One of the great gifts of being an academic is working with PhD candidates who have great ideas and work hard to turn interesting ideas into dissertations. Even better is when you are asked to be part of a committee for a student at another university. 

Our next contributor was a PhD student at Arizona State University and a student of Jim Blasingame. We met at a NCTE Convention and a year or so later I got to sit on her commiittee. It was great, I was able to miss all of the paper work and day to day encouragement and just read a wonderful project. Now several years latter Mandy is a thriving assisstant professor at Utah Valley University.

My final unit for my Young Adult Literature course at Utah Valley University is on book censorship; a topic that is both timely and contentious, especially in the state of Utah. For this unit, I begin by having students take a poll on their phones or computers using polleverywhere.com, where they respond to the statement: 'There is never a reason to ban books in schools,' by choosing a position from 1 (strongly disagree) to 5 (strongly agree).This certainly gets the students talking. Many students tend to be more on the neutral to agree end, but I always have a few outliers which contributes to a dynamic initial discussion.

​I then flash a local news article from 2023 on the projector with the headline, “Utah author’s children’s book about a kitten is being pulled from school libraries over claims it is ‘sexually suggestive’” (Cortez). I say to my students, “Maybe some books are just inappropriate for young readers and should be removed.” I show them the cover of Itty Bitty Kitty-Corn (2021) by Shannon Hale and illustrated by LeUyen Pham and read the picturebook aloud, which follows the story of Kitty who really wants to be a unicorn, but is mocked by those around her. She then meets Unicorn, who longs to be a kitty. Unicorn reveals to Kitty: “Did you know…that I am a Kitty-corn?” Kitty responds, “Yes, I see that now, you are a Kitty-corn. You are a fuzzy, fury, adorable, Kitty-corn.” To which Unicorn replies with the best line from the book, “I knew that another Kitty-corn like you would see.”

​Half my class sighs, the other half looks a bit teary-eyed, and I nod my head, “yes, these books are just too inappropriate for kids to read.”

​As a university professor in a largely conservative state but in a fairly progressive-leaning humanities college, I strive to lead these discussions through inquiry rather than imposition. Though, if I’m completely honest, the clandestine navigation against censorship and legal bans and towards trusting teachers and librarians is present.

​As John Green states, “I don’t think it should be up to me whether Looking for Alaska, or actually any book is in a school or a library, because I’m not a teacher or a librarian, the highly trained, criminally underpaid professionals we’ve employed to make those decisions” (2016, 2:07).

We continue the unit with definitions on bans vs. challenges, censorship vs. soft censorship and so on. Students are also asked to read, listen, and watch a variety of content which includes:

• An Open Letter to Parents Who Wish to Ban My Books from School Libraries by Bill Konigberg (2022)
• The NPR Podcast- When Schools Ban Books by 1A (2021)
• The PBS video- History of Book Bans (2020)
• The Washington Post article - The Rise in Book Bans, Explained by Angela Haupt (2022)
• The ALA website featuring Banned Books Week- https://www.ala.org/bbooks/banned
• John Green’s video “On Banning Looking for Alaska” (2016)
• Trevor Noah’s The Daily Show video “America’s Book Bans: The Latest Culture War Front”(2022)
• And a deep dive into the Utah State Board of Education’s website detailing how books become “removed” from Utah schools-Sensitive Materials Flow Chart and Definitions

​During our second class session in the unit, we walked through the official Utah School Board process for reviewing and potentially removing “sensitive materials.” Students were surprised to learn how vague the guidelines can be—and how many books have already been pulled from school shelves (currently 18), including works from authors like Ellen Hopkins, Toni Morrison, Judy Blume, and-- notably taking up five spots-- Sarah J. Maas. 

That’s when one student raised his hand and declared: “Well…pornography should be banned from schools.”
I hadn’t realized we were talking about pornography, but I let him continue. His argument was that porn is inherently bad and that the industry exploits those involved. I didn’t object, but I did ask him to elaborate: Who gets to define what counts as porn? Were we really seeing examples of pornography in the materials that had been challenged or removed from school shelves? And one thing I didn’t press him on—but have thought about since—is how his understandable concern about exploitation in the porn industry connects to the kinds of books being pulled. I’m not sure it does.

According to this student, ACOTAR (A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sara J. Maas) was rightfully removed since it was clearly porn.
 
As someone who has read most of the ACOTAR books (I bowed out by book three once the romantic tension fizzled--because what’s the point?) my eyebrows raised. Was this porn? I certainly don’t consider it to be so-- romantasy, yes. Porn, no. 

Another student jumped in to state: “Well, then you’d need to determine what defines porn vs. smut in literature.” Fair point. And once again: Even if a book contains sexual content—does that make it inappropriate for all teens? And does it justify legal removal? Furthermore, couldn’t we trust educators to assign and advertise the right material for students?

Another student brought up the question, “What about teens who have phones? They have access to a slew of inappropriate material. If they want to find it, they will.”
​
The first student responded, “Just because they can access inappropriate material doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to shield them from it.”

​Which raises a real tension: Is the goal to shield students from content, or to help them navigate it critically? During our contemporary fiction and authenticity unit earlier in the semester, the students had read pieces from Laurie Halse Anderson and the Time’s article by Matt de La Pena (2018), “Why We Shouldn’t Shield Children From Darkness.” My students have already carefully discussed the importance of tough material to be accessible to young readers. But I guess when we talk about sexual content--and consensual sexual content for that matter-- that’s different?

​I brought up the point to my students that often, book bans target what’s trending. The real threat isn’t the content—it’s the popularity. These are the same books many mothers are reading secretly but don’t want their teenage daughters to read (my Bunco group, anyone?). We’ve seen it before: Fifty Shades of Grey was the target 14 years ago. The titles change, but the motivations don’t.

According to author Foz Meadows (2021), “it’s ultimately less about helping kids and teens than it is about helping adults to police them.” 

The same student continued: “At the very least, we should put ratings on books. We have ratings for movies, why don’t we have them on books?”
​
This comment transported me back to standing in front of James Blasingame’s Young Adult Literature class at Arizona State University, as a new PhD student completing a graduate teaching internship in his course. At the beginning of class I had been asked to give the day’s “book talk.” As an ultra-conservative-university-raised academic, and, thinking I was being helpful, I offered a movie-style rating during my plot summary. At the time, I thought I was empowering students with information. Now, I cringe.

