Multicultural Literature

The NCTE Adolescent Literacy Policy Research Brief defines multicultural literacy as “seeing, thinking, reading, writing, listening, and discussing in ways that critically confront and bridge social, cultural, and personal differences.  It goes beyond a ‘tourist’ view of cultures and encourages engagement with cultural issues.”  For the blog this week, I want you to consider how the young adult book you read performs in that way.

For example, Paper Daughter by Jeanette Ingold allows readers to experience the Chinese Exclusion Era, a time when oppressive policies contributed to family separation, loss, and redefinition; a time when some families were formed on paper only; a time when choices prevented families from maintaining long traditions and fulfilling cultural responsibilities, thereby setting up a future shaded by doubt and guilt.  The experience is not trivialized nor romanticized, but treated with respect and honesty.  While I may not have lived then, I can still travel this untouchable and unspoken territory with characters on a journey for normalcy and acceptance.  Some, like Fai-yi, find places to open opportunity despite great loss; others, like Sucheng, lose their last ties to reality and never find a way past the abiding dissatisfaction that cages them.

With all of its layers, the book invites us to recognize that identity isn’t a solo proposition; our parents, grandparents, and other cultural influences all shape us into who we are.  Because actions and attitudes from past generations affect us, we reflect people we never even knew.  No one has just one identity; that I am Chinese is only one layer of self—besides its roots in race and ethnicity, culture comes from class, language, exceptionality, age, religion, gender, and geography.  Those nine factors determine our way of thinking, feeling, believing, and behaving.  The influence of traits, though, is not fixed or permanent; culture is a fluid, negotiable, and dynamic quality. 

Another literary piece that felicitously captures this dynamic quality, these identity transitions, and the multiple influences that shape us is the poem “What For” by Garrett Hongo.

Gender Variance Novels

            Moments that others can usually savor, Liam Geller manages to screw-up—a condition to which most adolescents can probably relate.  Because of his affinity for disaster, Liam, the main character in King of the Screwups (Harcourt, 2009) by K.L. Going, is a victim of his father’s verbal and emotional abuse. Liam suffers from low self-esteem and feels unnoticed or “like a strange fungus” (151) beside his corporate success of a father and his modeling mother—Sarah Geller, a model at whom you don’t just look; your eyes linger. 

Starved for attention and approval and tired of competing with the professional community for his dad’s love, Liam turns to drunkenness and casual sex to escape his pain.  After a particularly embarrassing moment, Liam’s enraged father evicts him from the house and sentences him to live with his proto-military grandparents.  Unable to endure that possibility, Liam opts to live with his cross-dressing uncle, whom he calls Aunt Pete. 

Here, he meets the effeminate boutique owner Eddie; the huge, baritone-voiced Dino who works as a cop in Pineville; and Orlando, Pete’s partner who also teaches English.  The four men, who form a glam-rock band, grow into a supportive family for Liam, who learns about unconditional love for the first time in his seventeen years.

Dedicated to making the most of this clean slate, Liam decides to re-define himself.  His father has always told him he won’t get far on popularity alone, so Liam goes undercover in his new school, determined to be unpopular.  Yet, this young man who “looks like a guy who should be doing underwear commercials” (83) and knows fashion, can’t pull off the ruse—his clothes are way too nice for unpopularity.  So used to screwing up, Liam doesn’t know how to enjoy or identify success, and soon he’s back in his usual slump, defining himself with defiance, detentions, and delinquent behavior. 

Darleen Martinek , a girl also struggling with abandonment and misunderstood as Class Bitch for her social activism and refusal to play the shallow popularity game, turns out to be Liam’s unlikely savior.  She teaches him that he’s brave and talented and funny—that he “can’t  create love.  [He has] to take it wherever [he] can find it” (295), even if that’s with a glam-rock, spandex-wearing uncle.  She also advices Liam to stop trying to impress others:

I think you try too hard to please everyone, and now you’re ready to throw

everything away just because there are people like me who judge you by what’s

on the surface, without getting to know what’s underneath. . . . You have to

stop caring so much what [your father] thinks of you and start caring more

about what you think of you.  Otherwise, you’ll always be looking for something

 you’re never going to find.  I know this sounds harsh, but you’ve got to let it go (293).

