Pete and Carl as The Libertines at the 2010 Reading Festival.

I just needed to post that. Because I’m actually kind of crying. Their performance of “What Became Of The Likely Lads” at Reading tore my heart out. Carl sang the reworked lyrics.

Well we all had the ones,
We taught the world, we wrote the songs,
It was the dream we had.
But let us wrap up all the wrongs,
I will hold you for so long
And say you’re not so bad.*

Written in his own handwriting in Pete’s Albion books. God, I can’t even speak.

*At least that’s what I think he sang, but as we all know, Carl has a chronic mumbling problem.

MOCKINGJAY by Suzanne Collins

Now that the last book of this trilogy is finished, what do I have to look forward to? I feel bereft, a bit like I did at the end of HARRY POTTER. Alas, alas, alas.

(Actually, I have plenty to look forward to. MONSTERS OF MEN, for one. Also, THE CLOCKWORK ANGEL is on my list of books to read next.)

That being said, I feel the need to write a slightly longer, more emotional reaction-based review of MOCKINGJAY because ZOMG. I got this book at midnight and finished reading in the wee hours of the morning because I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN. Oh Suzanne Collins. You are good at writing teh crack.

Warning: SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT.

First, despite my claimed abhorrence for FEEEEEEEELINGS, here is what I have to say about my FEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS when it comes to the FEEEEEEEEEEELINGS in this trilogy. You know. That infernal Team Peeta vs. Team Gale debate.

So, here it is:

BOOYAH. TEAM PEETA FOR THE WIN.

But. But. I feel that the romantic conclusion of this trilogy is moot. This young girl at the midnight release party sums it up best.

Books of Wonder Owner: Who do you think Katniss should end up with: Peeta or Gale?
11-Year-Old Girl: I don’t know. I don’t really care. It’s her decision!

DAMN RIGHT. YOU GO, GIRL.

Romance? Irrelevant. It’s not about whether or not Katniss chooses someone, and while I love Peeta, I did not walk away from this book cheering that my team (whatever that means) “won”.

It’s a horrible way to talk about relationships anyway, winning or losing.

So let’s talk about this book as a whole. Which…destroyed me. It was one of those novels that made me mull, unable to say unequivocally I loved it! or I hated it!

Of course I didn’t hate it. It was simply too good for me to do anything but be in awe of it. But awe doesn’t exactly inspire the same emotional reactions as “love” or “hate”, and it certainly isn’t one of those books that takes you for an emotional thrill ride. (Even though it does rip my heart out several times.) Unlike the end of say, KUSHIEL’S AVATAR–which is emotionally satisfying–MOCKINGJAY is in many ways a chronicle of the atrocities of war. To steal from another YA series, “war makes monsters of men”. You don’t necessarily walk away from Chinua Achebe’s THINGS FALL APART saying “I loved it!”

In this regard, I find MOCKINGJAY rather close to the conclusion of THE LORD OF THE RINGS. Some things you can’t go back from. Some wounds will never truly heal. Some things, once experienced, can never be unlived. What I did not realize I wanted from this book was a resounding emotional climax and conclusion: President Snow defeated! A new order is established! Things are good! Katniss and Peeta live happily ever after!

No. The world does not work that way. Those who have witnessed the horrors of war know that the world does not work this way. Tolkien was a soldier in the Great War and saw many of his boyhood friends die. Collins’ father was a veteran of Vietnam. Things do not return to status quo, nor do they get “better”. You live with your scars.

Guh.

I think it’s a fitting end for the girl on fire, who wasn’t even the girl on fire by choice. Manipulated and used as a pawn from beginning to end–by both the Capitol and the rebels, her only real desire from start to finish was to survive. And that’s what she does. She survives. And continues to live on. The ending of the novel is so bittersweet in this way:

Peeta and I grow back together. [...] I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive* is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion of spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.