In response to the student, I acknowledged that while book ratings might seem like a good idea to many, numerous authors and literary scholars are strongly opposed to them. I asked my students why they thought that might be, and the general consensus was that ratings can oversimplify—and even stigmatize—complex works. Additionally, ratings can function as a form of soft censorship, leading parents, teachers, librarians, and others to avoid shelving certain books based on broad classifications that fail to reflect how sensitive topics and themes are actually presented.

At this point, I moved on with the day’s lesson plan-- but what I should have done is hopped on the classroom computer and done an AI search for a list of the pros and cons of book ratings. According to Chat GPT, pros and cons of adding ratings to YA Books can include the following:

Now that the semester has come to an end, I’ve continued to ruminate on that classroom conversation. That one comment—“Isn’t ACOTAR just porn?”—sparked a dynamic debate, not just about Sarah J. Maas, but about what we allow teens to read, who gets to decide, and how we define boundaries around literature. Should teens be shielded from sexual content, or taught to navigate it? Should books come with ratings to warn—or to restrict? And when we say a book is “too much,” are we protecting students, or policing their experiences?

These aren’t easy questions, and my goal isn’t to answer them for my students—but to create the conditions for them to grapple with these questions deeply and honestly. What continues to surprise me, even after years of teaching this unit, is how quickly the conversation shifts from hypotheticals to the deeply personal. Students talk about books that changed them, and like Kitty and Unicorn, helped them feel seen. They also recognize how easily those books might have been the ones challenged or pulled. I specifically had a student who mentioned it made her sad that the ACOTAR books were on the banned list, since those books got her through a really rough time when she was in high school. We never know which books will be the ones that students need. And it’s a shame if we block them from the ones they do. 

In a moment when book bans are escalating and trust in educators is under threat, I come back to what John Green reminded us: It’s not the job of politicians or external stakeholders to make these decisions. It’s the job of the trained professionals—teachers and librarians—who know the students, the community, and the curriculum. And maybe, more importantly, it's our job as educators to trust students. If the works they choose are perhaps too mature or even triggering for them, we teach them to be responsible and accountable readers, to know it’s okay to put a book down (or skip ahead). And we also trust them to engage with tough, complex, and meaningful literature—that they have the ability to ask questions, wrestle with ambiguity, and form their own conclusions.
​
While I may have had moments of discomfort during an unexpected conversation on “porn” in my classroom, it’s exactly the kind of discussion I want my YA classroom to make space for.

 
Cortez, M. (2023, October 6). Book challenge to ‘Itty-Bitty Kitty-Corn’ halts new library books in Texas. Deseret News. https://www.deseret.com/utah/2023/10/6/23901523/book-challenge-itty-bitty-kitty-corn-shannon-hale/
de la Peña, M. (2018, January 9). Why we shouldn't shield children from darkness. Time. https://time.com/5093669/why-we-shouldnt-shield-children-from-darkness/
Green, John. (2016, April 12). On the banning of Looking for Alaska [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69rd-7vEF3s
Hale, S., & Pham, L. (2021). Itty bitty kitty-corn. Abrams Books for Young Readers.
Maas, S. J. (2015). A court of thorns and roses. Bloomsbury Publishing.
Meadows, F. (2021, September 16). YA book ratings? Here's why not. Shattersnipe: Malcontent & Rainbows. https://fozmeadows.wordpress.com/2021/09/16/ya-book-ratings-heres-why-not/

We have been on a bit of a hiatus. I took time off accompany my wife on the Camino de Santiago. Spain is wonderful. When you slow down the pace of your life, things move to the bottom of the "must do to do list."

​We are back this week with a new post by Morgan Shiver.

Did you know that Iron Man was chosen as the focal character for the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) because of feedback from a test group of children? Or that nearly 50% of audience members for Marvel’s highest-ever grossing film, Avengers: Endgame, were under the age of 25?

Although the majority of Marvel’s characters are adults, young people make up most of the MCU’s audience and influence many of the franchise’s creative and business decisions. From the comics that started the brand through its present-day blockbuster films, Marvel’s stories cater to a young adult audience. This, in my opinion, opens room for the films of the MCU to be considered young adult literature (YAL). Considering films as literature has ample educational value for both students and teachers, a fact that NCTE has repeatedly explored and organizations like Teach with Movies have long advocated for. In being considered YAL, the MCU films can provide insights into the young adult experience and audience. Over a year ago, as I recognized Marvel’s connection to young adults, I wondered: If we approach Marvel movies as YAL, what can we learn about how young people both influence and are influenced by popular culture? This was the premise of my college-level Youth Literature and Culture course, which I decided to focus on the MCU’s most popular era, from Iron Man (2008) to Avengers: Endgame (2019). 

​Below, I detail some of the methods, projects, and activities my students and I utilized as we approached the MCU films as YAL. Considering the films as works of literature, my students refined and developed the same critical thinking and analysis skills required in any literature class, but, by specifically focusing on the films as YAL, they were also able to inquire about how popular culture and stories construct and engage with what it means to be a young adult. 

​Because we were approaching the Marvel films as literature, my students were able to practice close reading skills as we made our way through the semester. We began by identifying common themes and discussing character development. These conversations led us to more advanced analysis, recognizing things like symbols and allegories within the MCU’s stories. In our discussion of the film Avengers: Infinity War (2018), for example, students had an extended conversation about how mega-villain Thanos’ switch blade, which he gives to his adopted daughter Gamora, serves as a representation of toxic relationships and a physical symbol of the cycle of abuse. My students, many of whom readily admitted they didn’t think of films as literature at the start of the semester, were able to have advanced-level critical conversations about the stories we encountered in the MCU. I found that discussions with this group of students, who represented a wide range of majors that were taking the class for general education credit, could rival discussions I’ve had with English majors in upper-level literature courses. 

