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Advocating for and writing about girls is a radical act

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I’ve been thinking about this tweet a lot the last couple of weeks.

 

After AO Scott wrote about the death of the patriarchy and the death of adulthood, peppered with some disdain for YA, it’s hard not to see that the act of writing about and caring about girls is anything less than survival writing.

 

It’s a radical act.

 

Scott and fellow “adulthood is dead” author Chris Beha believe that our media and culture aren’t encouraging people to behave in certain, pre-defined ways that signify adulthood. That people — “people” meaning anyone who isn’t a middle age, straight white male — keep seeking out entertainment and experiences that keep them in some state of arrested development. YA books, of course, are a medium undermining the patriarchy and delaying maturity.

 

Last week, news came out that two female librarians were being sued to the tune of over $1 million dollars for character defamation for speaking out about a male colleague who, over the course of many years of his career, caused discomfort among many females in the field. The lawsuit claims the women “have caused him to be regarded with feelings of hatred, contempt, ridicule, fear, dislike, approbrium or disesteem. The defendants’ statements are clearly defamatory and impossible to justify.”

 

Rabey and de jesus, the two female defendants in the case, spoke up where other women in the field have not. This act of speaking up is radical. They spoke up on behalf of other women who couldn’t find their voices to do that. Murphy’s lawsuit, as much as it claims to be about defamation of character, isn’t that.

 

It’s about power and putting fear into not just Rabey and de jesus, but it’s an act of creating enough fear that other women won’t speak out against him or others. It’s about keeping them quiet.

 

At the same time this lawsuit unfolds, YouTube personality Sam Pepper released a video featuring him pinching girls’ butts without their permission. After mass uproar within the community, the video came down, but in its wake, more women spoke up. Laci Green detailed Pepper’s creepy behavior, and as this things go, she received a series of messages from Pepper meant to put her right back in her place.

 

One reason that YA books bear the brunt of cultural criticism and become a popular whipping boy in mainstream media by people who couldn’t be bothered to read beyond the few books on the New York Times List or those books that became box office hits is that it’s a field that’s seen as a women’s field. Like librarianship, writing for teenagers is something that women do, something that the luxury of time and love of fantasy worlds — whether real fantasy or imagined fantasy is up for debate — afford them.

 

YA stories, at least the ones critics are familiar with, don’t leave room for boys and boyhood. They don’t wrestle with the big questions of life. They aren’t handbooks to adulthood or compasses for morality. They’re frivolous works so many adults gobble up by the armload because adults can no longer grapple with the Big Important Questions Of Life as found in tomes of literary excellence.

 

To bear witness to other adults enjoying the act of reading and finding stories that satiate them is to bear witness to the dumbing down of culture.

 

An email came through on a small, private listserv I’m a part of a couple of weeks ago from a librarian tasked with running a book club as an elective in her middle school. The students, 8th graders, are all girls, and the first title they picked was Speak. The librarian was told from above she needed to pick something less controversial, and when her students discussed other options, they picked Before I Fall. She knew that wasn’t going to fly with administration, either, so she came to the listserv asking what could be done.

 

It’s interesting that the books these 8th grade girls want to read in this private (and Catholic) school involve two huge issues: sexual assault and bullying. These are topics these girls are seeking out to talk about and because of administrative push back from the top, they’re not able to do so in a safe space, in the presence of a professional who knows how to handle conversations like this.

 

This is no fault of the librarian. It’s the fault of adults who are failing to have these conversations with teens. When our educational system is founded on teaching the classics and heralding the value of those Tomes of Literary Importance, readers who want more — who deserve more — have to go elsewhere.

 

Meanwhile, some readers are “so sick” of rape books in YA and it’s a topic that’s already been done.

 

What can we make of readers who are desperately seeking out these books in a culture that doesn’t want to talk about them or, worse, is “so sick” of talking about them and seeing them? What can we make of readers — girls — who are constantly reminded that their interests are either controversial or silly?

 

This isn’t the fault of educators; it’s a weakness in the system of belief that the road to successful adulthood is through the voice and experiences of the straight white male. It’s the fault of a society that values and encourages a certain prescribed path and any deviation from it is, in fact, a failure of the individual, rather than a failure of such a singular, privileged perspective.

