There’s a not-so-secret society of adults who actively (and sometimes exclusively) read YA fiction, as if it’s a fattening indulgence that cannot be denied. But I think – and this could be the little Tinkerbell in me praying for us all to never grow old – certain children’s and young adult fiction should be required re-reading after your Nth birthday. Your perspective will completely change. Trust me.
Remember back in high school, when the angsty kids were reading The Catcher in the Rye and calling themselves by names they believed to be clever versions of Holden Caulfield? That didn’t happen in your school? Well, in mine, these kids were intellectual snobs, who thought they got “it.” Maybe you were one of them. I befriended a few. But I didn’t get “it.”
Revisit Salinger’s work after you’ve had your quarter-life crisis, and suddenly, your teenage drama feels like it played out in some Marvel multiverse where you remained forever seventeen and nothing was as important as other people’s opinions of you. When you can reflect on your adolescence without self-pity or undeserved veneration, you may be closer to discovering your true self in the words that spoke to you as a child.
. . . .
My childhood bookshelf is filled with intelligent heroines, emotional heroes, clever, cunning, and temperamental kids who taught me how to empathize with others and become authentic with myself. Sure, there were plenty of books about cliques and the popular crowd, too. But my nourishment came from Virginia Hamilton, Paula Danziger, Mildred D. Taylor, and Beverly Cleary. My childhood bookshelf is daring and diverse. It’s not hindered by racism, sexism, or any other -ism that clouds my judgment as an adult. My childhood bookshelf isn’t worried about what’s popular or what Oprah recommends, or who read it first. It is strictly about what spoke to me, unadulterated.
So I issue you this challenge. Re-read your favorite (and maybe some of your most loathed) childhood and young adult books now.
Link to the rest at BookRiot