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At Arm’s Length is a study of the ways that authors manipulate character in children’s and young adult literature in order to create more or less sympathy in the reader. Authors can push character representation and development into several directions: characters can be pushed along a continuum between the sympathetic and the awe-inspiring; characters can be pushed between the sympathetic and pitiful or the ridiculous; last, characters can also be pushed between the awe-inspiring and the pitiful. Authors manipulate character in order to elicit a change in emotional response from the reader toward characters, both major and minor. The author’s manipulation of character is meant to either draw young readers toward characters and a sympathetic (even empathetic) relationship to character, creating vulnerability, or to push back or hold the young reader at arm’s length in order to create emotional distance between the character (and action) and the young reader. This manipulation of character has implications for the ways different types of characters can represent meanings for young readers. Issues of identification, representations of diversity, stereotyping, and more are caught up in the choices authors make about how close to character the reader can get.

While the critical and popular attention afforded to twenty-first century young adult literature has exponentially increased in recent years, the texts selected for discussion in both classrooms and scholarship has remained static and small. Twilight, The Hunger Games, The Fault in Our Stars, and The Hate U Give dominate conversations among scholars and critics—but they are far from the only texts in need of analysis. Beyond the Blockbusters: Themes and Trends in Contemporary Young Adult Fiction offers a necessary remedy to this limited perspective by bringing together a series of essays about the many subgenres, themes, and character types that have been overlooked and under-discussed until now. The collection tackles a diverse range of subjects—modern updates to the marriage plot; fairy tale retellings in dystopian settings; stories of extrajudicial police killings and racial justice—but is united by a commitment to exploring the large-scale generic and theoretical structures at work in each set of texts. As a collection, Beyond the Blockbusters is an exciting glimpse of a field that continues to grow and change even as it explodes with popularity, and would make an excellent addition to the library of any scholar, instructor, or reader of young adult literature.

Black and Brown Planets, edited by Isiah Lavender, III, signifies a timely exploration of the Western obsession with color in its analysis of the sometimes contrary intersections of politics and race in science fiction. The contributors, including De Witt D. Kilgore, Edward James, Lisa Yaszek, and Marleen S. Barr, among others, explore some of the possible worlds of science fiction (literature, television, and film) to lift blacks, Latin Americans, and indigenous peoples out from the background of this historically white genre. In two sections, this collection considers the role that race and ethnicity plays in our visions of the future. The first section emphasizes the political elements of black identity portrayed in science fiction from Black America to the vast reaches of interstellar space framed by racial history. Analysis of Indigenous science fiction in the second section addresses the effects of colonization, assists in discarding the emotional and psychological baggage carried from its impact, and recovers ancestral traditions in order to adapt in a post-Native-apocalyptic world. Likewise, the second section explores the affinity between science fiction and subjectivity in Latin American cultures from the role of science and industrialization to the effects of being and moving between two cultures, effectively alienated as a response to political repression. Black and Brown Planets considers how alternate racial futurisms reconfigure our sense of viable political futures in which people of color determine human destiny and, therefore, adds more color to this otherwise monochrome genre.

Much research has been done on the zombie, a critical figure of 21^st century culture, but most of it has been devoted to visual media—especially films and TV. This book is the first monograph to engage the zombie as it appears in contemporary literature. It argues that the zombie is best read both as a formal feature, one that necessitates and enables certain things to happen in fiction, as well as a figure of possibility, one which is best read not symbolically in itself, but for the ideas about possible futures it makes possible. In six chapters, Books of the Dead reads key texts of zombie fiction, from Max Brooks’s World War Z through Colson Whitehead’s Zone One, touching on both so-called literary fiction, genre fiction, comics, and short fiction. It addresses zombie fiction’s capacity to speak about contemporary concerns such as community or better political futures, on race, and on gender, but also argues for the importance of the zombie to contemporary literature as such.

