Yesterday, I was sitting at home sick, taking the time to visit my favourite blogs in between bursts of reading Kady Cross’s The Girl in the Steel Corset. Unfortunately, reading was kind of taking a backseat and I found myself clicking on more links than I usually do that would pop up in my Twitter feed.
Little did I know that my random clicking would lead me to an article written by Joel Stein for the New York Times where he says that adults should read adult books and that seeing adults reading young adult literature is “more embarrassing than catching a guy on the plane looking at pornography on his computer.”
After reading the article – and picking my jaw up from the floor – I wondered how anyone could belittle another person for reading whatever they want. I mean, we push for equal rights within our countries – voting equality, race equality, gender equality, etc. – but now we can’t feel equal with our peers based on our reading habits?
I don’t want to tell you what to read – that’s not the point of this discussion. When I was younger, I remember loving books like Sweet Valley High, or The Baby-Sitter’s Club, or Goosebumps. I also remember trying out some adult books when I would go to the library with my mom, attempting the likes of Stephen King (though never making it through his novels). When I was finally at the age where I could buy my own books, I fell in love with chick-lit, like the offerings of Sophie Kinsella or Jennifer Weiner, and also some quality adult literature, like Yann Martel’s Life of Pi or William Golding’s Memoirs of a Geisha.
But now, in my early 30s, I find myself drawn to Young Adult literature. It’s not only because they’re fast reads, or easier to get into, but because the stories are fascinating and can deal with tough topics. Or, some are laugh-out-loud funny, keeping me up at night. I find myself getting intrigued from the first pages of these books, wanting to share them with everyone I know. Sure, Twilight isn’t the best literary book, but who cares? People are reading and that should be the only thing that matters. Sure, I have a copy of Gogol’s Dead Souls on my bookshelf, and another of Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth. I’ll admit that I haven’t read them yet, but will, eventually, when the mood strikes. Continue reading