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:
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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).
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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.
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She’s emotionally manipulative, either intentionally or unintentionally. OR She’s a one-dimensional robot who’s not in touch with her emotions.
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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.
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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:
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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.
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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.
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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).
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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.
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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.
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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:
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First, it convinces us that perfection exists.
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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.
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Then, it sends wildly mixed, contradicting, and constantly fluctuating messages about what this perfection means and how to achieve and display it.
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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.
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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!
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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).
Excellent post, Sarah! You've got me thinking. I believe teen readers learn more from seeing a character make mistakes and suffer the consequences than being served a ready-made perfect MC. Realistic teens are fallible. It's less dangerous for a teen to experiment by reading than by practicing risky behavior. Still, an author does need to be aware that teen readers are impressionable so risky behavior without any consequences could be problematic. A good author shows the behavior and lets the reader discover the lesson (without sounding preachy). An excellent example is A.S. King's Vera Dietz, who in the opening is drinking while driving and involved with an older guy but bad consequences make her learn, grow and change. I haven't read one of your books yet, but this post makes me want to do so. (Kelly, thanks for hosting.)
Hey Sarah! Thanks for commenting. I definitely agree that readers take more from a character who makes mistakes, and those characters tend to be more interesting anyway (even as an adult reader, I'm more drawn into stories featuring highly flawed, messy, and complex characters, whatever their ages).
I see your point about consequences, but I look at it in a different way. A good author will be able to show behaviors and consequences (or lack of) that are authentic to the story, but it's not because "teen readers are impressionable" — it's simply in service to the story (it just so happens that many if not most YA stories do feature the kind of ultimate positive character growth — however slow and hard-won — you mentioned, so naturally, they would learn from mistakes and grow / change as a result of the consequences that unfold throughout the story).
But… realistically, not all risky behavior has consequences — particularly immediate consequences. Some teens engage in unprotected sex, for example, without becoming pregnant. Some drink and drive without getting into an accident, getting caught, hurting someone. That's not ideal, but it's part of life, and it might also be part of a YA story. Now, I'd question an author that *intentionally* sets out to glorify these kinds of behaviors in fiction just for the sake of glorifying them (I haven't read any like that), but there *are* characters in fiction (and life) who take risks again and again without having those risks catch up with them. And if an author is crafting a character like that, I would hope it's in service to the story. But I really don't think an author writing for teens has any more or less responsibility to portray risky behavior differently than authors who write for adults. I think any time we try to teach a lesson — even without directly sermonizing — we risk alienating readers.
Thanks again for your thoughts!
Love this, Sarah. I can tell you put a lot of thought and care into this post. This especially resonated with me:
"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."
Rae in my novel Falling For You makes some mistakes. The first part of the book is somewhat painful to read because of those mistakes. Some people really took issue with it. Some stopped reading all together. How can she go out with a guy like that? Well, guess what. I went out with a guy like that when I was a teen, for lots of reasons I didn't fully understand at the time.
Just because someone can't imagine a certain something happening doesn't mean it isn't possible. Personally, I like expanding my world.
I loved FALLING FOR YOU, Lisa, particularly *because of* Rae's mistakes. Her choices — good and bad — felt very realistic to me. The whole "I wasn't like that as a teen, so this character is unrealistic / unlikable" review line drives me bananas.
The thing is, when we judge characters who make mistakes as being unrealistic, we're essentially judging real teens for the same thing. And that's the heart of the matter for me, and why it's so important to talk about this (and to keep writing these kinds of complex, imperfect characters).
Thank you for this, Sarah. What a brilliant, incisive piece! I wish it had been around before my first YA came out. I'd written a protagonist who was a terrible role model throughout most of the book, and who failed to achieve perfection by the end, and I didn't see the phenomenon you describe coming.
Some of the reader reviews seemed to equate the failures of the character with a failed book, as in "I don't like girls who are obsessed with their boyfriend." Without the sense that there are good books involving girls obsessed with their boyfriend and bad books involving girls obsessed with their boyfriend. The weakness of the character herself was the factor on which the evaluation of the book turned for some readers. There seems to be a real lust for "kickass" female characters, and a disdain for fictional girls who screw up. I cringe at the thought of real girls who screw up absorbing this level of negative judgment.
Hi Ann! So glad you stopped by. Characters who don't "evolve" by the end of the story — at least, in a positive way toward that elusive perfection — get the most criticism. In life, how often do we get that happy ending? Closure? A lesson learned? Most of the time we make a lot of the same mistakes, again and again, and the best we can hope for is to learn a little something new each time. 🙂 So I appreciate the characters who don't achieve that perfection, because I think it shows us a realistic slice of life.
The "kickass" protagonists have their place, too, but I hate that we use it as a measuring stick for determining a YA novel's worth (and by extension, a real teen girl's worth).
Sarah, I love your work and highly respect you as an author, but I do take issue with SOME of what you've said here.