 

Bucking that norm is an act of survival. Choosing to write and to talk out against those in power is an act of radicalism.

 

The reason we need another rape book, the reason we need to talk about books like Speak or Before I Fall or Pointe any other number of books tackling tough issues through the perspective of teen girls is because that’s where teen girls find their voices. That’s where they’re able to see both the mirrors of who they are, as well as the windows into the worlds of those who look like them and those who don’t look like them.

 

Earlier this month, nude photos of many well-known Hollywood women were stolen and put onto the internet for public consumption. This was no leak; this was theft. The purpose of this theft was to prove power — the power that our world has over women, the reminder that no matter how successful, how admired, how talented you are, there’s always a way the world can bring you down. That if you’re a woman, you’re part of a man’s world, no matter how much of a stake you put into the ground, no matter how much you make your own.

 

And this week, just months after a vile, repugnant rant against successful women in the book world, Ed Champion harassed another female author, threatening to release the name of the person who had nude photos of her. And he did, before his Twitter account was suspended.

 

There’s no dead patriarchy in these acts. If anything were true about either Scott or Beha’s essays to be pulled in here, perhaps it’s about what adulthood looks like. Does adulthood mean reminding women that their bodies are always up for consumption? That they’re afforded no privacy?

 

Is it that when a man has power and is invited to speak on the library conference circuit, he’s free from being called out for behavior that’s left colleagues uncomfortable?

 

Is it that men are allowed to grab girls’ bodies without their permission for laughs and video hits, then follow up just criticism for that behavior with threats?

 

Girls shouldn’t fear for their lives when they’re just living them. Girls who are impassioned about their worlds, who want nothing more than to engage with their world, learn about that world, build empathy for this place and the people around them, who use their knowledge and their passion to give voice to their beliefs shouldn’t worry about their bodies — or their lives — being at stake for doing so.

 

And yet, because we’re asking for and raising our voices without waiting for permission to do so, it happens.

 

The reason there’s fear that “adulthood is dying” isn’t that the patriarchy is dead. Far from. It’s that voices are being discovered through media like YA fiction, sharpened and raised. Girls are finding good things are out there for them, but getting to those good things requires claws. That being unlikable isn’t a character flaw or a death sentence, but instead, a state of being, a way of pushing through, of building confidence.

 

Speaking up, advocating for, listening to, and writing about girls is an act of radicalism. It’s about building an adulthood recognizing that the world is layered and colored with millions of shades of gray and accepting that with better nourishment — including rape stories, bullying stories, sweet or sultry romances, magical tales — the better our world reflects us, rather than us trying to reflect a singular, reductive, and fabricated idea of the world.

 

Let’s encourage those fears expressed by Beha and Scott are things we get to see happen. Writing about girls and believing women is everything that they’re afraid of.

 

***
When I speak about girls, I hope it’s clear that I also speak in defense of all along the gender spectrum who are marginalized.

 

Further reading: Anne Ursu talks about the power of empathy, about how Beha and Scott fail to understand that that’s the driving purpose behind literature, including — and especially — YA fiction. Sarah McCarry digs into whose pleasure is really at stake when it comes to the “death of the patriarchy” and YA fiction. Spend some time, too, with Robin Wasserman talking about “Girl Trouble.”

 

 

Wrapping Up “About the Girls”

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This week’s New York Times YA Bestsellers list features one woman.

It’s Jane Fonda.

Earlier this week, a piece on The Atlantic asks why it is all girls in the major YA franchises are petite. This isn’t the real story though. The real story is what plays out in the comments. Go, read them. Girls having bodies of any type are wrong (they are thin and thus sexual beings or they’re fat and useless oafs).

One comment asks where the boys are.

Hank Green made a video about consent last week in light of resent allegations of sexual misconduct within DFTBA and some of their recording artists. The video is problematic, but more problematic are the comments begging him not to get the feminists involved with any sort of project speared by him or his brother because the feminists ruin everything.

Stay away from working with feminist or other overly gender specific interest groups. They tend to screw up your well intention efforts.



I did a quick search on Google a few weeks ago, the same search but swapping the gender. What’s not showing up is as powerful as what does show up (read the reblogged comments — this isn’t simply algorithm).

