WYRM (hee) is notoriously, delightfully hard to categorize. Kelly proposed “slipstream” as a genre, based on Bruce Sterling’s coinage: “this is a kind of writing which simply makes you feel very strange; the way that living in the twentieth century makes you feel, if you are a person of a certain sensibility.”

I like this term, and want to play with it as a way of thinking about other books. But what was most interesting to me about the session was discussing what’s the point of genre, anyway? And how does it get assigned?

Genre provides a convenient (or inconvenient) framework of expectations. If you started WYRM “knowing” it had science fiction elements (as I did not), you’d read it differently — looking for the trick, and probably figuring it out sooner. I’ve read some books expecting them to unfold in a certain way because the genre conventions were set up as such, and then was disappointed — or pleasantly surprised, depending — when they did not conform.

I think genre is most useful in reader’s advisory. My kids are very savvy about what genres they like and don’t like: “I want realistic fiction.” “I like fantasy.” Once I hear a genre assessment and/or a couple of books they recently enjoyed, I can string together some recommendations. Genres are, says Wittgenstein (?), about “family resemblances.”

The trouble, of course, is that it’s easy for them to get stuck in a genre. That’s what’s so great about the uncategorizables like WYRM: depending on the kid, I can plausibly pitch it as a mystery, science fiction, realistic girl-growing-up, friendship novel… whatever will sell it best. One teacher in the session said that her students skip right over the fantastical parts; what fascinates them is the moral question about stealing bread, and the ordinary mystery of why Sal doesn’t want to hang out with Miranda anymore.

And of course, publishers are pitching the novel however they think it will sell best. Genre is a construction not just of the story itself but of the cover, the press, the marketing techniques, how it’s shelved at the major chains. So given all that, is it meaningful at all?

How do you use genre? Is it meaningful to you (or to your students)? Can you think of a time when consideration of genre affected your reading experience? Can you avoid having a sense of genre before you start a book? Would you prefer to if you could?

I am not a poetry reader, as a general rule. But a few poems in, I was sold on this book. If you’re looking for read-aloud poems for children or adolescents (as we frequently are at my school), I can’t recommend this highly enough. For instance:

Are You Worried?

Are you worried you’re not
like everyone else?
Your worries will only worsen
when you find
that the path to conformity
is different for each person.

Or (read this out loud):

Love

She came round the corner and
all of a sudden
I understood it:

all love is sudden.

I think my favorite poem in the book is the epigraph, which wasn’t written by JonArno at all but which captures the spirit of his book perfectly:

we is marchin’

Nature is a copiously
Hopeful cornucopia
Of protoplasmic organisms
Groping for utopia.

–E. Y. “Yip” Harburg

Also reviewed at: Poetry for Children

I’ll admit, I found her book tiresome. The prose is lovely, I guess, but it was a Woman’s Sexual Awakening and Learning to Free Herself From the Yoke of Her Family While Appreciating Her Roots novel. The woman in question just happened to be in high school rather than 40. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this trope, it just happens to be one that bores me.

And then Martha Brooks herself said something in her talk that crystallized for me why:

“Adults, as well as young adults, often become locked in a loop of private despair.”

I am nothing if not familiar with these loops. “Private despair” characterized most of college, in fact (well, except for the “private” part — ah, the early days of the internet over-share). But in my experience, loops of private despair are boring. In the story of my life, my despairs and how I broke out of them aren’t the interesting bit — what matters is what I did after. I don’t want to read about other people’s any more than I want to relive my own.

Also reviewed at: M/C Reviews, Quill and Quire (whose initial snarking about YA lit leads me to suspect that the reviewer prefers adult lit, and therefore it’s not a surprise that she liked this book better than I did), and 1morechapter.com.

What do you think of Loop of Private Despair novels? Do you find them compelling? Why do you think you do or don’t?

Many people argued that crimes (for a sufficiently loose definition) and rule-breaking are what children’s lit is based on — maybe even all lit. Without a “crime,” what moves the plot along? Where’s the growth?

Discussing his graphic adaptation of The Odyssey: Manners are the things that distinguish good guys from bad in this story: how do you treat strangers? Generosity and hospitality are prized above all; good men don’t even turn away murderers in need. Inhospitality is a misdemeanor in our society and murder, rape, and pillage are serious crimes; in Odysseus’s world, it’s the reverse. — Gareth Hinds

“Kids tend to collect, because kids are essentially powerless, and a collection is something they have control over.” — Kevin Henkes

” ‘Crimes’ push against the skeleton of the world’s structure, until the world breaks apart and is remade.” — the lovely and talented Kristin Cashore.

(This happens in pretty much every YA fantasy or science fiction, certainly. It occurs to me that this might be a distinction between YA and adult fantasy, in fact — the breaking apart and remaking of the world due to the challenging, “criminal” actions of one young person or a small group of young people. It’s a metaphor for the young adult’s own pushing at boundaries, breaking apart their own childhood world and remaking it as an adult, yadda. I can think of a number of YA counter-examples, in which the world stays basically the same. But I haven’t read enough adult fantasy to really draw any conclusions, so I’m just blowing smoke. What do you think?)

Mysteries are unique: you read them skeptically, knowing the author is trying to trick you about the Truth. “But crime fiction is idealistic” — the bad guy always gets caught and punished by good guys who think better. — Avi, who told us at dinner that his real name was Edward. “Avi” was a mispronunciation by a younger sibling that stuck. Who knew?

“When I write about crime… what I am writing about is moral ambiguity. …No one is more involved in moral ambiguity than the child. They are taught morality while living in an immoral world.” — Avi

“We excuse or mitigate characters by saying they had a hard life — might we not mitigate a person’s character by the affluent and spoiled environment in which he grew up, as well?” — Francisco X. Stork, author of Marcelo in the Real World

* Boyfriend E and I broke up. All’s well, really, but it definitely overpowered my will to blog immediately post-conference.

I realized that I’m unfamiliar with the work of a number of people speaking at the conference — mostly because they write for younger kids or children’s poetry or something else outside of my wheelhouse — so I’m going to try to rectify that.

Joey Pigza Swallowed the Key is the first in a series about Joey, a fourth grader trying to get his ADHD* under control. I’ll be the first to admit that out of the world of problems that my students have, ADHD is not one I get. At a fundamental level, my reaction tends to be, “Oh, just chill out already!” In the same way, some of my colleagues don’t get why my favorite nerdy quiet kids can’t have a non-awkward conversation with their classmates. Teachers are people too, and we gravitate towards different types of kids.

But we still have to teach all of them fairly. And like the best fiction, Joey Pigza put me in Joey’s (tied-together, tossed down the hall, spinning in circles) shoes and helped me get for the first time what it’s like to be the kind of kid who can’t sit still. It was written to be entertaining and maybe comforting for kids, but it ended up being bibliotherapy for this teacher, too.

* Presumably, though the diagnosis is never named.

Also reviewed at: MentalHelp.net, Blogcritics, and HomeschoolBuzz.com