Aunt Pete offers similar advice: “If you know what you love, it doesn’t matter what other people think. . . . I may not be rich or respected like your father, but I’ve got the three best friends in the world, a pretty decent trailer, a job I love. . . the good life.  I don’t need anyone’s approval (180).

Eventually, through working for Eddie and receiving support from Pete, Liam discovers he has a knack for sales and an eye for make-up and color.  Fashion Einstein decides to pursue a career as a model, much to his father’s dismay.    

Through the uncanny wisdom of her characters, Going teaches us all to sharpen our bullshit meters.  And not since reading Dave Pelzer’s A Child Called It, have I felt so strongly about reaching into the pages of a book to choke an abusive parent.  Going also has much to say about the social lies we all tell—everything’s fine, when it’s not—or the lies of omission—the  times we remain silent about issues that really matter; we don’t say what needs to be said.

In addition, with Going’s treatment, fashion becomes a metaphor for life: “Fashion’s all about fantasy” (198)—glitzing up something common, adding something flashy to something ordinary—You get on stage and strike a pose.  Perhaps that analogy helps explain the prevalence and peculiarity of tattoos, piercings, jewelry, clothes, and hair styles as teens search to define themselves.  Maybe as they vie for independence and pursue an identity, they’re also pushing the boundaries: “People are challenged when they’re uncomfortable.  Glam stretches the boundaries.  Gender boundaries, fashion boundaries. . . Glam, punk, rap, metal—they all make people stop and stare.  It’s good for ‘em” (180).  Going’s ideas about teen experiences, about this emotionally challenging and difficult time, ring true in this novel. 

Realistic Fiction

When life throws curves, we all have our own methods for dodging or dealing with them, and when the complications escalate, we seek comfort, escape, or a particular coping mechanism.  Some of us are attracted to music, reading, hobbies, meditation, or exercise; others are drawn to food, alcohol, drugs, gambling, or sex.  This is the focus of Teenage Waistland (Delacorte, 2010). The teens in Lynn Biederman’s and Lisa Pazer’s book fill their empty spaces with food.  All excessively overweight, they seek assistance in a clinical trial Lap-Band program at Park Avenue Bariatrics, but their weight, counselor Betsy Glass tells them, is likely a symptom of larger issues: “The Lap-Band isn’t a fix; it is only a tool, and there’s a lot of hard work and self-discipline involved.  The band will solve the hunger aspect of your eating, but not the underlying reasons that you’re self-medicating with food” (87). 

Readers gradually learn the emotionally laden traumas that have contributed to these teens’ current situations.  The “crazy stuff” they worry about, the “awfulizing” they do, can hardly be reduced to simple self-pity or be cured by self-discipline alone.  Dealing with death, rape, and divorce, they struggle to meet their own and other people’s expectations.  Bobby, a football lineman with a family history of players, describes the difficulty of discussing his issues with his father: “Imagine spending your life programming a character in a video game—you know, coding in the actions he can perform and the ways he can respond to events.  But then your character—the one you created—decides he doesn’t like his environment or any of the things he’s supposed to do in it” (172).

This book goes beyond simple body image and clearly sends the message that beauty doesn’t guarantee happiness.  In fact, beauty carries its own brand of challenges: “When you’re beautiful, you don’t have to develop any skills or talents to get noticed or define yourself, so you only turn out to be what everyone expects you to be.  Isn’t that why anyone does anything in life? To be special? To be loved?” (215).  While acceptance may be one goal in life, pursuing topics of interest, discovering areas of expertise, and finding emotional fulfillment are others.

Until I was forced to look at the food issue from the perspective of these teens, I didn’t realize how much we are socialized to these attitudes.  Just as “normal people wind down with a martini” (248), others head for the fridge when they feel bad.  Girlfriends share an entire carton of ice cream when love goes wrong, or “if someone wants to show their love, they cook something special for you.  . . . Or give you a lollipop to make you feel better after a vaccination” (248).   Loved ones buy boxes of chocolates or “treat” one another with food at a favorite restaurant.  Likewise, holidays, family gatherings, celebrations often revolve around food.  We connect food to an expression of love, “which is why it often translates into a substitution for love, or a perceived lack of love” (248).  We all seek comfort, but sometimes this source of comfort grows excessive and becomes an issue itself: “Look at the definition of addiction—when the source of comfort has become such a constant necessity that it affects one’s mental, physiological, or social well-being, that’s when it becomes an addictive behavior” (249).

