“Issue” books
Sara sent me this comment last night, and I thought it was such an important point, I’d like to address it separately:
“Robin,
I haven’t read SOLD, and I may yet, once I get through the stack on the floor by my chair. But I’ve had bad experiences with non-children’s books on subjects like this. Here’s my problem, and please, if you (anyone!) disagrees, tell me why I’m wrong and maybe my thinking will straighten out.
Anyway, every time I read an “issue†book about abuse (sexual or otherwise), I get this awful, creepy feeling that I’m somehow just a voyeur to someone else’s pain. Worse than that, I’ve paid money for this experience, and well, it feels like PORN. The pornography of suffering. Do we read these books for the shiver of “OMG…†the same one people get at horror flicks?
I know the authors are (mostly) sincere about their subjects, and that they hope to “raise awareness†but the sad fact is most readers read the book, shiver, and forget. While the author/publisher makes money.
Oh, that sounds so mean, and I’m definitely not saying this about SOLD, especially after you recommended it so highly. What I want to know is, how does SOLD do it differently, from say, A Child Called It (which I refused to read,) or The Kindness of Strangers which I read (with much loathing) for a book club meeting? On the other hand, Octavian Nothing…much, much suffering, but no creepy feeling of exploitation. Why?
Help me here.”
Sara, I’m SO glad you raised this point. It’s what makes books like Sold so hard to recommend, and sometimes to read.
I agree with you that there are a lot of books out there that take on an issue, it seems, just for the sake of being scandalous. It’s “juicy.”
I don’t feel that way at all about Sold. I think the story is told very sensitively–especially considering what a raw topic it handles.
But I’ve definitely had the kind of experience you’re talking about. I feel wrong somehow for reading the book and in any way enjoying it–even on the can’t-look-away level.
Let’s throw this open to the group. I know a lot of you read Sold. What do you say about Sara’s concerns?
And what do you say about this issue of “issue” books in general?
Technorati Tags: Reading, Books, Reading Lists, Book Lists, Book Reviews, Book Recommendations, Tuesday Book Club, Sold, Patricia McCormick
This may be just my problem as a reader…I’m way too sensitive and really get “sucked in” to fiction, like to the point of oblivion to the world around me. But I don’t want to avoid the hard topics…I mean, me avoiding them doesn’t make them go away.
And as a writer who may want to deal with an explosive topic one day, I want to make sure I have lots of good examples of how to do it respectfully. I really admire those authors who step out there and confront evil head on.
I’m glad you feel that Sold is in the “good” category, and for the record, I plan to read it. I must.
I hate books like that. I read for pleasure. That’s why I like Happily Eating Apples endings.
I’m halfway through a Jodi Picoult – My Sister’s Keeper – and I just don’t have the energy to move forward in reading it. It’s just a horrible situation and I could barely handle it when the same topic was run in a CSI:Vegas episode and that was only an hour.
And I’m not even sure if it counts as an issue book. It’s well told and interesting. I just can’t read it.
I remember reading A Bridge to Terabithia and thinking at the end of it, what a horrible book, why would anyone ever want to write something that ended like that.*
*It might not have been BTT, but I remember clearly reading a book with a sad ending and asking my mom why someone would write that.
I haven’t read SOLD yet, so I can’t address this one. But I have to tell you, YA books in general sometimes freak me out because of the content. Teenagers in books have sex, get pregnant, do drugs, get raped, get depressed, are totally stressed out, are in abusive relationships or have abusive parents. And these are the milder books.
I certainly lived the sheltered teenage life. While I’d like to think today’s teenagers live in an innocent happy world, it clearly isn’t so. They are exposed to so much at such an early age. It must be emotionally difficult to feel like you’re all alone when you’re going through something horrific.
These “issue” books are good because teens have something they can relate to when they don’t feel safe talking to their family or friends. Perhaps it will show the teens how they can get help. I’d like to think these “issue” books help teens with some of their problem solving and offer up some sort of hope that all is not lost.
Otherwise, it would be a really disgusting feeling that all these books are doing is sensationalizing the horror in a young person’s life.
I agree with you, Vivian, that a lot of the YA out there is pretty shocking these days–not at all what I read when I was young–but I think you’re right that kids who are exposed to these issues might want to deal with them in the safety of a book.
