First Person POV: Building Kinship with the Reader by Jim Hill

First person point of view has found a home in middle-grade novels, and it’s easy to understand why. Though there are narrative limitations and challenges to writing in first person, the strengths can outweigh the weaknesses.

In her book, The Writer’s Guide to Crafting Stories for Children, Nancy Lamb states that one of the strengths is that an author can “create a sense of connection. The intimacy of first person sets up a direct communication between reader and writer.”

I refer to Lamb’s point as immediacy – the quality of bringing one into direct and instant involvement – and this connection may be one reason that first person is so engrossing to young readers. Using this technique the author draws the reader into the narrator’s private world, creating a confidante. That relationship empowers the reader with an insider’s sense of belonging. In a very real way, the narrator makes friends with the reader. They share secrets and concerns that others in the fictional world may not be privy to. BFFs in the making.

In The Lightning Thief, protagonist Percy Jackson opens the book by directly addressing the reader with a warning, and a confession about his true nature, that bridges the gap between narrator and reader.

“Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood. If you’re reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal lifeBeing a half-blood is dangerous. It’s scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.”

By starting this way, Percy presumes a level of intimacy and knowledge that we want to play along with. Even if we have no idea what a half-blood is we nod our heads and smile hoping we’ll get it soon enough. As if realizing that perhaps he’s opened up too much, Percy tosses out a disclaimer to keep the reader at arm’s length, in case we’re not like him.

"If you’re a normal kid, reading this because you think it’s fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened."

After that quick rebuff, Percy then dives back into the warning, showing his concern while bringing the reader back into his circle of intimacy.

"But if you recognize yourself in these pages––if you feel something stirring inside––stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it’s only a matter of time before they sense you too, and then they’ll come for you. 

Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

First person narratives work by bringing the reader inside a private club for two. Reader and protagonist become confidantes in a shared adventure. 

Speaking directly to the reader also allows the writer the ability to establish a distinct voice quickly. Conversational quirks and flourishes are aimed straight at the reader. First person helps shrink the psychic distance, tearing down the wall between reader and protagonist.

By having the protagonist open up to the reader and share self-perceived vulnerabilities there is the opportunity to build kinship and reveal hidden truths. As the reader gains a deeper understanding of how the protagonist sees the world and reacts to it with asides and direct address, the reader can also discern how the protagonist may be misreading the situation. Just as in real life, confidantes can question the motives and authenticity of each other.

The affect of immediacy, and the opportunity to craft a unique voice through the protagonist's asides, make first person a compelling choice. With first person, the writer has the means to get the reader invested in the protagonist’s story from the very first words, a virtual arm around the reader. 

A whisper that says, “Hey, we’re in this together. Let’s go!”

Varian Johnson and the Great Greene Heist

Maybe I’m still the cranky cool kid (disclaimer: I was never cool), but I like discovering the Next Big Thing on my own. I’m just going to have to let it go (oh, hi earworm) because when it comes to The Great Greene Heist by Varian Johnson I’ve been beaten to the punch. By everybody.

Twitter’s been all over it as part of the #WeNeedDiverseBooks movement. Indie bookstores got into it when Eight Cousins Books in Falmouth, MA (one of my local faves) threw out their handsellchallenge. Then little known author John Green even mentioned it (I kid, he’s a juggernaut of awesome).

Today is The Great Greene Heist’s book birthday. Instead of feeling left out, I thought I’d bake a cake to celebrate, and share a slice of delicious with you, my new best friends here at Project Mayhem.

There’s a ton of things to like about this book, and even more to love. Fans of caper stories will slip right into the pages. Lovers of scoundrels (think Robin Hood, Han Solo, and Danny Ocean) will find a new hero for their pantheon – Jackson Greene.

Jackson is as cool as the other side of the pillow. Smart, well dressed, good looking and the leader of his own rag-tag band of misfits. Jackson cons his way through life always one step ahead of his nemesis and the school authorities. Like the best rogues he walks the line between right and wrong, and lands on the side of justice.

