Coming-of-Age Novels Discussion Panel Pt. 2: Why are we attracted to these books?

Assuming all the aforementioned components of the coming-of-age novel are in place (the protagonist hits one of life's snags, falls from innocence, indicts the adult world, and dialogues with self to reconcile a shade of gray), we may then ask:

What is it about the form of the coming-of-age novel that attracts, excites and moves us?

According to Megan Whalen Turner (who evidently was the most vocal author on the panel), people like to believe in change, transformation and self-discovery. Many successful coming-of-age novels, she said, end with a general spirit of optimism and the protagonist's successful move from childhood to adulthood. Humans are naturally attracted to hope, she said.

I do not disagree. But this can't be true for every novel in the coming-of-age genre.

Sure, there are many coming-of-age novels that embrace optimism. Melinda from Speak stands up to the guy who raped her. We are left with the sense that she's learned to "speak" up for herself: a successful transition. In Looking for Alaska, Pudge and the Colonel play one last prank in honor of their dead friend and turn in spotless final papers wrought with meaning. Ponyboy does them one better -- he composes an entire novel (The Outsiders) in memory of Johnny. Harry defeats Voldemort. These endings (well, at least the first two) close naturally and beautifully. And for some people, that's how their coming-of-age experience ends.


But I've found that a good number of authors embrace the real instead of the ideal. (At least, if they believe that great art imitates life and not the other way around.) By the end of Huck Finn, even after Jim is released from chains and celebrated as a hero by all the white folk, slavery still exists in America. Huck's father was a terrible father and now he's dead. Tom will only continue to selfishly manipulate Huck.

In the instance of Mockingbird, Boo Radley comes out of the house and saves the Finch children -- but Atticus still lost the trial. Holden Caulfield lands himself a stint in a mental hospital. Esther Greenwood attempts suicide. Humans die. Problems perpetuate. And though the author has embraced the real instead of the ideal, the public still embraces the novel. What gives?

Some ideas:

1) The protagonist's lesson learned, though painful, deeply resonates with our own experience. We gravitate toward the strength of the bond between author, protagonist and reader.

2) We enjoy and value an accurate portrayal of common human experience. Reality can sober and excite, simultaneously. Reality can also give us an understanding of problems in our world. The best of these coming-of-age novels will propel us to find solutions to these problems.

3) The beauty in ugly or unwieldy truths moves us to a posture of compassion, bewilderment, awe, or another powerful emotion. And to feel is to live ... right?

4) We find the sharp, unresolved edges of a realistic novel more comforting than a novel that wraps up cleanly. We don't like to get our hopes up.

(I'm sure some author somewhere has been able to transmit these ideas with succinct profundity, but I have yet to unearth their writing. Please send the name of that author my way, in the event that you know of their writing.)

These four speculative ideas bring me to a final question:

Which type of coming-of-age novel has more staying power, the one that has embraced optimism or the one that remains consistent with reality? Or, is the ideal vs. real argument irrelevant to the success of the novel?

More later...

Images in this post are courtesy of bagelwhore, droo216 and kitsuneii @ deviantart.com. Thank you for beautifying my blog!

Coming-of-Age Novels Discussion Panel Pt. 1: Defining the Term

I was drawn to yesterday's discussion panel on coming-of-age literature at Loganberry Books for several reasons.

One, I read many coming-of-age novels as a teenager. Two books of this genre in particular, Spinelli's Stargirl and Anderson's Speak, played a large role in my mental and emotional formation. Because of this, I feel that I have some stake in and attachment to the genre.

Two, I wanted to understand better the utility of coming-of-age novels in the high school classroom, in the political arena and in society at large.

Three, as a recent graduate of a college Language Arts education program, I wanted to offer some fresh perspective on the types of literature students are receptive to. Also, as an amateur critic of young adult literature, I wanted to collect and offer some thoughts on the direction I believe the genre is taking.

Because I found our discussion both fascinating and valuable, I will share several of the points made here, if for no reason other than to help myself remember what we talked about.

I will break up our discussion into a series of digestible posts. I don't think I possess the mental stamina or the organizational capacity to write it all down logically and at once. Plus, we all know that the amount you write is inversely proportional to the amount of feedback you receive.

So, for the topic of this first post:

What is a concise, accurate definition of a coming-of-age novel?

Those who take the broad approach define this type of novel as "a book in which a character grows dramatically from one 'age' to another." And the word “age” is open to interpretation. This definition is problematic because it allows practically every piece of fiction to pass into this category. Thoughtful authors desire that their protagonists "grow,” glean new life insights and pass from one age to another. A novel void of growth makes for an under-stimulating read.

Megan Whalen Turner, one author on the panel, suggested that some constraint be added to this ambiguous definition. According to Whalen Turner, the primary focus of a coming-of-age novel should be the protagonists' psychological life. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye (to use a classic example) takes place primarily in narrator Holden Caulfield's mind. Throughout the book, it’s Holden Caulfield vs. Holden Caulfield. His reflections are the tool Salinger uses to advance the plot and capture the growth of his character.

Another coming-of-age novel, The Outsiders, does not bear the amount of psychological weight that Catcher does. Yet, much of Hinton's novel is contingent upon Ponyboy's reflections, especially in light of Johnny and Dally's deaths. His internal dialogue allows readers to access the deepest parts of him (and, if I can take this liberty, access to Hinton herself). By this definition, The Outsiders and Catcher in the Rye can be classified as staples in the coming-of-age genre.

If you would like an example of a book that does not make the coming-of-age cut, let's examine Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. These books are primarily focused on the physical (as opposed to internal) journey of protagonist Lyra. Pullman creates a fictitious world toward the end of advancing his theological convictions. While Lyra's growth as a character is an important part of the plot, the plot's advancement is not contingent upon Lyra's inner musings. As an author, Pullman is more concerned with what happens during Lyra's journey and less concerned with how she cognitively processes these events. By Whalen Turner's definition, this novel should not be a part of the coming-of-age genre.

I agree with this definition, but realize that it too is limited. There are many other ways this genre could be defined. One audience member and retired teacher who spent 30 years teaching middle school said readers and critics ought to make a distinction between the YA Problem Novel (where a young teenager encounters a problem -- small breasts, incorrigible parents, excommunication by those at the top of the high school hierarchy -- and solves it) and a coming-of-age novel. In a coming-of-age novel, a protagonist should do more than experiment with sex and substance and solve their problem. Instead, the protagonist should unearth something deep within themselves. They should confront a shade of grey. They shed their false consciousness and show evidence of maturity.

Another man in attendance said that, in a coming-of-age novel, the protagonist should do more than project judgment onto the adult world. The protagonist should realize that he or she too will one day make the transition into the adult world and find a way to successfully rectify the cognitive dissonance that comes with that realization.

The professor who moderated the panel (I did not catch his name) likened the coming-of-age novel to the bildungsroman and kunstlerroman. Fewer novels belong to this group than the coming-of-age genre because these novels require a rigid adherence to their traditionally formulaic plot structure -- and the modern 20th century writer does not like to be so hindered. The professor shared that bildungsroman was conceived in the 12th century and grew wildly popular during the 1800s. He then posed this question, "Why are we, as humans, drawn to this type of literature? Why do we desire to hear these stories told?” I guess I will begin my next post by addressing this question.

Your thoughts as to what makes a coming-of-age novel a coming-of-age novel are welcome and -- even -- desired.