STACKED

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Girls Reading: What Are They Seeing (or Not Seeing)?

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I’d planned on writing up some reviews for today, but Sarah Andersen posted the results of a survey she ran with her high school students and I couldn’t not talk about it. Go check out her post, “Are Teen Girls Seeing Themselves Reflected in What They Read?”

I love the questions she chose to ask, and I loved the variety of responses her girls shared. They want to see a range of girls reflected in what they’re reading. They want the romantic girls, they want the girls who are strong, and they want the girls who can be strong and romantic at the same time. They want shy girls and brave girls as much as they want girls who funny and sporty. They want a little of everything because they themselves are a little of everything.

What stood out to me, though, were the answers to questions five and six. The girls overwhelmingly noted that they’ve not seen themselves reflected in the books they’ve been assigned to read for school and whether or not female authors or female main characters they’ve been assigned have been memorable for them.

After reading this, I did some serious thinking about what I’d been assigned to read in high school and what sort of ratio there was between male authors who were assigned and female authors. The truth is, it wasn’t very many. The emphasis freshman, sophomore, and senior year was primarily focused on European lit — primarily from England, save for some non-English titles we were able to read senior year (we read Les Miserables and Crime and Punishment). Junior year was American literature year, though it wasn’t uncommon to see an American title other years as an extra.

When I think about the female authors we read, I initially could only come up with a couple. I remember reading Willa Cather both freshman and junior year — O Pioneers and My Antonia, respectively. I remember reading and doing a huge project on Emily Dickinson junior year as part of poetry month.

I also remember reading Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird and reading Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome (which contrary to most people who read the book, I happened to love and pursued reading more Wharton after that). We read quite a few Flannery O’Connor short stories junior year, as well.

But beyond those titles, I can’t come up with other female authors I read. There was a Shakespeare play or two every year except when it was American lit year. I read a Dickens every year except when it was American lit year. American lit featured Stephen Crane, a pair of John Steinbeck titles, The Great Gatsby, The Scarlet Letter, The Crucible. Looking at those titles in particular, it’s interesting how few representations of female characters there are, and those which do exist aren’t exactly flattering. Out of curiosity, I pulled up the reading lists for my high school district today and they look remarkably the same as they did over a decade ago.

It wasn’t until college when what I read became a lot more diverse and incorporated far more female voices. But that was because I had a lot more choice in courses — my first class in undergrad was entirely on Franz Kafka, followed by courses on multicultural lit, Harlem Renaissance lit, contemporary poetry, early modern American lit (including Virginia Woolf, H. D., and Rebecca West and allowed a friend and I to create a feminist literary journal to fulfill a project requirement), Victorian lit (including Anne Bronte’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and taught by a visiting professor who really got my tastes and recommended titles to me that I loved), and creative writing workshops which led me to Marilynne Robinson, as well as a variety of modern and contemporary poets beyond Emily Dickinson, who is the poet of choice for poetry units in school.

I think it’s important to read the classics. They’re canonical for a reason, and even debating what that reason is fruitful for diving deeper into the value of literature and why we read. But it’s sad to see how few females are brought to the table in standard curriculum, both as authors and as main characters. This isn’t about getting rid of the male voices. In many ways, those male representations of female characters is a juicy point of discussion in and of itself.

Why is it though that girls are reporting not recalling female authors or female characters in class reading? Why aren’t they seeing themselves in what’s being read? And why is it often that females who are represented in curriculum are those on the fringes — the ones who write short stories or poetry?

I was a huge reader in high school independently. I found myself in a lot of what I read independently, and maybe most notably, Megan McCafferty’s Jessica Darling. No, I wasn’t a runner. I didn’t have a best friend who I wrote letters to. I didn’t have the feelings about boys that she did. But I knew her voice and it was so similar to mine. She wasn’t the only, but she’s one that resonated with me and begged me to stick with her through to the end of the series (which neatly ended at nearly the same point I was in my life when it did).

But what about those girls who are only ever exposed to the books in their classrooms and assignments? Do they know what’s out there? I wonder about this because as much as we like to believe girls will find the books for themselves, not all girls are readers. Not all girls are eager readers. They can be reluctant, too, and if they’re not seeing themselves in the books they’re reading, they can begin to believe reading isn’t for them nor that they’ll never see themselves in a book.