We live in a world where we ask where the boys are, where even in a two-week series devoted entirely to discussing girls, girls reading, and girls in YA fiction, I saw comments and posts that asked about boys or which brought up boys in context of these conversations. Whenever there is a moment for girls to have a space, to have their time in the spotlight, it’s rarely celebratory. It’s rarely a point of attention for them or their needs or their achievements. It’s about what they’re taking away from something else.

But talking about girls and girl reading is so, so important.

Just the girls.

The two weeks of posts for our “About the Girls” series have been some of the most thought-provoking and enlightening posts I’ve read. With no prompting, the posts were in brilliant conversation with one another, and that conversation comes back to one question: why?

There is much to be said and debated about fiction, especially YA fiction, being “for” any audience, whether “for girls” or “for boys” or “for teens” or not “for teens.” But that’s not what I want to wrap up this series with. What I want to wrap up the series with is one comment that came up this week that has resonated with me so powerfully. That I think sums up the entire reason we need to keep talking about girls and girls reading and why we not only need to keep talking about this among ourselves as adults, but why we need to actively engage teen readers — girls and boys and those who may or may not identify as either — in these discussions, too.

Let me bold the part that stands out to me. The part that is why we must keep talking about why the girls matter.

[P]lease, can we stop comparing every girl to Bella?


Girls are complex, dynamic, and important. They are more than one type and more than being a “not” that type. Why do we limit them?

I think as has become abundantly clear, the reason this needs to keep being brought up is because we knee-jerk any discussion about girls or places where girls have a voice with a “but what about the boys.” Yes, care about the boys. Think about them. Help them become their greatest selves. Help them achieve their dreams and goals and push them to be their absolute best, offering everything you can to do it.

Just don’t do it at the expense of girls.

Help girls achieve their same dreams, goals, and futures for themselves, and do it without questioning intent, worthiness, or value.

Without asking why.


Boys do not lose anything when girls do well, and girls do not lose anything when they’re afforded the same opportunities, respect, and attention their male counterparts are. The contributions of boys and girls, men and women, and those who choose to identify elsewhere on the gender spectrum all matter. This is about what we can achieve when we’re open to listening to all voices and when we’re open to thinking about the difficulties, the layers, and the nuances that exist in them all.

A huge thank you to everyone who shared a post, either here at Stacked or on your own forum, and a huge thank you to everyone who read, shared, commented, or even thought about this series. I hope you took as much away from it as we have here.

Links of Note: March 22, 2014

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Pictured above: the displays I did in our teen area for women’s history month. Rather than stick to historical novels about females, I thought it’d be more fun to do a display of books featuring great girl characters. When I went back the day after I took this picture, I saw it had been nicely picked at, which makes me so happy.

I promised that I’d do a roundup of links other people had written that fit into the “About the Girls” series, and I’m going to put those in this biweekly roundup. If I missed something, leave a comment and let me know. This is going to be long, so prepare a couple cups of coffee or tea and settle in. First, the general links of note:

  • Jeanne wrote a really thought-provoking post about the DFTBA scandal, too. Read this post, read the updated post she links to, and definitely read the comments. 
  • I know I’ve shared this before but I’m sharing again because I love this series. Sarah Thompson’s still running her fantastic “So you want to read middle grade?” If you’re like me and know nothing about middle grade or if you’re a huge fan, this series of guest posts are excellent. 
  • Jennifer Rummel wrote a really excellent post for The Hub this week that traces British women’s history through YA fiction. Check it out. 
  • I often forget what a wonderful resource Pinterest can be for readers. One of the best Pinterest accounts out there, Lee & Low’s, is one you have to have on your radar if you’re looking for diversity in your collections, in your reading, or in your reader’s advisory. This is a goldmine. 
  • Matthew Jackson, who has written for us a few times, has an excellent column up at Blastr talking about 21 YA novels that pack a genre punch. This is especially for those readers — adults — who are skeptical about how well-written YA fiction can be. 

So I’d made a call for people to feel free and write about girls in YA any time during our series and I’d round them up. I am going to miss some posts, so please, alert me to others if I have. And if you’re still so compelled to write on this topic, do let me know when you post, too, and I’ll try to include it in a future link round up.

