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Committing to Diversity When You’re White: A Primer

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I used to read pretty white. And honestly, despite paying a lot of attention to what I’m reading, I still read a lot of white people. My goal is roughly 1/3 of my books being written by people of color this year, and though I think I am on target — half of the books I read in July were by authors of color — I know 1/3 is still a small target.

Making a commitment to diversity as a white person is hard, but it’s essential. For people like me who are gatekeepers in some capacity, it’s vital to be aware of the entirety of the world around you, not just your immediate space.

 

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Intersectionality is essential. I’m privileged, and I have no problem saying as much. I’m white, able bodied, cis gendered, and present heterosexual. I fall on the lower end of middle class, but I can pay all my bills and afford the small things I want in life without worrying how dinner will get on the table. While I’ve got mental illness to contend with, I’m able to afford medical care and treatment to make them manageable. The biggest roadblock for me anywhere is that I’m female and that I’m fat (a social disadvantage that yes, indeed, has ramifications, but it’s not insurmountable). I take it as my responsibility, then, with this level of privilege to make sure I shut up and listen to those dealing with any disadvantages I don’t have. Black women are faced with racism and sexism, and if they’re queer, that’s a third intersection of disadvantage they contend with. It’s not feminism or being an ally to only consider one of those aspects as societal disadvantage. The challenges are amplified through those intersections.

I’m not an expert by any means, and there are plenty of people who have written about this, but because race and consciousness of race have been on my mind lately, I thought it would be worthwhile to write a quick and dirty primer to better committing to a mindset that thinks about, embraces, and promotes diverse voices, creators, and writing. Many of these ideas can be applied across topics, too; that is, if you want to be a better reader or ally to the LGBTQIA community, many of these should be applicable, as well.

1. Set Reading Challenges

I’m 100% conscious of who and what I am reading. At first, this was tough. I was used to picking up whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. But when I became conscious of who I was reading, things began to change. It wasn’t that I had to sit and research the background of the author of any book I considered reading. Rather, as I began reading more diversely, I naturally gravitated toward more diverse reading.

At some point, this clicks.

One easy way to better diversify your reading is to set a challenge for yourself. My goal is 1/3 of my books being written by people of color. It might sound daunting to do the math here, but it’s not: that’s one out of every three books. And when you start noticing that every third book you read is written by an author of color, you begin to just pick up books by authors of color when you’re doing your book shopping or borrowing from the library.

This is, of course, challenging when you’re faced with the realities of a world where authors of color aren’t as prominent or advertised or marketed the way white (especially male) authors are. In those cases, go to those authors of color you know and read through their backlist. Jacqueline Woodson, for example, has a marvelous backlist. Same with Walter Dean Myers.

Likewise, really pay attention to debut authors. When debut groups begin popping up for each new year in YA, I look through the author lists and pay special attention to those who identify as authors of color. I give those books priority because I know how many challenges are already present, on top of being a debut.

Here is the thing with this, though: you can’t pride yourself on being open and aware of who you’re reading. It cannot be your selling point and it certainly doesn’t make you an expert when you’re white. Rather, you need to do this because you need to do this. I read diversely because it’s my responsibility to do so; setting up parameters is how I keep myself in check. No one is holding me accountable here except myself, and I’m not going to ever expect another person to pat me on the back nor congratulate me for doing what I am responsible for doing.

2. Diversify the voices in your every day life

If you’re on social media, look at who it is you’re following. Do all of the people look the same? Sound the same?

Are they all white?

I follow a broad spectrum of people in my social media life. I don’t keep the same people on all social media accounts, either — I follow some people in one place, some in another, and yet more in other places. This makes sense for me and how I work with and within social media.

I don’t interact with all of the people I follow, in part because my responsibility as a white person in most cases is to shut up and listen. With racial tensions high in this country, I want to know what it is people who aren’t white have to say about it. I want to listen, rather than talk, because I have been granted so much permission to talk throughout my life. The history I learned in school — while progressive, especially in college — still was written from the perspective of white people doing the right things for and by the minds of white people. Black history was a subset of a history class once in a while, or it was an elective you could take. I remember zero classes on Latino/a history, Japanese history, Indian history, or the role of Native Americans through the course of American history. Women’s history lessons were very white, as well, even when relegated to elective, once-in-a-while when-we-have-time sessions.

