As I change strategies to read straight through one book at a time instead of juggling 5 or 6, I'm also recommitting to reading through the University of Wisconsin-Madison's Disrupting Whiteness core reading list for an introduction to the problem of whiteness in librarianship and returning to the question of the state of young adult literary criticism in recent years.
For the latter, to create my own bibliography, I ran four searches in two different academic databases for articles on literary theory and young adult literature from 2010 through this year. I selected 68 titles that include articles from 40 academic journals, chapters from six books, and two doctoral dissertations. Am I actually going to read all this? I plan to, but I may run out of steam or get attracted by something shiny. All this is driven (A) by an improbably dream that I can make a significant contribution to the fields of librarianship and young adult literature and (B) by the pleasure I take in studying and, perhaps to an even greater degree, the pleasure I take in planning to study these subjects. Why drop these here? To be blunt, I have nothing better to report at this point, and I want to announce something, even if it is only an intention to report future findings. If you enjoy bibliographies as much as I do, read on.
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One aspect of the final film in the trilogy, Ong Bak 3, to which I keep returning is the relationship between classical Thai dancing, prayer, healing, and martial arts. Pim's dance in front of the temple while Tien is healing from the brutal torture he received from Lord Rajasena's men moves me tremendously. Every position, every motion is so precise. Pim invests herself so wholly in the dance. I can feel the dance-as-prayer and measure its effectiveness, its genuineness, its heartfelt urgency by the technical perfection of the performance.
What does this have to do with anything? I feel a need to unravel the problem of the function of art as a prerequisite to justifying my personal approach to YA literature. My heart belongs to Oscar Wilde and his aestheticism, his belief in art for its own sake, his dismissal of utilitarian concerns. But I recognize that this, and other similarly Decadent approaches, comes from a place of privilege and comfort not experienced by vast numbers of people. It is a white male thing. Or is it? Can you imagine some of these titles being discussed in libraries? Thinking about the false dichotomies hate groups fabricate to position their personal prejudices as relevant to the larger culture. In the examples above, the oppositions of “blacks” to “white women” and “Jews” to “children” are political ploys. If you don’t support the Ku Klux Klan, you must be against white women; if you’re anti-Nazi, you’re an enemy of the children. But, of course, you aren’t. You see through the false claims and rightly reframe the opposition as “hate group vs. target,” “society at large vs. hate group.”
Both of Meredith Farkas’s articles open with the news of transphobic speakers lecturing in public libraries, first Megan Murphy at the Toronto Public Library (TPL) and then the Women’s Liberation Front (WoLF) at the Seattle Public Library (SPL). TPL and SPL fall back on neutrality to excuse their decisions to host the anti-trans events. Farkas says that this is a betrayal of public libraries’ duty to take the side of the marginalized, to maintain a welcome and safe space for society’s most vulnerable. “You will deserve this anger/hurt/frustration/wrath of the people of color you’ve offended. … even in the midst of your hurt and bewilderment, you will be careful not to dismiss the reality of the people you’ve offended. You will resist the urge to defend yourself, shut your mouth, and listen.” (April Hathcock, “You’re Gonna Screw Up”) There was a lot of reading to do before trying to figure out what I would write in response to Meredith Farkas’s November 2019 blog post “When libraries and librarians pretend to be neutral, they often cause harm” and her May 2020 column in American Libraries, “When Speech Isn’t Free.” An entire issue of the Oregon Library Association Quarterly, the blog Reading While White, a School Library Journal article summarizing Ishizuka and Stephens’s “The Cat Is Out of the Bag,” Debbie Reese’s “Indigenous Critique of Whiteness in Children’s Literature,” and more. It’s still not enough. As a white man who is woefully undereducated on underrepresentation of marginalized groups in kid lit and its impact on members of those groups, I have to work extra hard to overcome a life immersed in white privilege and white culture.
Or do I? Heather McNeil doesn’t seem to think so. According to her last word on the subject (an article positioned at the end of the OLAQ issue on equity, diversity, and inclusion and seemingly meant as a final judgment on the current state of affairs), it’s all gone too far. White folks are tired of being told they’re wrong. We want to receive acknowledgment for trying, and we want marginalized people to accept reasonable limits. McNeil ends her article with the story of an African-American woman in West African garb hugging her and calling her “Sister” after McNeil delivered a lecture on African stories. That’s what she wants: a reward for the effort without further criticism. |
AuthorJeffrey Babbitt, MLIS, is a graduate of the School of Library and Information Science at Wayne State University who is pursuing a career as a librarian in Michigan. Subject Headings
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June 2021
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