  • Liz Burns on female friendship in YA fiction, including three books she loved about girl friendships and she asks for input on more (with suggestions in the comments). 
  • I had a teacher in touch with me about how she used two of last week’s posts about unlikable female characters to spark a discussion in her classroom as it related to the book they were currently reading. She was even kind enough to share with me the classroom verbatim, and this discussion — with teenagers — is so fascinating and exciting and I hope it elicits other similar conversations with teen readers. 

Sarah Andersen is working on something with her students and their reaction/interaction with gender and reading and I cannot wait until she shares more about it. That feels like such a tease of a sentence, but she’s been polling her female students about their reading lives and experiences and influences to see what, how, and where gender and what they’ve been taught may impact them. This should be fascinating.

My posts elsewhere:

  • I was out of town when last week’s Book Fetish ran on Book Riot, but here it is. There’s something here for your Harry Potter fans and your fans of making cookies. 
  • I rounded up the things I wrote in relation to being on the Printz ballot, including a new guest post at Abby the Librarian about more favorite Printz honor titles, over on my Tumblr. 

Challenging the Expectation of YA Characters as “Role Models” for Girls: Guest Post by Sarah Ockler

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What better way to round out this two-week series on girls in YA than to consider WHY we talk about girls in YA at all. Sarah Ockler is here today talking about why we need to challenge the expectation of characters in YA to be “role models” for girls. 































Sarah Ockler is the bestselling author of The Book of Broken Hearts, Bittersweet, Twenty Boy Summer, and Fixing Delilah. Her books have and have received numerous accolades, including ALA’s Best Fiction for Young Adults, Girls’ Life Top 100 Must Reads, Indie Next List, and nominations for YALSA Teens’ Top Ten and NPR’s Top 100 Teen Books.



When she’s not writing or reading at home in Colorado, Sarah enjoys reading tarot, baking, hugging trees, and road-tripping through the country with her husband, Alex.


Her latest novel, #scandal, hits the shelves in June 2014.






“I hate this book. The character is a terrible role model for teen girls.”
It’s a phrase I’ve encountered again and again, with surprisingly little variation, in discussions of YA literature. Okay, so my research isn’t scientific (unless you consider trolling 1-star reviews of my favorite books while drinking wine and yelling at the screen scientific), but role model reviewing of fictional girls seems to be a rising trend, leveraged as the deciding factor in whether a book gets a positive or a negative rating, a satisfied sigh after the last page or the dreaded “DNF” (did not finish).
Though I believe this kind of criticism generally comes from adult readers with good intentions to encourage, inspire, and nurture young readers, enforcing the expectation that the teen girls of fiction be role models to real teen readers is detrimental to everyone.
When the wine is gone and my eyes burn and Goodreads is overcapacity because I’ve got 75 tabs open and I’m still clicking, I’m left shaking my head, asking one thing:

To the adults who claim to love YA lit . . . why do you hate the teen girls who populate it?

Writing Role Models, AKA Telling Girls What to Do



I don’t know any YA writers today who consciously write characters as role models. Much like writing to teach readers a lesson, writing to craft a role model will instantly brand a novel as condescending, preachy, and inauthentic, sinking a book (and possibly a career) before it’s even on the shelves.



That’s not to say authors don’t sometimes (but not always) set out to create strong, vibrant characters, to portray fictional girls who take action, who find strength in adversity, who make decisions and come through their trials with new perspectives. Sometimes (but not always), these characters are admirable and virtuous. Sometimes (but not always), they’re the kinds of characters who might be emulated by others, who might inevitably be called “role models.”



But when that happens in good fiction, it’s in service to the story, to the characters into which writers breathe magic and authentic life, and not to the limiting expectations of adults who believe that YA characters (and by extension, authors) bear the responsibility of showcasing ideal behavior for teen girls.



Novels, first and foremost, are entertaining. An author’s prime directive is to tell a good story. Beyond that, yes, many books are written with the intent (or the unintended outcome) of educating, inspiring, enlightening, disturbing, or challenging us, of fostering discussion, of realistically exploring issues that readers are likely to face, of helping readers feel less alone.



But whether a book is written purely as entertainment or with broader social goals, the expectation that female characters be written as role models for teen girls—and that a book that fails to deliver on that front deserves a thumbs down—is, frankly, utter crap.



She’s a Bad Role Model Because REASONS!



For one thing, we can’t even agree on what makes a good teen role model.