I’ve heard enough of that. It’s my responsibility as an adult to educate myself, and in doing so, I sit back and listen. If I have a question from something that a person of color says, then it’s also my responsibility to do research about it.

No one is responsible for my education but me.

What’s amazing is that when you begin listening to more diverse voices through the course of your every day life, the more you also gravitate towards reading more diversely because you want to and need to better educate yourself.

3. Amplify diverse voices and perspectives

Something I am conscious of, and I know that Kimberly here is, too, is that when we write a book list or create a genre guide, we do our research before reinventing the wheel. There are so many people writing incredible blog posts and creating great resources for readers that we’d be dumb not to take advantage of that work and share it with our readers. I try to do the same thing on Book Riot, especially when I write about diverse issues.

One of the most annoying things for me to see is when a white person, especially someone with a large platform, misses an opportunity to amplify diverse voices when being asked for recommendations for reading. Is it that hard to find a person of color who has written a killer book list on diverse urban fantasy? Nope. Is it hard to find a person of color who has developed a list of comics creators of color? Nope. What about lists of diverse YA books created by authors of color? Also nope.

The reason this matters is because no matter what you’re doing, you’re probably not the first to do it. And more, it was probably — and continues to be done — by someone of color first. Don’t shout over them. Instead, give their voices the opportunity to be heard before sharing yours.

The more resources that other people have at their finger tips, the more exposure artists and authors of color are able to get that they might not otherwise get. It’s simple. Blog readers don’t read everything on the internet, so for bloggers especially, taking the ten minutes to do research before diving into a post can be hugely beneficial to those voices that you take the time to link to. They are given new audiences, and then those new readers have a new go-to resource to help better educate themselves, to help hear more diverse voices, and in turn, read more diversely.

4. Put your money where your mouth is

I do not buy books by white men.

I read them, absolutely, but I make a point to only check them out from the library, rather than plunk down $20 or $30 for one of their books.

Instead, when I go out to buy books, I make sure I am only buying the work of people of color or women. This is because that $20 or $30 makes a much larger difference to their career than it does to the career of a white man, already benefitting from a system where he’s a winner.

And here’s the best part: I have yet to be disappointed in this shopping experience. It forces me to look harder, to browse more deeply, and to pick up books that may otherwise fall outside my comfort zone.

We all know, or at least should know, that what’s available in the chain bookstores is hardly representative of what’s actually being published. The most diverse section in the YA area is, without much question, the non-fiction area — which is also the most undermarketed, under seen, section of the store.

So sometimes, what putting your money where your mouth is means walking out of a bookstore without buying a book and instead, going home, doing some research, and buying the book online. I keep a running list of titles that catch my attention; when I can’t find something in store, I’ll pick up one of those titles online later.

Like the other tips on this list, this particular one makes a huge impact. It might not seem like buying one book by an author of color matters, but that’s one sale not otherwise had, and it’s a book that then gets put into your reading rotation, which then becomes a book you talk about, which then amplifies a voice which otherwise might not be heard, which then encourages more people to pick up the book.

It does matter.

5. Be prepared to be wrong — and be okay with that

The biggest, most important, and yet hardest commitment to make when you choose to be a better ally is that you’re going to be wrong and you’re going to be called out for it. It absolutely hurts. But being told you’ve misstepped in something you’ve said or shared or that you could do better is absolutely nothing in comparison to being told your life is wrong or has less value than a white person’s.

A few years ago, an author of color contacted me privately about a review I wrote that hurt her. I didn’t say anything offensive, but I conflated discrimination against fat people with racism. Both are types of discrimination, but she noted in conflating the two, I didn’t take into account the long-standing history of racism.

And you know, she was right.

That was not my intention in the review, but when I went back with her concerns in my mind, I 100% saw what she saw, and I realized it mattered to do right. I apologized profusely, I listened to her criticism, and then I committed to do better. She in no way owed me the head’s up, and she in no way owed me a kind private email about it. But she did those things.

I’m often wrong on a lot of things. But I am comfortable enough with that. I’d rather try and screw up than not try at all. This has made me many enemies over the course of my life, but I believe in my convictions strongly enough that I know those who choose to walk away weren’t really there with me from the beginning anyway.

