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Too Old; Didn’t Read – On Mainstream Shaming

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The Fault in Our Stars

Surprise, surprise. The film adaptation of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars premiered in the USA this weekend – and out has poured an enormous backlash from mainstream critics decrying the rise of YA and death of mature culture.

Wahh.

I’ll start by saying that it pains me to give more attention and credence to link-bait posts like Slate’s (I’ll link it, but hope you don’t click it) recent reader-shaming summation that women who read YA are childish and that “you should feel embarrassed when what you’re reading was written for children”.

And that A.O. Scott, film critic of the New York Times, tweeted it saying:

(He has now participated in debate a bit, RTing some people on the other side of the argument. But he also refers to the popularity of YA as “the cultural devaluation of maturity.” Because the characters in TFIOS are nothing if not totally immature, amirite?)

And that although the bookish community has come under fire in this way before – and knows that it’s not worth contributing to the flame war – it’s just so, so galling as can’t be ignored. This backlash is symptomatic of a better-than-you critical culture that is not only hostile towards anything rising in popularity from a long-serving niche, but one that has once again shown itself to be ageist and, ultimately, deeply misogynist.

 

TV shows, books, movies – the lot. The reason why this scrutiny is hitting platforms like Slate is simply because the YA book bubble has once again infiltrated the mainstream critical arena.

Except this time it’s not a world of Harry’s wizard pals or Katniss’ gladiatorial games, but a contemporary tale of a couple of real life teens living with cancer and the pains of first love.

I’m not saying that TFIOS is a perfect text. When I read it shortly after it was published, I found it sweet and moving, but found dialogue way too clever for the mouths out of which it emanated. But I recognised that, at 17, I’d have loved it. I saw what those teen readers, and indeed older women, see in these characters and in the story.

Yet writers like the Slate author seem to have wilfully forgotten about that time in their lives. It’s okay to “know better”, but it’s not okay to shame those who don’t, or who choose to look past it and enjoy the text on its merits. There have been innumerate more think pieces about how John Green has “legitimised” YA novels and made romance “acceptable” – but apparently that doesn’t stretch to being empathetic about people who are younger, and women who crave or aspire to his brand of emotional escapism.

It is fitting that John Green recently defended Twilight and its fans, digging up the mainstream culture for shitting on the audience of women who found value and enjoyment in the series. No doubt he knew that as his and the text’s level of fame rose, the same critical naysayers were on their way to greet him.  

The entire enterprise is bullshit. It serves an ageist agenda (for how could these teens’ feelings possibly matter?) and a misogynist one (replace “teens'” with “women’s”), because women who participate in and find joy in YA literary culture must be emotionally stunted.

Do you know why women read YA? Various reasons. But the one that’s key to this argument is this: Because there are too few stories for women. There are no other places to look in the mainstream for a female character who is going through a tough gig and finds understanding in another human person.

There are too few female characters in mainstream media who are fighting their battles with grace and an overarching sense of authenticity. We can’t find ourselves anywhere else, so of course the “legitimised” arena of YA is super attractive to us. It’s a place of sentiment, not judgment. It feels meaningful.

So what’s the problem with young women – be they 13 or 33 – finding meaning in a book and film like The Fault in Our Stars? Why is their enjoyment of a thoughtful text being suppressed?

Why do these critics feel like YA and the “devaluation of maturity” have been shoved in their faces, thrust into their comfortable and apparently mature (so mature as to react like this to what they deem a children’s book) world?

I don’t have the answers – but I’d sure like for us to talk about it more.

 

In related responses:

Film Reviews: X-Men, Postmen, Gigolos & Fanboys

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Selfie of me in this week's press screenings.
Selfie: at this week’s press screenings.

This afternoon I’ll be broadcasting live on the BBC Culture Studio with Janice Forsyth and fellow critics!

First, I’ll be reviewing the new X-Men: Days of Future Past with the puntastic Graeme Virtue.

