Among the blogosphere, the debate over children’s books
versus young adult book versus adult books seems to have gotten very intense
this year. It could just be me of course but it does seem to have erupted into
a big “thing” and everyone has needed to weigh in on it. Personally, I don’t
get what all the fuss is about. I enjoy reading – whether the book was meant
for six year olds or ninety-nine years old, it makes no difference to me. In
fact, some of the best reads of my life were meant for audiences much younger
than me. Why adults seem so hung up on the latest young adult reading craze is
beyond me. At least everyone is reading right?
Personally, some of my favorite books to this day are
considered children classics though I didn’t appreciate them until I was much
older. Reading Le Petit Prince in 11th grade French class changed everything
– never mind I’d read it as a child and not understood what all the fuss was
about. Perhaps it is only as a stressed out teen worried about getting into college that the baobab analogy makes sense. Anne Shirley guided me through 6th grade and now, her books
take on new meaning as I trudge through my mid-20s with no Gilbert in sight but
still plenty of laughs to be had. Doesn’t Anne seem like someone you’d like to
be able to go visit with a bottle of wine after a hard day? She would remind
me, as she once so comfortingly noted to Marilla, that tomorrow is a fresh day,
there are no mistakes in it yet.
So thankfully, I’ve never walked away from what the rest of
the world regulated to kids sections of book stores which is why I got to enjoy
Harry Potter before my friends found him and directed them eagerly to The Hunger Games once a friend had already steered me in its direction. Sure,
parents hem and haw over the appropriateness of these books for kids but even
among the violence, these books are discussing fundamental problems all kids
face – the search for who you are, who you are going to be and what you will stand
for. I’m in my mid-20s and still figuring that out which is why I think these
books, designed for kids, have such universal appeal. We never really stop
wondering what we’ll be when we grow up and reading stories of brave, smart kids
on the same path are comforting.
Especially since adult fiction just seem so depressing in
comparison. It’s always a novel about death or depression or divorce. No one
ever seems happy in contemporary fiction. There are ambiguous endings and the
hero doesn’t always triumph in the end. I have enough of that in reality
people; that is not what I like to find when I open up a book to escape for a
few hours.
Take for instance the book I just finished, The Mysterious Benedict Society. Four smart (smarter than I will ever be), brave, resourceful
kids go into danger to save the world and they win! Against all odds and
reality, these four brilliant children do what no adult could do. They solve
puzzles, connect the dots and act more bravely than I am (pretty) sure I would
be able to in my (what the world thinks) vastly superior knowledge. It is
slightly implausible? Sure, but why on earth would I want to read it if it was
possible?