John Clellon Holmes met Jack Kerouac on a hot New York City weekend in 1948, and until the end of Kerouac’s life they were—in Holmes’s words—“Brother-Souls.” Both were neophyte novelists, hungry for literary fame but just as hungry to find a new way of responding to their experiences in a postwar American society that for them had lost its direction. Late one night as they sat talking, Kerouac spontaneously created the term “Beat Generation” to describe this new attitude they felt stirring around them. This book is the chronicle of this cornerstone friendship and Holmes’s life. From 1948 to 1951, when Kerouac’s wanderings took him back to New York, he and Holmes met almost daily. Struggling to find a form for the novel he intended to write, Kerouac climbed the stairs to the apartment in midtown Manhattan where Holmes lived with his wife, to read the pages of Holmes’s manuscript for the novel Go as they left the typewriter. With the pages of Holmes’s final chapter still in his mind, he was at last able to crack his own writing dilemma. In a burst of creation in April 1951 he drew all the materials he had been gathering into the scroll manuscript of On the Road, the author of which was close to Holmes for more than a decade.

Adaptation studies scholars suggest that no matter how interesting it may be to pick apart a film’s consistency with and departure from its source, these approaches can be limiting because books and movies operate as two very different mediums. Children’s Books on the Big Screen moves away from this approach by tracing a pattern across films for young viewers to highlight a consistent trend: when films are adapted from children’s and YA books, concepts like self/other, male/female, and adult/child become more strongly contrasted and more diametrically opposed in the film version. Children’s Books on the Big Screen describes this as binary polarization, suggesting that more stark opposition between concepts leads to shifts in the messages that texts send, particularly when it comes to representations of gender, race, and childhood. After introducing why critics need a new way of thinking about children’s adapted texts, Children’s Books on the Big Screen uses middle-grade fantasy adaptations to consider the reason for binary polarization and looks at the ideological results of polarized binaries in adolescent films and movies adapted from picturebooks. The text also explores movies adapted from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz to dig into instances when multiple films are adapted from a single source and ends with pragmatic classroom application, suggesting teachers might utilize this theory to help students think critically about movies created by the Walt Disney corporation. Drawing from numerous popular contemporary examples, Children’s Books on the Big Screen posits a theory that can begin to explain what happens—and what is at stake—when children’s and young adult books are made into movies.

The statement, “The Civil Rights Movement changed America,” though true, has become something of a cliche. This book seeks to determine how, exactly, the Civil Rights Movement changed the literary possibilities of four iconic American writers: Robert Penn Warren, Norman Mailer, Eudora Welty, and William Styron. Each of these writers published significant works prior to the Brown v. Board of Education case in 1954 and the Montgomery Bus Boycott that began in December of the following year, making it possible to trace their evolution in reaction to these events. The work these writers crafted in response to the upheaval of the day, from Warren’s Who Speaks for the Negro?, to Mailer’s “The White Negro” to Welty’s “Where Is the Voice Coming From?” to Styron’s Confessions of Nat Turner, reveal much about their own feeling in the moment, even as they contribute to the national conversation that centered on race and democracy. By examining these works closely, the author posits the argument that these writers significantly shaped discourse on civil rights as the movement was occurring, but in ways that—intentionally or not—often relied upon a notion of the relative innocence of the South with regard to racial affairs, and on a construct of African Americans as politically and/or culturally naive. As these writers grappled with race and the myth of southern nobility, their work developed in ways that were simultaneously sympathetic of, and condescending to, black intellectual thought.

The anthology asks: What social and political impact is created by the Steampunk dimension of film, television, fashion, and decoration? How does Steampunk both reflect and shape social attitudes and predispositions? To what extent does Steampunk provide the grounding for subcultures? How is Steampunk used in political appeals? Its essays address the way that Steampunk culture generates its own rhetorical norms, its own communicative patterns and structures, at the same time that it generates a lexicon that becomes part of the larger rhetoric of popular and political culture.

Media narratives in popular culture often ascribe interchangeable characteristics to childhood and old age. In the manner of George Lakoff and Mark Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By, the authors in this volume envision the presumed semblance between children and the elderly as a root metaphor that finds succinct articulation in the idea that “children are like old people” and vice versa. The volume explores the recurrent use of this root metaphor in literature and media from the mid-nineteenth century to the present. The authors demonstrate how it shapes and is reinforced by a spectrum of media products from Western and East-Asian countries. Most the media products addressed were developed for children as their primary audience, and range from children’s classics such as Heidi to recent Dutch children’s books about euthanasia. Various authors also consider narratives produced either for adults (for instance, the TV series Mad Men, and the novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close) or for a dual audience (for example, the family film Paddington or The Simpsons). The diversity of these products in terms of geography, production date, and audience buttresses a broad comparative exploration of the connection between childhood and old age, allowing the authors to bring out culturally specific aspects and biases. Finally, since this book also unites scholars from a variety of disciplines (media studies, children’s literature studies, film studies, pedagogy, sociology), the individual chapters provide a range of methods for studying the connection between childhood and old age.