*emphasis mine

Did I want her to “choose” Peeta like this? No. I wanted her to realize that he was good for her. I wanted them to play out their gender reversals in a happy version of District 12: her bringing home the bacon (literally) with her phallic weapons as he kept home and hearth alight. I loved that about Katniss and Peeta together: she’s stoic and he’s emotional, she’s pragmatic and he’s sensitive, she’s the hunter and he’s the nurturer. Roles traditionally ascribed to men and women have been switched in these two.

And while I think that still exists, that’s not the point. These two who have been through so much and suffered so much finally settle down for a bit of peace and quiet. It doesn’t have that resounding climax I wanted, but it feels right, even if it lacks drama.

I have issues with the book, but overall, I think it’s pretty fantastic. There are some pacing issues towards the end, not to mention the epilogue makes me angry (but I choose to ignore the epilogue’s existence). Also, Gale Hawthorne, I can’t stand you. You are a motherfucking tool. (More on that later. Maybe. If I feel up to it. And no, it has nothing to do with “the Nut” episode. Those who have read MOCKINGJAY will know what I’m talking about.)

But aside from that, I thought MOCKINGJAY was smart, a sharp critique on reality television and propaganda, as well as a powerful novel about war. Recommended. (Obviously.)

So, what did you all think?

Stealing Harps

I was a little stumped a first about what to draw since I usually draw from life, but this illustration came to me. After all, I am constantly the butt of Bear and White-Harp’s jokes. Le sigh.

Cabaret (1998 Broadway Revival)

Second, those of you who follow me on on Twitter might have noticed that my latest musical obsession is Cabaret, and specifically the 1998 Broadway revival of it. (But can you blame me? Alan Cumming is divine.) There are many reasons I’ve fallen hard for this play, not the least of which is because I have a slight obsession with the Weimar Republic, Der Blaue Engel, and the German language.

Anyway. I don’t intend to talk (much) about Cabaret. Today I wanted to talk about POVs in writing, and specifically I would like to offer a defense for the use of third person omniscient, the poor, unloved child in the POV family.

Both Jodi Meadows and Corinne Duyvis have offered their thoughts on various aspects of the first person, so I thought I’d bring some of my thoughts to the table as well. I have written at length before on how much I dislike the first person POV (a pity, as so much of YA is written in first person and it forms the majority of my reading) and prefer a sense of narrative distance in my fiction and I will try and elaborate why.

Psychic Roommate doesn’t think too highly of the 19th century novel. Her opinion is probably shared by a lot of people, which leaves me crying in the corner, clutching Dickens and William Dean Howells to my breast. I cut my eyeteeth on 19th (and early 20th) century novels, which most likely accounts for my slightly old-fashioned diction and prosaic tendencies.

I understand her criticisms: the descriptions can be too wordy and there is little action and sometimes little narrative thrust, and in this day and age, a driving plot with enormous narrative tension is sine qua non in fiction.

But you know what? Sometimes fiction could use this:

No, not Alan Cumming (although we could all use a little Alan Cumming). An Emcee.

I love being immersed in a story, but sometimes, I like to pull back–to survey the landscape, if you will–and find some insight about what I’m reading while I’m reading. This is almost impossible to do in the first person POV (unless you are John Green) because you are so deeply ensconced in the viewpoint character’s mind you can’t step outside of it during the story. A third person POV (limited or omniscient) allows for commentary–from either the author or the reader.

For example, in the 1998 revival of musical Cabaret, the Emcee is not only the Master of Ceremonies of the Kit Kat Club, he also provides commentary on the narrative occurring between Cliff and Sally Bowles, as well as Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schulz. A powerful example is the juxtaposition of the number “Married (Heiraten) Reprise” and “If You Could See Her”.

In “Married (Reprise)”, Fraulein Schneider is inclined to call off her engagement to Herr Schulz, a Jewish fruit vendor, after being met with blatant disapproval by her boarders and friends in the Nazi party. Herr Schulz tries to reassure her that everything will be fine when someone throws a brick in his shop window. In this production, the Emcee (representing discontented Germans) hovers over their exchange, listening and judging before throwing the aforementioned brick.

Immediately thereafter, we are in the cabaret, where he performs a number with a woman in a gorilla suit. “If you could see her through my eyes,” he sings. It’s a light song about loving someone against everyone’s objections, but the darker subtext is made clear as the song progresses, driven home by the last line.