The use of films in literature classrooms is also an excellent way to develop students’ visual literacy skills, something that educator Diana Minor establishes as critical for students in the 21st century, explaining that the analysis of visual messages “encourages student reflection, analysis, and evaluative thinking skills.” As we approached the MCU films critically, students naturally connected some of the literary elements we discussed to visual details on screen. When the Avengers begin to clash amongst themselves in the first Avengers film, there is a scene where, as the heroes argue, the camera begins to tilt until the Avengers appear upside down. In class, I brought my students’ attention to this scene, and we discussed how the camera angles and movement enhanced the tone of story. Later, when we watched Black Panther (2018), there is a shot in the film when Eric Killmonger, the films’ antagonist, assumes the throne of Wakanda. As he enters the throne room, the camera shot starts completely upside down, rotating 180 degrees before he takes his seat. This time, I didn’t have to point out the visual details in the scene, and my students readily connected the images in this moment to some of the larger themes and conflicts in the film. As my students honed more traditional close-reading skills while watching the Marvel movies, they also developed their visual literacy. 

With each film we watched, we took the time to consider how the story characterized or engaged with the concept of youth, as we would with any YAL. Interestingly, these conversations led to my students noticing a pattern of parallels between MCU heroes and the typical YA protagonist. Although many of the MCU’s heroes are adults, they tend to have teen-like interests and characteristics. Loki and Thor struggle with their brotherly dynamic; Tony Stark is often reprimanded for being impulsive or not thinking through the consequences of his actions; Hulk struggles to manage his anger. Nearly all of the heroes grapple with questions of identity and responsibility, calling back to the question that Roberta Seelinger Trites identifies as being at the center of young adult literature: “Do I dare disturb the universe?” Not to mention, all of the heroes are singled out as “chosen ones” and take it upon themselves to save the world, a trope that is much more prominent in YAL than adult literature (Harry Potter, Katniss Everdeen, Percy Jackson, Zélie Adebola, the list goes on...). The correlations between the MCU and the young adult genre make a strong case for not just considering Marvel films as literature, but as YAL, specifically. 

As modern-day epics, Marvel films lend themselves especially well to investigations of narrative forms and devices that stem from canonical works like The Odyssey or Beowulf. The patterns that we’ve come to recognize from these classic tales are ones that are often replicated in the YA genre today and can equally be applied to the heroes of the MCU. For example, at the end of the semester, I asked my students to consider how Campbell’s Hero’s Journey framework applied to Captain America and Iron Man’s character arcs over all of the movies we’d watched that semester. Purposefully, I centered our assigned watchlist on these two characters, beginning with their origins in Iron Man (2008) and Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) and ending with (spoiler!) Iron Man’s death and Captain America’s effective retirement in Avenger’s Endgame. 

First, I gave a mini lecture on the formal stages of the Hero’s Journey (here is a helpful video that works well to break down the stages). Then, in small groups, students attributed specific moments from Iron Man and Captain America’s narratives to the different stages of Campbell’s Hero’s Journey. Students identified the two heroes’ mentors: Yinsin, a scientist held captive in Afghanistan for Iron Man, and Dr. Erskine, also a scientist, for Captain America. Captain America’s selection to receive super serum and Iron Man’s escape from captivity were identified as the heroes’ calls to action. Thanos, the ultimate villain, was chosen as the heroes’ supreme ordeal. This activity has the potential to be done with a single film––they all have fairly conclusive arcs––but, armed with the ten films we’d watched over the course of the semester, students had plenty of content to draw from as they used Campbell’s framework. 

After each group of students had effectively mapped out their Hero’s Journey, I asked my students to make an amendment to their lists: add one extra stage to Campbell’s framework to make this a Superhero’s Journey. Groups added things like “inspiring death” (both heroes’ initial mentors die, something that changes and motivates the men) and “choosing service over love” (both heroes make sacrifices in personal relationships as they become heroes) to their lists. By applying and then amending Campbell’s framework, students not only engaged with a long-standing formal narrative device, but they also took their critical thinking one step further by reflecting on the films they’d watched and considering how the classic Hero’s Journey might have evolved in contemporary superhero tales. 

Because of Marvel films’ massive popularity, my students and I were able to take a deep dive into the franchise’s connections to the real-world. With our focus on YAL, we specifically investigated how the films, as a part of a bigger brand, target and engage with young people. To guide students along this line of inquiry, I created small projects called Exploration Activities that focused on the different ways that Marvel engages with young people in the real world. These projects allowed students to independently investigate the MCU’s marketing, messaging, and merchandising and collaboratively consider what these different facets of the franchise revealed about the way that Marvel understands young fans. 

As a class, we compiled everyone’s completed Exploration Activities and treated them as a case study of how the Marvel brand interacts with young consumers. Quickly, students noticed trends related to gender and race: Marvel seemed to explicitly target boys unless a female superhero was being featured, and many of the children/young adults featured on packaging were white, unless the merchandise was related to a franchise with a predominantly minority cast, like Black Panther. Soon, students began to consider what their findings revealed about the way young adults are perceived as consumers. Merchandise targeted toward young children––toys, coloring books, stuffed animals––supported imaginative play and creativity. For young kids, the merchandise was a source of inspiration for fun in their everyday lives. The merchandise that targeted young adults––hats, t-shirts, decor, and collectibles––functioned as ways for fans to express their interest in the brand. Compared to the merchandise intended for children, the young adult merchandise was more of a representation of a person’s identity than a vehicle for play and imagination. Insights about the differences in merchandise that correlated with these two age groups revealed a narrative about “growing up” that suggests adolescence marks a shift from imaginative engagement to identity performance. This is a belief often played out in the YA genre, as teens begin to form their independent identities and shed some of their childlike playfulness.  

For one of the Exploration Activities, students visited a local store to find a piece of Marvel merchandise that was targeting children or young adults. Once they’d located their merchandise, they took photos and made notes about the way the merchandise was presented, paying attention to details like shelf location, packaging, and presentation. Then, they wrote a short report about their piece of merchandise, speculating about what kind of messaging the merchandise was communicating, how it related to the larger Marvel brand, and how it actively appealed to child and young adult consumers. 

Making these real-world connections outside of the films themselves allowed my students to seriously consider how the Marvel brand, much like YA literature, participates in shaping and reflecting dominant ideas about what it means to be a young adult. In particular, completing the merchandise project made students more aware of how cultural narratives inform every aspect of our lives, from the fictional stories we enjoy to the merchandise that goes along with them.

