Do kids books have to be about kids? by Joanna Roddy

All hail Flavia!

Flavia de Luce, that is. I just discovered Alan Bradley's delightful mystery series with Flavia de Luce as the 11-year-old chemistry obsessed sleuth. She's equal turns precocious, mischievous, cheeky, brilliant, and spirited:

"I was me. I was Flavia. And I loved myself, even if no one else did. 'All hail Flavia! Flavia forever!' I shouted as Gladys [her bicycle] and I sped through the Mulford Gates, at top speed…"

I adore this character. And I'm mesmerized by Bradley's skill at creating a completely believable 11-year-old as the first-person narrator and protagonist of an adult mystery novel.

The advent of child protagonists in adult fiction has become rather standard lately, I realize. THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES, THE KITE RUNNER, THE GOLDFINCH, LIFE OF PI, THE LOVELY BONES, to name a few. Yet, the idea of it fascinates me, especially with first-person narration. If it's all told from the child's perspective, one could argue, isn't it a children's story? If the protag is well-realized, then the story belongs to a child, fictional though he or she may be. Seems to me the publishing industry classifies novels as "adult" based on vocabulary and mature content, which is understandable, but it can sometimes seem arbitrary.

Consider the fact that Bradley's first Flavia novel, THE SWEETNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PIE, won an armful of trophies for adult fiction, including the Agatha and Macavity, but also found itself on several lists of Best Young Adult Fiction. It was nominated for the Young Reader's Choice Awards and for the Alex Award, which honors "books written for adults that have special appeal to young adults ages 12 through 18."

In addition to the broad appeal of adult books with young protagonist, adults read plenty of straightforward children's fiction too. Just think of many widely read literary classics intended for a children's audience, albeit upper-level readers: A TREE GROWS IN BROOKLYN, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, LORD OF THE FLIES, LITTLE WOMEN, MY NAME IS ASHER LEV. And then there are commercially popular MG/YA books: THE HUNGER GAMES, THE GIVER, ENDER'S GAME, HARRY POTTER and the endless argument about the rise of adult YA readers. (You might recall this controversial article.)

This leads me to wonder: Does it go both ways? Are there books for children with adult protagonists? Are children's writers afforded the same creative license by traditional publishing and readers? And let me be clear: I'm talking strictly about protagonists, the primary character perspective of a novel. Of course there are many sympathetic adult characters throughout children's literature, or adult characters who have select chapters written from their perspective. But are there any books with an adult for the primary protagonist?

I can think of a few titles from earlier eras with adult protags: ROBINSON CRUSOE, 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA, THE THREE MUSKETEERS, etc., though I do wonder how many young people these days actually read these novels. And there are young reader classics with quirky adult protagonists, like MRS. PIGGLE WIGGLE, MR. POPPERS PENGUINS, and MARY POPPINS, though none are told from the first person. But I'm hard-pressed to think of recent examples. It seems that the industry thinks if a book is for a child, the protagonist's age should match the reader's. Hence the 14-year-old protag dilemma.Diana Wynne Jones says, "…they [children's protagonists] usually have to be strong, dynamic characters…people that children will follow willingly into the action. For this reason, it was thought at one time that the main characters always had to be children. This turns out not to be true…as long as someone in the story is likable, understandable or a lovable rogue..."“At one time,” eh? I’m not sure that the era of requiring child main characters for children’s books has past.Jones does capture the essence that would be necessary for an adult protagonist: "a lovable rogue," an outsider, someone who doesn’t understand or at least doesn’t follow the unspoken grown-up rules that are often inscrutable to children.

A major exception to the "no adults allowed" rule can be found in animal and fantasy literature. Consider the REDWALL series, where ages aren't mentioned, but the woodland creature protagonists are warriors, monastic apprentices, and in other adult roles. And in THE HOBBIT, which Tolkien wrote for his children as a precurser the more adult LOTR series, Bilbo is an adult, but he’s also something of an ingénue so that he's able to enter the adventure in much the same way the reader does, discovering a new frontier.

But all told, adult protags are hard to find in children’s lit. Perhaps it's easier for an adult to envision themselves young again, granted the freedom to return to the complexities of growing up with the wisdom and experience of adulthood than it is for a child to understand an adult world from an adult perspective. 

Whether or not we're allowed adult protagonists, it's clear that children's books do as much heavy-lifting in the serious subjects department as an adult book can. Children's books often tackle difficult issues in a uniquely insightful way. I'm fond of what Madeleine L'Engle once said about her work: "You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children."

The notion that the reader's age should roughly match the main character's seems narrow to me. A sixteen-year-old can lead a middle-grade adventure and the eleven-year-old reader isn't going to have a problem with it if the story is good, the character rings true, and the subject-matter appeals. Precocious kids read a wider range than their own market demographic anyway. To let the right character with the right skill-set arise organically to meet the challenges of a middle-grade, or young adult, or adult fiction story, regardless of that character's age seems to me to be the logical path. (Flavia, QED.) Adult fiction seems to accept that. Why pigeon-hole kids lit?