Across all categories of YA—contemporary realistic, fantasy, mystery, traditional romance, magic realism, dystopian, and everything in between—the kinds of authors and books that I personally love and admire feature complex, interesting, multilayered female characters. Characters who surprise me, who challenge my expectations, who force me to reconsider my own beliefs, who open my eyes to new ideas and possibilities, who illicit some kind of emotional reaction from me. Characters I’d like to write about. Characters who embody the complex traits I like to discover in girls and women in real life.



Yet, by and large, role model reviewers seem to be Scarlet Lettering these girls—young female characters who are, on the most basic level, just being human. They’re exploring their (sometimes unpredictable, often contradictory, usually confusing) emotions. They’re confronting new situations and fears, and are often handling them with less grace and aplomb than adults think they should (or, more likely, with less grace and aplomb than we think we would’ve handled things at that age).



The most common citations I’ve seen for bad role model behavior exemplify the double standard that girls and women face every day, and they include traits that run the spectrum from the most rigid traditional gender expectations to the most rigid progressive feminist viewpoints.



We get it coming and going, ladies.



My unscientific online sampling, for example, reveals that a fictional teen girl risks being called a bad role model if:



  • She feels anger, expresses it, and/or hurts others in the process of that expression. OR She is (or is perceived as) weak or fragile, and does not demonstrably find her “inner strength” by the end of the story.
  • She says, thinks, or does things that are considered selfish or self-centered. OR She’s a doormat for sacrificing or putting some of her own dreams and interests on hold to care for her family, to follow a friend, or to be in a romantic relationship.
  • She’s inconsistent or indecisive, frequently contradicting herself or changing her mind. She doesn’t know what she wants. OR She’s too smart for her own good, too assertive in going after what she wants, or too self-aware for a teen girl.
  • She has “friendship issues” such as ignoring, dismissing, or otherwise disrespecting her seemingly great friends; choosing a crush over her friends; having few or no friends (and being okay with that); or only having male friends. OR She’s a “stereotypical cheerleader,” a girl who’s too perky, too popular, too perfect.
  • She can’t or won’t articulate her problems even when friends or adults try to communicate with or help her. OR She’s too articulate for a teenager, again, too self aware of her issues.
  • She’s too sexual: she thinks about, fantasizes about, desires, or engages in sex, masturbation, or other forms of sexual exploration (bonus “bad” points if she does this outside of a committed, monogamous, loving relationship); she enjoys or initiates sex; she’s promiscuous, yet she doesn’t feel guilty, become pregnant, or get an STI; she enjoys male attention on her body and/or it makes her feel powerful. OR She’s not sexual enough. She’s a prude, a slut-shamer, frumpy, a tomboy, or too sexually naïve for her age.
  • She gets romantically involved with the “wrong” person, and she doesn’t see the obvious signs that this person is controlling, abusive, dangerous, or just plain bad for her; she’s “stupid” for forgiving a romantic partner who is, to the reader, obviously controlling or abusive; OR She’s cruel and dismissive of the pursuer who’s so clearly in love with her (bonus “bad” points if that pursuer is a very sweet, very endearing boy, in which case she’s stupid, selfish, or haughty for not returning his affections).
  • She smokes, drinks, does drugs, cuts class, curses, or verbally or physically fights with others. OR She’s too well-behaved and preachy for a teen girl.
  • She’s emotionally manipulative, either intentionally or unintentionally. OR She’s a one-dimensional robot who’s not in touch with her emotions.
  • She’s fat, and she eats and enjoys cupcakes without being scolded or feeling guilty, thereby reinforcing unhealthy habits. OR She’s fat, and she loses weight for any reason, thereby reinforcing an unhealthy body image and fat shaming.
  • When faced with a choice about her future, she makes the “wrong” one, such as turning away from a scholarship/college opportunity or dropping her once “ambitious” goals so that she can take some time off, engage in the arts, help a friend or family member, get married, or travel. OR She’s too driven for a girl her age and needs to “live a little” before entering the adult world.



No wonder our heads are spinning.



I’m not suggesting that some of these behaviors aren’t or don’t have the potential to be hugely problematic, or that readers shouldn’t look critically at character behaviors and attitudes, or that we shouldn’t call out abusive, harmful, negative behavior in a story as part of a review or the larger discussion of a book, character, issue, situation, or relationship. I’m also not suggesting that readers force themselves to like, finish, share, or positively review books just to avoid being called judgmental.