I’m curious: what did you read in high school? Did you see yourself in anything that you were assigned to read? If so, what, and if not, when and where did you first see yourself? I am eager to hear from anyone on this question, and I’m interested in hearing, too, about the books written by or featuring female main characters you were assigned in school.

If you’re a teacher, I’d also be interested in what you’re teaching and how you may be supplementing or encouraging further reading. Are you doing anything to diversify what’s presented to your readers, even if it’s not assigned to them?

On Expectations for Girls in YA Fiction, Misleading Reviews, and Sexuality

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A few weeks ago, I picked up and devoured Julie Halpern’s The F-It List. It’s a story about two girls who are best friends and how their relationship weathers everything. It starts with Becca sleeping with Alex’s boyfriend the day of Alex’s father’s funeral. The summer immediately following, the girls aren’t hanging out as much as they used to. Sure, Alex is angry and upset about what Becca did, but their reason for not hanging out has much more to do with Alex’s need to grieve losing her father than it does what Becca did or losing that boyfriend.

When the school year begins, Alex learns via another girl that something awful happened to Becca over the summer: she was diagnosed with cancer. Alex immediately runs to Becca’s side, and their friendship, while not perfectly patched up, is allowed to continue, and it’s through this agreement of continuing their relationship that Becca asks Alex for a favor. She needs to complete her f-word-rhymes-with-bucket list. Since Becca’s sick and worried a bit about what her future may hold, she wants Alex to do and experience a number of things that she’s always wanted to do but wonders if she’ll ever have the chance to do.

A number of items on the list have to do with sex. Becca wants Alex to masturbate, and she wants Alex to have sex with someone she can say I love you to and mean it. Other items on the list range from doing some silly prank-like stuff to more relationship-driven items. But it is those sexually-related items that Alex homes in on most and those are the items that come to signify not just a lot of what the relationship between the two girls is — blunt, honest, and unashamed — but also points where readers may either bristle or dig in for something deeper. In many ways, I thought the ways that both the sexually-related items and the friendship more broadly played out in the story were what made The F-It List knock out. It’s rare to see such positive portrayals of sex for girls. Both Becca and Alex enjoyed sex and both were very open and honest about liking it and sharing those positive experiences with one another.

But not everyone felt this to be the case. Here’s the review Halpern’s novel got in School Library Journal (you can click to make it larger):

I’ve read and reread this review many times, and every time, something new feels off in it. Keep in mind many trade reviewers review from advanced reader copies of books, meaning that not all of the kinks have been entirely worked out.

I note, too, that I also read The F-It List from an advanced reader copy.

Although I could dive into the notion that Alex performs the items on the f-it list out of guilt — an idea I disagree with entirely, as Alex begins to really embrace this as a commitment to her relationship with Becca — what I find fascinating is this line: “Both girls have casual, unprotected sex with all of their boyfriends without any thoughts of taking precautions.”

This line presumes a few things in it. The first is that it’s the responsibility of the girls to think about and carry out the actions necessary for protection during sex. While print space is limited and words have to be carefully selected in a trade review, the way this particular line is phrased, in conjunction with the line before it, casts a judgment upon the female characters in the story. They’re crass, with limited vocabulary, and they’re not taking responsibility for their own actions. These are the kinds of girls you don’t want to be role models for readers, since they’re not being “good girls.” They don’t arouse sympathy because what happens to them is all a matter of consequences and choices they make. They weren’t smart enough or thinking through things enough to protect themselves.

But what is worse in this line is that it’s factually incorrect.

Early in the book, Alex talks about the first time she’s had sex, as a means of thinking through Becca’s request that she have sex with someone she loves and cares about. The first person — and only person at that point — she’d slept with was a boy named Aleks, who was a foreign exchange student. Starting at page 76 in the advanced reader copy, Alex lays out the story as follows:

Becca was disappointed I hadn’t seen his penis yet and handed me a condom the next time I saw her. Two days later, armed with the Trojan, I followed Aleks back to his house again. […] Me in my underwear, him in blue boxers, we moved over to the bed. “Wait–” I told him, the first work spoken that afternoon. I found Becca’s condom in my backpack and brought it up to the bed. […] He slapped on the condom.


