ablogbody

[ablogbody]

Blog Post #5

Fountains of Silence is set in 1950s Spain following the Spanish Civil War. Spain is the under the thumb of dictator Fransico Franco, the streets are prowled by the Gurdia Civil, and you can be killed at the slightest whisper of rebellion. Ana and her family pool every penny in order to stay alive, but Ana is happy working for an lavish American hotel, The Hotel Castellana Hilton. Everything changes for her when an oil-rich American family comes to stay at the hotel, along with their son Daniel. The novel follows Ana and Daniel’s story, as well as the stories of Ana’s family and how they cope and survive in this bleak period. I’ll admit, I haven’t finished reading Fountains of Silence yet, but am thoroughly engrossed with the intrigue and plight surrounding the plot and characters.

To be frank, every single point in Septy’s “Historical Fiction: The Silent Soldier” resonated with me, for a million reasons. One is I’m writing two historical fiction novels currently, which definitely made me read Septy’s essay through a certain lens. I worry every damn day about getting these stories published because they’re historical fiction, and listening to Septy’s struggles and perseverance offers a large dose of inspiration.

As well, her discussion of the importance of Historical fiction and the touching ways it can bring truth and community to people, no matter how different their interpretations, stuck out. I think adolescents do have a general aversion to history, and who wouldn’t when your history teacher speaks like the one from charlie brown and states facts like their reading the ingredients off a lean cuisine. I would be bored off my ass too, even though I love history, to the point where I nearly majored in it. I think fiction stories bring history to life, and almost feel like accounts of historical time and events. Fountains of Silence is fiction, but it doesn’t feel like fiction. This dictatorship in Spain really did happen, folks like Ana and her family really were having to scrape for money, and the fear, poverty, and oppression they faced was real. Hearing their stories is like getting a firsthand, emotional account, and it’s way easier to find empathy and intrigue with that instead of a bland, statistics based lecture.

(I feel very passionate about history, can you tell).

On page 93 of Fountains of Silence, Julia gives Rafa an old torero costume, and Rafa begins to cry, and hell, I almost felt like crying. Something so simple, a costume, held all the hope in the world for Rafa. It’s hard to articulate really what truth this holds for me, but it definitely makes me feel, you know? I could mix together so many cheesy life quotes about it: taking things for granted, it’s the little things, another man’s trash is another man's treasure, etc. All those stereotypical life lessons, but compounded like a diamond into a raw, real, and emotional moment for Rafa.

[ablogbody]

Blog Post #4

When Mary B. Addison was nine, she killed a baby, Alyssa Richardson. Allegedly. Now, at sixteen, Mary wears an ankle monitor, lives in a group home, and is tortured by practically everyone around her. Mary deals with it. She stays silent, out of the way, and never lets them see her cry. Until she finds out she’s pregnant, and everything changes. When her case workers threaten to take her baby away, Mary knows it’s time to change the narrative of what happened the night Alyssa was murdered.

I knew, going into Allegedly, that it wouldn’t exactly be a sunny read. But I can honestly say I wasn’t prepared enough. I was losing more of my faith in humanity with every passing page. As I finished reading I was left questioning what was the message supposed to be? For YAL readers, no less?  I still don’t entirely have an answer. This is not an uplifting story. This is not an inspiring story. Honestly was the message everythings unfair and life sucks?

We spend the whole book with a young girl who was wrongly accused of murder, who had her life taken away, and all she wants is to be free from the injustice, apathy, and disgusting treatment she’s endured, from individuals and the justice system. Then the author is just like, “sike lol.” The story went from a story of justice to a… psychological thriller? And theoretically a book can be both, but I just don’t really think this was the book for that. Personally, I feel like the ending undercuts the rest of the book and the message it tried to get across. Or what I thought the message was. I don’t know, y’all. I just don’t know.