The problem I’m seeing in the role model reviews isn’t a simple dislike of a book or character, or a calling out of negative character behavior. It’s the outright dismissal of books (and in some cases, authors) simply because a female character failed to model what the reader considered good, proper behavior for “impressionable” teen readers. She screwed up in ways that teen girls aren’t allowed to (or that we’re not supposed to talk about). Or she didn’t learn from, grow to regret, or ultimately take action to right the wrongs resulting from her screw-ups, regardless of how realistic the portrayal might be. It’s the subtle but crucial difference between “I didn’t like the character or book because the character did XYZ,” versus “This book is bad because the character is a bad role model for teen girls.”



Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails



Another problem? Role model reviewing reinforces narrow, limiting gender narratives on all sides.



Unsurprisingly, the bad role model stigma does not typically apply to male YA characters. Even when their behavior is criticized (which in itself is rare), it’s often excused by the external situation: boys who face difficult challenges are expected and sometimes even encouraged to act out in ways that girls are never allowed to. This places the responsibility for making “good” choices—and the blame for making “bad” ones—on girls.



When we assign role model expectations to characters, we reinforce limiting gender narratives for all readers, reminding us that while “boys will be boys,” girls must always be good and virtuous—however we’re defining good and virtuous at the moment.



Consider a popular target: Bella Swan. In all the negative reviews about Twilight that cite this protagonist as a terrible role model for girls (and there are a LOT of them), the overarching criticism is that Bella—an awkward teen girl adjusting to a new life with her father, at a new school in a small town, and who’d never been in a serious relationship, and who suddenly became adored and desired by a mysterious, hot boy—should’ve identified Edward’s overprotectiveness and fierce desire for her as controlling, stalking, and abusive. She should’ve rebuked rather than welcomed or sought his advances. Failing that, she should’ve ended the relationship when things got intense. She’s stupid for staying with him. Weak, flighty, vapid, devoid of personality, a follower, a limp noodle, a Mary Sue. Sure, Edward might be the one engaging in controlling behavior, he might be the vampire with all the physical strength and power in the relationship, not to mention money and worldly experience, but Bella’s the one who should’ve “known better” and should’ve done something about it.



She didn’t, though. She stood by her vampire-man, risking almost everything else in her life—including her life and the lives of her friends and family—to be with him. And what does her “stupid” behavior model for her millions of young female readers? Oh, commence the hand-wringing! Let’s ignore what could actually be a really great discussion about love, obsession, power, and desire because we’re too busy wringing all these hands!



One Size Fits, Well, One. Just the One.



Role model reviewing, as I mentioned with the Twilight example, squashes what might’ve had the potential to become a good, important, necessary discussion of an issue or situation, and it does so based on reader judgment of one character’s behavior, in one finite time and place, in one particular story.



The term “role model,” by its very nature, gives me the creeps. It compartmentalizes whole, complex people into roles, and then prescribes a single set of “model” traits, thoughts, behaviors, and values for that role. So, in the “role” of daughter, a girl behaves X. In the “role” of friend, it’s Y. This type of compartmentalization fractures us. It eliminates shades of gray, flat-lining the complexities of human emotion and life by suggesting that in any specific situation or relationship, there is a single, clear choice between right and wrong. That the girl who chooses the right path is good, and the girl who chooses wrong path is bad. That in each of their many compartmentalized roles, good girls inhabit and display the model traits, even when their life situations get complicated, painful, confusing, or deadly.



But how can it ever be that black-and-white?



Sure, Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins)—often cited as a wonderful role model for girls—may be a kickass child soldier who displays virtues of family loyalty, resourcefulness, and compassion in the face of extreme violence, but when it comes to ending a best friendship gone bad, applying for college, confronting a cheating boyfriend, caring for a sick parent, getting off drugs, deciding whether to have sex, or any number of challenges teens face every day, is there a specific Katniss role model behavior to emulate? A simple WWKD prescription? We might be inspired by her strength and cleverness, but would Katniss display the same exact strength and cleverness that she did in her fight-to-the-death Games arena if she had to navigate peer pressure at a party or face an unplanned pregnancy?



Fan fiction aside, we’ll never know, because every person and every situation is different. And to me, as both an author and a reader, those shades of gray and what-ifs are the most fascinating realms to explore.