It’s pretty evident immediately that condoms play a role in not just Alex’s sex life, but in the discussions she and Becca have had as best friends about being sexually active. Alex got the condom from Becca, and Alex insisted that Aleks wear it when they slept together. Seems straightforward enough.

But there’s more.

Later on in the story, when Alex begins a relationship with Leo, the issue of the condom isn’t the only one that comes up before they take the plunge and have sex (they had a few intimate moments, but in each case, Leo stopped when Alex asked him to). She talks about why she wants to make sure there is protection. Starting on page 141 of the advanced reader copy:

His hands were gentler than I wanted, and I grabbed one and wrapped it around my breast. I let out a sigh, and Leo reciprocated with a sound of his own. “So you have a condom?” I asked. Life had been too cruel in the last year not to get me pregnant or diseased if I wasn’t careful. I couldn’t trust my body to do the right thing, and I didn’t want to have a conversation with Leo in the middle of this to talk past sexual partners. I didn’t want to know. I just needed it to happen. 


Immediately after, Leo puts on a condom.

In both instances, Alex takes precaution. In both instances, it is Alex — the girl — who insists on using a condom before engaging in intercourse and in the second section, Alex lays out why it is she finds taking this precaution important. With everything going on in her life right now, she recognizes that not being careful would only lead to further problems. She didn’t want to saddler herself with that, nor did she want to get into it with Leo, either. It’s clear and evident that Alex thought about precautions prior to intercourse, and she’s not shy in laying that out there for readers, just as she’s not shy in laying out there what and how she comes to enjoy her budding sexuality.

I’m struck by that review line again because it seems to me the reviewer missed these things (reading too quickly? Not paying close enough attention to the details yet still bringing them up in the review?). But I’m further struck in thinking about whether or not we as readers need to be hit over the head with how careful our protagonists — females especially — need to express how they’re protecting themselves when they choose to engage in sex.

Did the reviewer find fault in the fact that Alex doesn’t tell us about condom use in subsequent sexual situations, despite the fact she’s made it clear she wouldn’t be crazy enough to have sex without a condom? Is it necessary for every instance of sex, whether on the page or fade to black, be explicit in its depiction of protection use? And if that’s the case, where is there a line drawn between telling the story and being faithful to how the characters are and positing an over-the-head message about safe sex? Do readers believe that if Alex doesn’t explain in every sexual moment that she’s making sure there’s a condom in place that she’s chosen instead to not protect herself? Because as a reader, I assume when it’s laid out there for me as openly as it is, that there will be a condom. That I don’t need to be reminded again and again.

Because when real people have sex and are resolute in their wanting to be protected against pregnancy and disease, it becomes a routine, rather than a point of conscious decision making. You always have that box of condoms or you’re faithful in taking birth control (or both or neither). The story isn’t in the routine; it’s in the break from the routine. In Alex’s case, the routine is protecting herself, and I think any more insertion of the condom lines through the story would have turned this from a book where Alex (and Becca) really come to embrace their ability to be sexual beings to a story where they become pawns for the Message of “make sure you use protection.”

Part of me wonders, too, whether the fact this is such a positive portrayal of girls embracing sex and doing so without apology and without holding back on being crude and, at times, obscene, is what will hold some readers back from seeing these smaller moments when Alex is very keen on keeping herself and Leo safe. Halpern hasn’t written an easy story here in any capacity. But I think it’s this complexity which makes The F-It List such a great, memorable read. Because it’s not about Becca’s diagnosis. It’s not about death or the fear of that. It’s about embracing life and relationships — friendly and romantic — to their fullest in whatever way you need to. It’s unfortunate, though, that a trade review in one of the largest, most well-respected library journals could be factually incorrect about the story. In doing so, this book might not end up in the hands of those readers — girls particularly — who would get so much out of it. Who would see themselves in Alex or in Becca. Who would see it’s perfectly okay to enjoy sex alone or with a partner.

And that yes, it’s important to take precautions for yourself and have solid reasons behind why.

I can’t help wonder, too, whether books that do similar things as Halpern’s but feature a male main character undergo the same scrutiny and character judgment.

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).