6. Read non-fiction, essays, and other personal works by people of color

This is a bit repetitive of numbers 1 through 3, but it’s important enough to pull out on its own. We’re in an amazing age of communication and sharing, especially when it comes to long form essays and personal anecdotes on the internet.

The number of people of color who are given platforms remains small, especially compared to white people and white men especially, but those voices? Listen to them. Read them. Share them. Engage with them thoughtfully and purposefully. Sometimes the best course of action is to share them and offer none of your own insight or reaction out loud. Rather, the important take aways are the internal ones that you and you alone wrestle with.

If you don’t know where to start — and this can be hard because knowing where to begin is intimidating when you’ve never purposefully set out to change your reading and thinking habits as an adult — some suggestions include The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander, Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coats, Citizen by Claudia Rankine, and Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay. Once you read one of these books, finding more isn’t difficult and it becomes almost imperative. Because these are the stories we don’t hear on a daily basis, and they’re stories and insights we simply do not get in our white media.

Once you read more non-fiction, once you dedicate yourself to listening to these personal stories online and off, and once you begin investing time and money into diverse reading, you will change your life and you will change your approach to interacting with different people in your life. Writers don’t share their stories or perspectives just for fun. They do it because it is important and because if they don’t, no one will do it for them.

When you open yourself up to the possibility you are wrong, that you’re biased, or that you could do better, you will do better.

Likewise, when you open yourself up to those possibilities, you better believe the stories people of color tell you, you better believe their life experiences, and you’re better able to be an ally to them, rather than an ally for them.

Because here’s the thing: I am only responsible for the truths in my life, and the truths in my life are that I’m pretty privileged. And it’s by being privileged I could choose to ignore the truths of other people’s lives. But I can’t.

I believe everyone’s truth matters, and I want to better understand those truths.

Looking for more ways you can be a better advocate for diverse voices and stories? Here’s a round-up of other people talking about actionable and mental steps you can take. These are not posts on why, because there’s no reason to even ask the question. They’re posts on the how:

 

 

 

  • Malinda Lo’s look at perceptions of diversity in professional reviews should be required reading for anyone considering reviewing books, either professionally or as an amateur. I think about this series of posts every time I read a book that’s not about a white girl/boy.

 

 

 

 

7 More 2015 YA Books with Diversity on the Cover

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Last fall, I did a really quick round-up of YA covers for books coming out this year that featured diversity right square on the front cover. It was not only great to look at them all together that way, but it was nice to find more books to add to my own to-read list. 

As more covers have been revealed or re-revealed in the last few months, I thought it would be worth revisiting that topic. Here’s a look at even more fabulously diverse YA covers for books coming out this year. Some of these are less front-facing than before, but they’re worth including because you know the character is a person of color. Like last time, I’ll include descriptions for the book, pulled from Goodreads, as well as the publication dates, so you can put them on your own reading and buying lists. 

If I’ve missed some, either on this post or the previous one, let me know in the comments. Let’s see more cover work like this. 

Hello, I Love You by Katie M. Stout (June 9): Grace Wilde is running—from the multi-million dollar mansion her record producer father bought, the famous older brother who’s topped the country music charts five years in a row, and the mother who blames her for her brother’s breakdown. Grace escapes to the farthest place from home she can think of, a boarding school in Korea, hoping for a fresh start.

She wants nothing to do with music, but when her roommate Sophie’s twin brother Jason turns out to be the newest Korean pop music superstar, Grace is thrust back into the world of fame. She can’t stand Jason, whose celebrity status is only outmatched by his oversized ego, but they form a tenuous alliance for the sake of her friendship with Sophie. As the months go by and Grace adjusts to her new life in Korea, even she can’t deny the sparks flying between her and the KPOP idol.

Soon, Grace realizes that her feelings for Jason threaten her promise to herself that she’ll leave behind the music industry that destroyed her family. But can Grace ignore her attraction to Jason and her undeniable pull of the music she was born to write? Sweet, fun, and romantic, this young adult novel explores what it means to experience first love and discover who you really are in the process. 

P.S. I Still Love You by Jenny Han (May 26, companion to To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before): Lara Jean didn’t expect to really fall for Peter.

