to follow in Louisa’s footsteps, to find courage and hope in that awful, final moment? I know no one lives forever. Yet even as my grandmother’s cancer progresses every day, I can never imagine a day when my grandparents do not walk this earth. Louisa’s and Jane’s story forces me to acknowledge that one day, that world will come. And when it comes, like Louisa, I will find a way to face it.

A society where every person reads and recognizes the true power of YA literature is still far from us. But we have the power to get there, one book at a time. And it starts with reading.