I understand your objections;
I grant you the problem’s not small.
But if you could see her through my eyes…

She wouldn’t look Jewish at all.

The entire musical could be done without an Emcee, effectively placing us in Cliff/Sally/Fraulein Schneider/Herr Schulz’s heads. But having an Emcee elevates the narrative, implicating us with his numbers. “Oh haha, a funny song and dance routine with a gorilla! Oh ha–oh. Oh.”

In some ways, I find having an omniscient narrator makes the reading experience more personal. For me, anyway. In novels where we are so deep in someone’s head, s/he becomes our proxy in the story: his/her thoughts and feelings become my thoughts and feelings. With a third person narrator, it’s often about my thoughts and feelings about the situations at hand. The insights drawn by an omniscient narrator either resonate or don’t and reading becomes as much about my experience as the character‘s.

My favourite example is from Marcus Zusak’s THE BOOK THIEF.

“Saukerl*,” she laughed, and as she held up her hand, she knew completely that he was simultaneously calling her a Saumensch**. I think that’s as close to love as eleven-year-olds get.

*Saukerl meaning “sow/pig-girl” in German, an insult to a boy.
**Saumensch meaning “sow-man”, an insult to a girl

I just…I don’t even…I’m not sure if I can even form the words to explicate what that means to me. Playground insults are as close to love as children get. Guh. To me, that is so true it hurts.

Of course, narrative distance doesn’t just underscore emotional truths; it can be wickedly satirical. One of my favourite uses is when Susanna Clarke makes fun of Lord Byron in JONATHAN STRANGE AND MR NORRELL, poking at the ridiculousness of his cultivated “literary rockstar” aura. But a very famous example is in Jane Austen’s PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, and its opening line, no less.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that all men in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.

I mean, duh. Of course all rich men want to get married; why wouldn’t they? This is a sentiment that Mrs Bennet would possess, but in earnest, whereas the narrative distance we have from the text allows us to see what a silly thought it really is. Ah, irony. It can be so delightful.

Here are some great contemporary examples of the third person omniscient:

1. THE BOOK THIEF by Marcus Zusak
2. THE DISREPUTABLE HISTORY OF FRANKIE LANDAU-BANKS by E. Lockhart
3. JONATHAN STRANGE AND MR NORRELL by Susanna Clarke

I grant you that in this POV, it can be hard to emotionally connect with a character. I don’t much care for any of characters in Cabaret (except Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schulz), but I’m fine with that. This is what I meant by when I occasionally prefer being intellectually tickled than emotionally moved. This is the flip side of the FEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS post. What can I say? I’d rather arch sentiment to earnest emotions.

Right. So sorry to have vomited my English nerd all over you. I promise I’ll clean up.

What are your thoughts on third person omniscient? Do you hate it? If so, why?

This seal does not want. I do not want either.

I think this little seal is going to make some more appearances on my blog. Say hello to the Do Not Want Seal because he will probably turn up again and again as I start refining my editorial/reading preferences.

Today’s post is inspired by Forever Young Adult’s dealbreaker post and my list is simultaneously more specific and more vague than theirs. My list also applies to all genres, not just YA. You already know about my thoughts on books with FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS, so without further ado, here are the others.

Let me preface this list by saying that I don’t have strict dealbreakers, but any one of the following in a novel or a manuscript has to work a bazillion times harder for me to fall in love with it.

Idealized Romantic Heroes

There are two types of idealized romantic heroes which bother me:

1. The Preternaturally Beautiful Yet Mysteriously Brooding and Angsty Hero (who will eventually be saved by the Power of Love)
2. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl

I’ve said my piece about the Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but my thoughts about the PBYMBAH are all over the place. I will also admit to being more tolerant of the MPDG, possibly because she is a bit more rare (relative to the PBYMBAH, that is). And let’s face it, I used to cultivate the MPDG aura myself, so I tend to be a little more forgiving of this trope.