She and Peter were just pretending. Except suddenly they weren’t. Now Lara Jean is more confused than ever.

When another boy from her past returns to her life, Lara Jean’s feelings for him return too. Can a girl be in love with two boys at once?

 
Most Likely to Succeed by Jennifer Echols (August 4, final book in the “Superlative” series): As vice president of Student Council, Kaye knows the importance of keeping order. Not only in school, but in her personal life. Which is why she and her boyfriend, Aidan, already have their lives mapped out: attend Columbia University together, pursue banking careers, and eventually get married. Everything Kaye has accomplished in high school—student government, cheerleading, stellar grades—has been in preparation for that future.


To his entire class, Sawyer is an irreverent bad boy. His antics on the field as school mascot and his love of partying have earned him total slacker status. But while he and Kaye appear to be opposites on every level, fate—and their friends—keep conspiring to throw them together. Perhaps the seniors see the simmering attraction Kaye and Sawyer are unwilling to acknowledge to themselves…

As the year unfolds, Kaye begins to realize her ideal life is not what she thought. And Sawyer decides it’s finally time to let down the facade and show everyone who he really is. Is a relationship between them most likely to succeed—or will it be their favorite mistake?

The Wrath & The Dawn by Renee Ahdieh (May 12): Every dawn brings horror to a different family in a land ruled by a killer. Khalid, the eighteen-year-old Caliph of Khorasan, takes a new bride each night only to have her executed at sunrise. So it is a suspicious surprise when sixteen-year-old Shahrzad volunteers to marry Khalid. But she does so with a clever plan to stay alive and exact revenge on the Caliph for the murder of her best friend and countless other girls. Shazi’s wit and will, indeed, get her through to the dawn that no others have seen, but with a catch . . . she’s falling in love with the very boy who killed her dearest friend.

She discovers that the murderous boy-king is not all that he seems and neither are the deaths of so many girls. Shazi is determined to uncover the reason for the murders and to break the cycle once and for all.

 
Lying Out Loud by Kody Keplinger (April 28, companion to The DUFF): Sonny Ardmore is an excellent liar. She lies about her dad being in prison. She lies about her mom kicking her out. And she lies about sneaking into her best friend’s house every night because she has nowhere else to go.


Amy Rush might be the only person Sonny shares everything with — secrets, clothes, even a nemesis named Ryder Cross.

Ryder’s the new kid at Hamilton High and everything Sonny and Amy can’t stand — a prep-school snob. But Ryder has a weakness: Amy. So when Ryder emails Amy asking her out, the friends see it as a prank opportunity not to be missed.

But without meaning to, Sonny ends up talking to Ryder all night online. And to her horror, she realizes that she might actually like him. Only there’s one small catch: he thinks he’s been talking to Amy. So Sonny comes up with an elaborate scheme to help Ryder realize that she’s the girl he’s really wanted all along. Can Sonny lie her way to the truth, or will all her lies end up costing her both Ryder and Amy?

Of Dreams and Rust by Sarah Fine (August 4, sequel to Of Metal and Wishes): In the year since the collapse of the slaughterhouse where Wen worked as her father’s medical assistant, she’s held all her secrets close. She works in the clinic at the weapons factory and sneaks away to nurse Bo, once the Ghost, now a boy determined to transform himself into a living machine. Their strange, fragile friendship soothes some of the ache of missing Melik, the strong-willed Noor who walked away from Wen all those months ago—but it can’t quell her fears for him.

The Noor are waging a rebellion in the west. When she overhears plans to crush Melik’s people with the powerful war machines created at the factory, Wen makes the painful decision to leave behind all she has known—including Bo—to warn them. But the farther she journeys into the warzone, the more confusing things become. A year of brutality seems to have changed Melik, and Wen has a decision to make about him and his people: How much is she willing to sacrifice to save them from complete annihilation?

Hold Tight, Don’t Let Go by Laura Rose Wagner (available now): Hold Tight, Don’t Let Go follows the vivid story of two teenage cousins, raised as sisters, who survive the devastating 2010 earthquake in Haiti. After losing the woman who raised them in the tragedy, Magdalie and Nadine must fend for themselves in the aftermath of the quake. The girls are inseparable, making the best of their new circumstances in a refugee camp with an affectionate, lively camaraderie, until Nadine, whose father lives in Miami, sends for her but not Magdalie. As she leaves, Nadine makes a promise she cannot keep: to bring Magdalie to Miami, too. Resourceful Magdalie focuses her efforts on a reunion with Nadine until she realizes her life is in Haiti, and that she must embrace its possibilities for love, friendship, and a future.

