YA or STFU

Barnes, Derrick (2006). The Making of Dr. Truelove. NY: Simon Pulse. 240 pages.

This book starts off hott! In the first scene, sixteen-year-old Diego Montgomery is getting ready to have sex with his girlfriend Roxy. Both are stripped down to their undies and Diego's already busted one nut. Just as they're about to do the deed, Diego loses it in his pants and is humiliated. In spite of Roxy's assurances, Diego is embarrassed that he couldn't perform (or, AHEM, that he performed too soon), and stops taking her calls. When he finds out that Roxy is being pursued by a local high school basketball star headed for the NBA, Diego and his best friend J. concoct a plan to get Roxy back. Assuming the nom de plume "Dr. Truelove," Diego authors sex and love advice on an eponymous website. J.--a wealthy (and horny) pot-smoking hustler--promotes the site and soon the two boys are secret stars.

A number of plots kind of battle for attention in this novel: the first involves Diego and J.'s creation and promotion of the Dr. Truelove site, the second details Diego's struggle to win Roxy back. While both of these arcs are meant to play off of each other, more often than not they seemed like parallel stories. In the end, it's not really the Truelove site that works its magic on the would-be lovers, instead, it's like the fictional site becomes a sort of a comedic mouthpiece for the author and all the real action happens outside the web.

While some might argue that a popular novel with Black characters and some racy dialogue would automatically make it a piece of "urban" or "street" fiction, I think this novel (which meets all of the above criteria) is more of a sort of feminine romance than a piece of street writing. Folks who read the first chapter will definitely be mislead; the book doesn't get any sexier after that first incident. Which brings me to my primary critique: the novel starts off hot (and in a style reminiscent of street lit), but then it kind of turns into what School Library Journal called a Cyrano-like story with an emphasis on romance and relationship rather than physical intimacy. Oddly, the novel even seems to contradict itself when Diego hears that his romantic rival is planning on "hitting" Roxy and this news sends him into a moral tailspin. For all its promise of frankness (the intro. chapter, the promise of unedited Dr. Truelove advice), the novel ends up taking a kind of surprising platonic turn by its end.

Posted by Amy P. at 04:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wallington, Aury (2006). Pop. NY: Razorbill. 288 pages.

I found this slightly older title when I was looking around for "sexy" YA fiction and prepping for an upcoming talk about the same topic. Though it was recommended as a sensual read in at least one professional (library science) article, I was disappointed that it didn't go farther with description. That said, it wasn't a bad book, and it moved quickly and in slightly unexpected directions.

High school senior Marit has had a number of boyfriends; however, when things start to get serious, she tends to freak and break up with the guys. Her best friends Caroline and Jamie suggest that Marit has a problem with intimacy and advise her to get over it by just having sex already. When Marit's sister suggests that what the virgin needs is a "friend with benefits" to "break her in," Marit decides that Jamie is the perfect choice. Although he is hesitant at first, Jamie finally agrees to have sex with Marit, and the two practice doing the deed. At first, the experience is not totally satisfying; Marit doesn't ever have an orgasm and Jamie has some staying trouble. Finally, after confessing her lack of satisfaction to Jamie, Marit finally comes. Meanwhile, Marit's starting to crush on a new guy at school and she begins to worry that Jamie is developing feelings for her.

As far as pro-sex feminism goes, this book has got it. Kind of. Sure, there's a knowing older sister who gives Marit tacit approval to masturbate (and even provides an instructional text) and supplies her younger sister with condoms and sexy music, plus, there's a pregnant girl at school who serves as a cautionary symbol. In all, the book grants its main character an uncommon (in most YA lit, anyway) agency as far as taking control of her sexual experience, safety, and pleasure go.

