RoundBlog: The Complicated World of YA Fiction and Incarceron

Wollstonecraft:

If you have read my post on The Hunger Games series or YA fiction, you already know in more detail my thoughts on the young adult genre and why we chose a YA book for our RoundBlog. In short, what I have found so fascinating about these series is the fact that they explore large and relevant themes, have complex characters, and treat young adults as intelligent human beings, AND that they still have creative stories that are so entertaining. Although, much of YA fiction is disappointing or just bad (just like there are many disappointing “adult” fiction books), there are many series that do not rehash different versions of the hero’s journey and many that do not feed into teen romance. In fact, with some searching, I have found many books that are incredibly imaginative and interesting, creating new and interesting worlds that can help us see our own from a different perspective. 

In The Immortals series (which admittedly does have some teen romance), one of the adult characters criticizes the moral absolutism of the young; and the books themselves think about (and make their readers think about) what it means when we divide our world into absolutes and how often this division fails to fully explain our gray reality. The main “bad guy” believes with his whole self that he is doing God’s work, and the series explores how different people can interpret events in completely different and often devastating ways.  There is also a gay teen struggling with his identity and a not so subtle theme examining people’s inclination to hate anything different and to create hierarchies of power wherever they can. Also, it deals with many themes from Paradise Lost, and the author even uses many quotes from the poem in chapter epigraphs. And, I *hope* that it is books like these that can lead teens to the harder stuff of Paradise Lost.  

And, as I read Incareron, that quote denouncing the moral absolutism of the young resonated with me. The novel occurs through two different narrative perspectives: Claudia, the girl on the outside used by her father as a pawn for power, and Finn, the boy inside Incarceron, the prison, trying to break free. Society created Incarceron as a sociological project; they thought they could create a kind of Utopia wherein they would put all the unwanted criminals, political and otherwise, and the poor or underprivileged. The prison has unknown dimensions (but is described as vast) and is ruled by a computer program and a single warden—mostly it is left to “run” on its own. The story follows both the outside world, which runs on a corrupt political system, and the prison, which has been corrupted by an all too objective and merciless computer system—as you might expect, the prison turns out to not be such a great idea (unbeknownst to the outside world). 

 What I found most fascinating was the fact that there was no clear Villain, which gives the reader freedom to judge and question the various (and often unclear) motives of the many characters involved. The boy “hero” kills (or causes an innocent to be killed) within the first chapter, and the girl hero is a cold and calculating soon-to-be royal. Neither is completely innocent and both are struggling to make sense of a world wherein they are pawns for everyone else’s games of power. Everyone is using everyone else for some end, and they struggle to find warmth and compassion in a world where compassion can get you killed. They struggle to make themselves happy while also considering the lives of others, leading to questions like, to what extent do we sacrifice our lives for another’s happiness? When does caring about our own life become selfish? Can we sacrifice the ones we love for the greater good? Why should we be responsible for others? And though many readers are not fighting for survival in a deadly prison, we daily fight (often against ourselves and our morals) for our own happiness, and these questions are ones we seek answers to everyday. Can we or should we think about our own life before the lives of others? Should we give up something important just to avoid hurting someone close to us? 

When I was teaching, many of my kids struggled with deciding to please themselves or please their parents. One student wanted to become a math teacher, but his parents were expecting him to become a doctor. At 14, is it really selfish for him to disappoint his parents? He thought it made him selfish (though I basically told him he should do what he wants). And, these choices and decisions only get harder as we get older, and our choices do not just affect our over-bearing parents, but affect our spouses and friends. Basically, I think that these books can even give adults something to think about. And seeing these moral quandaries through the eyes of teenagers, I think can bring a different perspective to our own problems.

 In the “outside world” of this novel, after a devastating war, the king has decreed that society needs to retreat into the past, “back to a simpler time” in order to avoid another disaster. The king declares he “will make a world free from the anxiety of change” and it will be “Paradise.” His decree: “We forbid growth and therefore decay. Ambition, and therefore despair. Because each is only the warped reflection of the other. Above all, Time is forbidden. From now on nothing will change.” Like in our world (which seems really relevant during election week), the king and the adults of this book look to blame the all abstract “change” and “time” instead of looking at the real causes of society’s unrest. Obviously, there is a backlash to the decree as the world becomes stagnant and frustrated in an unchanging world. It is not about change for change’s sake, but about finding names for those goals and seeing that progress is necessary for survival—that creating something new and changing our perspectives is just human nature. And, this is what our “heroes” struggle to do: find real solutions and name those nameless problems. And, in a court where politics is an illusion and they all act their parts, it is hard to find sincere answers and helpful solutions. Especially when the blame is placed on ideas and labels instead of where it should be:

“…or is it that man contains within himself the seeds of evil? That even if he is placed in paradise perfectly formed for him he will poison it, slowly, with his own jealousies and desires? I fear it may be that we blame the Prison for our own corruption…”

Essentially, the book also questions the abstract ideas of Utopia and Paradise, as they mean so many different things to different people. And, as the world does change, the notions of Paradise change with it.