This book traces the development of a Left feminist consciousness as women became more actively involved in the American Left during and immediately following World War II. It argues that women writers on the Left drew on the rhetoric of antifascism to critique the cultural and ideological aspects of women’s oppression. In Left journals during World War II, women writers outlined the dangers of fascist control for women and argued that the fight against fascism must also be about ending women’s oppression. After World War II, they continued to use this antifascist framework to call attention to the ways in which the emerging domestic ideology in the United States bore a frightening resemblance to the fascist repression of women in Nazi Germany. This critique of American domestic ideology emphasized the ways in which black and working-class women were particularly affected, and extended to an examination of women’s roles in personal and romantic relationships. Underlying this critique was the belief that representations of women in American culture were part of the problem. To counter these dominant cultural images, women writers on the Left depicted female activists in contemporary antifascist and anticolonial struggles, or turned to the past for historical role models in the labor, abolitionist, and antisuffrage movements. This depiction of women as models of agency and liberation challenged some of the conventions about femininity in the postwar era.

Growing Up Asian American in Young Adult Fiction focuses on moving beyond stereotypes to examine how Asian American children and adolescents define their unique identities. For these kids, being or considered to be American becomes a challenge in itself as they assert their Asian and American identities; claim their own ethnic identity, be they an immigrant or American-born; and negotiate their ethnic communities. Chapters focus on primary texts from many ethnicities, such as Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Japanese, Vietnamese, South Asian, and Hawaiian. Individual chapters crossing cultural, linguistic, and racial boundaries revise the traditional white male bildungsroman to negotiate the complex terrain of Asian American children’s and teenagers’ identities. Chapters cover such topics as internalized racism and self-loathing; hyper-sexualization of Asian American females in graphic novels; the fluidity and ambiguity of the biracial or mestizo Filipino male and female’s ethnic and racial identities; interracial friendships between Japanese Americans and Americans of other ethnicities during the Japanese internment; transnational adoptions and birth searches by Korean Americans; food as a means of assimilation and resistance for first generation immigrant Vietnamese American girls; the hostile and alienating environment generated by the War on Terror for South Asian American teenagers; and commodity racism and the tourist gaze as well as self-authorship, interstitial identity, and the ambiguity of motherland in Hawaiian American literature.

Larry Brown was unique among writers who started their careers in the late twentieth century. Unlike most of them—his friends Clyde Edgerton, Jill McCorkle, Rick Bass, Kaye Gibbons, among others—he was neither a product of a writing program, nor did he teach at one. In fact, he did not even attend college. His innate talent, his immersion in the life of north Mississippi, and his determination led him to national success. Drawing on excerpts from numerous letters and material from interviews with family members and friends, this book is a biography of a landmark southern writer. It explores the cultural milieu of Oxford, Mississippi, and the writers who influenced Brown, including William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, Harry Crews, and Cormac McCarthy. The book covers Brown’s history in Mississippi, the troubled family in which he grew up, and his boyhood in Tula and Yocona, Mississippi, and in Memphis, Tennessee. It relates stories from Brown’s time in the Marines, his early married life—which included sixteen years as an Oxford fireman—and what he called his “apprenticeship” period, the eight years during which he was teaching himself to write publishable fiction. The book examines Brown’s years as a writer: the stories and novels he wrote, his struggles to acclimate himself to the fame his writing brought him, and his many trips outside Yocona, where he spent the last thirty years of his life. It concludes with a discussion of A Miracle of Catfish.

Larry Brown (1951–2004) is noted for his subjects—rural life, poverty, war, and the working class—and his spare, gritty style. His oeuvre spans several genres and includes acclaimed novels (Dirty Work, Joe, Father and Son, The Rabbit Factory, and A Miracle of Catfish), short story collections (Facing the Music, Big Bad Love), memoir (On Fire), and essay collections (Billy Ray’s Farm). At the time of his death, Brown was considered to be one of the finest exemplars of minimalist, raw writing of the contemporary South. This book considers the writer’s full body of work, placing it in the contexts of southern literature, Mississippi writing, and literary work about the working class. Collectively, the chapters explore such subjects as Brown’s treatment of class politics, race and racism, the aftereffects of the Vietnam War on American culture, the evolution of the South from a plantation-based economy to a postindustrial one, and male–female relations. The book discusses the role of Brown’s mentors—Ellen Douglas and Barry Hannah—in shaping his work, as well as Brown’s connection to such writers as Harry Crews and Dorothy Allison. It is one of the first critical studies of a writer whose depth and influence mark him as one of the most well-regarded Mississippi authors.

