After I met up with my friend The Inimitable Bex after work one day, we sat down at a coffeeshop in the Village and discussed books as we are wont to do. In particular we spoke about YA as a genre. Other writers have written manifestos as to why they write YA so I suppose I shall contribute my own public thoughts on the matter.
One assumption I resent when people find out I am writing a young adult fantasy novel is that I started writing in this genre to make money. Firstly, no one who wishes to become an author writes to get rich. They may hope to become a bestselling author and never have to worry about the bills and rent ever again, but no one (should) expects it. Secondly, I never started writing in this genre; I just always have.
There are things I appreciate about what the successes of J. K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer have done for YA, but the popularity of this genre did not suddenly arise out of the woodwork. YA has always consistently sold. Why? Because it is universal. The coming-of-age story is universal. As I told Bex, adult literary fiction can be a hit or miss with people because not every adult experiences the same things in life. While I adore Michael Chabon, I for the life of me cannot get into The Yiddish Policeman’s Union. As I told Loveseat, I may not be Jewish enough for this book, as terrible as that sounds. (And I’m pretty Jewish for such an Asian WASP; I even attended Hebrew school with my best friend Woofie in elementary school.) But neither was I poor Jewish immigrant in New York in the 40s subconsciously representing my desires and dreams via the comic book medium, but The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay struck a chord with me. Certain themes resonate with individuals as adults while others do not, but as an adolescent, coming-of-age will always, always be relevant. That nebulous place between childhood and adulthood is a time rife with changing and shifting emotions, relationships, and personalities. One of the most interesting and poignant storylines in My So-Called Life deals with Angela’s growing distance between her and her best friend from childhood. As an adult, while relationships and emotions can change, personalities are often fixed. See this fabulous exchange in Anne of the Island:
‘To think that this is my twentieth birthday and that I’ve left my teens behind me for ever,’ said Anne, who was curled up on the hearth-rug with Rusty in her lap, to Aunt Jamesina, who was reading in her pet chair. They were alone in the living-room. Stella and Priscilla had gone to a committee meeting and Phil was upstairs adorning herself for a party.
‘I suppose you feel kind of sorry,’ said Aunt Jamesina. ‘The teens are such a nice part of life. I’m glad I’ve never gone out of them myself.’
Anne laughed.
‘You never will, Aunty. You’ll be eighteen when you should be a hundred. Yes, I’m sorry, and a little dissatisfied as well. Miss Stacy told me long ago that by the time I was twenty my character would be formed, for good or evil. I don’t feel that it’s what it should be. It’s full of flaws.’
‘So’s everybody’s,’ said Aunt Jamesina cheerfully. ‘Mine’s cracked in a hundred places. Your Miss Stacy likely meant that when you were twenty your character would have got its permanent bent in one direction or t’other, and would go on developing in that line.’
I feel that most adult fiction deals with the flaws after the protagonist’s personality has got “its permanent bent” while YA explores the heat twisting and bending it one way or another. Pullman’s genius idea about daemons becoming fixed in one animal shape at a certain point in adolescence speaks to that idea as well. Anne herself gets a bit of a “shape” by the time that exchange turns up in the series: her temper has mellowed, her romantic sensibilities don’t overwhelm her good sense, and her ungainly awkwardness given way to poise. 20 was a landmark year for me too; until then I was still trying on new hats (sometimes literally). (See also this post for an illustration of my teenaged selves.)
While the settings, characters, events, and plot are all mutuable and fluid in YA, the reason their disparate “sub-genres” don’t seem to matter is because that underlying bildungsroman is still the same. Everyone remembers what it feels like to be a vulnerable teenager, not yet grown-up but too old to be a child. Even if that isn’t the main theme of YA, it’s still the fabric from which the story is sewn.
Bex also mentioned voice being an integral part of YA. It is certainly true, but it isn’t quantifiable or easily defined. Chick lit, antiquated, terse, florid, it all works for the genre. The only part that must ring true is how the protagonist reacts emotionally to his/her surroundings. Some writers simply do not have a YA voice. Jenny Davidson’s The Explosionist, for example, is one YA novel that did not have–to me–an authentic YA voice despite the age of the main character. On the other hand, Neil Gaiman reads to me as YA, even though his books are frequently marketed as adult fiction, Neverwhere in particular. While I loved American Gods and thought it was his best prose work, sophisticated and exquisitely crafted, it felt slightly stilted and unnatural. Coraline was middle grade, but seemed more of a natural fit. (I can’t wait for The Graveyard Book, by the way.)
I enjoy YA fantasy over straight YA, mostly because there’s something intuitive about setting a coming-of-age story in fantastic surroundings. With little stretch of the imagination, this fantastic world can stand in for the weird and new way an adolescent relates to his/her surroundings. This may be why I have some problems finding adult fantasy I enjoy; it’s hard to find a meeting of both themes and world that speak to me, whereas I devour most YA fantasy, regardless of setting or character. As far as my reading tastes go, I like adult literary fiction that deals with themes of isolation, inabilities to emotionally connect with others, beautiful and destructive friendships, female relationships to other females (not really involving men or romance similar to Anita Diamant’s The Red Tent, Margaret Atwood’s The Robber Bride, and Lorie Moore’s Who Will Run the Frog Hospital?), historical fiction (specifically pertaining to the years 1870-1930 in New York or London and especially pertaining to The Great War), historical or anthropological non-fiction, and YA fantasy. I like redemption stories, tragedies, satire, and anything that has sharp, incisive social commentary. Oh and bestselling crack, of course.
But as for why I write YA? For me, it deals with the period of time in life when everything is possible, that there is potential everywhere if only the protagonist could somehow realise it into being or understand that it’s there, even if s/he can’t see it. It is a beautiful and precious time, even though while you’re experiencing it it’s rather gutwrenchingly awful. The irony of it is interesting to explore, but it’s also the age in life in which I am most comfortable inhabiting. I like things to be possible.