Bad Girl is as Bad Girl Does



Similarly, if a YA character is less than virtuous, if she treats people poorly or makes “bad” decisions or engages in harmful behavior, is she a bad person? A bad role model? Someone from whom readers can’t or shouldn’t learn? Someone we can’t relate to or root for? Someone in whom we can’t see ourselves? Someone young girls shouldn’t be exposed to? Someone we should all pretend just doesn’t exist in real life?



How is that helpful?



It’s Not The Shape, Nor the Size… It’s How Many Times You Tweet and Meme and Rant About It.





I mentioned that I don’t know any YA authors, myself included, who write with the intention of crafting role models or teaching lessons. Yet I also recognize that, regardless of author intention, readers—teens and adults alike—are likely influenced on some level by characters in books and movies, positively or negatively.



But, I believe that readers are even more heavily influenced by the discussions that happen about those books and movies. Discussions which ultimately translate into messages that we as a society send to young people about what’s good, right, cool, ideal, worthy, and so on.



Considering the power of these often public discussions to ultimately shape societal values, the expectation that fictional characters exemplify good behavior for girls to emulate—and the embracing or dismissal of an entire book based on this type of singular character judgment—is even more problematic, because it sends the message that:



  • It’s acceptable to judge and dismiss girls who are facing their own challenges, exploring their own emotions, experimenting, learning, testing boundaries, and making what some adults would consider poor choices and mistakes.
  • Girls don’t have the ability or desire to make their own decisions, regardless of how characters in their favorite books behave. They don’t know the difference between fiction and reality.
  • Good things will always happen—or bad situations will ultimately be resolved favorably—for girls who make the right choices (which also means, of course, that bad things can and should happen to bad girls).
  • Readers can’t or shouldn’t relate to, connect with, learn from, or explore with girls who make less than perfect choices or who don’t model the “ideal” female traits in their “roles” as friends, daughters, girlfriends, sisters, students.
  • Similarly, boys who don’t embrace and display the traditional “masculine” traits of physical strength, power, ambition, expression of anger, virility, and even violence are weak or broken.
  • Cultural, regional, religious, and other inherent differences among people that may influence their values, behaviors, actions, and beliefs are irrelevant, don’t exist, or aren’t worth exploring.



Hamster Wheels All Around





Essentially, role model reviewing enforces a cycle of perpetual failure:



  1. First, it convinces us that perfection exists.
  2. Next, it sets the expectation that girls must achieve this perfection in their behavior, attitudes, looks, values, and thoughts in order to be deemed worthy and acceptable in society.
  3. Then, it sends wildly mixed, contradicting, and constantly fluctuating messages about what this perfection means and how to achieve and display it.
  4. Finally, when girls inevitably fail (because, hint: there IS no perfection), it reinforces the message that it was their fault, that they didn’t act or think or speak properly. That they’re not good enough.
  5. If girls start to recognize the flaws in this scam, many are reluctant to call them out, because confrontation and disobedience may be seen as forms of imperfection. Best just to shut up and get back on the wheel for another go!
  6. Lather, rinse, repeat.



This kind of cycle exists in all facets of life, even in adulthood. It doesn’t allow girls and women to experiment and fail in a way that encourages learning, trying again, trying something different, or simply walking away as a legitimate option (ending a toxic friendship, for example, rather than forcing it to “work” simply because girls are expected to cultivate and nurture friendships). It doesn’t permit us to see failures as learning opportunities, as a natural part of growth and making a meaningful life.



It doesn’t allow us to rise from the ashes of our failures—it just keeps handing out matches.



Where Do We Go From Here?





It’s an amazing time to be an author (and reader) of young adult literature. If we’re willing to risk negative reviews and potential censorship, there are actually very few restrictions on the kinds of issues we can explore and on how graphic and descriptive we can be.



We can and do write across a range of scenarios, including lighthearted romantic comedies, reflective coming of age narratives, exciting mysteries, dark fantasies, violent dystopians, gritty realistic portrayals, stories about sex, drugs, homelessness, vampires, zombies, fairies, dancers, scholars, high school, war, abuse, class struggles, death, loss, love, beaches, madcap adventures, driving, working, kissing, and everything in between. And many of these stories aren’t pretty, aren’t perfect. They’re brutal and raw and totally realistic, even when they’re expressed through fantastical creatures and other worlds.