Nerds, Goths, Geeks, and Freaks: Outsiders in Chicanx/Latinx Young Adult Literature signals a much-needed approach to the study of Latinx young adult literature. This edited volume addresses themes of outsiders in Chicanx/Latinx children’s and young adult literature. The collection insists that to understand Latinx youth identities, it is necessary to shed light on outsiders within an already marginalized ethnic group: nerds, goths, geeks, freaks, and others who might not fit within Latinx popular cultural paradigms such as the chola and cholo, identities that are ever-present in films, television, and the Internet. In Nerds, Goths, Geeks, and Freaks, the through-line of being an outsider intersects with discussions of race, ethnicity, gender, and sexuality. The volume addresses the following questions. What constitutes “outsider” identities? In what ways are these “outsider” identities shaped by mainstream myths around Latinx young people, particularly with the common stereotype of the struggling, underachieving inner city Latinx teen? How do these young adults reclaim what it means to be an “outsider,” “weirdo,” “nerd,” or “goth,” and how can the reclamation of these marginalized identities expand much-needed conversations around authenticity and narrow understandings of what constitutes Latinx identity? How does Chicanx/Latinx children’s and YA literature represent, challenge, question, or expand discussions surrounding identities that have been deemed outsiders/outliers?

The Order and the Other is a call to reexamine the relationship between dystopian literature and science fiction by thinking about the work that each genre does on and for the reader. The author believes that this is especially necessary in regards to dystopian literature intended for adolescents. Now that the cultural boom of YA Dystopian texts is over, this book attempts to understand that boom by placing dystopian works into the larger context of belonging to literary history of dystopian works. It attempts to help readers see how surveillance and power form the way that not only the characters within the films or books think about themselves, but also how it shapes the readers, as well. It also helps show that the surveillance culture and state that we see within such texts is not dependent on science fiction genre structures to exist. Finally, the book examines the most recent efforts to understand the genre and suggests ways inquiry into the genre might go forward.

When we generalize about children, we are often also implicitly generalizing about their care, from within a "middle-class" view of "nuclear" family. These as sumptions rely on anorm that few of us actually fit. Yet it is very difficult to talk about children from completely outside of such an assumed model of support in the private or "islanded" sphere. In contrast, children in literature are just as often disconnected from family in order to have greater adventures in more public spaces. They must leave the confines of the private family to for gean other sphere in which to grow. But the real experiences of children at tempting public connection or freedom to roam are farmore complicated, ranging from captivity and containment to escape and self-reliance. Utilizing both fictions of child adventure and accounts of experiences by actual children, Honey mandemonstrates that childwelfare depends upon not just protection, but also participation. How can protection, which sounds so comforting, do harm? Perils of Protection will trace how the best of intentions to protect children can none the lesshurt them if leaving them unprepared to acton the irown behalf. Each chapter will center on this perilous pattern in a different context: "women and children first" rescue hierarchies, geographic restriction, abandonment, censorship, and illness. Analysis from adventures real and fictionalized will offer the reader high jinx and heroism at sea, the rush of risk, finding new families, resisting censorship through discovering shared political identity, and breaking the pretences of sentimentality.

This volume presents a central argument that the Pooh stories remain relevant for modern readers, opening up discourses about identity, ethics, social relations, and notions of belonging through essays that focus on geography, language, narrative, theory, and characterization. It brings together some of the most cutting-edge approaches in children’s literature theory, both from key established scholars in the field and from the currently unfolding scholarship of new researchers. Crucially, this will be the first volume to offer multiple perspectives from multiple authors on the Winnie-the-Pooh books all within a single collection.

