On Truth and
Darkness in Young Adult Literature
Stephanie Kuehn
This month, my
debut young adult novel, Charm and
Strange, is being released in paperback in the UK. As the back copy of the
book reads, it is “A deftly woven, elegant, unnerving psychological thriller
about a boy at war with himself….a masterful exploration of one of the greatest
taboos.” In short, it’s about a boy who
believes himself to be a monster. It’s also about understanding why.
I began writing Charm and Strange in the spring of 2011.
As the story moved along on its two-year path to publication, there were many
kind people who read the manuscript and corresponded with me about it: friends,
fellow authors, literary agents, editors, etc. Yet when I reflect back on that
time, there’s one thing stands out to me about all of these interactions. With
the exception of a single person, no one ever directly addressed the events of
the book—what it’s really about.
This
is an observation, not a judgment, and it holds true for me, too. When I engage
with someone about the story, we often talk around what happens to the narrator
and his family. We cloak the core events in the book with soft language and
euphemisms. Gestures, even, if we’re speaking face to face.
To be fair, the
characters in the book don’t use direct language to describe their experiences,
either. That’s one of the book’s main themes: how the unspeakable is
transformed and expressed in nonverbal ways. However, the fact that some
people’s realities truly are unspeakable
is the reason I wrote the book in the first place. It’s also the reason why I
think books that tackle difficult and discomforting topics, are necessary. Imperative, really.
Reading someone
else’s words or someone else’s story is a unique form of human communication—a
uniquely safe one. This is the magic
of books. They’re stories we can connect with emotionally, but they are also a
form of communication that can be controlled by the reader. For kids or teens
or anyone who doesn’t have the luxury of safety in their lives, a book holds
confidence. A book is a confidante.
Young people
know this, intuitively and explicitly. It’s why books such as Hold Still (Nina LaCour), Wintergirls (Laurie Halse Anderson), Crank (Ellen Hopkins), Hate List (Jennifer Brown), Living Dead Girl (Elizabeth Scott), Smack (Melvin Burgess), Stolen (Lucy Christopher), A Monster Calls (Patrick Ness) and many,
many more, have resonated with teen readers. That resonance isn’t always about
personal identification, either. Reading is a safe, non-judgmental place to
explore emotions and thoughts that are scary or shameful or not
well-understood, and we live in a world that doesn’t have a lot of safe,
non-judgmental places.
Adults know
this, too, I think. We really do. Just like we know it’s hard to speak up when
we don’t feel safe, it’s also hard to talk about the things that scare us the
most. This knowledge is why I hope that challenging and difficult teen books
can be recognized for the difference these stories can make in the hearts and
lives of young people who are vulnerable or voiceless. Despite our collective
discomfort, there’s true grace in a medium that has the power to help someone
who’s endured the unspeakable feel like less of an outsider. Or, as the case
may be, like less of a monster.
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