I know it is a rare opportunity as an English instructor to teach a class centered entirely on films, especially one focused on a singular, popular entity such as the MCU, but I hope my experience serves as an example of how well films can work in a literary context. By treating the Marvel films as YAL, my students and I were able to engage in a level of critical thinking and inquiry that I believe is on par with that of a traditional literature course. To close, I’ve included a few comments from end-of-semester reflections written by my students, who seem to agree that films are a worthwhile inclusion in a literature classroom: 

• “In terms of how this class will impact me in the future, this has increased my interest in the MCU, but I’ve also heightened my ability to notice imagery and analyze scenes on the first pass through”
• “Another aspect of the class I really gained a lot from was learning how to pick apart major ideologies in a film. I enjoyed picking apart the films and finding a deeper meaning in them.”
• “Going forward, I think I will view children’s media more critically and consider things that I would’ve never noticed prior to this class.”
• “This class helped me reconnect with the love of English and the world of analysis”
• “As a future teacher this class opened up my perspective to other worlds of literature. I have spent so much time trying to convince people to love reading, and didn't realize that we can get the same degree of depth in media that is more popular and digestible for young people.”

Minor, Diana. (2021, Jan. 17). Visual literacy is critical for 21st century learners. NCTE, https://ncte.org/blog/2021/01/visual-literacy-critical-21st-century-learners/
 
Trites, R. S. (2000). Disturbing the universe: power and repression in adolescent literature. University of Iowa Press.
 
Using film as a tool in the classroom. (2017, May 14). NCTE, https://ncte.org/blog/2017/05/using-movies-improve-visual-literacy/

Leaping forward a couple of centuries, comes Laurie Halse Anderson’s newest book. Set during the American Revolution, we meet Elsbeth Culpepper, a smallpox survivor who has relocated to Boston with her father after the rest of their family died from the disease. She is employed as a live-in maid for a Loyalist while her father lives in a boarding house and works as a sailmaker. As the Siege of Boston drives the Loyalists out and creates havoc in the city, her father goes missing, and another smallpox epidemic arrives. Like Anderson’s previous historical fiction work, Rebellion 1776  is steeped in well-researched information and dialogue that fully draws the reader into the timeframe. Even though we may not be in the middle of a war, many of the themes and conflicts she shares remind us that history repeats itself in both wartime and peace. The concept of vaccines, relatively new at the time, was a source of conflict between detractors and proponents. The misogyny Elsbeth faces throughout the book may have been more pronounced in 1776, but the fight for women’s rights and autonomy continues today. How the wealthy are treated as opposed to the poor, working class mirrors much of the same injustices in healthcare and opportunities that exist generations later.      
What is most powerful about this book is that it doesn’t sugarcoat the harshness of the time and critically examines the issues without being didactic. Even though Elsbeth is just 13, she has to navigate a complicated world without much support, so she must be clever and sometimes break her own moral codes to survive. Anderson has created beautifully nuanced characters who must examine what freedom means, what they are willing to do to survive, and decide who they can trust—questions many people face today.​

The next book takes us to the late 1930s/early 1940s in Jackson, Mississippi to witness the beauty and pain of a family living in the South under Jim Crow laws. Through alternating perspectives, we meet Marion, a closeted lesbian working to raise her vocal son, Simeon, and Lamb a shy, quiet girl whose naivete and friendship with a white girl sets off a series of events that endangers the family.  Ransome’s writing is brutally honest with some strong language, a sexual assualt, and lynchings, while simultaneously honoring the experiences of the characters. Her sensitivity in writing assures that the brutality is never exploitive or graphic. She deftly balances the ugly truth with the resilience of the people who face such hatred.  The strong, multidimensional characters demonstrate the reality of identities and the various motivations that drive people to act as they do. As we continue to deal with systemic racism today, Lamb’s story is a stark reminder of the intergenerational trauma and the work we must continue to do if we are ever going to heal and repair the wounds from our history. ​

There are many, many great Holocaust books, but this one stands out as it is set in Czernowitz, Romania—an area that was considered a safe haven for Jewish people. This setting adds another layer to the other Holocaust stories as a reminder about how far the hatred and antisemitism extended and how those deep wounds still impact people today. Based on her grandmother’s stories of growing up in war-torn Romania, Arnold shares the story of Rieke, her older sister Astra, their mother still reeling after the girls’ father left, and a very religious grandfather. As antisemitism spreads across Europe, their family faces increased threats and injustice as their grandfather’s business is vandalized and they are kicked out of public school. As war breaks out, the country is invaded first by the Russians and then by the Germans. Although there were no concentration camps, the experiences in Romania were equally as unjust. The girls lose their home and sent to a ghetto where Rieke faces health issues, a sexual assault, and her grandfather’s murder.
​Throughout these horrors, she continues to carry on, but how much can she take before they break her? Once again, readers witness the greatest depravities of humans, but yet are able to hold onto hope through the strength of the characters. ​

We are living in precarious times as LGBTQ+ people in 2025. Earlier this year, the Stonewall National Monument website removed two crucial letters representing our community. It now states that, “Before the 1960s, almost everything about living openly as a lesbian, gay, bisexual (LGB) person was illegal, but the events at the Stonewall Inn sparked fresh momentum for the LGB civil rights movement!” Despite the fact that queer and transgender individuals were central activists in the Stonewall uprising, their identities have been erased from this official governmental narrative. This erasure extends beyond symbolic language. Just this month, Harvey Milk’s name was stripped from the U.S. Navy ship USNS Harvey Milk — a move that disregards his legacy as both a Navy veteran and a pioneering LGBTQ+ civil rights leader. Meanwhile, the military’s transgender ban remains firmly in place, further marginalizing trans service members and reinforcing a pattern of exclusion. These actions reveal a troubling trend of erasing and undermining the full scope of the LGBTQ+ community’s history and contributions. In the face of these setbacks, it is more important than ever to resist, remember, and reclaim our rightful place in history and society. One way to do that is through books and education. I agree with the criticism that African American history is often confined to just February, when it should be fully integrated throughout all history education. Similarly, because Pride Month in June frequently falls outside the school year, LGBTQ+ history is often overlooked or excluded from educational settings. The following books, aimed at young readers, provide a valuable starting point to begin addressing this gap.

