In My Defense

     I’ve mentioned that I’ve been reading Young Adult fiction lately, which is probably surprising to anybody who has an inkling of who I am.  Let’s be honest here, I can be a pretty pretentious douche sometimes (usually.)  Though not with fiction, I can be supportive of any kind of fiction.  You want to have a magic sword?  Go for it.  The most beautiful woman of all time falls hopelessly in love with the fat nerd?  Fantastic.  Just beware my wrath if you’re overly optimistic about real life.  I enjoy lying for a purpose, I abhor lying to yourself on purpose.

        I’m not sure why I’ve been on such a Young Adult kick lately, other than I look at it as candy fiction.  It’s nice to be able to read a book in a day or two, and not have to wonder if there is deeper meaning.  There always is deeper meaning, but I think we give authors entirely too much credit.  If you describe someone’s hand as being a big paw, you are not necessarily trying to invoke the idea of the character as a bear.  It may just be a convenient way to say “big hand.”  But I digress (damn you English teachers for ruining books!)

        The other thing that I’ve been thinking about is the emotionality of the teenage characters.  We’re all pretty stupid growing up because we think our world is overly important.  Once I was listening to someone younger than me complain about some life experience and they got mad at me for telling them what was really going on.  Quite common: “you don’t know what it’s like.”  Yes I do.  And so does everybody else.  Life experiences do not separate people from one another, they bring us together.  We go through most of the same growing pains (similar enough for comparison anyway,) so we can relate.  I went through it, she went through it before me, he went through it before her, on and on through perpetuity.  An individual may be a unique little snowflake, but you’re still part of the pile of snow.

That’s all true, but it also unfair.  Let’s get back to being a teenager or writing from their point of view.  The reason they think what they are going through is deeper, stronger, or more important than it was for anybody else is because it is.  Experience dulls our sentimentality by teaching us to know better.  This is a good thing.  But firsts are still more important at the time.  Your first kiss is a big deal, and also probably bad.  Your first concert is a big deal, and again, probably bad.  So when an actual person (or fictional person) goes through these things, they are feeling it stronger than we remember.  Time is a game changer, and dangerous in its subtlety.

I think that’s why I am enjoying reading these stories, because it harkens to the days when everything was more important.  I certainly don’t want to be as naive ever again, I still have plenty of that to sort through.  However, looking back on the idea of that time, being an emotional black hole, is a bit refreshing.  Because things are a bigger deal the first time and it’s important to remember that.  It gives the fiction a hyperbolic quality that real life (fortunately) no longer has.

And that’s my defense for being a wuss.