Despite the ending, I think this book does highlight some very deep and real issues. Injustice within the legal system, mistreatment of POC within that system, incompetent adults and parents, and the question of who we can actually trust. Very touchy, deep, and important issues that I think young adults should be aware of. This book reminds me of Orange is the New Black in a lot of ways; the show also explores the injustice within the system (and just like Allegedly, I didn’t like that OitNB ended, but that's another issue). After reading Allegedly, I am left wondering how assholes like Ms. Reba, incompentant people like Winters, or heartless abusive folks in power like Ms. Stein are even allowed in this sort of profession. One that requires effort, care, and time. Why aren’t they screened? Why don’t they get evaluated more? No one should be treated the way the girls in the group home are treated. They might act like adults but they are truly children who need people to care about them.

So all in all, I like that this book highlights these hard to talk about issues, but don’t like the “twist” at the end that undermines all that work.

[ablogbody]

Blog Post #3

“A Conversation with a Massage Therapist” by Francine Cunnigham recounts the narrator’s brief discussion of her indigenous background with her massage therapist. The conversation between the therapist and the narrator is simply written back and forth dialogue. The massage therapist’s words are in italics to differentiate. This simple format reads quickly; like a real conversation would be. The dialogue, as well, is very realistic. I can practically hear the massage therapist's voice. “Oh, well, I guess you’re not a real one then, right?”

The realism of the conversation captured me. This could be, and probably very much was, a real exchange the author had. That a lot of indigenous women have had. Which is kind of heartbreaking to me. This piece, though very short, stuck with me after I was done reading because it just seemed both so real but also so cartoony villain cruel. The last line, when the therapist says, “Okay, turn over, let me get your back,” is frankly a little frightening; that she had no idea how rude she’d just been, how it didn’t affect her at all, how she would forget the conversation entirely after the narrator walked out of the massage room. But that conversation would stick with the indigenous woman forever.

I think “A Conversation with a Massage Therapist,” is a testament to how much casual racism and stereotyping indigenous people have to face daily. They can’t do something as small as get a massage, which is supposed to be relaxing, without having to face it. But the poem represents how Indigneous peoples have the patience and strength to face it, even though they shouldn’t have to, and shows that non-indigenous folks need to think before they speak, before they make assumptions, and to rethink their own biases and stereotyping.

[image] On the right, the conversation between the Massage Therapist and the Narrator. On the left, an illustration by Karlene Harvey. I think the illustration is supposed to represent the very stereotypical images the therapist associates with indigenous peoples, while the Narrator simply grins and bares it. Found on pages 58-59 in #NotYourPrincess: Voices of Native American Women. 

[ablogbody]

Blog Post #2

Sáenz depiction of Ari in Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe was critical to approaching complex things such as sexual orientation and cultural identity, and it comes down to one of Ari’s biggest traits; confusion. Because, at heart, all teenagers are confused. About everything. The relatability comes through this confusion. Though Ari and I are from very different worlds, I know fifteen year-old me would have related to his identity struggle. The confusion about why he felt different, why he didn't have as many friends as everyone else, why he sometimes doesn’t want to talk. All very real perplexities teens have to deal with. Sáenz lets adolescent readers know it’s okay to be confused, and that it’s okay to take time, years even, to find yourself.

I’d say yes, the text is very worthy of the Stonewall Award. Even though the entire narrative isn’t exclusively about Ari’s sexuality, it is about his identity, and realizing his sexuality is kind of like the culmination of a bigger journey. The book doesn’t shy away from the lows queer people sometimes have to face, but it also doesn’t shy away from the amazing highs of it either.

A section that’s stuck with me, the only part of the book that made me tear up, wasn’t Ari’s reunion with Dante, but his reunion with Dante’s parents. Honestly, Ari’s relationship with Dante’s parents was one of my favorite things about the book in general. How heartily they accepted him, even at the beginning when he was quiet and unsure, and when they returned to El Paso and ran to hug him. Oof. Is someone cutting onions? Also, in the next chapter when Sam is admiring Ari’s truck, and Ari tosses him the keys and says, “You can take your girlfriend out for a spin if you want.” Not only did that make me grin, it also just showed how far Ari has come out of his shell, and how he’s grown so comfortable with Dante’s family. Ari is part of the family.