In some of her books, Ms. Jackson writes characters who take us through a plot with twists and turns, but all along, we can count on the protagonist to tell us what we need to know. In some of her books, the protagonist takes us for a ride. All of her books are clever and worth reading. That's one of the many reasons why I have read every published book written by Tiffany, and it is why I look forward to her next books coming out soon. Yes, I said books—plural. Tiffany D. Jackson is  a prolific writer and was recently the recipient of the 2025 Margaret A. Edwards Award, which celebrates a lifetime of achievement in writing for young adults. That’s a prestigious award that she earned with every truth, lie, questions in between that she weaves into her crafty storytelling. ​

Overall, it is a testament to a tough topic that we would all do well to face. This is a book that many of our high school students may choose to read independently. If however, we want to use it as a class novel or a book club selection, students can track the character, participate in fishbowl discussions about the plot(s), and pursue research about the tough topic (I’m not telling) that undergirds the story. The research can lead to student-made Public Service Announcements or White Papers about the topic. They can also do “Signature Colors” for themselves or others, based on how the protagonist Claudia did for herself and her loved ones.
​

​While Tiffany D. Jackson writes books that delude and dismay us, she also writes historical fiction like The Awakening of Malcolm X: A Novel by Ilyasah Shabazz with Tiffany D. Jackson (January 2021). This novel takes us through Malcolm Little’s days in the Charlestown prison, where he discovers Islam and becomes Malcolm X. Though this is a work of fiction, Tiffany D. Jackson and Ilyasah Shabazz use quotations from Malcolm X in every chapter, and keep the timeline accurate. 
​
This book, like all of Tiffany’s books, can be read as a self-selected text. If it is read in a book club, or as a class novel, students can create an historical timeline, researching the events in the United States at the time. This can also be a powerful text to generate conversations about education, self-education, literacy, and how power, privilege, justice, and liberation play a role in each. 

I haven’t gotten to read The Scammer yet, and I anxiously await for my pre-ordered copy to arrive. It will be perfectly timed, a few weeks into fall and right before Halloween. I already know that I will be turning pages and experiencing another thrill. I am counting on Tiffany D. Jackson to continue her lifetime of writing young adult books that taunt us, trick us, and tantalize us. I intend to continue sliding right into the shoes of each protagonist, not knowing if I am about to lead or mislead through the next ride. I might not be able to trust all of her characters, but I can definitely trust the brilliant storytelling of Tiffany D. Jackson. ​

Meet our Contributor:
​Christian George Gregory is an Assistant Professor of Education at Saint Anselm College and was formerly a Lecturer at Teachers College, Columbia University, where he received his Ph.D. in English Education. He holds two degrees in literature from the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College, was the recipient two fellowships from the NEH, a semi-finalist for the Bechtal Award, and garnered the JSTOR Lesson Plan award. He has written for multiple edited collections, as well as English Journal, English Education, QED: A Journal in GLBTQ Worldmaking, the International Journal of Dialogic Pedagogy, and International Journal of LGBTQ Youth, where he serves on the Editorial Board. He is the former Program Chair for the AERA’s Queer SIG and currently serves on the judging committees for ALAN’s Walden and NCTE’s REALM Awards. He is a published poet and was a semi-finalist for the Writers Retreat for Emerging LGBTQ Voices through Lamda Literary for his young adult novel, Two Davids. His research interests include the migration of queer theory to queer pedagogy, classroom discourse, and expanding the canon in English Education.

Ursula K. Le Guin is known for her philosophically complex works of literature that defy simple categories of genre (Cadden, 2005). She argues in her essay “The Child and the Shadow” that fiction, especially fantasy fiction, can provide the young reader a “guide of the journey to self-knowledge, to adulthood, to the light” (Le Guin, 2024, p. 879). Reading allows adolescents to confront who they are and might become, making Le Guin’s YA novels open-ended stories of self-discovery and growth (Cadden, 2006). The overarching themes across the texts I discuss here include how in adolescence we must learn to use our abilities for good, build trust with others, and accept the dynamic nature of life.

Earthsea Series
The first three books of this series each feature its own adolescent protagonist. A Wizard of Earthsea introduces readers to Ged, a boy whose magical talents lead him to attend a renowned school for wizards on the island of Roke. As Ged learns to use his abilities, he must undertake a journey that mirrors his psychological development. The Tombs of Atuan is about a teenager named Tenar, who was taken from her home when she was a young child to serve as priestess to deities known as the Nameless Ones. When the wizard Ged shows up searching for something hidden in the underground Tombs that Tenar oversees, Tenar has to decide whether or not to break free of the isolated and bleak life she has known. The Farthest Shore is the coming of age journey of an adolescent prince named Arren as he accompanies Ged, who is now middle-aged and the powerful archmage, on a journey to discover why magic is failing across Earthsea. Something has upset the balance of the world, and Arren and Ged set out to restore it.

Annals of the Western Shore trilogy
Set in a world of city-states, villages, and rural lands along the western shore of a fictional continent, each novel in the series is its own story, following a different adolescent who must come to terms with growing up in a world that can be brutal and oppressive. Each of the series’s protagonists must figure out how to build a life, even under difficult circumstances. Taken together, this trilogy examines how stories can bridge divides and connect people.
 
Gifts takes place in the sparse Uplands where teenaged Orrec’s family eeks out a living raising cattle. Orrec awaits the day he will show the power passed down in his father’s family called the unmaking, the ability to destroy someone or something with just a look. Gry, Orrec’s best friend, has inherited her mother’s gift of calling animals, an ability highly prized for hunting. When Orrec fears that his power to unmake might be out of his control, he blindfolds himself, while Gry refuses to use her gift to call animals to waiting hunters. Orrec and Gry must decide how they want to use their abilities.
 
Voices is set in the coastal town of Ansul, which has been under occupation by the army of a neighboring land for the past seventeen years. The novel’s protagonist, Memer, lives in the house that the people of Ansul have smuggled their books to for safekeeping, as the occupiers have banned all books under penalty of death. Memer’s experience living under occupation and the arrival in Ansul of a famous storyteller leaves the reader pondering the meaning of freedom beyond just the absence of constraints as well as different ways to resist oppression.
 
