When we argue about whether Book X is better than Book Y, it feels like a how-many-angels-can-fit-on-the-head-of-a-pin discussion. In Zen they call it “a question wrongly put.” But of course, we must rank books, because book awards do encourage and reward ambition among authors and publishers, and they do bring good books to readers, and etc. Also I suspect the Venn Diagram of People Who Like Lists and People Who Like Books would look a lot like a circle.
Such discussions are always games of incomplete information, because none of us has read every book published for teenagers (or for children, or for adults, or whatever), which is why I generally try to steer clear of such debates, at least in public.
But, I mean, come on. Octavian Nothing 2 is the best book of the year. I loved a lot of books this year–I loved (LOVED) The Disreputable History; I loved The Adoration of Jenna Fox; I loved The Hunger Games; I loved The Graveyard Book and Little Brother and many others. I liked Paper Towns okay, too. And I’m sure there are lots of books I haven’t read that are brilliant. But come on.
Octavian Nothing, taken as a whole, is the greatest literary achievement in the history of teen literature. I mean, who can argue otherwise? And what is their argument? (Yes, that is a call for arguments.)
Generally their argument is: “Octavian isn’t really a book for teens. Teens aren’t smart enough to get it. The teens I know don’t like it.” To which I would respond, OMFG SHUT THE HELL UP, only I wouldn’t say hell. Teens ARE able to read critically and thoughtfully; they DO answer the challenge when faced with difficult but engaging work. I read Faulkner as a teen, and as any of my high school teachers will tell you, I was barely literate.
I mean, here is a sample question asked by a real live f’ing teenager at a recent nerdfighter gathering: “Can you talk about why Quentin’s vessel survives the land whale when Ahab’s vessel doesn’t survive the sea whale?” That’s the kind of question you pray will get asked, and there have been dozens of others like it on tour, and all of them have been asked by teenagers.
That’s why I try to write ambitious work (I may fail, but I try): not to win awards or to convince adults that my work has value, but because teenagers can always read better than I can write. They can even read better than M. T. Anderson can write, and that’s saying something.
