My new novel, Wrecked,
has been out in world for a couple of weeks now, and I’ve been visiting schools
and book stores for signings, readings, discussions, that sort of thing. It’s
been a busy but fairly low-key, New England-based “tour.” It’s also my fourth
book, and I’m used to speaking in public/signing/reading, so while I was
excited to finally share Wrecked, I
was fairly nonchalant about the whole thing.
Nevertheless, I was unprepared for the emotional impact
of presenting Wrecked to young
readers.
I wasn’t prepared for the tears. The stricken expressions
and extra beat of silence preceding the requisite claps at readings. I should have expected it. Kids lead with
their hearts, so they were never going to read Wrecked with a pencil in hand, underlining salient passages that
gave them hints about the characters’ motivations, or how the plot might
develop. And the early, online responses should have warned me, because it’s
been so emotional: the young bloggers don’t analyze and review the book as much as they emote over the
characters. Like they’re real people, and this has really happened.
It’s a storyteller’s greatest wish, to connect with another
person and transport him or her temporarily into a different world. But when
you take that story on the road and witness the emotion … hell, share the emotion (when those college
students in the front row started crying, so did I) … you realize you’re in a
new place, a different “stage of development” with your baby, and it brings a
whole new set of responsibilities.
Anyway, the tears and stricken expressions was the college
visit. Then, there was the high school visit, and wow, we were off to the
races. I presented Wrecked to groups
of juniors and seniors, roughly half of whom had “consent training” by a group
of professionals shortly before my visit.
Where do I even begin to describe this experience? First of
all, can I just say I love teenagers and every time I visit a school I’m
reminded why I write YA fiction. Second: don’t worry about the state of the
world. Spend some time with young people and you’ll feel confident that they
are very capable of fixing all the things we’ve messed up. Eventually.
Because these kids were courageous. They were serious. They
were honest, engaged and intense. And they were a case study in the difference
education about sexual assault and consent can make. After my presentations, I
spoke to the teacher and librarian who had attended. We marveled at how easily
the students who had had the training understood the difference between “no
means no” and affirmative consent, how they recognized and called out
slut-shaming, how they “got” the different standard of proof between a criminal
trial and a college hearing. The kids without training were just as earnest and
honest but way, way less sophisticated and informed. And, ironically: the
untrained kids were the seniors. Which means younger, less experienced kids
were more savvy than their older peers simply as a result of workshopping these
issues.
So here’s the thing: I’m no counselor and I’m no expert on
sexual assault. I’m a novelist, and I’ve written a book which is, first and
foremost, a story. One of my editors
for Wrecked warned me, early in this
process, “I’m allergic to bibliotherapy,” and so am I. Our primary goal for Wrecked was to create authentic
characters and weave together a compelling story. It’s not meant to be a
counseling tool.
But if a story can transport us to a new place, and
inspire us, and create empathy then I’m all for it. And here’s what I saw happen
with Wrecked: it cracked open
important conversations. Edgy, values-laden, honest conversations between girls
and boys. And that’s how we’re going to make real change: from the bottom up,
one awkward conversation at a time.
All this week I’m going to blog about Getting #Wrecked at School, because it’s going to take me that long
to process all that happened and all I learned. Chime in, I’d love to hear what
you think, what you know, and what you might suggest as I continue to take this
book on the road and share it with young people.
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