I love the junior novels, but…

…sometimes they make me want to slam the book shut and throw it at the patriarchy.

Case in point:

“But that’s one thing I can say,” she cried. “I have never never been in love with anyone but you, Cliff. Not ever, not even a little bit.” Forgive me, George, she thought. I did love you in a way, but not like this, and I have to be able to tell him that he’s the only one I ever loved. (Mary Stolz, And Love Replied, 1958).

Mary Stolz is my absolutely favourite junior novel writer, but COME ON, MARY.

(Actually, Stolz’s letters back and forth with her friend and editor, Ursula Nordstrom, suggest that she’s actually pretty progressive, with some clear feminist tendencies. And, as sad as I am to admit it, this paragraph really does fit the somewhat manipulative nature of Betty, the protagonist of this particular novel, so it may just be an added aspect of characterization. But… it still rankles this twenty-first century reader).

/end rant.




So yesterday, while I was waiting for someone to finish working on the only microfilm machine that was still working in the library (please, someone, give that library money!), I decided to catch up on Read Roger, a feisty blog written by Roger Sutton, editor of the Horn Book.

[I must pause here to announce bias: Roger Sutton is one of those literary geniuses who knows EVERYTHING about both children’s/young adult literature AND about the people who created it. I suspect I’m developing a total academic crush on the man.]

Anyway, Sutton had posted a link to the announcement of the Amelia Elizabeth Walden Award. See here

What really intrigued me was his commment:

That said, it’s nice to see Walden get some recognition again–back in the 50’s-60’s she wrote several crypto-lesbionic sports novels notable for their fearless female main characters and basketball play-by-plays as exciting as anything penned by the boys.

Wait–“crypto-lesbionic?” So I’m not the only one who noticed this?

The comments section was even more interesting. There was an anonymous poster who seemed a little upset about Sutton’s statement. Sutton replied:

What I meant was that gay kids could find themselves in her books, that the intense alliances between her female characters could, should one so desire, be construed as having romantic overtones.

And suddenly, just like that, Roger Sutton opened up a whole new path of thought for me.

In Amelia Elizabeth Walden’s and Janet Lambert’s books in particular, I’ve noticed both possibly homosocial and possibly homosexual relationships, but I’ve been hesitant to define them as one or the other. They often seem to revolve around a kind of “girl crush”, particularly between a protagonist and her teacher. Yet there are some instances in which, were these books written today, I would simply assume a lesbian relationship between the characters.

Here’s an example from Janet Lambert’s Candy Cane:

Anne was golden-brown and black. Black hair like Barton’s, brown eyes that danced, and a smile—Candy felt faint from joy because, oh miracle, Anne’s smile was for her. Anne had come to see her….Candy clasped her hands around her thin little knees and sat looking at Anne like a thirsty flower in a warm spring rain.


And these ambiguous relationships can also be found in secondary, adult characters. In Amelia Elizabeth Walden’s Three Loves Has Sandy, for example, Fred, an older man and the voice of wisdom and authority in the novel, tells the protagonist, Sandy, about his past relationship with a famous sculptor named Johansson:

“I lived with Johansson in his studio, worked with him, met the brilliant and famous people who came to see him. I learned a great deal from him. I could have learned a lot more….One day I quarreled with Johansson. It wasn’t a big quarrel. It wasn’t even about anything important. He blamed me for something I hadn’t done. I was terribly proud and very stubborn. So I just walked out on him…. I walked out on everything that was important to me. I lost it all because I was too proud to humble myself and keep it.”

Fred’s story could simply be about a quarrel with his mentor, but its context within the novel makes it even more interesting. Fred tells this story to Sandy after she quarrels with her soon-to-be boyfriend, Bill.

Double hmmm…

But what to do with it? What to do with it? Maybe the relationships are homosocial. Maybe they’re homosexual. Do those definitions matter? How do I fit them into the historical context of the 1940s/50s? Are they part of those silences I was talking about in my last post?

I keep thinking more and more about Sutton’s comment, particularly his idea that the relationships could have romantic overtones “should one so desire.” Perhaps Walden and Lambert (and the other female junior novel writers) allowed girls to be able to ponder different types of relationships within these overtly heterosexual romance novels? If so, were they aware of these alternative readings?

Triple hmmm… I’m only at the very, very beginning of examining this idea. Lots more to think about…