In my tenure at the library, I’ve facilitated quite a few book discussions for children and teens, and there has been one universal ingredient in all of those discussions. It doesn’t matter the age of the book group members, or the book that is on tap for that meeting: each time in the last two years that I have sat down with a book group, the conversation has turned at some point to Harry Potter.
The Harry Potter books have irrevocably, and I would argue harmfully, shaped the way that children and teens today read. I should make it clear that I am not a snobbish hater of Rowling and her work, but my personal opinion is that Rowling’s strength lies in her plotting and overall vision for the Potter series, not in her writing style. When library patrons, adults and kids alike, rave to me about what a fabulous writer Rowling is, I cringe inwardly. How can an author who regularly produces wordy, under-edited 800 page tomes be considered a fabulous author? Her plots are terrific, her fantasy world engaging, but her writing, in my opinion, borders on miserable dullness.
How has this series of seven books affected the kids who read them? The Potter books have become the gold standard to which kids compare all other literature. Since Harry and his friends live in a fast-paced, adventure-filled literary world, most children have become intolerant of any book that deals more with introspection and less with action.  When my 6th graders discussed The Diamond in the Window this week, they criticized it for its lack of action (puzzling to me, since a fair amount of danger and action lurks in the pages of TDITW) and its short length. Yet they had not fully understood the inner kernel of the novel, its focus on Transcendentalism. In fact, many of the kids in the group had only read TDITW for its plot, and had not even begun to process the other aspects of the book. When I asked them what they knew about Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and the town of Concord, I got many blank stares in reply. Perhaps I’m romanticizing my own youthful reading habits, but I seem to remember being inspired to learn more about Emerson, Thoreau, Alcott, and Concord after reading the book.  And I definitely remember being sucked into the beauty of Langton’s language, and the beauty of the words of Emerson, Longfellow, and Thoreau that she quotes in the novel, lingering on them as if they were a fine piece of dark chocolate, then rereading those words in search for their inner, deeper meaning.
It feels as though the kids in my book groups, all of them great readers, have learned a certain reading style from the Harry Potter books that limits their ability to delve deeper into texts. Their reading skips along on the surface of a text like a well-thrown skipping stone, touching lightly down upon the book, but never dipping deeper than the plotline. Perhaps this reading style is born from the length of Rowling’s books, perhaps it has come about due to the outrageous popularity of the books and the necessity to absorb plot details in order to discuss the books with peers. There exists a certain competitive aspect to the Potter books that has directed kids away from meaning and towards speed and “accomplishment”: “How quickly did YOU read the book?” “How many times have you read the series?” “I need to read longer books like the Harry Potter books because I’m such a fast reader.”Â
As a children’s librarian, there is only so much that I can do to alter this rather disturbing change in children’s reading habits. Whenever I discuss reading with any child, I make a point to mention that I am a slow reader, and if the conversation allows, I’ll elaborate on why being a slow reader enhances my enjoyment of books. When leading a book group discussion, I try to take a few minutes to read a particularly lovely passage out loud to the group. In the last 6th grade meeting, I read aloud the following words of Emerson’s that Langton quotes:
Wreaths for the May! for happy Spring
To-day shall all her dowry bring . . .
Knowing well to celebrate
With song and hue and star and state,
With tender light and youthful cheer,
The spousals of the new-born year!
Thou butler sweet . . . send the nectar round;
The feet that slid so long on sleet
Are glad to feel the ground.
Fill and saturate each kind
With good according to its mind . . .
And soft perfection of its plan –
Willow and violet, maiden and man!
Spring is strong and virtuous,
Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous . . .
So deep and large her bounties are,
That one broad, long midsummer day
Shall to the planet overpay
The ravage of a year of war . . .Â
And where it comes this courier fleet
Fans in all hearts expectance sweet,
As if to-morrow should redeem
The vanished rose of evening’s dream!
I’m not entirely sure what impact those words had upon the kids when I read them aloud. Some looked puzzled, some looked bored, some looked faintly inspired. Not one child volunteered a comment on them. I wish now that I had pushed our conversation a bit more than I did, but it’s too late now. Hopefully it’s not also too late for today’s young readers to develop reading habits that are not molded by the limitations of a series of seven books. I worry that if they don’t, new literature may trend towards the obvious, and we may lose subtlety of thought and introspection in our prose.Â
For what it’s worth, in the “grown up land” of reading, we sing the same laments, but rather than blame JK Rowling, we blame Oprah. however, the effect is the same: adult readers are taught a few things about writing by Oprah that make me, and my colleagues, cringe: One, the book must have a message; Two, for the message to matter, it must be a redemptive message; Three, for the book to be REALLY good, a woman must be in peril of some kind and over come that peril. The quality of the writing, the pacing, the descriptions, the depth of introspection? Who cares. As long as there’s a message. Crinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnge, indeed.
I know what you mean. I walked around the adult section of the Concord Bookshop today, and couldn’t find a single new grown-up novel that interested me. Too many frickin’ messages. Blech.
I left with only our annual Edward Gorey calendar and a copy of the Horn Book Magazine to replace the library copy that got lost in the mail.
And this was at a fabulous independent bookstore, too.
I have just finished readng a book that I recommend to anyone who is interested in the growth of ideas during the early nineteenth century. It is not a children’s book, although I am quite certain that high school age persons could handle it. It tells the story of the three Peabody sisters during the time from 1804 to 1844. In a time when women were expected to marry and raise a family, or, perhaps become teachers; but were not able to attend any college, these three sisters, in particular Elizabeth, made major original contributions to the ideas that Emerson, et al wrote about and got credit for. In addition, Elizabeth developed methods for education of children at the elementary level (and initiated kindergartens) that were continued by others in the twentieth century. Elizabeth never married, Mary and Sophia eventually married, respectively, Horace Mann and Nathaniel Hawthorne. It is a fascinating book and one that must be read slowly (it took me three weeks to finish it).
I recommend it:
“The Peabody Sisters” by Megan Marshall