As a teen, I snuck my mom's historical romances out of her bedroom and read them with a flashlight under my bedcovers. I took away a lot of skewed thinking about what romance is, what "no" means to some men, what women think is sexy. My reading led me to believe certain things about sexuality and the act itself that sure didn't pan out in real life! I didn't have the kind of relationship with my mom where I could ask about the realism or lack of in those books, so, yeah, I wondered what was wrong with me that sex wasn't as described in a romance novel, that I was attracted to the bad boys and not the nice guys who treated me well. That's why I take issue when a certain "New Adult" author writes that it's her main character's fault that the hot bad boy (who screws other girls right in front of her) can't stay away from her, that she can't be without him despite the aforementioned screwing of other girls, and that the girl ends up with that hot bad boy because suddenly (despite screwing another girl just a couple chapters before) his whole personality changes because he has her particular love and devotion. I think that sends a definitely message to impressionable teens, teens who are giving this book 5 stars because the main characters are "so perfect for each other!!" Are teens mature enough to see that relationship as toxic, despite the lack of consequences (other than the main character getting pregnant, which is totally okay because the guy's dad is a mega-rich rock star)? I think the male character acts despicably. The female character talks herself down constantly. Teens are led to believe they can change someone completely just by loving them! So, despite my liberal leanings and definitely feeling that authors can write their characters however they wish, I really worry for those impressionable teens who feel so rabidly like the relationship in my example should be embraced, as in "That's so romantic!", and possibly emulated.
You're right that we shouldn't expect every character to be a role model–or that we should even presume to know what a role model is. But we also need to remember that many teens learn about life solely from the TV and movies they watch and the books they read. And if an author they respect gives the impression that it's okay, many will probably think it's okay.
Hi Jennifer — thank you for your kind words about my work, and for commenting here!
To be fair, regardless of who ultimately reads them, both of the examples you point to are novels written for adults (historical romance and new adult, respectively), not YA novels, which is my sole experience and the focus of the article.
That aside (because I know we could come up with some similar examples that *are* YA novels), I do see your point that some teens might learn about life issues like sex and relationships through media. But I still don't believe that makes it the creator's responsibility to establish or portray model behavior in a work of fiction (that goes for video games, cartoons, songs, comics, movies, etc.). We cannot control or influence how a reader interprets our stories — a book becomes theirs. In the New Adult example you mentioned, you might find just as many teen readers who walked away from that story thinking the relationship was problematic and negative, and deciding that it's *not* romantic and not something they would want. Others will just read it as pure entertainment, not considering it as part of their own decision making on relationships and sex.
For me, it's not so much that "teens are led to believe" something just because of the actions of a character. Teens read a story, and make their own judgments. Now, we could argue about their level of impressionability, whether they have access to engaged and open parents or other adults to discuss things with, whether they can fairly assess a relationship as positive or negative if they don't have relationship experience, etc., but again, I don't think an author can really consider this as she's crafting a story. Whether a teen respects an author or not, we aren't moral compasses.
As I said in an earlier comment, I don't know of any YA authors who'd intentionally set out to glorify risky or potentially harmful behavior, or to send a message that engaging in that kind of behavior is cool, but I do know authors who tell stories *about* characters who engage in this behavior. Sometimes those stories show negative consequences. Sometimes the stories show positive consequences (however unrealistic this may be). And sometimes they're just entertainment — and we can discuss them as good or bad, realistic or unrealistic, empowering or disempowering, well written or not — but ultimately, it's not about authors creating role models or modeling good behavior.
I have a lot of thoughts on this issue, still evolving, and I appreciate the differing opinions! One thing I'm thinking about in light of your comments is how, if authors *were* to consider the impressionability of teens and write accordingly, we'd make that call? Where would the line be? How could we make that assessment across the board? Or would we simply have to eliminate stories that are just meant as entertainment in favor of those that impart some kind of lesson (even subtly) or model behavior?
Thanks again for weighing in on this, Jennifer!
Sarah, I see your points. I really do. And I know, as a writer, you must write the story you need to tell. I've read that many authors never think about their intended audience when they write. They just tell the story. And, as an adult, I love that. But as a librarian to young teens, I worry about that as well. Not about all stories, not about all the tough issues. I know we don't do teens any favors by trying to sugarcoat the world. And there probably isn't a fair/easy/clear way to draw the line on what is and isn't YA appropriate without becoming a bunch of conservative Pollyannas. Still, I do think the maturity level of the children reading YA needs to be thought about, especially since it seems (in my experience) younger and younger kids are reading books meant for much older readers. Then again, it might all fall back into the parents' laps to be aware of what their kids are reading and to be able to discuss things openly with them. The only problem with that is, like in my experience, those parents don't always exist. Even so, I guess that's not necessarily the writer's responsibility.
In a nutshell, my gut tells me to give the kids characters they can look up to and emulate. My head tells me that's not realistic or fair to the writers OR the readers. It's hard to reconcile the two.
