I’ve always liked the story of Peter Pan. I loved being a child; I loved living in a world filled with wonder and mystery, a world where my imagination invigorated everything I encountered with life. I empathized with Peter Pan’s refusal to join the stodgy, gray world of adults. I had adults tell me (not in so many words) that growing up meant abandoning the things that I loved best about childhood and embracing the jaded cynicism of adulthood. I had a few mentors that made growing up less frightening, people who had all the life and wonder of a child despite being old and gray. Now as an adult, I often think of what C.S. Lewis said, “When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.” Certainly we should lose the ignorance and selfishness of childhood as we age, but I think the creativity, wonder, and joy of being a child are virtues that we should carry throughout our lives.
The writing community is plagued by labels of all kinds, but the age labels of “adult, young adult, and children’s book" are particularly difficult. Much ink has been spilt attacking and defending books intended for different age groups. In particular, I’ve noticed that the definition of “adult” is heading in a concerning direction. One would think that the only prerequisite for having an “adult” book would be having characters who are adults, or characters with which adult readers can most readily identify. Now it seems that “adult” is not only reflective of the life stage of the characters, but has become more akin to a movie rating. What now separates “adult" fiction from “young adult” fiction is the amount of cursing, graphic sex, violence, gore, and rape. In our modern world, these elements are appreciated as realism. Mature themes are those which revolve around those dark elements; everything else is thought to be sugar coated and fit for children. In my mind, much of this obsession with dark realism as the basis of adult themes is born out of the desire to appear grown up.
By labeling a very narrow range of books as “adult”, I worry that we are providing a narrow and dangerous definition of what it means to be an adult. It seems that the industry is saying that adults must be cynical, that their world should be devoid of optimism and whimsy, and that they should not only be aware of the horrors of the real world, but take delight in their machinations. In the same way, I worry that our labels are too limiting on young adults and children. Why does every young adult book need a love triangle? Why can children’s books not acknowledge the reality of the world? I know that I’m painting with a broad brush, but it seems as if many writers are intentionally writing books to fit into the formulaic structure that the publishing industry has created.
I want to read books about optimistic, idealistic adults making the world a better place. I want to read books that feature teenagers who wrestle with complex moral and philosophical issues, and I want to read children’s books that confront evil in the world. I realize that age labels were created and are perpetuated by the publishing industry, and that many within the writing community would be more than happy to see them go, but it is tempting to adapt our stories to fit within the construct that the publishers have created. I would like to see people writing books that publishers struggle to put in a neat little box because life does not fit into discrete categories. Life does not wait for us to be mature before showing us evil in the world, nor does age always bring wisdom and maturity. As an adult, I crave wonder and whimsy perhaps even more than when I was a child. A child is as human as an adult, and many of us will even admit that we don’t feel that our personhood has substantially changed since childhood. I acknowledge the usefulness of age categories of marketing purposes, but let’s not let those categories define us or our work.