Perhaps the strongest message this book sends is a message about communication and the value of support systems.  A gregarious species, humans aren’t meant to deal with emotional issues alone, yet we often isolate ourselves and keep our dark, painful secrets hidden—a sure recipe for catastrophe. 

            Realistic fiction has the power to touch lives; share your recent realistic fiction reading.

Multicultural literature sometimes receives criticism, with allegations that to focus on difference rather than similarity divides us even further. War literature draws similar fire, for contributing to the development of extreme patriotism and hate against citizens of another nation. I wonder if the opposite can’t occur instead, that such literature can support unity by dispelling some of the myths and misperception. After all, violence often traces back to fear, and knowledge provides an antidote to fear. If I can identify the sound in the dark, my insecurity generally dissipates. Furthermore, multicultural literature addresses issues of power and oppression, while war stories invite a critical discussion of war, an opportunity to view different perspectives on political issues, a chance to confront multiple facets contributing to the conflict so that alternatives to violence can emerge.


Authors like Anne Laurel Carter write about varied families, distinct economic circumstances, diverse ethnicities, experiences, home settings, regions, and lifestyles. In The Shepherd’s Granddaughter, readers meet Amani Raheem, a Palestinian girl who shares passions, ambitions, fears, values, and dilemmas familiar to most young adults. After developing an attachment to Amani’s family and situation, readers cheer when Seedo recognizes the world has changed and passes his shepherd’s crook, not to a son but to a granddaughter. Along with Amani, we mourn Seedo’s death, and we grow angry at the Israeli land grab, at the settler’s notion of God as a real estate agent, at the injustice endured as Palestinians lose land they have worked for generations, as sheep are shot and olive groves bulldozed to ruin.

We also recognize the degree to which ethnicity is an important part of identity. Strong and loyal ethnic identity is necessary to maintain group solidarity, to provide a sense of belonging. Ethnic identity is the primary source of identification for Amani, who feels no need to identify herself differently and believes her “blood is mixed with the soil of the land” (150). In fact, she finds it emotionally difficult to sever her primary identity as a shepherd, as Seedo’s granddaughter carrying on a tradition in a place where the hum and thrum of olive presses lulls her to sleep or the smell of Sitti’s shrak, a thin whole wheat bread baked over a domed griddle, reassures her that all is well in the world. Through her, we learn the history, culture, and contributions of Palestinian people. We hear the stories—legends about wolves and secret passages into the Firdoos; learn the names of foods—like fellafel, the deep-fried balls of ground chickpeas, or mamool, the powdered sugar-dusted date and nut cookies; and discover the traditions that define the family—eating and praying together, the wearing of kufiyyi—the traditional man’s headscarf, or playing ghummayeh, hide-and-seek.

We also learn that people can change, that discriminatory ideas like Seedo’s initially seeing Amani’s mother—an outsider, a Christian woman – as an infidel. But he realizes his son’s love and with time, wipes anger from his heart—a lesson he passes on to Amani, who finds good in a rabbi befriended by her father, Baba, and who befriends Jonathan, the Jewish son of an Israeli settler who sees defending the Holy Land with bulldozers and guns as contrary to the original Jewish vision of a safe homeland. Jonathan grasps how settlement and privilege for some is destroying the lives of others: “I can’t stay in the settlement. Every day I think how your life must have been before. I imagine you grazing your sheep like that first day I saw you. No fences. No soldiers. No highways over your land. The settlement destroyed your life” (204).

Amani learns that conflict resolution requires cooperation and collaboration. Such alliances may form from unsuspecting sources, like a rabbi from Jerusalem, Christian peacemakers from the United States, and an Israeli lawyer from Tel Aviv. Stories such as Amani’s help dispel stereotypes and enlarge the harm in prejudice; they invite a non-militant stance to conflict. After reading, we realize, war isn’t just headline news. Behind the CNN reports of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, real people are enduring terrible tragedies.

What other war books have the potential to perform such teaching, to put a human face on contentious issues, to deepen an understanding of war—its causes and its consequences?