On Grief and Finding Love Unexpected: The Boy in the Black Suit by Jason Reynolds and The Carnival at Bray by Jessie Ann Foley

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Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve read two books that traversed some really similar themes and rather than review them at length in separate posts, I thought it would make more sense to review them together. Both explore grief and loss with a hopeful edge that comes from also finding a sweet, satisfying — even if not necessarily easy — romance.

These are also both titles that do one of my favorite things in realistic fiction: they showcase how you can bloom where you’re planted when the choice of where you are is outside your control.

Jason Reynolds’s sophomore novel, The Boy in the Black Suit, takes what he did great in his first book and makes it sing even louder.

After Matt’s mother dies, he finds himself looking for a job or an internship. He’s going to school part-time in order to gain work experience in those afternoons. It’s a way for him to escape his father’s own spiraling grief and challenges.

When Matt arrives at the local greasy, fast food chicken joint, he’s prepared for the work, even if it’s not something that interests him in the least — and even if it means dealing with obnoxious, rude customers, as he witnesses when he’s there filling out the application.

But when an offer to work at a local funeral home comes his way, he can’t pass it up, even if he’s hesitant to be working in a world of grief close to his own. It’s through witnessing those funerals, though, and seeing how other people process their losses, that Matt is better able to process his own.

It’s at one of the funerals, though, where Matt stumbles across Lovey. She looks familiar, and he realizes that’s because she’s the girl who he saw at the fast food joint when he went to apply who had been dealing with rowdy customers. Soon, the two of them begin talking, then spending time together, then finding themselves falling for one another.

Reynolds’s story is a quieter one, featuring the kind of character we don’t see enough of in YA: a realistic black boy who — while living in a tough part of Brooklyn and dealing with family and friends who aren’t always making smart choices — is himself intelligent, hard-working, and builds solid relationships with his friends, with his boss at work, and ultimately, Lovey. He isn’t stereotyped in any way, and he’s also not rendered as a boy who is all feelings, even though he has plenty of them. Rather, he’s fully fleshed, dynamic, and his story has a fulfilling arc. It’s hopeful, but it’s also imperfect. There’s exceptional compassion extended to Matt, and there’s exceptional compassion extended from him, too.

What stood out to me in this story was the way the relationship between Matt and Lovey grew. This is a sweet and realistic romance, one that’s tentative at times, and it’s one that’s not immediately nor easily rewarded. Since both are working through personal grief and change, it’s hard for them to be emotionally available to one another, even when they want to be that way. This is a slow-build and satisfying storyline, which begs readers to root for both characters and their successes alone and together.

The funeral home job element made this story unique, as did its gritty, urban setting. The juxtaposition is, at times, uncomfortable. But that’s purposeful, and it makes Matt’s voice and perspective shine even stronger. This is a quick read, despite being a quieter one. Hand The Boy in the Black Suit to readers looking for urban-set fiction, for those seeking a nice male-led romance or male-led story about grief and loss, or those looking for something “different” in realistic YA fiction — this isn’t the go-to pick for those who love the best-selling titles. Readers interested in an intergenerational relationship will appreciate Matt and his boss’s connections, and those looking for a good male friendship story will appreciate Matt and Chris’s relationship, too.

Jessie Ann Foley’s The Carnival at Bray had the set up of everything I dislike: a 90s setting that served the purpose of being so for the grunge music and to avoid the social media/mobile phone reality of today. 

But I loved it. 
When Maggie’s mother remarried Colm, they — along with her younger sister Ronnie — move to Bray, a small area on the Eastern shore or Ireland. It’s a lonely time in a new place for Maggie, but she’s buoyed by her uncle Kevin’s letters and packages, as well as by the boy she’s run into who she can’t keep her eyes off of, even if she has no idea who he is or what he’s about. For a short time, Maggie keeps herself occupied with her new friend Aine, but it’s not a great friendship. Aine has little interest in Maggie as a person, but in Maggie as a way to spend time with her boyfriend Paddy. 