But the PBYMBAH (otherwise known as The Angst Muffin according to Sarah Rees Brennan). Oh how I loathe him. PBYMBAH, I am not interested in your pain. I am not interested in how beautiful you are, even if you think I should be. I hate how you generally turn girls into martyrs and I especially can’t stand that you have SEEEEEEEEEEEECRETS that must be kept at all costs!

Now in principle I don’t have problems with characters who are stoic; I rather like stoic. I understand stoic. It’s the Inner Pain I don’t understand. Most people have emotions and secrets that torment them, so I don’t see why the PBYMBAH should be treated any different. What is so special about your Inner Pain, sir (aside from the fact that it always appears to be capitalized)?

Secrets in and of themselves aren’t bad either. Everyone has them. Everyone has reasons for keeping them. But if we’re limited to a single person’s POV (and it’s usually not the PBYMBAH’s POV), then by virtue of said POV we cannot know who this character is. This is what bothers me the most about the PBYMBAH: I usually have no word but the heroine (and the author)’s that this person is worth knowing. This is more of a problem in the YA novels I read–many of which have very close POVs–but can be troublesome in other genres as well.

Even if I do get scenes from the PBYMBAH’s POV, I often still have to refrain from rolling my eyes. I like my characters to be at least a little self-aware. A sense of humor goes a long way with me, and unfortunately, it seems to be mutually exclusive with brooding angst.

We Are Fated To Be Together!

No, just no.

The “lovers because we’re meant to be” trope NEVER sits well with me. Please see: my hatred of THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE. Whatever happened to free will?

Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves, Oh My!

This isn’t really a dealbreaker so much as “Oh dear Lord, I am so sick of this please don’t send me any more.”

I have placed no such restrictions on zombies.

X For The Sake Of Being X

This applies most often to science-fiction/fantasy. I’ve said elsewhere that I generally shy away from contemporary settings, but that doesn’t mean I will swallow just any speculative setting either. I hold my science fiction/fantasy to a pretty high standard, meaning I want the fantastic setting to say something about the times we live in. The best speculative fiction novels answer “What if?”, but there would be no “what if?” if there wasn’t something to comment on.

So just because it’s cool to have hoverboards or dwarves doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be in your novel. In HARRY POTTER, the Mudblood vs. pureblood debate is an interesting comment on racism. My favorite dystopian novels are often about the question of the individuality of the human spirit vs. the utilitarian ideals of government (e.g. BRAVE NEW WORLD by Aldous Huxley and THE GIVER by Lois Lowry). For me, it’s not enough that the setting is cool. It has to be “cool” for a reason.

Get Off Your Soapbox, Please

Books that ostensibly have a “message” make me twitch. With rage. I’m a firm believer of the “takeaway”; that is, the reader should take something away from the novel, whether it’s emotional satisfaction or intellectual revelation. But it should be done with subtlety because the last thing any reader wants is a “message” shoved down his/her throat. Or at least, it’s not what this reader wants.

You shouldn’t read books because they’re “good” for you; you should read books because you want to!

Adultery

This is a veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery fine line for me. It won’t make me throw books across the room, but my regard for a character will immediately plummet if s/he cheats. Call me a prude, but this is one area that makes me really uncomfortable. I try to reserve moral judgment for characters (Humbert Humbert is a pretty despicable pedophile, but hey, I still love LOLITA), but adultery/cheating is where I draw the line. I have no idea why.

I can stomach a lot of things in my fiction. Violence, incest, rape, drugs, sexual deviants, beloved animals being killed off, etc. But this is my list of vague, yet specific “dealbreakers”. I’m sure more will come up as I continue to read, but for now, what are your dealbreakers? What makes you stop reading and throw the book across the room?

But more news! Cap’n Sweet Valley has just acquired another nonfiction title, which is a fairly substantive and serious examination of today’s twentysomethings (loosely called Generation Y or Millennials). It is tentatively called THE NEW ADULTHOOD (perfect, non?).

Last week I also participated in an auction, my very first as an acquiring editor! Alas, I didn’t get it, but the author is really awesome and I wish her the best. The entire process was extremely educational and I was immensely flattered that the agent chose to submit to me directly and even more gratified that Ye Olde Little Big Publisher let me participate in the auction. *sniffs* I feel so loved!