Powers is the story of a young slave in the city-state of Etra. Gavir is content as a slave for a wealthy family until a devastating tragedy leads Gavir to wander away from Etra, question the life he has known, and come to grips with the dehumanizing, corrosive effects of cruel social systems.

References
Attebery, B. (1982) The Beginning Place: Le Guin’s metafantasy. Children’s Literature, 10, 113-123. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/chl.0.0196.
Cadden, M. (2005). Ursula K. Le Guin Beyond Genre: Fiction for Children and Adults. Routledge.
Cadden, M. (2006). Taking different roads to the city: The development of Ursula K. Le Guin’s young adult novels. Extrapolation, 47(3), 427-444. https://doi.org/10.3828/extr.2006.47.3.7
Le Guin, U. K. (2024). The child and the shadow. In B. Attebery (Ed.) Le Guin: Five novels. (pp. 873-884). The Library of America.
​

It’s no secret that I have a deep and abiding love for verse novels. There is something magical in the way a story gets constructed across a series of poems.  I am struck by the interplay of language, literary elements, and visual space.  I appreciate the lyrical and visual punch of Kwame Alexander’s The Crossover and the melodic flow and character development of Ann E. Burg’s Flooded.  I like the history built into Chris Crowe’s Death Coming Up the Hill and Melanie Crowder’s Audacity. I adore how Sharon Creech’s Love that Dog and Hate that Cat play with our expectations of poems we were taught and how Caroline Brooks DuBois’s Ode to a Nobody is a love letter to English class and writing. I am lost in magic that is Joy McCollough’s Enter the Body—that book, those characters pulled from Shakespeare, those poems.  Ahh, I could lose myself in other people’s lines and happily while away hours.

​However, I am working with these books for a reason; I am  in my office pulling verse novels from my shelves for a project that I am doing with my students.  I’ve just pulled Who Killed Mr. Chippendale? by Mel Glenn from my shelves and I am struck by the journey this book and I have taken.  This verse novel, published in 1996, was one of the first verse novels I ever used with students. I still remember conversations with students about how poems didn’t have to rhyme and how they could be linked together to tell a story.   I still use poems from Who Killed Mr. Chippendale? as mentor texts for writers. My English major students sometimes overlook this book; it isn’t as lyrical or as visually stunning as other verse novels. It is deceptively simple—a murder mystery told in verse.  If we set aside how it manipulates the mystery genre, building up and releasing tension differently than a prose text would.  If we ignore how the plot builds over poems from individual students who knew or interacted with the murdered teacher, if we ignore how the clues are hidden and not hidden in the poems, if we ignore all of that, we still have a book that engages readers with a story that seems oddly current.  The language is dated (it is nearly 30 years old) and simple, but it still grabs readers.  Contemporary verse novels are more complex, often more poetic, and perhaps more stylistic but there is still something compelling about this text and these poems.

Each poem provides a character’s thoughts and ideas.  The poem “Kesha Templeton” shows the readers Kesha’s view of the school day.  She does not focus on the death of the teacher, but rather the aftermath. One of my former 7th grade students said, “Kesha doesn’t talk about the teacher. She talks about the murder. I don’t know if she knew him but I know she is scared.”  This student connected with this poem and was able to talk about what he thought and provide evidence from the poem to back up his ideas.  

Around here, it’s been murder,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, guys.
How many words do we know?
       Period 1: manslaughter
       Period 2: homicide
       Period 3: slaying
       Period 4: assassination
       Period 5: massacre
       Period 6: ethnic cleansing
       Period 7: annihilation
       Period 8: genocide
Hey, this school is scary.
At the end of the year I’m transferrin’.
I’m just dying to get out (p. 21).

As a poem, Keesha Templeton, plays with the definitions of literally and figuratively.  She opens with “Around here, it’s been murder,/Literally.”  She uses the word murder to both talk about the actual murder that happened and to describe how hard it has been at the school.  She then finishes the poem with a return to the figurative use of the word dying to describe how anxious she is about being a student in the school. This interaction with literal and figurative meanings of words may seem simple but, as readers, we are aware of how these concepts are introduced as part of high school English classes.  This push/pull on literal and figurative language emphasizes Keesha’s role as student and introduces her as a student who has paid attention and has internalized this learning.  Opening and closing with murder and dying show that she has also internalized the alarm that comes from being in a location where violence has happened.

Keesha’s word play continues with a description of her classes. She names each class after a form of murder rather than the name of the actual class. Her description ends with Period 8: genocide.  This list shows Keesha’s fear and uncertainty.  She uses the naming of different forms of murder as a tool to separate herself from the fear she feels while also using the increasing severity of the words to explore the rising anxiety she feels.  She also implies that school does not feel safe for her. As readers, we see the increasing violence embedded in the words and realize the depth of her anxiety.  The seeming simplicity of the list emphasizes the increasing apprehension the student has in the aftermath of her teacher’s murder.  This poem, in its simplicity, identifies the stark reality of violence in schools and the aftermath of that violence.

​The poem provides a strong template for students to think deeply about issues. I first used this poem with seventh graders in the mid-nineties. There were a series of new rules that had been implemented after a fight in the lunchroom, and the students were upset. They felt the rules were being enforced harshly with a zero tolerance policy for kids being kids. Three students wrote:

Around here, it’s been strict,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, Rams.
How many words do we know?
     Period 1: stern
     Period 2: firm
     Period 3: harsh
     Period 4: rigid
     Period 5: severe
     Period 6: uncompromising
     Period 7: austere
     Period 8: authoritarian
Hey, big fights are scary.
At the end of the day, you are being too controlling.
We have to have room to grow.

​This poems structure allowed them to map their feelings. In choosing the order for the vocabulary words, they had to argue for the meaning and focus on nuance.  During Covid, a student explored how she felt during a writing exercise, explaining,

​Around here, it’s been sick,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, Patriots.
How many words do we know?
     Period 1: illness
     Period 2: sickness
     Period 3: flu
     Period 4: respiratory disease
     Period 5: contagion
     Period 6: virus
Period 7: epidemic
Period 8: pandemic
Hey, this Covid-19 is scary.
At the end of the year I’m getting vaccinated.
I’m just too young to get sick.