But when Kevin dies unexpectedly, Maggie has to reassess her life as it is and figure out how to make a life in the place she’s been planted best she can. There is an adventure to be had, though, when Maggie discovers a letter her mom has hidden from her, where her uncle Kevin has left her a pair of tickets to see Nirvana in Italy, telling her to take the boy with her. Maggie hems and haws about it, being a good girl like she is, but then she and Eoin take the adventure. It costs them both deeply. 

What was great: this wasn’t about the music as portrayed in the book. It was about the power of music, period. It was about fulfilling that dream of seeing a band you love and being part of a crowd of other people who are sharing an experience with you, but not necessarily sharing the exact same experience you are. It’s about friendship and about the challenges of meeting new people and learning to trust their intentions. It’s about romance and finding someone who gets you, through thick and thin. It’s, even more, about family. The relationship between Maggie and her mother is rendered so well and so painfully, and the relationship between Maggie and her sister Ronnie is so a relationship between a 16-year-old girl and her 11-year-old sister. But more, it was the Kevin-Maggie relationship I loved most. 

Foley’s use of setting is really great, and the use of third person was surprising and perfect for this story. The writing itself was smooth, and in the first sex scene of the book — not one between Maggie and Eoin, but Maggie and another boy — it was awkward and written in an honest manner that handled it better than many first-person narratives do. But this isn’t a book where sex matters much. Rather, what makes it good is the longing we get from Maggie and how much she yearns and craves something physical from Eoin, and he doesn’t press her for it. Instead, we see intimacy — they shared a bed, fully clothed, and it’s that which Maggie lets linger and sustain her through the separation they have.

This isn’t a big story — Kevin’s death and subsequent understanding of why and how he died isn’t a huge part of the book — and it reads quickly, but there’s a lot of story packed in here. This is a story about love and loss, about learning how to make a life and a living when everything that had been a part of your life is torn away, by forces you can never understand. It’s about choices other people make and how deeply they impact you personally. 

I’d avoided picking this one up because of the time period setting, even after it was named a Morris finalist. The 90s setting is a convenience in the story; there’s no way that Maggie would have gotten away with a cross-continental trip in the same way with modern technology, and there’s no way the final moments of the story, which happen at a concert after Kurt Cobain’s death was announced, would have happened, either. Fortunately, these conveniences for the purpose of plot weren’t distracting and didn’t overshadow the strengths of the story or of the voice. I suspect most readers won’t be paying attention to those workarounds. 
Hand The Carnival at Bray to readers who love foreign settings, as well as those who like a story set in another era. This is the kind of book that fans of Melina Marchetta will dig, especially for how it portrays the complexities of family relationships. There’s an excellent intergenerational relationship between Maggie and an older man in Bray, and there’s an interesting — and surprisingly refreshing — religious school that plays a notable part in the story. 

Boy Meets Girl: Guest Post by Lamar Giles (author of Fake ID and Endangered)

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How often is it that female authors are asked to talk about how they write male main characters? Let’s flip the script this time and see what a male author has to say about writing a realistic teen girl character. Welcome Lamar Giles!




Lamar “L. R.” Giles writes stories for teens and adults. He’s never met a genre he didn’t like, having penned science fiction, fantasy, horror, and noir thrillers, among others. He is a Virginia native, a Hopewell High Blue Devil, and an Old Dominion University Monarch. He resides in Chesapeake, Virginia, with his wife.


Fake ID is available now and Endangered will be available in April. 