This book will make you smile at it’s charm, laugh at it’s clever gambits, and cheer when it all comes together. The code names for the cons, a staple of grifter stories, are worth the price of admission all by themselves. Add dash of romance – just a dash it’s not a kissing book – and you have a story that lingers well after the time you’ve closed the cover. I’m not being glib. I finished this book several days ago, and my favorite scenes keep popping up for a slow-motion replay of how’d-they-pull-that-off.

The Great Greene Heist is going to be as fun to reread as it was to read. Is there a higher compliment?

Quick Questions with Varian Johnson

I emailed Varian a handful of questions on Memorial Day (because I'm a jerk), but he was kind enough to answer back right away (because he's not a jerk). 

That red tie looks awfully familiar.

Who came first, Danny Ocean or Jackson Greene? Any other con artists role models we should know about?

Of all the heist movies I’ve seen, Jackson Green was most inspired by Danny Ocean from the Ocean’s Trilogy. I actually started the novel right after seeing Ocean’s Thirteen, though all I had for a long time was a name—Jackson Greene—and a vague idea of writing a heist novel. Of course, a number of heist movies inspired me while writing the novel—most notably The Italian Job, Sneakers, and The Thomas Crown Affair. I also researched real life con men, though they aren’t nearly as suave and sophisticated as their fictional counterparts.

Is there a sequel in the works? (I'd love to read a YA with Jackson's brother, or an historical fiction about his grandfather.)

Yes, I’m working on a sequel right now (which is taking longer than I hoped. It takes place a few months after The Great Greene Heist, and if all goes well, it’ll be out in the fall of 2015.

I hadn’t thought about doing anything with other member of the Greene family, but you never know….

Did you start this at VCFA? If so, can you talk about that a little bit? (advisors, early readers, etc...)

I started the novel a month before my first VCFA residency. I worked on it in bits and pieces with three advisors, though very little of those drafts remain in the finished book. That being said, two people from VCFA were very influential with the book. Tim Wynne-Jones, my fourth semester advisor, helped me to realize that the tone and characters were all wrong in those first drafts, and that I should take a step back and write the novel the way it needed to be written (as a funny, fast read), not how I wanted it to be (an edgy YA). Rachel M. Wilson, my classmate, shared an essay on Ellen Raskin’s The Westing Game, which helped me realize that the novel needed to be written in omniscient point of view.

What's it like to become the center of a grassroots movement for diversity in children's books?

Humbling. Extremely humbling. I’m honored that so many people have championed the book.

Any surprising responses (good or bad) along the way?

As far as reviews go, there haven’t been any real surprises; though I’ve also been fortunate to get some really good trade journal and blog reviews about the novel. That being said, I try to numb myself to the review process once they start rolling in. As a novelist, you do your best, and people either say good or bad things about your book, and you take in what you can and keep working on the next book.

What are you reading now?

I just finished Jennifer Ziegler’s Revenge of the Flower Girls (Scholastic) and am currently reading Greg Leitich Smith’s Little GreenMen at the Mercury Inn (Roaring Brook). They’re both middle grade novels—we’ll be doing a joint launch of all three of our books on June 14.

Any books we should be on the lookout for?

Since I mentioned Rachel M. Wilson earlier, I should note that her debut YA, Don’t Touch (HarperTeen) comes out this September. Another VCFA classmate, Larissa Theule, makes her debut with Fat and Bones (Carolrhoda) in October. They are both great books that I can’t wait to share with everyone.

Thanks, and happy book birthday!

Thank you!

Diversity & naming your characters, by Yahong Chi

There's a reason why I chose a French class student list for that image up there, and you can guess why by taking a peek at the title of this post. Need a hint? It's the first word.

[Edited 17/08/13]

It has been a common practise for non-Western families to name their children common Western names so as not to ostracize their poor children in school, and to allow them to adopt a presentable name to ease their way into Western society. But more and more, I'm seeing students bearing (both with pride and with resignation) names of their own ethnicity, of their own culture—at least here in Canada. As multiculturalism moves away from being a fad and toward being an unquestioned part of society, names that would previously have made their bearer a bullying victim are now being normalized.

I'm not talking about exotic spellings (how many ways can we think of to spell "Caitlin" "Kaitlyn" "Catelyn" anyways?). I'm talking about names like "Churan". Like "Kalika". Like, hmm, I don't know, like "Yahong".

