Beyond belief

Yesterday, while the YA lit world was providing a second day of excellent responses to the Wall Street Journal's clueless rant against our work, I got up a little after 4:00 AM, cursed the darkness (we were out of candles), inserted a coffee IV into my arm (we were out of instant), and drove 100 miles or so to a high school in south Jersey (we were out of teleporters). I had been invited to be a judge for the senior project. The project, inspired by NPR's This I Believe has each students talk about a core belief. They speak for three minutes, and then answer questions. Seventeen times that day, my heart and soul were shredded, ripped, mended, elated, and bolstered by what these young people talked about. I heard stories that make the typical YA problem novel seem like a joy ride. But every one of these young speakers had found a belief that helped him or her cope. Every one was bound for college, heading into the next phase of their lives with career goals and dreams. Out of respect for their privacy, I won't share any potentially identifying details. But one young lady talked about learning, during the worst day of her life, that there were others far worse off. She took no joy in their suffering, but she took solace in knowing that things could be worse. During our question period, I asked her if she preferred happy or sad movies. She admitted liking both but preferring the sad ones. I had a feeling she'd make the same choice in books. This is just one peek into one aspect of the value of dark works. I wish I'd had time to chat with each student about favorite books. But I wasn't there to build a case for my fellow YA authors. I was there to give these young adults someone to speak to. I was there to be their audience. I can't wait to go back there next year.