Literature for Adolescents
Reading Autobiography
The act of reading has always been an important and positive presence in my life: every night my mom would read me a story before bed, a tradition I loved because she had the best reading voice; my sister and mom bonded over reading and discussing every newly released Harry Potter book together; every Thanksgiving when I got bored of being the youngest in the room, I would hide away and re-read Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson; conversely, at every Pesach seder we re-read the story of Jews fighting for their freedom once the youngest (me) read the Four Questions; books frequently came in from England as my cousins sent over their favorites. Even one of my earliest memories involves reading. My aunt Naomi, who flew in from England, and my aunt Gill, who trekked the whole half hour from White Plains, were watching me and while I don’t remember much of what we did, I do vividly recall sitting sandwiched between them as they read aloud Bad Jelly the Witch by Spike Milligan.
As the picture below demonstrates, it didn’t take long before I decided to take things into my own hands and see why there was all this fuss about reading.
When I was in elementary and middle school, I don’t remember this love of reading being particularly bolstered by school. That’s not to say that school was detrimental, just that there was no one teacher, class, or book that stood out to me as strongly influencing my reading. Instead, I remember thinking that reading for school is still reading, and thus, always enjoyable. However, I think that was partially because reading served as a much-needed escape for me. Getting lost in a world separate from my own eased me through loneliness, the aftermath of my dad’s alcoholism, getting made fun of, and missing my sister. It’s easy to love something that only brings you relief. As one might expect, my favorite genre was fantasy. I voraciously soaked up anything by Shannon Hale and Tamora Pierce—with a special mention for the novel Princess Academy by the former and the Song of the Lioness series by the latter. Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials Triology and The Magic Treehouse series by Mary Pope Osborne were also much beloved.
Once I reached high school, I started reading less for pleasure. My wonderful mix of anxiety, depression, and perfectionism combined to make me want to do well at school because I felt that was the only thing that I was good at. Unfortunately, this meant that I had increasingly less time for recreational reading even though I was reading for school. Thankfully, even the books I had to read for school were generally both intellectually intriguing and emotionally impactful. Two in particular that I recall are Skinny by Donna Cooper and The Handmaid’s Tale by Margret Atwood. Cooper's portrayal of having a harmful body image really impacted me because it reminded of some of my own experiences with the topic. I was also deeply moved by Atwood's haunting prose and thought-provoking statements on power and gender.
College was similar in that I read plenty, but mostly in relation to my literature courses. Still, through all of this, my love of reading never floundered. Now as a graduate student, I am slowly trying to make my way through books I find on my shelf that haven’t been read yet. Picking up a book and getting lost in that world still provides me a sense of comfort, but I don’t need it to help me through hard times in the same way I did when I was twelve. I know that I am ready to face any problem that comes my way—the reading’s just a bonus.