Last week, I was shocked to learn that Shirley Waisman and I won a Golden Duck Notable award from Core for HOW TO WELCOME AN ALIEN! It’s for excellence in sci-fi kidlit. Before I learned I’d won it, I had no idea this award even existed, but it gives me particular pleasure because while the book got some attention as a Jewish book, I think of it as a sci-fi book, as well.
Apparently, Core is the national association that advances the profession of librarians and information providers in central roles of leadership and management, collections and technical services, and technology. It’s part of ALA, the American Library Association. It’s nice they recognized HOW TO WELCOME AN ALIEN, and I hope to go from strength to strength.
HOW TO WELCOME AN ALIEN also appeared on a great list of books about Jewish Joy for Multicultural Book Day last week. The list was compiled by Charlotte Offsay. You can read her list and enter a giveaway for her book CHALLAH DAY! here.
I’ve got a lot of submissions out right now and am hoping (praying!) for some acceptance letters.
Dara Horn appeared this week on one of my favorite podcasts, 18Forty. If you haven’t heard of her till now, Horn is an extraordinary Jewish author, journalist, and thought leader. She’s written several (often award-winning) novels and a non-fiction book (also award-winning), and I’m a huge fan. Since 18Forty’s theme this month is BOOKS! BOOKS! BOOKS!, Horn is the perfect guest for Rabbi Bashevkin to invite onto the podcast.
Her conversation with Rabbi Bashevkin is fantastic. (You can listen here.) She’s funny, erudite, creative, and I thoroughly enjoyed the entire episode. Only, there’s one thing she said that is so laughably, demonstratively wrong, I had to vent about it on Twitter after listening to episode to the end.
And now I’m going to expand upon the Twitter thread here.
What is this thing that Dara Horn said which literally cracked me up because her own work proves her wrong? She said that “Books don’t teach morals.” (If that’s not a direct quote, it’s close.) Afterwards, she said that fiction writers don’t write with the intent to teach a moral (a blanket statement). And that books aren’t good at teaching morals.
Horn accurately starts off saying that every work of literature emerges from a set of beliefs. Those beliefs are largely sociocultural, but may be unique to the book itself. It is necessary to understand them even if you don’t share them in order to process the book. But then she says that blanket statement I mentioned above.
The cover to John Gardner’s ON MORAL FICTION, a classic on literature, writing, and art criticism.
As John Gardner points out, “Art is as original & important as it is because it does not start out with clear knowledge of what it means to say.” So, sure, many writers do not start off a project with a particular moral lesson in mind. But that doesn’t mean that the finished project is not imbued with values. In fact, according to Gardner, it’s through revision, retouching, re-envisioning as we edit our own work that we figure out what we really think about its themes. The final messaging might be very different than the original take we had at the inception of the project.
Nor does no intent by Horn to write a book with a moral message mean that no author starts off with the intent to convey one. Personally, some of my work starts off with a moral angle, some of it doesn’t. But it always ends with one. I’m pretty sure that Frank Herbert intended to teach his views about the nature of power and the way human cultures interact with the environment when he wrote DUNE. Ray Bradbury had Things to say about literacy and book banning when he wrote FAHRENHEIT 451. Octavia Butler’s THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER had things to say about power and race and religion. I’m pretty sure that Lisa See intended to teach a particular view about the nature of love when she penned PEONY IN LOVE (she’s still alive, so we could at least in theory ask her). I might not be performing at their level, but I’m in good company on this one thing.
In short, Horn’s blanket statement–like most blanket statements–has so many exceptions, it becomes meaningless.
But there’s more to kvetch about (because, yes, this is me kvetching).
Horn seems to think that a moral to a story means a clunky message provided by an author who wants to tell you what to think. However, you don’t have to tell people what to think to promote a moral vision. Merely by inviting the reader/viewer/listener to explore a particular perspective on a theme, you have led them to alter their interior moral landscape. This is the best artistic expression, according to Gardner.
…And I would argue that Horn’s own work demonstrates several very clear moral views, whether she intends it as such in a conscious way or not. For example:
By weaving (in most of her fiction) Jewish past & Jewish present, she assures us that religion & even religiosity is not a thing relegated to the past.
By showing characters who are both religious & non-religious, and by showing them making flawed choices, she demonstrates that she doesn’t think that religiosity makes you good, at least not religiosity alone.
If I delved into each of her books, I could find other moral positions unique to her books. If I recall correctly, for example, in IN THE IMAGE, Horn expresses a moral view that people chose the religious life often for psychological reasons, not theological ones. But I think I’ve made my point.