Awhile ago I was on a panel talking about my new book ENDANGERED, which will be out in April. I was discussing the protagonist—Panda—and how “she” does this, and “she” does that. During the Q&A, an audience member raised her hand and said something along the lines of, “So, you’re writing a girl? Are you worried about that?”
Well…I wasn’t until then. 
I answered her question more elegantly than that—and because I write suspenseful things, I’ll hold off on telling you that answer. Instead, I’m going to focus on the broader topic, writing outside of one’s gender, and the trio of FAQs that often come along with it.
1) How do you do it? One word at a time (rimshot!)
2) Why? Because “write what you know” only takes you so far.
3) Should you be allowed to? Of course, and anyone who tells you you can’t should be plucked squarely (but gently, we’re not ruffians here) in the forehead.
Now that that’s out of the way, I told that audience member…Wait, what’s that? You’d like a little more detail on the how, why, and should questions. Some useful advice. Well, okay.
Whenever someone writes a character who isn’t a mirror image of themselves there’s inevitably the questions about the writer doing that character justice and/or should they have even attempted to write so far from their own purview? This concern is relegated mostly to writing outside of one’s gender or race (because no one has a problem with paunchy introverts writing about superheroes who  live in dystopian futures and lead freedom fighters against corrupt governments). Because of my involvement in diversity movements, I’m often asked to comment on who’s allowed to write about what. My unwavering answer—write what you want. 
No one should be able to dictate what happens between a writer and the blank page other than the writer herself. 
However, the second part of my unwavering answer is be prepared to get called out if you’ve been lazy on your research, relied on stereotypes to flesh out your characters, or been wholly offensive in your portrayal. 
Seems risky. Feels risky. Why go there at all?
I can’t speak for other writers, but I always want to grow, moving beyond my comfort zone. Nick Pearson from FAKE ID, I can write about him all day. There’s a lot of me in him. Panda comes from a different, harder to reach place. But…
NOT BECAUSE SHE’S A GIRL.
Because she’s had stuff happen to her that I’ve never experienced. Because she does things I could never do. The way she processes information is way different than how I do. These are exciting things to get into when you’re writing. 
Though, that doesn’t make me exempt to what I’ve said before. I could’ve gotten something wrong, I could’ve written some stereotypical things, I hope I won’t offend anyone, but you don’t know until it happens.
So, was I worried about writing a girl? Not really. I told the audience member, at that long ago Q&A, that I didn’t think of Panda as a girl, but as a person. Her own person. She does things, says things, and thinks things that Panda would think. Did I pull it off? 
I’ll worry about that another day.

Socioeconomic Class in Contemporary YA Lit: Where Are The Poor Teens? Guest Post by Librarian Faythe Arrendondo

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There’s been more and more talk lately about the lack of diversity when it comes to socioeconomic class in contemporary YA fiction. Today, librarian Faythe Arrendondo talks about why this conversation is important and why we need to see more poor kids in realistic YA. 

When she’s not wasting time on Twitter, Faythe Arredondo is a teen services librarian is a rural (poor) area of California. She’s a fan of dogs, hockey, popular culture, and getting ragey about things people take for granted.  










For most of my life, I have been surrounded by people that can be classified as “rural poor.” It’s the nature of our agricultural area, especially now that we are in the midst of the worst drought anyone can remember.  I’ve worked in or around the same area since I became a librarian. Nothing I see is new; it’s just how life is.


I’m not sure how the topic was brought up, but I think I mentioned how poor people in young adult literature aren’t a “thing” like vampires and werewolves were/are. This sparked an immediate reaction from three of the teens sitting in my office. They went off on how you never “see anyone” like them. How there is “no middle” and characters are either homeless, from a drug riddled home, or rich. There are no characters that are just living life and trying to find their way in an “instant gratification takes too long” society. You don’t read about characters who have a place to live and food to eat, but “don’t have the extras.” As I listened to them talk, my soul hurt. Here are three teens that know they are doing okay in life, but society would look at them with pity. That day I found out for certain the parents of these particular kids didn’t work and their money comes from the government.


Some people would feel sorry for them because they don’t have the latest iPhone, or an iPad, or a computer. These are things that a lot of people take for granted but for a lot of families, these things are an extravagance. Why is this? My gut reaction is because of popular culture. There are no leads in contemporary TV shows, movies, or books where an adolescent character doesn’t have a cell phone or an Internet connection at home. In the fall of 2013 I started a study hall at the library when I found out that a couple of the teens couldn’t finish their homework because they shared their small apartment with eight other people. They also couldn’t get some of their homework done because teachers were putting the homework assignments and extra credit online. These teens would walk 20 minutes from school to the library and study for at least two hours. They would have to leave by 6pm because their walk home took almost an hour. They couldn’t afford bus passes.