I went into the novel with trepidation, for sure. Partly because I’ve heard nothing but sung praises about the book, but also because contemporary is one of my least favorite genres. For over half of the book, my feelings could be surmised as “this is good, but not my cup of tea,” (I got really scared for a second that Dante was acting as a male counterpart to the “manic pixie dream girl” trope) but the last 100 pages hooked me like a damn fish, and I wolfed those pages down at an alarming speed. I will say I think I would’ve enjoyed it more if I were younger, actually in my teens, which is good considering that's the book demographic.  So, though I can still say this isn’t my cup of tea, maybe it could be my cup of coffee (Ari would probably prefer that.)

[ablogbody]

Blog Post #1

In fifth grade, I received a copy of Twilight as a christmas present, and it changed my life. Literally. It turned me into a reader. A trip to Forks, 300+ books, and over a decade later,  I still love YAL. Even as I’ve begun to branch out in my old age of twenty-one, I still adore YAL and it is the primary field I read in. And it feels very weird to admit that. I’ve always been a little embarrassed by my love of YA books, and it's only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. It probably stems from multiple experiences of plucky ten-year-old me telling people my favorite book was Twilight, and getting laughed at as a response. But even now, I try not to read certain books publicly or around family or even talk about them out of fear of being made fun of. I’ve had people in classes, english classes in particular, make fun of it and dump all over it. Luckily, YAL has a huge online community on sites like Goodreads, or Youtube (coined “Booktube”) without which, I might’ve given up reading YAL out of shame.

While YAL can be a little cheesy, a little cringey, or sometimes downright unreadable, it has a horrible, unearned reputation. The books can have very emotional and mature themes and don’t shy away from being dark, serious, or disturbing. Nor does it shy away from being unapologetically happy, romantic, or hopeful. It also is one of the most diverse fields of literature, and one of the most female driven fields (which, honestly, is probably why it has a bad reputation, but that's a whole other issue.) But it’s hard to explain that to people who just go, “Aren’t those dumb romance vampire books for horny teenagers?” So though I am a little hesitant to tell people that I read YA, I think it’s a vibrant and hugely varied field, with enough creativity, diversity, and emotional weight to pack a punch.

One controversy mentioned in class, and has been widely talked about since YAL became a thing, is the use of tropes, mainly the overuse of tropes. For example, Twilight had a love triangle, so dozens of post-twilight urban fantasy had love triangles. After The Hunger Games, dozens of dystopias involving factions and overthrowing corrupt governments appeared. The market became oversaturated and readers got tired. Sometimes it would reach a point where readers would condemn entire novels for using an overused trope. However, in the article “Stop Calling Popular Tropes in YA Novels ‘overused,’' by Arriel Vinson, Vinson argues from a POC viewpoint. Vinson quotes author L.L McKinney, who states, “Black people have been shut out of publishing for years, and have been shut out of genre fiction for even longer. That we can’t be princesses or be the center of love triangles or experience hate to love or any of the other things in storytelling we’ve seen others partake in just adds insult to injury.” POC people who weren’t given space in bookshelves back during the post Twilight days want their chance to write love triangles, or factioned dystopias; tropes they never got to play with or see themselves in. Vinson goes on to defend tropes by saying they are a good jumping off point for a story, or a way to turn a traditional story on it’s head. As well, tropes are a good way of reaching the young adult market. Vinson quotes Leah Johnson, who says, “The real harm is done to the children who rely on these stories to make sense of the world. Once we begin to tell kids that the narrative that best describes them is overdone, what does that say about the way we’re caring for that child?”

Personally, I could read a million iterations of certain tropes (enemies to lovers comes to mind) and believe tropes are totally subjective to the reader or writer. When I was an early teen, I read dozens (literally) of books that had the “a mysterious hot stranger comes into the protagonist's life and they’re secretly a magical creature” trope, and I loved it every single time, even though it was “overdone.” So, while tropes can be very prominent and popular, condemning them as “overdone” shouldn’t result in writers being unable to explore a trope or that readers shouldn’t enjoy or relate to one.

Link to Article: https://diversebooks.org/stop-calling-popular-tropes-in-ya-novels-overused/