Then, Postman Pat and Fading Gigolo alongside Alison Kerr.

After that I’ll be promoting my new book, Fan Phenomena: The Hunger Games, with a chat about fandom and how fan culture is changing pop culture along with Gavia Baker-Whitelaw.

We’ll be on air from 2 to 4pm! Tune into BBC Radio Scotland or stream live here.

Is X just a poor man’s Y?

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Divergent poster

Divergent came out in cinemas recently and one of the article headlines I happened across about it was this: ‘Is Divergent Just a Poor Man’s The Hunger Games?’

It is not a bold statement to say that our contemporary mainstream culture is risk-averse. There’s a reason why the makers of Pirates of the Caribbean managed to tack 3 impostor sequels onto the original movie (which itself was based on a funfair ride, of all things), and why it was then virtually remade again in the old west in the form of The Lone Ranger – and why all 5 of those films starred Johnny Depp.

Hollywood looks out for what’s popular, and packages it up in movie form then dangles it over us to see if we bite. But its formula still stinks.

The success of the Harry Potter films and Twilight saga are the monoliths of the YA genre to which Divergent belongs. Then there was The Hunger Games. But between them lies a graveyard of flops. Remember City of Bones, The Host, The Golden Compass? Not really, except that they went nowhere. While Hollywood correctly identified that hugely popular books can be parlayed into hugely popular blockbusting films, something vital about these niches remains misunderstood.

Another thing that gets lost in translation from publishing phenomenon to big screen is the ability to get the non-native audience on board. The Harry Potter franchise had an entire generation, and its parents, behind it. The Hunger Games was able to bank on the gladiatorial nature of the series, and later some of its major themes and social commentary. But one of the resounding calls from the non-native Divergent audience – even from those who have already seen it – has been, “but what is it even about?!”

This got me thinking about our limited capacity, as a culture, for understanding niche trends and the popularity of some cultural items. It’s not just audiences, either; it’s also cultural critics.

Recently I took part in a panel on film criticism. It was one of the old guard tricks of inviting internet people along to defend their right to critique, but one of the major issues I picked up on with a colleague, Eddie Harrison, was that the current model of broadsheet criticism wherein (and I genralise, but not much) older white guys do their Roger Ebert thumbs-up thumbs-down bit is ridiculously, hilariously outdated. I work alongside and respect many of these guys dearly, but as a group our attempts to look into and understand these cultural artefacts and to examine what made them popular within their niches stinks.

I don’t want or mean to be uncharitable to great writers and critics here, but as an example, NPR Pop Culture Happy Hour was one such podcast in which its group of critics watched and discussed Divergent. Only one of the four participant critics had read the book, and appeared to have a deeper understanding of the book’s themes and the meaning behind the factions and other quirks of the storyworld. None of them really commented on the Divergent fandom. This is by no means an isolated example – it happens all the time, and is often my reason for pitching reviews of films like The Hunger Games and, soon, The Fault in Our Stars.

While it’s valuable for a critic to come to a work fresh and take the place of the potential uninitiated audience member, I frequently can’t help but feel like there are too many critics in broadcast studios and on web pages who fail to understand what the work is about, where it is coming from, and what made it so popular within its niche. People who haven’t looked into the source material or read native fans’ critiques. Understanding the intended audience can be hugely enlightening and key to really ‘getting it’  – even to getting the Hollywood studio’s drive to make a piece of art or cultural work for a bigger audience. Whether the film itself succeeds or fails on its own is also important, but doesn’t give a very full picture, does it?

So why is it that we’re so bad at trying to understand the seed of these films’ popularity? What does it really mean when a niche popular adaptation fails in the mainstream? Is it always a bad adaptation, a poor piece of work that doesn’t stand on its own, or would a greater appreciation of the source material make us more open to it? Who are the arbiters of taste in these cases, really? The studios? The critics? The original audience?

Are movie adaptations just a poor man’s book, or are we a poor man’s audience?