"Churan" and "Kalika" are actual names of POC (people of colour) kids I am acquainted with, and seeing how I am Chinese, I could list you a dozen Chinese acquaintances who have chosen to keep their original names rather than take the "easy" way out and go for a more "socially acceptable". Why are those words in quotation marks? Because—good news!—now other kinds of names are socially acceptable too, not just Molly or Abigail or Heather or other "white-sounding" names.

But wait! you say. What's wrong with POC kids having commonplace names? And I say: nothing. I am certainly not condemning any parent who chooses to name their kid "Jacob" or "Edward" or "Bella". Rather, what I'm saying is: if you're going to include a POC character at all, make sure you get them right. This includes making decisions on what kind of name to give them, just like you decide on any character's name. (Pro-tip: Do not use "Wang" as a Chinese boy's first name, when it is predominantly—as in, approximately 99% of the time—a last name.)

Writing diversity might be harder than normal, since we all tend to default to white male characters (check out Megan Crewe's great post on defaulting to white male characters). But is that an excuse for avoiding diversity? Well, in the words of Ellen Oh: "Being called a racist is nowhere near as painful as dealing with actual racism." We all can stand to be a little more thoughtful when it comes to diversity. So why not start with the names?

--Yahong

How Real is Realistic Fiction?, by Marissa Burt

When I first entered the world of middle-grade books, THE BABYSITTER’S CLUB series was in its heyday, and I was part of the prime demographic.  Because I was not quite old enough to actually babysit, hanging out with whiny toddlers sounded glamorous whenever Claudia and Stacey were at the helm.

And the girls never seemed as uncertain or mixed up inside as I felt.  Oh, sure, they had their conflicts and moments of oops-why-did-I-like-that-jerk-anyway? revelations, but they faced it all with polish and confidence.  

As a young reader, the stories I devoured were educational, whether they were intended to be or not.  They taught me ways I could respond to certain situations.  Or, if I wanted to be like Stacey and Claudia, ways I ought to respond.  They also gave me an idea of a “normality” that might exist outside of my own experience.  

This unintentional education spills over into what I call the Disney-channel wistfulness, that moment when viewers feel as though their lives should be more like that easy 30-minute sitcom episode, the one where the girl knows exactly how to confront the bully or snag the attention of the cute boy.

well as entertaining.

I think Disney and a lot of contemporary middle-grade books aim for the awkwardness that comes with the transitional years between childhood and adulthood, but they often leave the protagonist with a maturity beyond their years.  

Maybe it was just my own personal brand of preadolescent challenges, but I never had a completely platonic male friend who I could just hang out with one-on-one, the way boys and girls in most middle-grade novels (mine included!) do with such ease. 

Instead, there were always odd undercurrents and insecurities and hormones and why-in-the-world-did-I-say-that? moments with no happy resolution.  I think of my first dance, when the boy I actually liked asked me to dance, and I was stopped cold.  “No thanks,” I said to him and the cluster of boys standing by him for moral support.  “Maybe next time.” 

In a book, the heroine would never flail with unpredictable insecurity.  She would know how to reasonably respond in a mature-beyond-her-years-yet-somehow-age-appropriate way to her crush.  

Or, even if she had blundered, there would actually be a next time, when all would work out well at the next dance.  

Of course, this is part of the reason we choose fiction.  None of us really wants to crack open a book and read what actually happens in someone’s everyday life, right?  But what does it do for young readers to have that false normal or Disney-wistfulness planted right there in their imaginations?

I struggle with this as an author – balancing the tension of perceived reality and fantasy-world.  I think I’m not alone.  L.M. Montgomery, one of our favorites around Project Mayhem, lamented that her heroines were, in my words, too pure, that she wasn’t allowed to have them deal with thoughts and feelings that girls, even in Montgomery’s time, really did.  As someone who lived and breathed Anne growing up, I wonder if it could have helped to know that Anne actually wasted a lot of hours mooning over Gilbert. 

 

What do you think?  Is it possible to create realistic relational dynamics in fiction or will they always be shaped by our wish-fulfillment and desires of how things ought to be?  Are there any middle-grade books that you think deal with realistic relational dynamics particularly well?

Oh, and, Nick, wherever you are, I really am sorry about that dance.