Why reading young adult literature keeps me sane, and in love…
What would you say to the younger-you?
A short time ago, I was talking to an intelligent and creative group of Gen Ys, all in their late teens and early twenties. We were out celebrating at a club (yes, I know, at my age!) and they were surprised to see my husband and I dancing together, so obviously ‘in love’. They were relieved too. They said they didn’t have too many real-life role-models of lasting love to aspire to and they wanted to know our secret. I didn’t have an answer for them – I’d left my thinking-cap at home in case it fell off whilst consuming vast quantities of champagne. As far as I was concerned the only difference between ‘them’ and ‘us’ was that my husband and I had more life experience than them. Our knowledge levels were probably about the same, seeing as brains can only hold so much information before they begin to forget stuff (mine does anyway), so experience was surely the only differing factor?
Blank faces and silence told me that my Gen Y buddies were disappointed with my answer and, since then, I’ve been wondering whether I was being just a little blasé (probably the champagne talking). Surely there is more to, er, maturing than a collection of experiences?
Coincidentally, I recently re-started reading teen / young adult (or ‘YA’) literature for the first time since I was, well, a teen. Here are some of the novels I’ve been reading, which I can recommend if you haven’t re-started reading YA literature yet yourself:
- “Divergent” by Veronica Roth
- “Worldshaker” by Richard Harland (and I started reading its sequel “Liberator” last week)
- “Twilight / New Moon / Eclipse / Breaking Dawn” all by Stephanie Meyer
Whilst reading these novels, and others like them, it occurred to me how wrong I was to even think that experience was the only difference between me and, ahem, younger generations. On the surface, I don’t feel as though I’ve changed much since I was a teenager (laughter lines aside). To the endless annoyance of some, I’ve always been a confident glass-half-full kind of person, and I still am (except on days when I get rejections or don’t win my favourite writing competitions!). I still love movies and books and writing. I still love the beach and chocolate and wine.
Age creeps up on us *cringe*.
But, in reading about young people, and thereby reminding myself what it was like at their age, I have come to realise the many ways in which I am different now. I still care about my appearance and its inherent flaws, but I’m not as obsessed with them as I was when I was younger (probably something to do with the physical degradation that follows having two kids!). My eyes are now open to the evils of the real world, not just those portrayed on TV, so I know just how much I’d sacrifice to maintain my freedom, and how much I’d never again sacrifice for love (girls, girls, girls – you won’t end up alone, really you won’t). I don’t wallow or waste time analysing life as much as I used to, I just get on with things. I know who I am, and what I’m not.
"Must find more time, must find more time."
But perhaps the most important difference between the young-me and the now-me is that my priorities have evolved. When I was younger, my focus was on deciding how to handle a world that I was only just getting to know – much like the protagonists of the books I’ve been reading. But as I matured (ie. got old), I learnt how to handle the world, realised what I wanted to do with my life, and discovered that my only real challenge was time. My main priority now is time management and stretching out the days and weeks so I can fit everything in that I want to do. It’s frustrating but, unlike others in my and older generations, I don’t feel the need to take that frustration out on the ‘young people of today’. After all, I was once a young person.
Instead, I agree with Kate Gordon (author of “Thyla”, which I purchased last week too!), who said in her recent Random House blog “Y do they get such a bad rap?”:
“I have always been a bit perplexed by all the reports in the media about the “disaffected, superficial, impatient, entitled, shallow and ignorant” generation set to inherit the world.”
Are they really so different to how we were at their age?
Reading about poor old Gen Ys in the press, I too am often bemused by complaints lodged at Gen Ys. You see, my father belongs to the ‘Greatest’ or ‘G I’ Generation (he’s 85) and I still have to listen to him bemoan about Baby Boomers and Gen X. Doesn’t the press realise that the bemoaning of generations is generational in itself? If we’re going to get annoyed with ‘young people’, we may as well get annoyed with our own younger-selves. We were all young once. My solution to this gaping generational gap? Read YA literature! The more people who read YA literature, the more people will remember how they felt when they were teenagers, the more they’ll realise how far they’ve come in their own lives, and the more easily they’ll be able to recognise the same journeys being undertaken by Gen Ys. They’re on their way. Don’t you think we ought to wait for them patiently?
Love was once raw and desperate for us too!
Also, and here’s the real answer I should have given to my Gen Y buddies that night a short time ago, reading YA literature reminds you how to love. Unlike a newer relationship, I’m not insecure in my relationship with my hubbie (mainly because I know he’s lucky to have me – look, there’s that annoying confidence I told you about) and I don’t pine after him night after night like a desperate teenager (mainly because he’s right here with me). But, when I’m not rushing around trying to organise enough time for all my projects, it’s good to be reminded of the times when I did worry and I did pine. Love felt more raw back then, when I was unsure of everything. I still feel as much love for my husband as I did before I was so busy (in some ways more), but the rawness does sometimes get lost in my schedule. But reading and re-living that edgy uncertainty felt by the protagonists of my favourite YA novels as they strive to forge relationships, not only helps me to realise how in love we still are, but also how far we’ve come together – and that’s the key! Respecting the distance you’ve traveled, remembering the past together, but appreciating the improvements that come with *cringe* age.
I hope that’s a better answer to the question I faced that night out not so long ago. I’ve certainly answered it more thoroughly for myself.