This isn’t abnormal. These kids aren’t special cases. This is their norm. According the National Center for Children in Poverty, 41% of adolescents (their definition is ages 12-17) live in low-income families. This is fact. I didn’t know these numbers when I decided I needed to call attention to the lack of the socio-economic diversity (low-income) in books. I only knew what I saw on a daily basis and what I lived with growing up.  We didn’t have the “extras” growing up, yet all I seemed to see when I read YA books were teens who had everything and didn’t have to worry about trying to finish their homework to avoid flunking.


So why isn’t this large group of teens represented in culture? When was the last time you read a book about low income kids that didn’t involve drugs, aliens, the supernatural, government control, or a natural disaster? Can you recall a book when teens are from a low-income family that takes place in modern society? Where things like a cell phone or computer aren’t commonplace? Or the family is on welfare? Reading should open up your worldview, but not discussing low-incomes teens or families is failing all readers.


I was given access to the Children’s Literature Comprehensive Database and I did some searching trying to find books that had low-income families.  The first search I did was for “poor” with 2013 and 13-18 as filters.  That returned just 68 results.  Of those, 22 used “poor” as a descriptor including “poor judgment” and “poor little rich girl.”  Only eight of these results actually had low-income teens or similar situations in the books.  A couple of months later I decided to use the same filters but try “poverty” instead and only found nine of 46 books had low-income teens.    


To say I was disappointed in the results would be an understatement. I thought there would be more, but I did find some titles that address socioeconomics. I read a lot and I don’t remember more than a handful that talked about poor teens and their lives. These are the books that we need to talk about and read. The more we read, the more demand there will be.


The first one that immediately comes to mind is Sherman Alexi’s The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian. This books tackles so many issues that a lot of YA books shy away from. It is probably one of the first books I can remember reading that actually addressed being poor. To try and get ahead, Junior had to make an effort and attend school off the reservation. This reminded me of the teens I work with at the library. They make the extra effort a lot of people take for granted.


The Distance Between Us by Kasie West tackles the rich versus poor in a small coastal town. Money is an obvious issue and drives most of the plot, but it takes the easy way out in the end by having the protagonist find her wealthy grandparents. This theme also plays a part in Maggie Stiefvater’s Raven Boys (of which I’ve only read book 1). It’s a point of contention between the characters almost every time they interact. The book isn’t exactly contemporary, but I felt it should be mentioned along with The Distance Between Us.


In The Lure by Lynne Ewing, Blaise lives outside of Washington DC where life is not easy. By being a “lure” for the local gang, Blaise can find money, safety, and love. She lives in a broken down neighborhood where violence is commonplace. She sees being in a gang as her only way to survive and have money. Lack of money is the driving factor in this book and it’s a favorite among some of the teens in my library.


On the flip side, Lauren Oliver’s Panic takes place in rural New York. These kids are some that I recognize: teens who want to get out of their life, want to break the cycle and who have to work if they want the extra things. The teens in this story all have cells phones, but they all also seem to have jobs.  They literally risk their lives to win money so they can start their lives some place else. The plot may seem a little far-fetched, but the motivating factors are genuine.


One author who always incorporates low-income teens is Katie McGarry. In her latest, Take Me On, the protagonist and her family were evicted from their home and are temporarily homeless. The rich guy in the story is cut off from his parents and also ends up homeless for a little while. Prior to this novel, each title had a protagonist who was in the foster care system. By book three in the series, two of the characters lived in their own apartment, but always had to worry about making rent. I recommend these books to my teen patrons because they contain something for everyone.


The latest book to capture my attention is Gabi, a Girl in Pieces by Isabel Quintero. It is a book people need to talk about more and handles almost every issue a teen can face. It’s the first time I read a book and could see actual people in the characters, with situations that happened to people I know. When Gabi loses a cell to water damage, she didn’t get a new one right away. In fact, she had no real plans to replace it because she had no money. I can recall several instances in other books when a teen lost their phone and it was replaced instantly.

These are just a handful of books I’ve read and thought they did a good job of addressing low-income families. I want everyone to read these books and talk more about them, but it’s not enough. These are a fraction of books published.  Why can books about vampires, angels, aliens, werewolves, and so on be published ad nauseum, but we can’t publish fiction that actually reflects its readers?  Why can’t there be more books about teens that live in a low-income family? It’s up to us as readers to question publishers and writers as to why we aren’t seeing these teens in literature. If we don’t ask, they won’t realize there is a need.