Although I didn’t think that this book was amazing and there were parts I thought were lacking, overall, I thought the storyline interesting and unique. There were definitely “holes” in the story and there were moments where I had to ignore the logical fallacies. In a fantasy, you know you have to suspend disbelief, but on occasion, the logic of the world was hard to grasp. Because it is the first in a trilogy, I am sure that certain holes will be filled, but the prison’s abstract dimensions were just left to be believed.  The author seemed to take for granted that her young readers wouldn’t think too hard about whether something made sense...

Melville:

First of all, I have to say that I was thrilled we selected a YA book.  In the last few months, it seems the only thing I have time to read besides the books I teach are YA novels (aside from the blogs I follow religiously).  I love YA novels because with them, you have the freedom to really explore the real (and fantastic!) possibilities of life -- to imagine scenarios where worlds are inside wardrobes, boys can be wizards, and young Canadian women grow up to be famous writers.  As a younger reader, there is that sense that so long as you are willing to trust the writer, you can experience ANYTHING and that is an incredibly joyous feeling. 

With this idea in mind, I was immediately delighted with Incarceron's ability to draw me into a world completely unlike my own.  As Wollstonecraft covered so thoughtfully, I enjoyed the lack of moral absolutism and the questioning of traditional expectations of Paradise/Utopia and our understanding of how these visions shape our understanding of our own lives.  It was a clever book and one that I think that readers will appreciate even more in this increasingly complex world of ours.   The plot itself was a rollicking adventure and let me tell you, I would never want to be trapped in that prison world after going through those scenes with the Jabba-the-hut like character who sucked the life out of others to fit his whims.  

However, while I appreciated all the new reflections on how we can view the world, I was, truth be told, disappointed by the world itself.  Having grown up with a brother who is literally a rocket scientist and always demanded that my explanations be logical, factual, and involve way fewer fluffy unicorns named Marvin, I have learned to appreciate a certain amount of credibility in a story (this from someone who wrote her undergraduate thesis on Isabel Allende).  I was disturbed that my general understanding of the prison world was that the author cobbled together her explanation from the final scene of one of the most well-paid actors of my generation -- Will Smith in Men In Black.  While I like Men In Black as well as any teen of the 90s, I think there are many more inventive ways to explain the ability to jump from one world to the next and how they fit in with each other.  And when that realization set in, I started to look back at other scenes and the plot holes started to yawn open and languish on the pages of an otherwise great novel.  

I understand now that these plot contrivances (like the better-than-gold servant girl) must have significance and further depth in later books but I see that as problematic.  Too many books (and far too many films) settle nowadays for the cliff-hanger, the threads of unresolved storylines, and remain well past their prime, ingratiating themselves to an audience who has to go home and have their parents explain the jokes.  Some writers are clever enough to re-imagine some of their characters in new scenes, but I think that the focus should be on getting the first book right before cranking out more novels to help close these narrative loopholes.  Now, don't get me wrong, these assessments are not aimed solely at Incarceron, for it was a page-turner and a great first effort (I would even be curious to read the sequels), but I think these issues were probably suggested (or not corrected) by a publishing house that was thinking about short-term profits rather than long-term literary perfection.  

Be that as it may, it was a great pick for October -- for there were plenty of ghoulish characters both internally and externally.  Well-done Wollstonecraft!

Our next pick will be The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell.

http://www.thousandautumns.com/

Because it is a relatively longer novel and November continues to get busier, we will actually be discussing this book in our December RoundBlog. The November RoundBlog will feature a poem. And, if you have any suggestions, please write them below... 

Roundblog 2: Moving Mourning--Ayelet Waldman's Red Hook Road

SHELLEY:

I like having plans; they give me structure, and make me feel organized and productive. They sort of create a special comfort zone where life is somewhat predictable, allowing me to feel like I have some control over my existence and how my life is led. I especially love fun plans; they create a bit of excitement and brighten the future, giving me something to look forward to. When plans are thwarted or changed, though, I get a bit thrown off. In fact, I become frustrated and disappointed. Whatever I have envisioned falls through, which upsets me to varying degrees, depending on how much value I had placed in the disrupted plan. Although I’m pretty flexible when one plan is replaced by a better one, I struggle when big plans—life changing ones--don't work out.

