Where is the light?
Yesterday, I gave my first "featured author" speech at the NH Library Association's first conference just for young adult librarians! It was a very special day. My mom and sister, both librarians, were in the audience. I shared my journey to publication, specifically tying in how one particular book followed me pretty much every step of the way. And since it's Banned Books Week, I thought I'd share part of that story here.
When I was in graduate school, a classmate and I had to present The Chocolate War through a Marxist Lens. (No, I have no recollection of what that really means. I admit it.) But I was thrilled to get the assignment because as a teen, this was the book that turned me into a reader. This was the book that helped me survive high school.
So, you can imagine how shocked I was when several students complained that the book was too dark. Too depressing. Too hopeless. "Show me one place in that text where there is any hope" one person demanded. "Where is the light?"
I remember standing at the front of the room and looking back at them in amazement. In my mind, the very nature of the book—the very fact that it dared to exist—meant that it shed light.
Later, on a children's literature list serve, the same discussion started up. I tried, unsuccessfully, to defend the book again. "There is no hope in that book" was the general sentiment. And even though I knew there was, I struggled to explain. And failed.
Years have passed. Looking back at my path to here and now, I think about how that one book helped guide me year after year. How its one question, "Do I dare disturb the universe?" helped influence the choices I made, and the risks I took. How it helped a shy, scared teen, young woman—and even adult—be brave.
And I think about the person who demanded that I show her where the light is in The Chocolate War all those years ago. I think about the people who dismissed the book—and lots of other books, too—because they were "hopeless." I wish I could find them now, because I finally know how to answer.
I would say:
"Look at me."
I am the light and the hope in that book.
Every kid who reads that book and feels less alone and more open minded because of it, is the light in that book.
Authors of so-called "dark" books are attempting to shine light on the darkness, not throw a curtain over it. Censorship does that.
One way a child can find his or her way out of the darkness is through a book. But only if that book is on the shelf. Only if a librarian is brave enough to put it there. Only if a librarian is thoughtful enough to recommend it. Only if a librarian cares enough to put it in that child's hand.
I am very proud to have been able to stand in front of that wonderful group of NH librarians yesterday and know that each one of them is that librarian.
Each one of them, in their unique way, dares to disturb the universe every day. And I am very grateful.
When I was in graduate school, a classmate and I had to present The Chocolate War through a Marxist Lens. (No, I have no recollection of what that really means. I admit it.) But I was thrilled to get the assignment because as a teen, this was the book that turned me into a reader. This was the book that helped me survive high school.
So, you can imagine how shocked I was when several students complained that the book was too dark. Too depressing. Too hopeless. "Show me one place in that text where there is any hope" one person demanded. "Where is the light?"
I remember standing at the front of the room and looking back at them in amazement. In my mind, the very nature of the book—the very fact that it dared to exist—meant that it shed light.
Later, on a children's literature list serve, the same discussion started up. I tried, unsuccessfully, to defend the book again. "There is no hope in that book" was the general sentiment. And even though I knew there was, I struggled to explain. And failed.
Years have passed. Looking back at my path to here and now, I think about how that one book helped guide me year after year. How its one question, "Do I dare disturb the universe?" helped influence the choices I made, and the risks I took. How it helped a shy, scared teen, young woman—and even adult—be brave.
And I think about the person who demanded that I show her where the light is in The Chocolate War all those years ago. I think about the people who dismissed the book—and lots of other books, too—because they were "hopeless." I wish I could find them now, because I finally know how to answer.
I would say:
"Look at me."
I am the light and the hope in that book.
Every kid who reads that book and feels less alone and more open minded because of it, is the light in that book.
Authors of so-called "dark" books are attempting to shine light on the darkness, not throw a curtain over it. Censorship does that.
One way a child can find his or her way out of the darkness is through a book. But only if that book is on the shelf. Only if a librarian is brave enough to put it there. Only if a librarian is thoughtful enough to recommend it. Only if a librarian cares enough to put it in that child's hand.
I am very proud to have been able to stand in front of that wonderful group of NH librarians yesterday and know that each one of them is that librarian.
Each one of them, in their unique way, dares to disturb the universe every day. And I am very grateful.
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