That said, Marit's excuse for seeking out sexual experience rings kind of false: her primary goals for her senior year involve getting a boyfriend and going to prom. Because getting over the whole fear of intimacy thing is part of making her wishes come true, the sex becomes sort of this burden to shed. And yes, I know that virginity is often perceived as a burden and, God knows, you got to get a lot of "practice" in before you're having the mind-blowing sex of the Cosmo variety. But, at the same time, it seems like the book's emphasis on intercourse is sort of at cross-purposes with its supposedly liberating message. You probably know what I'm going to say next: I wish the book had been more explicit and more varied in its definition of sexual practice. Where is the frottage? Whither oral sex?

Ok, I know that a YA book review is not supposed to be a polemic; however, when it comes to supposedly "sexy" YA fiction, I really feel like there's a huge discrepancy between its assessment, its content, and its presumed intent. I'll just stay here in my corner, waiting for the next Forever.

Posted by Amy P. at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Levithan, David (2008). How They Met, and other stories. NY: Knopf. 256 pages.

Oh, David Levithan, I find it so hard to stomach your writing. I think you might be too much of a romantic for cynical old me. Yes, I know, I devoted an entire scholarly essay to the discussion of the importance of your novel, Boy Meets Boy (coming soon, Spring, 2008, from Children's Literature Association Quarterly), and I agree that that novel was and is an important novel; however, I can't stand your cheesy prose. Take it down a notch, and we'll talk.

At any rate, fans of Levithan--and of BMB in particular--will welcome this collection of short stories, each of which is devoted to how various teen couples (boy/boy, girl/girl, boy/girl) met. The beginning of romance is always a hopeful topic and even I found my cold heart melting a bit with the first story, the tale of a six-year-old fix-up artist. I won't argue that the appearance of stories of this type--namely GLBTQ romance told without excuse or apology--are needed, though I'm still waiting for someone to pony up with some erotic content (I'm talking to you, Julie Anne Peters). The problem with this collection is really the cheesiness; the stories often read more like your average "advanced" high school student's literary magazine submission. You know what I'm talking about: occasional moments of naive insight hidden among pseudo-literary and awkwardly romantic musings. And yes, Levithan did include some of his own high school writings (unedited!) among the stories in this collection. I just can't get away from the feeling that this collection, along with a lot of Levithan's other writings, is just a little too self-indulgent. But, really, who am I to say? I'm blogging about young adult literature, for God's sake. You know you're going to read it anyway. Sigh.

Posted by Amy P. at 07:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Peters, Julie Ann (2007). Grl2Grl. Boston: Little, Brown. 160 pages.

Peters' short story collection features ten character sketches of young women, each of whom claim (or are beginning to claim) sexuality in distinct and (with the exception of the story entitled "Boi") womanist ways. While the quality of the collection is uneven, Peters refuses to let the brevity of the form compromise her address of some pretty serious issues including incest and abuse. The stories I enjoyed the most were the ones that implied a woman-identified audience and which didn't introduce the concept of young lesbian life and love as much as presume a sympathetic audience.

Many of the stories emphasized community and its importance--particularly "After Alex," in which a teen girl tries to get over the dissolution of her first serious relationship, and "TIAD," comprised primarily of chat logs in a lesbian affirmative chat room. Stories in which a lack of any queer affirmative community was notable--in the case of "Ouside/In," the obligatory should-I-or-shouldn't-I-join-the-Gay-Straight-Alliance story and "Boi," about a F to M trans teen--turned out to prove a need for queer community as well and suggested social action in a subtle way.

There were two things that disappointed me a bit. The first is typical (for me, anyway): I was really hoping for a more sensual collection, in part because I had read an interview with Peters in which she articulated a need for teen lesbian "erotica" and in part because of the sort of sexy cover. Don't get me wrong, my interest isn't entirely prurient. Instead, what I was interested in was a collection of relationship stories (love stories, if you will) that, in their entirety--which would include scenes of sensuality--took full advantage of the genre while casting "against type" in a way that would encourage us to think about generic expectations and how these expectations are, in part, culturally shaped. The second concern is something that a student of mine brought up: namely, why is the issue of masculinity not addressed in "Boi" (about the F to M teen) and how does the inclusion of such a story complicate or even contradict the "Grl" focus of the stories?

Posted by Amy P. at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)