In Red Hook Road, Ayelet Waldman explores the nature of human reaction when one's plans--one's vision for her life--are ambushed, pierced, and slowly restructured. I think it's safe to say that most people don't have the loss of a loved one in their life plans, especially a loss that is sudden and unexpected. The characters living in Red Hook, Maine, though, must live on, must function, in the aftermath of a disaster--a devestating disaster involving the death of a young married couple who are survived by parents, siblings, and friends. And although the novel suffers from some weaknesses, I think it is most relatable and most engaging when it patiently delves into the multiple ways different people recover and adjust to shattered plans of happiness, expectations, and achievement. This recovery and adjustment, in the case of Red Hook Road, is synonymous with the grieving process. People are obviously different, so clearly, they will end up grieving differently; Matt, for instance, grieves by throwing himself into passionately repairing his brother's boat, while Mr. Kimmelbrod finds refuge in his violin. Such reactions to disaster and thwarted plans were most meaningful to me as a reader; they emphasized that there is no one right way to heal when big plans are altered or squashed, but that healing is definitely possible, and can even allow the experience of happiness again.

What do you think, Melville?

MELVILLE:

I liked what Shelley is saying about plans -- I really think that Waldman focuses on this idea of rebuilding a life. Yes, tragedy happens to everyone (some great, some small) but I was really drawn to her reaction to that age-old question -- how do we deal with death?

I picked this book because it seemed right up my alley in terms of focusing on a place -- Maine and the still ever-inclement weather it has even in the midst of what elsewhere is a bright, sunny summer. It is a brilliant choice for a place to talk about death -- for, in the flash of an instant, a storm may brew, a car can crash, or the sun will come out of the clouds and illuminate the rain-soaked characters. I think what most struck me about the novel was Waldman's attention to details. She saturates the book with details, the sorts of things that clearly stand out in one's mind when dealing with grief, when anything mundane associated with the deceased is suddenly infused with profound meaning. At times the novel almost read like a catalog of a life - describing everything from the necklace Becca made in summer camp years ago to analyzing whether John's dimple was actually on his left or right cheek are the sort of details that bring the deceased back from being remembered as perfect to the messy, imperfect people who were so dearly loved by friends. However, as much as I appreciated Waldman's eye for the grieving process, I found myself overwhelmed. Her attempt to capture grief in all the twists and turns of one's thoughts became almost too clever and too neat to fully replicate the sheer madness that mourning can become.

I think in the end, however, her attempt to detail the need to pick up the pieces even years later really sheds life on her characters' somewhat-extreme reserve in expressing deeply-rooted emotions. Their own sense of restricting who is really an 'authentic' Red Hook resident echoes that same sense of who is 'allowed' to keep grieving for such extended periods of time. If nothing else, Waldman makes a compelling argument that in Maine the natives certainly know how to hold on to a memory or a feeling, just as their homes hold on to the rocky shore instead of plunging into the deep, cold ocean.

As I am about twenty pages away from finishing the novel, I would hope that she does not give a cheery outlook on the end, for like in real grieving, the process takes a few seasons to find rest. Eventually, one may notice the wild Maine lupines growing on the outskirts of one's periphery, but it is certainly takes time to find Spring again.

Your thoughts, Wollstonecraft?

WOLLSTONECRAFT:

I agree with my co-bloggers that the book is at its best in the second section as it explores the many differences amongst people (even within their families) and their complex ways they experience grief. It explores the confusion and pain of the human condition and our incapacity to deal with sudden loss. How often do our lives bring us something we are unprepared for and how often are we at a loss as to how we get over that pain? The book’s characters are raw and flawed—you do not end up “rooting” for any character nor do you completely want to know them because what they experience, what they feel exists; it is a part of life we do not want to think about: what would you do if your daughter or sister died? How long would you grieve? How would you move on? Their pain is explored in detail and without reserve, making the reader confront images of their own grief—though I couldn’t really “identify” with any characters, I’m sure they are in some ways universal.

However, at times, they are almost so perfectly flawed that it seems the characters are contrived or false in some way. Something about the book’s construction—as Melville began to point out—seems to fall apart as the characters are so perfectly detailed the real complexity of them is lost and they become flat clichés of how such a person would react to loss. The father turns to violence (boxing), the brother tries to live the life of his dead brother, the working class mom who is rough around the edges tries to hide her pain, etc. By the end of the book there is nothing more of that chaos that comes with grief; the ending is so perfectly neat as all the characters have their epiphanies almost at the exact same moment—and all these epiphanies were predictable. Even the twist in the end seems contrived. However, under the layer of that artificiality I think there is a truth; it is very hard to put grief into words, and that there is some predictability to how we deal with grief. It is human nature to believe it will all work out in the end, to think “everything happens for a reason”; we want it to be neat because it’s too hard to think life sometimes just sucks for no reason at all. The one thing we want for the characters is for them to learn how to live again because we would hope that if we had to deal with that loss, we could live again too. I will say, it’s hard for a cynic to finish some of the cloying details…

That said, the author’s imagery is very beautiful and she has an observant eye; I want to visit Maine and eat at a lobster bake. There is also a very pretty passage likening marriage to a sail boat, which is too long to post here. But, as a Californian used to people coming and going, in and out of the state, it is hard to understand the obsession the Red Hook people have with ancestry and who belongs...It seems a very trivial worry next to a family grieving over a death, which I don't know if that's what the author wanted you to feel.