BUT. It’s not enough to have the freedom to tell and read these stories if, through the ensuing critical discourse, we’re sending the same stale message: Sure, you can tell stories about “bad” things, but only if the girls in those stories ultimately make good decisions and come out stronger, better, more perfect girls (all dependent, of course, on whose definitions of strong, better, perfect we’re adhering to at the time).



I would love to see us—authors and readers alike—take the expectation of modeling ideal female behavior out of the realm of YA literature entirely, and instead use that literature and its complex, messy, imperfect, good, bad, beautiful female characters to start and continue important discussions, to call out the double standards, to discuss negative behavior and attitudes without condemning the character or the entire book, to embrace diversity and diverse experiences and personalities in our stories even if (especially if) they make us uncomfortable, to encourage girls and women to explore and challenge and question and try and fail and rise up from all those ashes on our own terms.
And, of course, to tell good stories. First and foremost.



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Sarah Ockler is the author of Twenty Boy Summer, Bittersweet, Fixing Delilah, The Book of Broken Hearts, and the forthcoming #scandal (available in June).


Some Girls Are Not Okay, and That’s Not Fine: Guest Post by Elizabeth Scott

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We’ve talked about “unlikable” ladies in this series a couple of times, but it doesn’t hurt to hammer it home another time. Today, Elizabeth Scott talks about writing girls who become unlikable to readers and about who is guilty of labeling girls as such.





Elizabeth Scott grew up in a town so small it didn’t even have a post office, thought it did boast an impressive cattle population. She’s sold hardware and pantyhose, and had a memorable three day stint in the dot.com industry where she learned she really didn’t want a career burning CDs. She’s the author of twelve YA novels, the latest of which is Heartbeat. You can find her at elizabethwrites.com or @escottwrites. 


I write stories about girls. And a lot of the time, some people get very upset with the way my heroines act­­or react­­ to what’s going on around them.

My girls have been called mean, uncaring, whiny, stupid­­ and that’s just a start.

Here’s the kicker. T­the people saying these things?  Other girls. Other women.

And yes, of course anyone who reads a book is entitled to their own opinion. If you think a main character in my books is someone you wished would get punched, or is a bitch, or stupid for being angry, then you have every right to think and say that.

I’m just wondering why.

Why is it so bad for a teenage girl to be angry?

In my latest novel, Heartbeat, Emma’s pregnant mother dies suddenly, and Emma’s stepfather, Dan, chooses to put his dead wife on life support because the baby she’s carrying is still alive.

The thing is, he didn’t ask Emma what she thought about his choice. And okay, he’s an adult, but he’s also her family. And it’s her mother.

Emma takes what Dan does as a betrayal. Not just of her, but of what she believes her mother was thinking about her at­risk pregnancy.

She doesn’t get depressed, at least not by conventional standards. Instead she lashes out. She gets angry. She looks at her stepfather, who has always been her ally since the moment he entered her life, and sees someone who didn’t think of her once when her mother died.

She isn’t kind to him. I think that’s okay, because she’s grieving.

But some readers think it isn’t, and that makes me wonder

Why do darker emotions like ­­grief or anger­­ provoke such visceral responses? To make reviewers label Emma as thoughtless, selfish, cruel. As a bitch.

If Emma had been male, would her anger make female readers so angry?

I want to think so, but I’m not sure it’s true.

I don’t want to think female readers of YA are uncomfortable with strong emotions like rage in stories about teenage girls. I don’t want to think that women are afraid of women with problems. I’d like to think that it’s because it’s easy to forget how hard it can be to be a teenage girl who’s suffering and who shows it.

I’d like to think that, but I’m not sure it’s true.

I know readers come to books with their own experiences and that not every girl can be liked.

But are girls who cheat on their boyfriend or detach from life after surviving a plane crash or who are in the stranglehold of a five­ year captivity or who lost their best friend with no explanation or who are angry that their mother is dead that bad? Is it so impossible to read stories about girls like this and think that they are something beyond selfish or stupid or cruel?

Is it possible to think they are simply human?

I hope so.

I’d like to think other female readers do too.

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Elizabeth Scott’s most recent release, Heartbeat, is available now.