"Horcruxes" by Mary GrandPre

Shouldn't we get to know and learn from across generations? Perhaps these false dichotomies and boundaries between ages are why so many of us reach adulthood and are surprised to discover that we're fundamentally the same person as our childhood selves, just with more responsibilities and experiences. Just as adult readers enjoy the chance to live vicariously through a child’s discovery and freedom, so children need proxies in the grown-up world, guides into adventure and discovery in places inaccessible to them. I would be interested to see what would be created if the unspoken "kids POV for kids lit" rule wasn't there.

Have you seen any adult protagonists in kids lit lately? Do you think there ought to be? Leave a comment and join the conversation!

Whose Story Is It Anyway? Keeping The Kids In The Spotlight

           

            Middle-grade readers, whether they realize it or not, approach their books, their stories, like a 1920’s speakeasy.

           

            Knock, knock.

            A small panel slides open at the four-foot level.

            “What’s the password?”

            “Wedgie underwear fart soda skateboard.”

            The door swings open and the middle-grade reader is ushered inside.

            “Were you followed?”

            “No. No, I don’t think so.”

            “No adults?”

            “I didn’t see any…”

             

            Children read fiction to escape both from the perceived doldrums of their everyday lives and from the shackles of parent and teacher restraint. The last thing they want interfering in their fictional escape is the intrusion of another gatekeeper, at least not in the sense of anyone in anyway driving the story.

            Gasp, why I never…

            It’s true. My 10-year-old is already negotiating ages for certain video game and movie privileges. We’re currently scheduling tentative talks for five years from now. He can’t wait to be an adult so that he can make his own decisions.

            Children don’t like to be told what to do in real life and certainly not in their fiction. Children want to read about other children in the role of the protagonist, as the hero. In this sense they can both relate, and inject themselves into the story.

            Roald Dahl said that children were “engaged in a battle with a world of adults who were constantly telling them what to do.”

            In other words, the middle-grade writer is best served by removing adults from the story as much as possible or, at the very least, removing them from any possible beneficial role. But that’s not realistic…what business does a bunch of fourth or fifth graders have running around town fighting mutant zombie robot clowns without parental supervision? It’s fiction. It’s a story. Mutant zombie robot clowns.

            And while yes, we need adults in the story, particularly in the role of antagonist, foil, or secondary, supporting character (and Dahl did some fabulously hysterical satires of adults, a post I intend to pursue later), we have an obligation to make sure they do not try and steer the ship. This is not their story. This is the middle-grade protagonist’s story.

           

So, who is the biggest culprit? The biggest threat to taking over the story? Parents. Parents get in the way and muddle everything up. Parents want to be all, “Oh, look at me, I’m rational and logical and I know how to stop these mutant zombie robot clowns.”

            Dude, no you don’t. First of all, you don’t even believe the kids. Second of all, you refuse to let them smear themselves in butter (something mutant zombie robot clowns are allergic to) because it will drip on the carpet and smear on the walls. And third of all, your answer is not to sneak into their secret lair and destroy the gummy brain, but to call the police. Problem solved, right? NO! The police chief is their leader. Thanks, Dad. Your logical, responsible approach just doomed us all to robot zombie servitude. Let the kids handle this…

            So, what do we do with the parents? Remove them from the picture, either through deadly or creative means.

            This is nothing new. Perhaps the trick now is not in their actual removal, but how creatively and/or quickly you can do it. Clear the stage for the middle-grade protagonist(s).

            In The Witches, Roald Dahl wastes no time in removing the parents. He strikes them from the story in the first chapter (page 13 to be exact).

            “…while my father and mother and I were driving in icy weather just north of Oslo, that our car skidded off the road and went tumbling down into a rocky ravine. My parents were killed.”

            In James and the Giant Peach, Dahl tells us that James is orphaned after an errant, and angry, rhinoceros gobbles his parents up. Ok, that’s creative…

            In Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, the Baudelaire children are orphaned on page eight:

            “Your parents … have perished in a terrible fire.”

             And as if that were not clear enough, Mr. Poe continues:

            “They perished,” Mr. Poe said, “in a fire that destroyed the entire house. I’m very, very sorry to tell you this, my dears.”

            To make it painfully clear, and to remove any doubt that the Baudelaire children are indeed on their own, Snicket writes:

            “Perished,” Mr. Poe said, “means killed.”

            Not only does this put the orphans on the road to being the heroes of their own adventure, but it also creates the wonderfully awful antagonist, Count Olaf.

            And if car accidents and fires were not enough, Neil Gaiman, in The Graveyard Book, sets hand to purpose with the first line:

            “There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.”

            On page five, we read, “The knife had done almost everything it was brought to that house to do, and both the blade and the handle were wet.”

            Bod’s parents are gone and he finds himself the focus of the story. If a Newbery Award-winning author says it’s ok to kill off the parents, it certainly is worth considering this practice as allowable, acceptable even.

            Ultimately, whether you choose to subject your fictional parents to auto accident, errant rhino, fire, knife, or other method of removal from the immediate picture, one things is certain: adults must not stand in the way of the child protagonist, nor be allowed to solve their problems.

            Now go write those middle-grade stories. Give your protagonists the stage without being stepped on by adults.

            Otherwise we’re just mutant zombie robot clown bait.