It’s like what Alvina Ling said in her interview over at Seven Impossible Things a few days ago–how when she was young she was always so happy when the heroine had brown hair. And how she would have loved to read a book where the girl was Asian.
I’ve written an “issue” book, and I’m hoping it will be published some day, but you never know if someone will react to it the way Patrick did–”Ew. Why would anyone write that?”
And I’ve read plenty of books where I thought that, too. I’ve usually put them down before the end, just because I don’t believe in punishing myself with books that are hurting me.
I don’t know. Keep the comments coming. I want to know what others of you think.
Sorry, Robin really spell-checked my post. I really said that Global Warming is caused by the Sun, not cars. Not some serious response.
And it makes sense when you think about it.
I hereby declare that we should move Earth further away from the Sun. Does anyone want to help me get the government grant to investigate the feasibility?
I haven’t read Sold because I’m terrible at my job. I’m going to try to comment anyway. While you can look at a text and think that it is exploiting someone’s tragedy or pain or whatever, can’t you also look at it (not all the time, of course) as a celebration of their triumph (even if it’s small) over that tragedy/pain/etc.?
I’m a memoir fanatic and people often say they don’t like to read memoir because they’re always sad and about dysfunctional lives, familes, etc. Often that is the case, but are we not relieved that the writer has lived to tell the tale? Has come to terms with the dysfunctional so s/he can share it? Or maybe has come to terms with it BY sharing it?
Is it really any different with fiction? Again, haven’t read Sold, but can’t the reader find solace in the fact that Lakshmi feels compelled to tell the story and has the ability to do so?
I really, really love Bridge to Terabithia and it makes me sad to hear someone wonder why it was written! Of course it’s sad, but don’t we learn something by watching Jesse deal with it? Or at least reflect and wonder how we would’ve, would, or will deal with tragedy?
Finally, I will disagree with Sara and contend that these are NOT the books that are closed and forgotten. Do you really remember what happened in book three of the Princess Diaries? Or which characters were introduced in the fourth Harry Potter (probably the wrong crowd to pose that question to)? But Patrick remembers how he felt at the end of Bridge to Terabithia (or whatever it was – haha).
People blurb books and use the word “haunting.” Is it or is it not a compliment? I want to be haunted. I want to cry. And I want to remember, because if I forget, I’m not going to recommend it to anyone else and they won’t get to experience the spectrum of emotion that truly compelling storytelling and great writing can evoke.
That was longer than I thought it was going to be considering I didn’t even read the book. I started a fight on another blog today, so I hope I’m not doing that here…
Molly, thank you for that thoughtful analysis. I doubt that you’ve started a fight. But I really enjoy hearing the different opinions on this topic. Thanks for adding so much to the conversation.
Patrick, people were wondering.
I’m definitely not opposed to YA books that portray teenage life realistically. I just finished Looking For Alaska, and I loved it, mostly because it was such a dead-on portrayal of the intense craziness of that age. Oh yeah, there was the F word, and sex, and smoking and drinking, but the kids weren’t VICTIMS. I think that’s what bothers me about some (mostly adult) books: the main character is helpless, the reader is, of course, helpless, so all you can do is watch the poor kid walk to his doom. That’s what feels wrong to me.
When I read, I don’t want to feel a) manipulated or b)helpless. I’m OK with: challenged, sad, awakened, educated, disturbed, changed. Especially that last one.
“When I read, I don’t want to feel a) manipulated or b)helpless. I’m OK with: challenged, sad, awakened, educated, disturbed, changed. Especially that last one.”
Yeah, Sara. I’m with you.
Some qualifications about me. I don’t watch horror because I do not enjoy peeing myself and I am quite paranoid enough.
I am not certain that it was Bridge to Terabithia. I was young when I read it. My tying that book to the feeling is based on Diana’s summary of the book when the movie trailer came out. I don’t remember it. I was also upset about Where the Red Fern Grows but wasn’t there a little redemption or puppies at the end of that one?
See!!! Now I have to go read those two books again. Damn you. Now I am not moving Earth farther from the Sun.
I personally do not like being upset by a book or movie. I have a job for that.
It’s me. Not the book. I realize that. I’m ok with that. You be ok with that. The book’s feelings are not hurt. I don’t think it makes them ‘bad’ as in ‘poor’, it makes them bad as in ‘YOU HAVE HURT THE SPACE LORD’.