Other than that, not much has been happening. This past weekend I went camping with Bear and a friend on part of the Appalachia Trail in New Jersey, near Pennsylvania and by the Delaware Water Gap. We had gorgeous weather, hiked 10 miles, went swimming in a lake, and fell asleep under the stars. I also saw a family of bears! It was wonderful and I won’t lie I pretended to be Katniss hunting in District 12.

My verdict? I wouldn’t survive in District 12. The bugs alone would drive me to the safety of being indoors. I was practically eaten alive by bugs. This is one area where camping on the East Coast and camping in California differ: there are no bugs in California. I remember being able to hike in shorts! That’s not possible here.

Like mother, like daughter.

Also, she is funny. And smart. And quite possibly a spy. (I’m not kidding about that. And no, I still don’t know to this day.)

All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.

- Oscar Wilde

Stylish, snarky, vivacious, beautiful, and intelligent, I want to be this woman when I grow up. Some hilarious exchanges beneath the cut.

Hope Is Not A Strategy

Teenaged JJ: (tossing aside a flatiron in frustration) I hate my hair!*
Mum: Then train your hair to behave.
Teenaged JJ: Train…my hair?
Mum: Yes! You can train hair, you know. It’s why my hair parts to the side; I trained it to do that.
Teenaged JJ: And how does one go about training one’s hair?
Mum: I parted it to the side every night after I took a shower. So comb your hair straight every night after you shower. It’ll start thinking like it’s straight.
Teenaged JJ: Mum, that doesn’t work for gay people and I doubt it will work for my hair.

*Until puberty hit me like a trainwreck, I had beautiful, thick, shiny straight hair. Then I got to thirteen and it staged a coup. My mother gave me the nickname sa-ja muh-ri, or “lion’s mane”. Now that I’ve hired a professional lion tamer, my hair’s learned to behave. A little.

Quarter Life Crisis

Mum: Happy birthday! You’re officially old.
JJ: Thanks, Mum.
Mum: No really, you’re an old maid now. Off the shelf.**
JJ: THANKS, MUM.
Mum: Oh, now that you’re 25, it’s time to start investing in some anti-wrinkle face creams.
JJ: (weeps into her coffee)

**Koreans (and other Asian countries) count the year you were in the womb when reckoning birthdays. My Korean age is 26. You are officially considered a spinster if you haven’t hitched yourself to a man by 25. And yes, my mother knows about Bear and no, she doesn’t actually subscribe to this notion. But she is a firm believer in anti-wrinkle creams.

She Knows Me Best

JJ: (on everyone going to grad school except her) The Inimitable Bex is getting her Masters in social work.
Mum: Oh good for her! I think she’ll be good at it. She’s very caring and a people person.
JJ: Yeah, she loves it so far.
Mum: Unlike you. Your idea of offering comfort is to give the person a swift kick in the ass.

I love her. I think Henry James wrote about Mum and not Noemie Nioche in THE AMERICAN.

Intelligent, unscrupulous, determined, and capable of seeing a man strangled without changing color.

Nothing much going down for this Photo Friday. Haven’t had much opportunity to shoot anything, as I’d been alternating back and forth between Argos and the Canon. This week’s theme is New York City (how unoriginal, but what can you do?).

W. 18th St.

Exposure 0.003 sec (1/320)
Aperture f/4.0
Focal Length 50 mm
ISO Speed 800
Exposure Bias -2 EV

This little girl is totally me as a child.

Exposure 0.025 sec (1/40)
Aperture f/4.0
Focal Length 50 mm
ISO Speed 400

I want this in my living room. I love how you can find random things like this on the streets of New York City.

Exposure 0.001 sec (1/1000)
Aperture f/1.8
Focal Length 50 mm
ISO Speed 400

Snapped this walking home one day.

Exposure 1/3200 sec
Aperture f/2.0
Focal Length 50 mm
ISO Speed 800
Exposure Bias -3 EV

That’s all for this week! Tomorrow some friends and Bear and I are going to to the beach, so hopefully more pictures then.

