Lesbians? Oh no!!

So, for the past week or so in kidlit, we've been reading this really wonderful novel, Finding H.F. by Julia Watts. Unfortunately for you, it went out of print last year, and it is very difficult to get your hands on--too bad, as it is one of the funniest books (young adult or otherwise) that I've ever read. It is set in (very) small town Kentucky, and the protagonist is a girl named Heavenly Faith--who's a lesbian. The book deals with her coming to terms with herself, realizing how big the world is, taking charge of her own life, having first sexual experiences, and flashing a van full of nuns. Your standard bildungsroman, if you will.



But the issue I'm to address is one of having lesbian (or gay) protagonists in young adult literature, especially in books which deal explicitly with understanding their sexuality, not just as characters who have already become comfortable with it.



I think that these types of books are important, and not in the narrow way one might expect (like when H.F.'s girlfriend's parents leave out "the lesbian little house on the prairie" for her to read, as a hint about what they suspect). Yes, I can imagine a well-written and honest book, like H.F., would be a fantastic thing to stumble across as a teenager struggling with questions about sexuality. But I remember, when I was in seventh grade, getting an anthology of short stories out of the young adult section of the Birmingham Public Library because there was a really colorful cover, and some of my favorite authors were in it. The book was Am I Blue? an anthology of stories dealing with LGBT issues, intended for teens. I remember taking it home and being astonished that something like that was out in the open for anyone to check out. I was embarrassed and fascinated.



I am not overly sheltered. I attended an incredibly liberal fine arts high school, and I have witnessed my fair share of real-life coming out struggles. But in a world where "gay" is so often whispered in public behind a cupped hand, friendly and open books about these issues are necessary.



I am all for young adult books that have lesbian protagonists, just like I am all about books that have Jewish protagonists, black protagonists, and middle class white girl from Birmingham, Alabama, protagonists--because a large reason for young adult lit is to give teenagers something legitimate, whether it be relateable to them, or expand their vision of the world.



And Finding H.F. is absolutely legitimate, whether you follow the "rainbow sign" or not.

The Caldecott

Over the past few weeks, through my class, I have learned a lot about the Caldecott Medal--the award given for excellence in picture books annually. Perhaps the most important fact that has arisen, is that the award is given to the illustrator of the book, not the author (excepting when they are the same person, of course). This obviously puts a larger emphasis on the pictorial aspect of these books than the literary, a subject about which I have mixed feelings.

Obviously, there is a certain credibility (even cache?) implied by awarding a person's work, and the work of illustrators is often dismissed in the art field as "lesser"--just as the children's author is in the literary field. So, the Caldecott Medal definitely performs an important task by recognizing picture books for what they are--pieces of art with real artistic (as well as commercial) merit.

However, at the same time as the Medal values the art of picture books, by ignoring the author (relatively speaking) it devalues the literary worth of picture books. At least intellectually, the Medal seems to place the words at a lower level. Now, this is true to a certain extent--after all, what sets picture books apart is obviously the pictures. And it is also important to note that very young children certainly value the pictures more than the words, especially if they are capable of imparting a story, as all the Caldecott Medal winners should be.

But ultimately, it disappoints me that there is not a requisite award, of equal standing, to honor the author of a great picture book. Even if the award were presented to the author/illustrator team, the arrangement would feel a little more fair to me.

It just all seems to come back to the fear of honoring children's literature, or, even more basically, things that are simple. Because Goodnight, Moon has very few words on each page, does not make it any less mesmerizing or reassuring as a poem, as a story, as a lullaby, even. So I say, give picture book authors credit where credit is due--although the illustrator's work is vital, it is the author who first pens a manuscript and sends it off, sparse as it may seem, in hopes of finding a reader who can picture its potential.

The Big Question

Firstly, Hi there!

I'm Molly, your average literature-loving college student, assigned to create a blog to keep up with class assignments. The class in question, however, is Literature for Children and Young Adults, so this will hardly be a grudging sort of task. The title of this blog "Innocent and Heartless" comes from the last line of my absolute favorite children's book, Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie:

As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.

The duality (or tri-ality, I guess) of the statement about children seems key to an understanding of children's literature (and is interesting in its utter departure from typical Victorian thoughts on the subject). For while children may be innocent, have more simplistic understandings about the world, and be generally more joyful, at the same time this quality of "heartlessness"--of not understanding the ramifications of actions, of somewhat lacking the capacity for empathy--must be taken into account. This is the dividing line, for me, between children's lit and young adult lit--that the former is focused outward and the latter inward, trying to reconcile the heartlessness (self-centeredness) of childhood with a sudden knowledge of other people's thoughts and interests.

But all of this is introduction to the actual subject of this entry, the Big Question. How does one respond to the (common) claim that children's literature is "lesser" than other literature? It seems fitting that I chose Peter Pan to begin with, because my senior year of high school I butted heads with my English teacher over this very issue. I wanted to write my final research paper on Peter Pan. My second choice, Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass was also denied with the same perfunctory note--"No Children's Lit. (Sorry)."

Despite my arguments for both of the books, the first as a psychological study of childhood and growing up, the second as a clever satire on Victorian times, both were denied as appropriate subjects for scholarship. Of course, now that I am in college, doing exactly what that teacher forbade, I can try and step back, to piece out the logic.

There seems to be an inherent problem with the supposition that Children's Lit is lesser, and that is this:

The books and stories children read when they are young inform the way they look at the world, introduce them to art and words and story, often before they can speak in entire sentences. These books, read purely for pleasure with education coming as an end, not a means, are sadly sometimes the only books that kids, once adults, will look back and remember fondly. Children's books are profoundly important in the development of children's imaginations and knowledge. The imaginations and knowledge of all of us, as people often seem to forget that we were once all children, and that all children will eventually be adults. So why would writing for children, or children's literature itself possibly be considered of less importance than writing for adults?

One reads Peter Pan before tackling Anna Karenina. In fact, I would argue that of the two primarily psychological novels, the former has a much larger audience and far more universal appeal. Both novels attempt to paint a complex portrait of a character in odd/difficult circumstances, both the joyful and terrible sides of their condition. Why should one be lesser, if it reaches more people, far earlier, than the other?

Now, there are gradations in the quality of children's lit, just like in the quality of adult lit. The Baby Sitter's Club is no Peter Pan--and Nora Roberts's novels are no Anna Karenina. But the existance of Nora Roberts's novels does not invalidate the great classics of literature. If we can accept that some books are deeper, more thought-provoking, more challenging, etc. among adult literature, the same lenience should apply to children's lit as well.

Ultimately, there are as many sorts of books for children as adults, funny books, sad books, brilliant books, fantastical books, and so on, and because they inspire the adults of tomorrow, long before other literature has a chance, they are in no way of lesser importance. Once might even argue, they are of MORE.