What these lines show is a student exploring the worries and concerns about an illness that we knew little about.  What she did know from what was on the news and social media was scary to her.  The pattern let her build vocabulary from the term “illness” to “pandemic” with each iteration of the vocabulary increasing the level of complexity and fear. This seemingly simple format allowed her to explore concerns she had in a form that felt more comfortable to her.  Laney explained in her author’s statement, “I made a picture with words to show how what I meant.”  Avery, a high school student, expressed his feelings about the protests and counterprotests he was seeing around him.

Around here, it’s been killer,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, Racism.
How many words do we know?
     Period 1: Tamir Rice, 14
     Period 2: Michael Brown, 15
     Period 3: Jordan Edwards, 26
     Period 4: Stephon Clark, 22
     Period 5: Botham Jean, 26
     Period 6: Breonna Taylor, 26
     Period 7: Dante Wright, 20
     Period 8: George Floyd, 46
Hey, this being black is scary.
At the end of the day, I’m choked up and
I’m just trying to keep breathing.

Like Kesha, Avery focused on loss and death. Rather than rename his vocabulary word—racism—he chose to list the names and ages of black people who had been killed. Some of the names were names that were in the news and others were not.  Students in the class with Avery looked up the names; the poem became a lesson in the results of racism. In giving the names, it personalized the term in ways that renaming would not.

Mel Glenn’s verse novel is dated, and the poetic structures don’t have the complexity of some of the poem structures we teach (sonnets, villanelles, haiku, etc.) but there is still opportunity in these structures.  Part of their strength is their approachability.  That is part of the magic of young adult verse novels—their amazing storytelling that pulls the reader in and makes the poems and poetic structures more approachable. Contemporary verse novels are dynamic and so poetic complex.  I am astounded by the narrative complexity of the heroic crown cycle in Marilyn Nelson’s A Wreath for Emmett Till and amazed by the different poetic structures used in Lesleah Newman’s October Mourning. I can get lost in the incredible beauty of Jacqueline Woodson’s Locomotion or Brown Girl Dreaming or slide into the textures of the poems in Elizabeth Acevedo’s Clap When You Land or The Poet X. I still remember the first verse novels I read.  The early novels of Mel Glenn that I read as a high school student and then early career teacher inspired me to write but, more importantly, they inspired my students to write.  So when I pick up Jasmine Warga’s beautiful Other Words for Home or the touching Chlorine Sky by Mahogany Brown or the painful We Are the Ashes, We Are the Fire by Joy McCollough, I know that I am picking up texts that are more than stories that will reach my students, I am picking up texts that will inspire my students to think and to write. 

Meet Our Contributor:

Roy Edward Jackson is an assistant professor of education at Goshen College in Indiana with a focus on literacy. He holds degrees in English, Education and School Library Science. 

When confronted with accusations of indoctrination regarding BIPOC and LGBTQ+ books, I often respond with clarity: no book has ever "made" a student gay or changed their racial or cultural identity. However, for many of us raised within Christian households and other faith traditions, the inclusion of religious content in classrooms can feel more precarious—particularly when concerns of proselytizing arise. Consider the coach who kneels to pray aloud with players before a game. While the Supreme Court has affirmed the coach's right to pray and students’ right to opt out, the inherent power imbalance cannot be ignored. The coach is likely not reciting prayers from multiple religious traditions, but instead from their own, placing unspoken pressure on players to conform for fear of social or athletic repercussions. The act, though legal, lacks inclusivity. I seek not to engage in power, but to be inclusive of all students. 

A brief summary of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe follows four siblings (Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy) who are evacuated during the bombings of London at the height of WWII to an old professor’s house in the countryside. Lucy discovers a passage to another world, Narnia, through a wardrobe. Narnia is under the rule of the White Witch who makes it always winter in Narnia, but no Christmas. The great lion, Aslan, returns to free Narnia while Edmund has betrayed his siblings only to redeem himself with the help of Aslan who sacrifices himself in Edmund’s place. Aslan dies, is resurrected and ultimately defeats the White Witch and crowns the four children the kings and queens of Narnia.

Early in the story, characters in Narnia refer to the children as "sons of Adam" and "daughters of Eve," giving readers a clear biblical reference. In the Bible, Jesus calls himself the "door" to salvation, and the wardrobe that leads to Narnia can be seen as a symbol of that spiritual passage. Aslan’s death on the Stone Table reflects the Crucifixion, and his return to life mirrors Christ’s resurrection. Edmund’s betrayal closely parallels the story of Judas, which many readers will recognize. With the defeat of the White Witch—who represents evil—Christmas returns, symbolizing the arrival of hope and redemption. 

After rereading the stories, I wondered about the insertion of religious allegory into the classroom and brainstormed how to approach this. I began where I often do, with student centered discussion and personal writing first. By placing myself out of the center of the discussion and responses I can ascertain students’ understanding of religious symbolism and, their personal identity with various faiths. The groundwork of acceptance and respect would be paramount to this. 

Armed with this knowledge of the individual and laying the groundwork of respect, I can intentionally group students of various faith backgrounds and religious symbolism understanding and begin activities. This could include activities like mapping Narnia, but through the religious allegory aspects to the action of the story. Students could work in groups to create clipart or memes of symbols and meanings as related to the story pivotal moments. Another activity is a structured debate on the moral choices of characters from both books. Students would be assigned roles to explore perspectives different from their own. This approach encourages empathy and critical thinking by requiring students to defend actions they may not personally agree with. For instance, what motivates the White Witch's cruelty? What in her backstory or worldview might explain her behavior? While the easy place to start, I would offer the best beginning is the intersection of morality and religion and spirituality. Students can identify and compare shared themes—such as temptation, redemption, good vs. evil, and free will—across both of Lewis’ texts that I presented here. As a fan of epistolary form, students could examine the format in The Screwtape Letters and apply that to The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and write letters in the voice of the children from the story that showcases their learned knowledge of religious allegory to their loved ones in London about Narnia. 