This seal does not want. I do not want either.

This is going to be one of those personal opinions posts that I’m sure will probably enrage a lot of people, but lately I’ve been getting a little frustrated with my reading, both for work and pleasure, so I’m going to make a very general, very broad statement.

I can’t stand books that have FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS.

You know the sort, I’m sure. Books are about That Hot Guy! And This Ordinary Girl! Who Fall in Love! And it is Tormented and Be-Obstacled (me and Sarah Palin–who’s apparently the new Shakespeare–makin’ up words) with so much Conflict (internal or external) that I must know if they get together by the end!

Seriously, it’s gotten so bad lately that the instant any hint of FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS crosses the page, I drop it like I’ve just been burned. And I have been burned. Figuratively.

“Is This A Sissy Book?”

Essentially–and you are all going to hate me for saying this–I can’t stand romance. I can’t stand it when the narrative conflict focuses too heavily on will they or won’t they? and not enough on…I don’t know. Anything else. Puppies. MacGuffins. Blowing shit up. Something.

You can call me the worst sort of hypocrite and you’d probably be right. There are plenty of romances and love stories I adore, not to mention my prevailing raison d’être for reading MOCKINGJAY and watching The X-Files is to answer the question Will they or won’t they?. (In the case of MOCKINGJAY, if you haven’t figured it out already, I’m TEAM PEETA ALL THE WAY.)

And don’t get me wrong, I love romantic elements in a book. I sniffled at Will and Lyra’s epic declarations of love in the THE GOLDEN COMPASS, sighed at Phèdre and Joscelin’s reconciliation in KUSHIEL’S AVATAR, and got all fluttery when Anne (finally) accepted Gilbert’s proposal in ANNE OF THE ISLAND. I was really, really moved by Maggie Stiefvater’s SHIVER and I love JANE EYRE.

But these days I feel like the boy from The Princess Bride. “Is this a sissy book?” I ask as I flip through the pages. “Killed by pirates is good! Ugh, the kissy stuff. Do we have to read it?”

Grandpa said that when I’m older I might not mind so much.

The thing is, I’m older and I still kind of mind. A lot. More books could benefit from Meatloaf. And by that, I mean, characters should do anything for love, but they shouldn’t do that. That could be anything, but I start to question when characters drop everything to be with the one s/he loves. In any good love story, the characters drive the romance, but more often than not, I find myself reading about characters who are shuttled from point A to point B, all in the name of Love. That’s not a story; that’s artificial conflict.

I Don’t Like Earnest Sentimentality

I so very rarely like earnest declarations of love. Or tingly feelings. Or melty insides. Or liquid knees. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I want to be shown, not told. The absolute best writers of romance can do this effortlessly (and I can forgive the occasional slow-burning fire smoldering somewhere in the genital regions). They can show me two characters and then show me how those characters function as a pair and how this ultimately changes them and transforms their lives.

It’s the change that interests me, and change doesn’t mean FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS. Frequently I will come across characters who realize “This person makes me rethink what I want!” But that’s too simplistic for me. The process of reevaluation is long, somewhat tormented, rather painful, and the ultimate outcome of such an evaluation is either acceptance or rejection of change. To me, that’s what keeps suspense when it comes to romance–the will they or won’t they?

I Love You, Just Like I Love These Potato Chips

Three little words. I love you. They fly fast and furious between lovers in books these days, but I want those I love yous to come at a cost. What does it mean to give someone those three little words? They have such weight, shouldn’t there be a little more deliberation and/or fear of saying them?

I remember when I first started dating Bear, enjoying our time together, falling in love with him a little bit more each day that passed. Suddenly before I knew it, those three little words kept rising from my heart, bubbling to my lips, pressing against each word in our conversations. I had to talk around them, find ways to keep them down. Why? I was afraid. Could I trust him with my heart? Was it too soon? Did he feel the same way? How much more would it hurt if I said them and he didn’t?

It would hurt a lot. Maybe even too much.