I also don’t wander into the poisonous snake petting pen at the zoo.
It’s just not my idea of fun.
Happily Eating Apples is my life.
Patrick, don’t even get me started on Where the Red Fern Grows. One of my all-time favorite books, but every time I read it it completely rips my heart out and chews it to bits.
And yet I read again.
Molly, no quarrels on Bridge to Terabithia. I love Katherine Paterson. She knows how to write about pain with redemption and compassion. And I never “forget” her work.
I think that the “victim” problem might be a big one. I have argued before that it’s the reason that I (and many, MANY readers) hate the books where the animals are tortured/die. Because the animals are innocents and because of their station, are unable to go through the redemption that their earlier suffering makes necessary.
When I read a book like The Boy From the Basement, it is about this helpless child, this innocent, going from a place of torture — a horrible, horrible place, and realizing that he has the inner strength to rise above it, and doing so.
And I agree with what Molly says about “haunting.” I think that’s one of the most powerful things about YA fiction — only YA has had the power to stay with me for decades, because I read it at the right age, the age when it COULD haunt me.
I disagree with what Vivian and Robin said about YA books not being what I read when I was younger. I wasn’t even in highschool when I read Go Ask Alice, and it remains to this day one of the most shocking and horrific things I’ve ever seen a YA character go through. And then there’s BTT, and Six Months to Live, and Number the Stars, and the list goes on and on. It’s too easy to say that the things that happen “these days” are so much more shocking than what we read when we were YA, but we’re remembering it right.
Diana, maybe it was just my reading choices back then. You know, The Once and Future King, Hardy Boys, etc. Not much drugs, sex, and suicide attempts in those.
Re: “voyeur to someone else’s pain”. And this is a general statement — not about Sold (More on that below) — I have found that some readers do indeed read that way; but usually it’s for a short time (they have their fill and walk away.) And because it is readers who don’t live/ know someone who lives these tragedies, sometimes this voyeurism is a good way to shake the reader out of themselves and to help build compassion for others.
I don’t want to judge readers & their tastes but (and here comes the judge…) what concerns me is when I see teens reading this stuff but not getting the fact that it’s real; reading it as if it’s fantasy; and so missing any point of changing themselves or their prejudices or their treatment of others.
Sold. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this, and while it’s an excellent book I’m afraid that a reader would walk away thinking “how sad for them, but that doesn’t happen here in the US, let me go on my way.” I read it wishing there was a book out about the teen whose father was busted for being with a child prostitute in Asia/India, to show the cycle that does involve Americans as users and not just rescuers.
I think it all depends on how the subject matter is handled in the book and the voice of the author. For example,there was a memoir called The Kiss out a few years ago,about the author’s “love affair” with her father(she was twenty at the time). I didn’t read it because from what I heard about the book,it seemed to romantize that rather unhealthy relationship.
A memoir I read recently,The End of the World As We Know,deals with similar material and is heartbreakingly sad at times,yet compelling and insightful into what childhood trauma and secrets can do to a person over time. It’s not something that I first look for in any book,but if done honestly and from the heart,the reader can gain quite abit of worldly experience there.
Fiction is a whole other deal,but again it depends on how the subject matter is presented and it helps if the plot is not just a platform for the author’s p.o.v on the topic at hand. You have nothing to worry about in that department,Robin,trust me on that!:)
What did they Ask Alice when they went to her?
“What concerns me is when I see teens reading this stuff but not getting the fact that it’s real; reading it as if it’s fantasy. Yeah, Liz, I think that’s a real danger. And there’s where author visits and other follow-ups (from teachers, librarians, etc.) can make a big difference. If you’re writing an issue book, I assume you care about that issue. I know you can’t reach everyone, but doing your best to educate people–whether in person, on your website, in an afterward to the book, etc.–seems like at least some movement toward getting kids to understand the reality. I don’t know if it works, but it seems like you’d have to try.
Lady T, I felt the way you did about The Kiss–based on the author interviews, no thanks. That’s not the kind of thing I want romanticized.
I feel passionate about the impact we can make as writers. Like Diana said, the right book treated the right way can affect not only the kids reading it, but also their parents.
There’s this notion of a person’s Circle of Influence. You concentrate your efforts with the people you know, really taking a stand for things you believe in, and just by virtue of your passion, that Circle becomes ever wider.