Posthumanism in Young Adult Fiction: Finding Humanity in a Posthuman World, edited by Anita Tarr and Donna White, is a collection of twelve essays analyzing young adult science fiction and fantasy in terms of how representative contemporary YA books’ authors describe and their characters portray elements of posthumanist attitudes. The authors give a brief survey of theorists’ discussions of how posthumanism rejects—but does not entirely forsake—liberal humanist tenets. Primarily, posthumanism calls for embracing the Other, eliminating binaries that separate human and nonhuman, human and nature, organic and inorganic, stressing the process of always-becoming. Due to technological enhancements, we should recognize that our species is changing, as it always has, becoming more networked and communal, fluid and changeable. Posthumanism does not mandate cyborgs, cloning, genetic enhancement, animal-human hybrids, mutations, advanced prosthetics, and superhuman strengths—although all of these are discussed in the collected essays. Posthumanism generally upholds liberal humanist values of compassion, fairness, and ethical responsibility, but dismantles the core of anthropocentrism: the notion that humans are superior and dominant over all other species and have the right to control, exploit, destroy, or marginalize those who are not the ideal white, able-bodied male. The more we discover about humans, the more we question our exceptionality; that is, since we co-evolved with many other organisms, especially bacteria, there is no DNA genome that is uniquely human; since we share many traits with animals, there is no single trait that defines us as human or as not human (such as using tools, speaking language, having a soul, expressing emotions, being totally organic, having a sense of wonder). The twelve essayists do not propose that YA fiction should offer guidelines for negotiating posthumanist subjectivity—being fragmented and multiple, networked vulnerable—though many of the novels analyzed actually do this. Other novelists bring their adolescent characters to the brink, but do not allow them to move beyond the familiar structures of society, even if they are rebelling against those very structures. Indeed, adolescence and posthumanism share many elements, especially anxieties about future possibilities, embracing new ideas and new selves, and being in a liminal state of in-between-ness that does not resolve itself. In other words, young adult fiction is the ideal venue to explore how we are now or we might in the future maintain our humanity in a posthuman world.

Representations of southern poor whites have long shifted between romanticization and demonization. At worst, poor southern whites are aligned with racism, bigotry, and right-wing extremism, and at best, regarded as the passive victims of wider, socio-economic policies. Poverty Politics: Poor Whites in Contemporary Southern Writing pushes beyond these stereotypes and explores the impact of neoliberalism and welfare reform on depictions of poverty. The book examines representations of southern poor whites across various types of literature, including travel-writing, photo-narratives, life-writing, and eco-literature, and reveals a common interest in communitarianism that crosses the boundaries of the US South and regionalism, moving past ideas about the culture of poverty to examine the economics of poverty. Included are critical examinations of the writings of southern writers such as Dorothy Allison, Rick Bragg, Barbara Kingsolver, Tim McLaurin, Toni Morrison, and Ann Pancake. Poverty Politics: Poor Whites in Contemporary Southern Writing includes critical engagement with identity politics as well as reflecting on issues including Hurricane Katrina, the 2008 financial crisis, and mountaintop removal. It interrogates the presumed opposition between the Global North and the Global South and engages with micro-regions through case studies on Appalachian photo-narratives and eco-literature. Importantly, it focuses not merely on representations of southern poor whites, but also on writing that calls for alternative ways of re-conceptualizing not just the poor, but societal measures of time, value, and worth.

This book considers the recent surge in queer young adult literature publishing and argues that this explosion of queer representation has prompted new forms of longstanding cultural anxieties about adolescent sexuality. In particular, critics of queer texts for young people seem concerned with the following questions: what makes for a good “coming out” story? Will increased queer representation in popular culture teach adolescents the right lessons, and help queer youth live better, happier lives? What if these stories harm young people instead of helping them? Although these concerns spring from a particular contemporary moment, Mason illustrates how the history of adolescence is itself a history of anxiety, and how young adult literature emerged, in part, as a way of managing various cultural and social anxieties. Mason suggests that “queer YA” is usefully understood as a body of trans-media texts with blurry boundaries, one that coheres around affect—specifically, anxiety—instead of content. To clarify this point, Mason draws on criticism about a range of texts for and about queer adolescents, including an assortment of young adult books; Caper in the Castro, the first-ever queer video game; online fan communities; and popular television series Glee and Big Mouth. Themes that generate the most anxiety about adolescent culture, Mason argues—queer visibility, risk-taking, HIV/AIDS, dystopia and horror, the promise that “It Gets Better” and the threat that it might not—challenge us to rethink how we read and engage with young people’s media.