So better to keep my mouth shut, to hold those words in, to smile and hope he understood by the way I acted. By the way I talked. But eventually the pressure became too much and they were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Except he got there first. Right as I couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Did I have FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS? Of course. Were they intense? Absolutely. Was it a function of the circumstances we were in? In part. Two kids living in a foreign country, thrown together by some vague desire to explore and leave behind a life with which we had been comfortable. We made friends, then we made love.

As far as stories go, ours isn’t terribly romantic. Or exciting. Or special. Liking someone is easy, being attracted to someone even easier, but declaring love? That’s a huge thing. And I want this huge thing to be warranted, to be deserved. Fighting through external obstacles is all well and good, but there’s gotta be some internal ones as well. Telling me over and over again that two characters have FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS for each other won’t convince me. God, it just makes me roll my eyes.

More Stuff to Do! Less Making Out

As a result of my knee-jerk reaction against books with FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS, I find myself being more drawn to books with a really interesting plot. In many ways, I can forgive being less emotionally attached to characters if I am intellectually engaged. My coworkers and I were discussing two YA novels with vaguely similar premises, but one was more about the implications of the world in which they lived whereas the other was all about FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS. You could probably guess which one I preferred.

But it isn’t as though I don’t want relationships in books. I want characters to care about each other (romantic or not), I just didn’t want their caring to take over my book. THE THIRTEENTH TALE by Diane Setterfield is an excellent novel about relationships, but I kept reading because it was such a delicious gothic mystery with an unexpected twist, that I had to go back and reread the book immediately.

So I can sometimes feel betrayed when a book with a really interesting premise calls to me, but gives the romance star billing. Ugh. Perhaps I’m unusual, but I feel love stories ought to be ancillary to the plot, but still good enough to make me care. I mean, THE HUNGER GAMES is not about the eternal Gale vs. Peeta question, even if I’m really invested in that part of the series. THE HUNGER GAMES is an awesome story about Finding Ways To Bring The Man Down.

But that’s me. Phew, I had to get that off my chest. So sorry about the rant. I promise next time I won’t be so rage-filled.

You might as well hang this sign by the YA section in bookstores these days.

This morning on Twitter, Cindy Pon directed me to a very interesting discussion at Enchanted Inkpot about “boy books” and “girl books” in YA and why there seems to be a discrepancy between boy-oriented fiction and girl-oriented fiction.

The dearth of boy books in YA is an on-going discussion, with question of “Why aren’t there more boy books?” arising again and again.

The thing is, there are a lot of boy-oriented books, but they’re not being bought in the same numbers as girl-oriented ones.

Gendered Reading: Real or Construct?

The accepted wisdom for those in the business of selling products to consumers is this: buying power is in the hands of women. This idea holds as true for books as it does for nearly everything else. Women (girls) buy things. And they tend to buy things more than men. I may not have a lot of discretionary income, but I certainly like to shop–to look, if not to spend. You couldn’t drag my guy friends to a mall if their lives depended on it. My father jokes that this is the hunter-gatherer mentality: women look broadly to acquire the best, whereas men find something and go for it.

Selling books to readers works on a similar principle. Women make up 80% of the fiction buying market, not just YA. Before people argue it’s because there aren’t enough books to appeal to men, I will say that in nonfiction, there is a bit more parity between the genders. Why?

Many of my friends–male, female, and otherwise–read a lot, but when it comes to approaches to reading, there is a gendered difference. It isn’t black and white, but for the most part, my male friends don’t like fiction and my female friends do. Grand generalizations, of course, but in my experience, male brains seem to be wired for utility and function. My male friends read to get something out of it. This extends to fiction as well as nonfiction–what are the complications and how are they resolved by the end of the novel?

On the other hand, my female friends (and myself included), tend to read for relationships, the interplay between characters. At work we were discussing a YA sci-fi we were looking to acquire. One of the publishers expressed doubt that it would be interesting to girls because it was set in space.

“I loved it and I don’t care about space; I cared about the characters!” said one of my colleagues.

Precisely. This is probably why girls are said to read “boy books” in addition to “girl books”–if the relationships are compelling enough, she’ll be invested.

