Sometimes in Error by Dean Gloster
If my birth family had a motto, it
would be “Sometimes in error, but never in doubt.” All three of us boys were
scary smart. We were maybe even more sure of ourselves than we were smart. We
each had the ability to reach conclusions based on small data sets.

I'm on the left. I eventually grew into my ears.
That
is, we were quick and clever but sometimes spectacularly wrong. Worse, some of
us had a touch of what later in life I came to call “Brightman’s syndrome”—we’d
had enough experience of being right even when a bunch of people disagreed, so that
even if everyone else in the room argued with us, we still might assume we were
right.
That’s
a terrible trait if it leads to things like mansplaining to a someone who’s a
domain expert in the subject matter under discussion.
But
it’s a nice background for writing YA. Because, especially when we’re teens,
some of us are very certain, even if we’re not always right.
One
of the joys about writing fiction rooted in adolescence is the ability to use a
naïve narrator. That’s not the same as an unreliable narrator, who sometimes
lies to readers: It’s a narrator who is certain of her truth and tells it, but is
sometimes wrong, because she doesn’t have a complete understanding of the
world.
YA
is often rooted in a fierce, individual point of view, and there are wonderful
moments of dramatic irony with a naïve narrator, where the readers see and
understand things the main character doesn’t. Yet. But not everyone gets it.
A
decade ago, in a bitter troll belch of an online rant, then-contributing staff
writer Ruth Graham wrote in Slate magazine that adults should be
“embarrassed” to read young adult fiction, because it doesn’t reflect “the
mature insights” of grownups. (Graham has now gone on to write for The New
York Times, where apparently no one on staff is punished for being ignorant,
shallow, and spectacularly wrong, as long as they’re sufficiently right wing. See,
e.g., Ross Douthat and Bret “Bedbug” Stephens.)
Ms.
Graham proudly made clear that she hadn’t (horrors) really read YA novels since
“the early 1990s,” and in her exquisite, dry-eyed, adult sensibility, she
reduced all of John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars to just the
following: a guy manipulates a girl so he can “deflower” her in Europe.
Her
own obtuseness didn’t prevent Ms. Graham, however, from shaming everyone else
who got more out of that novel—or who got anything from any other YA book
they’ve read since their eighteenth birthday.
Some
might say hers is the quintessential 21st century American commentary—ignorance
of facts is asserted as a virtue; sweeping statements result; and H.L. Menken’s
comments about Puritanism, “The haunting view that someone, somewhere, may be
happy,” is followed by the action item, “so we’d better put a stop to that.”
Even
as a guy with occasional Brightman’s syndrome, though, I would never dismiss,
in a national article, an entire category of literature I wasn’t fractionally well-read
in.
Along
with being massively ignorant, Graham is almost completely wrong. Her assumption
about books she hasn’t read—that they must have “immature” perspective because
their protagonists are teens—is not only an insult to teens, it ignores how
novels work.
Novels communicate through the perspective of their narrator, but even more through the action of the story, which often changes that narrator. And other points of view are conveyed by other characters (including adults.) In A.S. King’s breakthrough YA novel Please Ignore Vera Dietz, protagonist Vera is wrong about some things, but our view of her reality is rounded out by the other chapters narrated by her dead friend Charlie, by her father with his flow charts, and even by a pagoda-shaped building in town.
Even
when the whole novel comes through the point of view of the protagonist, authors
sometimes vary narrative distance giving us hints of the author’s view and give
us the comments of other characters in scene that round out our understanding
as readers.
Which
is different and broader than the view of the protagonist.
Finally—let’s
be clear—recent history has shown that maturity isn’t always a function of aging
beyond 18. In the U.S. our 80-year-old alleged President has been hosting cage
fights, losing a war with algae and reality, and, as Charles Rammelkamp put it
in the Baltimore Sun, “making up puerile nicknames worthy of a middle
schooler on a playground.”
In
fact, like Ruth Graham, you can be a full adult and national correspondent for
the New York Times covering religion, faith, and values, but be so
cramped of soul that when you look at a book like The Fault in Our Stars
you miss that it’s about facing mortality, about living in a world that is
unpredictable, about the power of literature, about love, about loss, and about
finding meaning in a short life, and instead tell millions they should ignore
it—because you’re a naïve and unreliable narrator.
Through
the power vested in me by virtue of my literary license, I hereby decree that—even
if you’re an adult—you can read and enjoy YA books.
Trust
me on that. I’m reliable.
Dean Gloster is a former stand-up comedian and a former law clerk at the U.S. Supreme Court. He has an MFA in writing for children and young adults from Vermont College of Fine Arts. His debut YA novel DESSERT FIRST is out from Merit Press/Simon Pulse. His YA short stories “Death’s Adopted Daughter” and "Proof of the Existence of Dog" are in the anthologies Spoon Knife 6: Rest Stop and Spoon Knife 7: Transitions from Autonomous Press. He is at work on two more YA novels, and the one he's wrapping up now deals with opposing evil. (Which we should all do.) Starting in August, he will be co-editing the next anthology from Autonomous Press on the subject "Bounce", which you can read about at www.autpress.com. He makes periodic anti-authoritarian posts on Bluesky, where he is @deangloster.bsky.social






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