I am not Sally Fields
Hooray! book of a thousand days got the CYBILS award for YA fantasy. I see that Sarah Miller nominated it. See, didn't I suspect all along that she was cool?
And now, just because, let me quote the first paragraph of a New York Times article by DAVE ITZKOFF, their speculative fiction reviewer, from February 3, 2008. (bolds are mine, in case you don't want to wade through the whole rambling paragraph.)
"As someone whose subway rides tend to resemble scenes from an “Evil Dead” movie, in which I am Bruce Campbell dodging zombies who have had all traces of their humanity sucked out of them by a sinister book — not the “Necronomicon,” but “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” — I sometimes wonder how any self-respecting author of speculative fiction can find fulfillment in writing novels for young readers. I suppose J. K. Rowling could give me 1.12 billion reasons in favor of it: get your formula just right and you can enjoy worldwide sales, film and television options, vibrating-toy-broom licensing fees, Chinese-language bootlegs of your work, a kind of limited immortality (L. Frank Baum who?) and — finally — genuine grown-up readers. But where’s the artistic satisfaction? Where’s the dignity?"
Seriously? I mean...seriously? I almost can't believe this guy is for real. He must just be speaking outrageously to garner attention--his attitude is so Victorian, so narrow-minded to the point of melodrama. But I have met this attitude so many times--the goal for any real, self-respecting writer must be to have "grown-up readers." Writing for children is less than. It's so weird. And I really hope this guy isn't a father, because if this is what he thinks about children's books, then what does he think about children? And teens? Are they lesser beings? Uninteresting? Unworthy of serious consideration? Are their problems and concerns and interests of no value? Is their taste vulgar? Are they a waste of space, just sub-humans whose only purpose is to grow up into adults, and be quick about it please? I mean...seriously?
Even weirder to me (or perhaps more understandable) is that he is a speculative fiction reviewer (science fiction and fantasy). I find that an interesting point--I've had this attitude before from those who write for and work in the adult side of fantasy, comic books, horror, chick lit, romance--all genres that have been ghettoized by the mainstream and literary fiction folk. In one way I'd expect the genre people to understand us, to be more conscious of the follies of trying to sub-humanize any other genre. I'd expect them to be slower to condemn, having been in the same boat since forever. But then again, maybe that's the root of why they lash out. It's a classic bully response--people have picked on me, so I'm going to pick on you.
No, I can't try to understand. It's the writer in me, trying to figure out the character behind the action in order to understand and not condemn. I can't pretend to understand, but I just think it's a shame.
But I don't lash out. No, I'm much too mature and grown-up to go post nasty comments on the article or make up clever insults that rhyme with the writer's last name (I didn't come up with any really good ones anyway). No, all I do, apparently, is blog about it. Ah the power of blogging! As I center myself, I remember the essence of what Linda Sue Park (I'm so happy she's on our team!) told me--we're part of a secret club. We know how awesome it is to be in children's books. We know how lucky we are to have young readers. We know how completely cool and fantastic those readers are, how universal and essential the stories are. Let the misguided fools miss the point while we party in the best field there is. Let those others wander around looking up, clinging to that awesome dignity of theirs, unaware of the fiesta going on right under their noses. No loss. That leaves more chips and salsa for us.