Sarah, this was an excellent post and a really great reminder of how we judge and critique the characters we read!
I run a book club at the library where I work. It's for adults, but we read YA novels. Typically, the books we read are ones that are popular with teens or books that are required for school. I love when we come across a book with a flawed female lead (or even male for that matter) because, regardless on where anyone stands on the role model debate, it gets us talking about some really good issues. Like what makes a "good" role model or how a teen reading this book might interpret the character's motives. A few ladies in my group are middle school teachers and it's really encouraging to have these fictional characters available for discussion. It opens a whole new world for my teacher friends, especially as they try to relate with their students.
I'll have to send them this article!
-Emily
As a teen girl, let me just say, EXACTLY. If you're an adult and you read YA, great, but you have to read it respectfully. This is our realm, not yours. Our thoughts and opinions are the ones that matter. Don't call a girl whiny just because she's "acting like a teenager". And please, can we stop comparing every girl to Bella? If you're reviewing a paranormal romance that was published at the height of Twilight's popularity, then at least it makes sense. But when I read reviews of, say, a 2014 sci fi novel, name dropping Bella is a signal that the reviewer doesn't read much YA.
I have to politely disagree that adults have to read YA and that our thoughts and opinions don't matter. For one, lots of YA books were not written for YA's or with YA's in mind. The popular YA novel, The Book Thief, was originally sold as an adult book but was marketed in the US as YA. Some countries do not even market books as YA. Lots of adult books meet the various critera for YA. YA, in my opinion, is more a marketing strategy than anything else. Plus, it'd be like me telling you that you have to read any "adult" book respectfully. That my thoughts and opinions are the ones that matter. Not yours.
I agree that calling a teen girl whiny because shes acting like a teenager is ridiculous. Its completely valid to say shes whiny (some people are whiny)
The most frustrating thing I see AGAIN and AGAIN on those awful nights when I let myself get sucked in to my reviews, is that people are SO much harsher to my female characters than my male ones…
I just.
I have no idea what to say about this.
Have we really, REALLY not come far enough as a society that we can't allow girls to make the same mistakes as guys?
Anyway. You sort of hit on it ALL here.
Brilliant post.
Fab thoughts.
THANK YOU.
Hi Sarah! Your section on She's a Bad Role Model Because … made me laugh so hard. While I'm writing, it's difficult to shut out the voices from outside demanding those contradictory things.
When My Invented Life came out, I hadn't anticipated the negative reactions my self-centered, attention-seeking main character would receive. In fact, she did learn from some of her mistakes. But by the end of the story, she still had many mistakes to make in the future. At least in my imagination. She wasn't perfect at the end.
Some of these reviews got under my skin in a permanent way. I have to consciously ignore their effect on me each time I create a new main character.
Interestingly, no one seemed bothered about the "bad" female role models in the books I read as a teen. Miss Havisham. Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Blanche DuBois. Lady Macbeth. It's easy to forget that teens are reading classic literature in addition to YA.
As a parent, I find the crap on TV more concerning than anything I've ever read in a book. To counteract it, I talk a lot with my teen sons.
Thanks for the excellent post!
This is such a thoughful and insightful post, thank you! I've got so many thoughts zinging around in my head now…such as,
Thinking about how I approached the books I read as a teen. I was a toe-the-line-conservative kind of girl, but I don't ever remember being hateful when reading a book with a character whose choices I disagreed with. Frankly, I just tended to gravitate toward books that I found entertaining and if the book made me too uncomfortable, I just set it aside and figured it wasn't for me. And sometimes I kept reading because it was just so darn good, and realized that I might not want to "be" the main character, but she sure was interesting. And even then, I preferred story over message — meaning, tell me a good story, and if there's a "message" to get out of the story, fine. But don't try to tell me a message thinly disguised as a story (I still have little patience for that). On the flip side, I also have little patience for stories that are shocking/"edgy"/etc. just to be that way, not because it's a logical part of the story (but again, I'm not going to publicly flog an author for those choices…I'm just going to be a lot less inclined to read the author's books).
I think about how the intense response to female characters in fiction reflects the way females treat each other in real life too. We are so critical of ourselves, and consequently so critical of each other (when we base our own self-worth on comparisons with others) — and that translates to fictional characters as well. Which is why it's so important to call this behavior out as destructive (thank you!). I also think it's why female readers are less critical on male characters, even though I think that's frustrating and ridiculous.
I respect the conflict expressed by the librarian above, especially as I'm getting ready to embark on the adventure of being a mom to a daughter for the first time. I want to protect her, but give her the space to find her own way and make her own choices. I don't want to shelter her, but I also don't want her to face things she's not ready for yet. But I recognize that it's an easier thing for me to deal with this on a personal level, because I hope to have an open and close enough relationship with her that we can talk about things — including something she might read about and question or want to talk about.
Anyway, like I said, fantastic post.