Writers can have a larger Circle of Influence than the average person on the street. What we choose to do with that is up to each of us. You can write an issue book just to be scandalous, or you can write one because you want to do your part to effect change.
It really is a personal choice, though. Not everyone wants the responsibility of being the point man/woman for some controversial issue.
Robin – I’m going to read Sold as soon as I can get my hands on it. I’ll make sure and let you know how that turns out.
Now, as for the topic at hand, the only way I can really relate to this is Holocaust books (which we were forced to read at least two of in eighth grade Lit). I know the Holocaust is in the past and everything, but I have to say that I’m terrified that it might happen again, especially now that Muslims and others are trying to wipe it out of history.
The thing with the Holocaust books, though, is that they have the unique ability to get away with whole chapters just for the purpose of showing how bad a situation is…but I feel like some authors go way overboard with that, and it turns into a fest of gratuitous suffering that I’d just as soon not read, you know?
Yeah, Miri, I hear that. You feel like you’re just being pounded over and over on top of an open wound.
After thinking about it (a lot!), I realized that I have so much to say on this subject that it would choke the comment field! So I’ve posted an entry over on my blog.
I think Sara makes a great point. I think that Sold (or any “issue” book) would perhaps fall into this category if it were not so well-crafted and not so stinkin’ gorgeous with all its breathtaking imagery and everything else about the book that is so well-done. Does that make sense? Katherine Paterson once said that a good book sets out to tell a story, and along the way we might learn something about virtue, about what it means to be human. But the lesser book sets out to teach virtue instead (those “didactic” books so loathed in children’s literature). Sold for me is definitely in the former category. If it were the latter, I’d feel cheated.
I missed so many great discussions here at your blog this week, Robin!
I know, Jules–where were ya?
Robin and all –
First, this is the very first time I have ever responded to a blog post, so thanks for encouraging me, Robin! And be forewarned, this is long – sorry.
This issue is of more than theoretical interest to me, as it is a big part of what I actually do, and teach, and write about – we already have 2 books out on Community Engagement, and it will be a big part of the one I am writing now.
And what it becomes is the difference between telling a story in a way that encourages people to take action, and telling it in a way that shocks people into either thinking there is nothing they can do, thinking, “oh it can’t really be that bad, this is just an isolated case” – or worse, telling it in a way that makes us want to curl up and die, and never think about it again.
When we first built the Diaper Bank in Tucson, the stories we heard were so horrible – about babies being in the same diaper all day long, or for 2 or 3 days, about elder abuse due to incontinence, about child abuse, about horror after horror I won’t describe here. We realized quickly that if we wanted to engage folks in a solution, we had to inspire and encourage them, not scare the wits out of them.
So we came up with an acronym – FUG – Fun, Upbeat, and Goofy. We talked about poop and pee and made people laugh. And then we would tell a story that was real – that would indeed make them feel something they may not want to face. But then we would share what they could do to help, and the fact that they could indeed work to build a community that didn’t include such horror stories. An we would end poignant and funny. And rather than recoiling in horror, they would sign on to help.
When my brother first saw our website, years ago, he said, “It’s not like child abuse sites and other sites I stay away from. I never have to be afraid of what I’ll see at the Diaper Bank’s site.”
So I think it’s about knowing the fine art of telling the story so it engages and inspires people to action, rather than just shocking – because I think really all those writers are indeed well-intentioned. I think they just don’t know a different way to engage folks in wanting to do something to find an answer, so they figure if they just tell the story, folks will take action. Unfortunately, the action they take is to pull the covers over their eyes, stick their fingers in their ears and say la-la-la so they don’t have to know anymore.
But then again, this is such a big piece of what I do for a living – I may just be biased.
Sorry so long – I have to get the hang of this blogging stuff!
Hildy
Hildy, welcome! Thank you for your thoughtful, informative comment. I think you’re right–we as writers or as anyone trying to make a difference in the world need to consider how to get our point across without making people think it’s so bad there’s nothing anyone can do anymore. Thanks for the suggestions.
In response to some of the comments about sad books…
I absolutely hated Gone with the Wind. I loved it too; it was fascinating beyond explanation…but that book broke my heart. And now, every time I think about it, it still makes me sad. What’s the point of that?! Books are supposed to make you happy and want to go out and conquer the world once you put them down.