I’m always seeking ways to foster inclusion in my classrooms. As a professor at a Christian liberal arts college, and recently reflecting on the season of Easter, I’ve been thinking about how my approach to inclusion has evolved. I’m privileged at my current institution to openly make connections between faith and learning, but I also find myself reflecting on my two decades in public education. While I created space for students' faith knowledge and celebrations, I now wonder how I might have more intentionally incorporated religious allegory and symbolism—especially through texts like those of C.S. Lewis. This reflection has led me to consider how I can now help pre- and in-service teachers thoughtfully engage with these literary experiences in ways that are both inclusive and appropriate for their future classrooms.

​I would bet a lot of money that if you asked people what they would consider as a  “taboo” topic in books for adolescents, responses would be along the lines of politics, sex, or violence. I would guess that very few people would say the topic that Patricia Campbell stated as “the last taboo” in the world of young adult literature: religion. 

​Think of five of your favorite young adult novels. Are there any religious elements in these texts? If so, how is religion being portrayed? Is religion affecting the character and story in a positive or negative way?
 
When I think about the books I read growing up, I do not remember religion being discussed in any book–or at least being an important part of the story (for example, The Baby-Sitters Club or the Goosebumps series). Some of the most popular books growing up had little to no mention of religion, such as Harry Potter, Twilight, or Hunger Games. Why is that? Why have so many been willing to talk about the most controversial of topics but rarely about religion? 

YA scholar, Patricia Campbell, when writing about religion in young adult texts stated that “The majority of realistic YA fiction projects a world in which both the personal practice and the corporate practice of religion are absent, except for the worst aspects of cults or fundamentalist sects” (Mickelson 2). However, there have been recent calls for writers to include religion in their texts, specifically utilizing religion in more realistic ways instead of through purely negative depictions (Mickelson 5). It seems that authors may have heard these recent calls and have responded with some great stories depicting religion more realistically. 

​I was lucky enough in my graduate program to take two classes focused on young adult novels. The first, taught by Chris Crowe, went through a history of young adult novels starting from the 1960s to the early 2000s, in which I noticed mostly negative depictions, if any, of religion, such as in books like Send Me Down a Miracle by Han Nolan.
 
In my second section on YA literature the following semester, modern, award-winning novels were the focus. As I read through recent modern contemporary young adult novels, it seemed to me that there has been a shift in how religion is depicted. In these newer texts, the nuances of being part of a religion in today’s world are shown, rather than the religious binaries of the past, where the text was either didactic or representing religion negatively. 

​In thinking about saints and their role in his religion, Simon says “it’s a little messed up that we make saints of girls who didn’t want to get married and got killed, and boys who didn’t want to make public sacrifices and got killed…It’s like, somehow, they’re holy because awful stuff happened to them” (289). Simon continues his internal dialogue, wondering, “Maybe one of them was super good at soccer, or really liked stargazing…We only know the one part of their life, and it’s the most awful part” (289). Simon does not want to be defined by his most awful moments in life, and does not understand why his religion must be so focused on the past traumas of others; Simon wants to believe that there is more to people than their trials, that there is more to his life than the horrible things he has gone through. Simon wonders why his religion focuses so much on the suffering of people in the past when he wants to focus on healing and the other things that make him who he is. In his case, the point of the saints in his religion focuses on the things that Simon is trying to not dwell on. Can he still be a part of this religion despite this focus and move forward in healing? Does this mean he must abandon his faith altogether?

​Belle’s relationship with her mom is complicated, as are many teenager’s. Belle’s mother, Gina, cannot be described without mention of her religious beliefs. Gina is an Italian Catholic, and Belle describes it as being not “ just about religion–it’s about superstition and safekeeping and tradition” (5). Gina “rarely goes to mass, but she’s got the required crucifix over the kitchen doorway, the rosary in the dresser drawer, and the stack of dead relatives’ funeral cards, held together with a rubber band” (5). Belle’s use of the word “required” in this quote demonstrates her view of religion being something that is forced, where people seem to just go through the traditional motions. Belle’s relationship with her mother is complicated in the beginning of the novel in part due to Gina’s religious beliefs since Belle does not hold the same reverence for the traditions. Belle has a difficult time believing “people are still Catholic,” and draws a comparison between the Catholic church and Hostess Twinkies, since they both have been around “for a zillion years, in spite of the bad press and rumors of vanishing” (5). When examining Belle’s own beliefs, the narrator asks “How can Annabelle believe in anything anymore, though? It’d be nice to have a belief, but it’s likely gone for good” as a result of what she has suffered (5).  

As Belle slowly allows herself to remember her past and to feel the emotions she’s been trying to bury, she realizes that the idea of religion, such as the Saint Christopher, is comforting in moments; however, she recognizes it is not enough to heal her completely. Belle finally is able to sift through the memories of her boyfriend and best friend being killed by her stalker, finally revealing to the reader what exactly happened that night. Before she allows the memory to unravel in her mind, she sees “The Saint Christopher medal” shining “in the moonlight,” and thinks to herself how “even a saint seems small and powerless against what’s coming” (320). This moment shows the complexities of religion in Belle’s life, where she has the two contradicting feelings about religion: it can be comforting and healing, and it can also cause more anxieties and questions. These ideas are so opposite of one another that it would seem somewhat impossible for them to both make up her religious identity; yet she is able to have these back and forth moments that help her to better understand what role religion can play in her life–and that it does not have to have just one purpose. 

While less young adults identify as being religious as ever before, there is still a need to show representation for the many young adults who are trying to find the balance between living in a modern world, with all of its complexities and instant gratifications, and holding onto something that gives them hope–something that may have given their families hope for generations.

While these texts mentioned are great examples of a more realistic depiction of religion, there are several others that do similar things, and they are worth exploring for further insight into religion in young adult literature today. Some of these texts are All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir, The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater, Scythe by Neal Shusterman, and Everything Sad is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri. Even though religion is never the primary focus of these texts, that makes them even more realistic. With so many things begging for a teen's attention–social media, jobs, school, current events, family, friends, relationships, etc.--religion is oftentimes a smaller part of a religious teen’s life, but it is still a part of it. And that part shapes their adolescence, which ultimately shapes how they view themselves and the world around them. Giving examples and presenting the inner dialogue of what one may experience as a teen navigating religion in the modern world can do what literature does best–what we love literature for: showing young adults that they are not alone, providing them new ways to think about their experiences, positions, and questions, and helping them on their path to better understanding who they are.