And here I am, ostensibly a writer of YA. Bah, humbug.
I actually don’t read much YA, but I just finished Little Brother so YA is on my mind. I didn’t much like the book, not so much because of the book itself but because it’s YA. I know, I know, YA is the hot thing right now, but that still doesn’t mean I have to like it.
The main reason I don’t like YA is because of the way it’s often written. It’s just not to my taste. The POVs are generally too tight; the narrators are too often Mary Sues; the issues are far too simplified; the adults are all idiots. Even more importantly, I have a built-in bias that makes me wince at the word YA. When I grew up in the ’60s you went from children’s books to adult books whenever you were ready. For most readers that was about the time they hit adolescence. YA at the time was a new marketing niche being promoted as books with adult themes written for teens who weren’t yet ready (or able) to read adult books.
Needless to say, as a teenager I turned my nose up at the idea of reading anything that was described as being written for teens not yet ready to read something harder.
I don’t really have anything against YA per se. Hey, the more books people like, the better. But most of the techniques I don’t like in YA are the sorts of techniques used to make books easier to read and more accessible. Which means that, unless the writer is really, really good, books written with those techniques often end up being simplistic and banal. In Little Brother, for example, the interpretation of the Declaration of Indepence given in the book is one that literally justifies all acts of defiance against the government as being justifiable, which is, of course an impossible simplification. But it’s just the sort of impossible simplification that finds it’s way into a lot of YA.
Which is why I don’t like YA.
Carl Ballantine, D-list comic, has passed away. Oy! My friends and I loved his dopey schtick.
Anyone out there remember him? Or am I just too old?
Interesting Op-ed piece in the NYTimes today on the possible rise of authoritarian capitalism.
Actually, it was daytime. And I blame it all on Anton.
There we were, the Magnificent (Genre) Seven signing at a nearly empty B&N in Ledgewood, NJ when - Bang! - the lights went out. Having experienced three NYC blackouts, I was convinced the worst had happened, but it was only local. An Outback Steakhouse nearby had gone up in flames (or maybe it was just an oven fire), but it cut the power for several miles. For several hours. And there we were, willing and able to sell hundreds and hundreds of books, but no cash registers to ring them up.
Sigh.
I’ve actually done much worse signings, but those are different stories. This one I blame on Anton. He was the one who brought the wrath of the Writing Gods down on us by badmouthing one of the Holy Ones. No doubt one of Her Holiness Daniell Steele’s acolytes, livid at the apparent slur, sabotaged the store to pay us back for our blasphemy.
Excuse me. Anton’s blasphemy.
No, the new governor won’t be there. But the usual suspects will. The Magnificent Seven ride again.
November 7th, 2009
Noon-4pm
Barnes & Noble
Ledgewood Mall
375 Route 10 E
Ledgewood, NJ 07852
973-252-9300
***
with authors
Patricia Bray; S.C. Butler
Barbara Campbell; Laura Anne Gilman
Jackie Kessler; Joshua Palmatier
Anton Strout
We’ve watched the first four episodes so far, and the pace is glacial. Which leads me to conclude that I’m just not that into vampires. Which in turn raises the question of why I like Buffy so much. But my wife figured that out. Buffy isn’t really a vampire show, it’s a superhero show, and I love superheroes.
Besides, I’m not so sure that what I’ve seen of True Blood qualifies as a vampire show. More like softcore porn, if you ask me. And if it’s softcore porn I’m looking for, I’m much more likely to dust off my old copy of The Cheerleaders starring the immortal Stephanie Fondue, than I am to turn on Showtime or HBO or whatever premium channel True Blood is on.
I’m just not into vampires.