On the other hand, there’s not a lot of utility to be taken from “girl books”. It could be a beautiful novel about the relationship between two siblings, but if there’s no intense “what happens”, then boys will probably be less interested.

I once met an author (who shall remain anonymous) at a panel about “boy books” in YA who confessed that he might not have read his own novel as a teenaged boy. “I would have asked, ‘Where are the monsters? And the killing?’” he said. “Because that was the important stuff to me then.”

I have a teenaged brother, whom I am forever trying to get to read YA. What happens? is always his first question when I recommend one. He’s not asking me about the characters–he’s asking me about the plot. When I recommend books to girls his age, they always ask me, What’s it about?

Obviously this is not 100% true across both sexes. There are plenty of girls who enjoy action-oriented fiction and plenty of boys who enjoy reading about relationships. But there seems to be an interesting divide when it comes approaching fiction, and nowhere is that more evident than in marketing.

Marketing: No Boys Allowed in YA

Cap’n Sweet Valley once said, “I’m not interested in publishing [fiction] for men–it’s the women who buy.” It might be true (and his experience might back it up), but I was rather appalled. Mostly because I’m a girl and I don’t like a lot of women-oriented fiction. I don’t like romance novels and I don’t like commercial women’s fiction or chick lit. And yes, Cap’n Sweet Valley, I am a girl.

But his isn’t the only voice in publishing who thinks this is the case. Many other houses do, because it is a universal adage when it comes to marketing. You market to women because women buy.

This is especially true of YA book covers.

The U.S. hardcover and paperback covers for Sarah Rees Brennan's excellent debut THE DEMON'S LEXICON.

You all know I love Sarah Rees Brennan. You all know that I love her debut novel THE DEMON’S LEXICON and its sequel THE DEMON’S COVENANT (the third book to ever make me cry!).

One could consider THE DEMON’S LEXICON a “boy book”–lots of action, an intriguing mystery, a huge plot twist, very little romance (but not without romantic potential!), with the manliest of male protagonists. (I ♥ you, Nick!) Why then, is her U.S. hardcover so…girly?

Perhaps it’s because her publishers wanted to tap into the buying power of girls, who devour paranormal romances by the bucketful. Despite the boy on the cover, it’s clearly marketed toward girls with a hunky, pouty-lipped Tom Welling lookalike. I tried to give the hardcover edition to my brother to read, who was horrified by the girlyness of it all.

“I can’t be seen with a book like that!” he said. He didn’t bother to figure out what the book was about.

A book like what, precisely? As you can see, the paperback edition of the novel went in a more boy-oriented/adult fantasy (like Jim Butcher’s DRESDEN books) direction and when I gifted my brother with that edition, he went off and read it without protest.

I know publishers believe that girls are the only ones buying books, but the real publishing phenomenons are not girl-centric romantic fantasies like TWILIGHT, but gender-neutral books with a kickass story like HARRY POTTER and THE HUNGER GAMES. I think publishers underestimate the buying power of teenaged boys. THE HUNGER GAMES, despite a female protagonist, is enormously popular with boys–including my little brother, who went and bought the book of his own volition. (Thank you, Suzanne Collins!)

A Good Story Will Sell Regardless

After BEA, I happened to walk back to the subway with Arthur Levine, otherwise known as The Man Who Defined My Childhood Reading. (I had a huge fangirl moment. You don’t understand.) My coworkers and I were asking him questions and the “boy book vs. girl book” debate arose again.

“I don’t believe there are ‘boy books’ or ‘girl books’,” he said. “I believe there are simply good books.”

And he should know. He found HIS DARK MATERIALS by Philip Pullman, the REDWALL series by Brian Jacques, and most famously, HARRY POTTER by J.K. Rowling. These are books with boy protagonists, with girl protagonists, with mouse protagonists–written by man or woman, it doesn’t matter. There is something timeless about the books he chooses, something that transcends whatever notion of “boy vs. girl” we’ve constructed for ourselves.

In the end, I believe him too. There are only good books. We just need to find more of them.