I like to keep track of the books I read on Goodreads, and for the last couple of years, when Goodreads has prompted me to join the Goodreads Reading Challenge, I’ve set the goal of reading 100 books throughout the course of the year. Then, periodically, I’ve noticed that I am a book or two ahead of schedule and felt pleased with myself—the way I used to feel as a kid when I got a good grade on a test that I was already pretty sure I’d done well on.
But as I’ve reflected on the election and some recent online conversations about harmful representation of marginalized groups in published and about-to-be-published books, I’ve realized that I need to make a major change to my Goodreads Challenge.
As a kid—as a white, privileged kid with access to lots and lots of books—it gave me so much comfort to read books in which I saw myself. I read books like Judy Blume’s Just as Long as We’re Together and Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson and Irene Hunt’s Up a Road Slowly over and over because I recognized myself in those characters. It took me a long time to learn that I can’t compare my insides to other people’s outsides—just because other people seem happy and confident and completely at ease with things that cause me great anxiety doesn’t mean they aren’t feeling unsettled in their own way. But these novels invited me inside another person’s consciousness. They allowed me to compare my insides to someone else’s insides. These novels didn’t shy away from depicting characters’ flaws; these characters I loved and related to messed up a whole lot, but I still rooted for them and realized that they deserved good things. And as a kid who could be very hard on herself, it was immensely helpful for me to realize that, if I could love and forgive a character who messed up, then maybe I could love and forgive myself, too. Maybe I could realize that I deserved good things as well.
But I cannot even fathom how difficult it must be for readers who cannot see themselves in books in the way I have always been able to. It was relatively easy for me to feel like I could compare my insides to a character’s insides when our outsides weren’t all that different. Yes, I could (and still can) connect to characters who are not female or white or heterosexual, and reading books about characters who are unlike me in key ways has helped me to be a more empathetic person with a broader worldview. But when I was an adolescent and needed comfort, the books I returned to were books in which the main characters were like me in fundamental ways.
I also cannot fathom what it must be like to be part of a marginalized group of people who have not had this luxury of being able to see themselves easily in books, and then to see hurtful, stereotypical portrayals of people who are supposed to be like them.
Last week, author Justina Ireland tweeted, “Set a goal to read at least one diverse book for every book by a white author you read. Don’t know of any books? Ask Twitter.”
I have always believed that we need diverse books so that all kids get to have the kinds of reading experiences that comforted me so much, but that I also took for granted because I didn’t have to work hard to seek them out. We need to support authors of color and authors who are part of the LGBTQIA community by buying and reading their books so that more diverse books continue to be published. I, as a teacher, need to read these books so that I can recommend them to students and recommend buying them for our school library.
But you know what? Even though I believe all of these things, even though I mean to be an ally, when I look at the 87 books I have read so far in 2016, I see that less than 20% of those books are by authors of color or authors who are part of other marginalized groups. My count might be slightly off because I don’t always know how authors identify and I counted conservatively, but one thing is for sure: when I glance at my Reading Challenge progress and see that I am a book ahead of my goal pace, I don’t feel that familiar, cozy self-satisfaction of getting a good grade. Instead, I feel like I need to put my money (literally) and my energy where my mouth is. I need to do a whole lot better.
So for the rest of 2016 and all of 2017, I pledge to do what Justina Ireland suggested. I pledge to read one book by an author of color or an author from another marginalized group for every book I read by a white, heterosexual author.
I know that I need to do more than this in order to do my part to stand up against all forms of intolerance. But this is one concrete way I plan to start. Please join me, if you’d like, and please feel free to suggest books you think I should read. Thank you to the people in the young adult and middle grade community who are committed to speaking up about issues of harmful representation, or lack of representation. I know that it is not your job to educate me, but I am listening to you and learning from you, and I am grateful.