Even the desire to say, “Books don’t have to mean things,” or “Books don’t have to suggest a moral perspective,” is paradoxical. Saying, “I don’t want to teach my readers a lesson,” is a moral stance itself, because it’s the position, “I don’t think that we should be telling people what to think,” or “I think that we shouldn’t look to morals to make life choices and certainly not artistic ones,” or other similar value judgments.
And then I come to the oddest claim of all, that writing isn’t good at teaching morals. Aristotle said, “Every art and every inquiry, and similarly every action and choice, is thought to aim at some good; and for this reason the good has rightly been declared to be that at which all things aim.” (Nicomachean Ethics, Book One, Part 1)
Before Aristotle, Jewish literature already included the mashal. A mashal is an allegory, a short fiction intended to teach a lesson. They pepper Tanach. One whole book (Shir haShirim/Song of Songs) is composed of a single mashal. Another book (Mishlei/Proverbs) is called by the word mashal (“mishlei” being one what to pluralize the word) and includes many of them.
Other ancient societies used epic poems and narrative songs to teach people, young and old. Eventually, these were written as books. While some were based on myths, historical events, or the like, others were purely imaginary. And they all conveyed value systems, intentional or not.
Today, we live in a contentious society. There are those who ban books or want to do so…and they don’t do it because storytelling is meaningless. They do it because storytelling can affect changes in people’s personal values.
I primarily (although not exclusively) write for children. In moments of choice, adults have told me there are times where they think of a beloved story from childhood, and the message therein helps them make the choice. We feel jealous of someone else, and then we remember reading a Mimmy and Simmy story (by Yaffa Ganz) about how each felt her friend had the better life, and then after a prolonged stay with her friend, she realized her life was just right for her. And then we choose to accept that our own circumstances aren’t really so bad. There are times when we might be embarrassed by our unusual name, or other qualities we have which are uncommon, and then we remember Chrysanthemum (from the eponymus book by Kevin Henkes) and are reminded that our differences make us special.
IN SUM: If Dara Horn says, “I don’t intend to write moral lessons,” I believe her (although I think she does it unintentionally…see above). But to make a blanket statement about all fiction writers seems to ignore a huge body of evidence that fiction writers often have morality as part of their writing agenda. And that thing she overlooks (the moral weight of fiction) is the very thing that makes fiction so powerful.
I will be publishing a new Jewish sci-fi picture book with Kalaniot Books in the not-too-distant future. I’m feeling very blessed and can’t wait till I can share more about this book and the story of how it came to be. I will tell you this much: it took over a year of submissions before closing this deal, and I feel like it’s a message that perseverance and faith will pay off, even if it’s on God’s timeline, not ours. As soon as we have an illustrator announced, I’ll let you know.
Me, very excited after signing the book contract.
Announcement #2:
Today, Tablet is running a fun little personal essay by moi about a misadventure I had shortly before Passover. It’s about losing things, finding them, Rabbi Meir Baal HaNess, and how sometimes it’s good to lose things. You can read it here.
On May 3rd and 4th, JWWS–the Jewish Women’s Writers’ Summit–will be taking place. JWWS is an online two-day event for frum women interested in all things writing, reading, publishing and networking. The seminar is now in its 10th year, its second online.
It includes presentations by leading names in the industry (see the schedule here), ways to book a private time with different publishers (see that here ), tons of inspiration, writing tips, networking, and valuable information. And this year I’m also presenting!
Come join this incredible event with me. You will get so much out of this unique writers’ summit–I know I will. And I’d love to see your face on my Zoom on May 3rd!
As human beings, all of us make mistakes. Today’s post–my first in a long while and possibly my most important ever–is about some errors I’ve made and how I’m going to do my best to fix them.
Let’s rewind to 11 months ago. Along with BLM protests, many communities started reckoning with our past and present racist thoughts and actions. Among those communities was the writing community.
As I’ve mentioned before on this blog and elsewhere, racism is something I abhor. One of the goals of my writing career has been to reflect a more diverse Orthodox Jewish world, one which is not exclusively filled with White Ashkenazim who function independently of non-Jews. Unfortunately, that’s the mistaken impression a reader might get by reading many Jewish books. This problem leaves non-White and non-Ashkenazi Jews feeling cut out of the community. Moreover, a literary landscape in which every character is either Jewish or wants to be suggests that isolation and insularity are positive attributes, which is–in my opinion–far from the case. Even Haredi Jews interact with secular and non-Jewish people, and we all need each other.
I have been far from alone on this mission. Several Jewish publishers have moved towards more inclusive illustrations (notably Apples & Honey and Koren), some have published books by Jews of Color, and a few of these titles have received book awards in the past few years. When a Black Jewish author self-published a picture book with a Black Jewish protagonist about a year and a half ago, the book was embraced by librarians, teachers, and readers; ditto regarding a novel by a Black Jewish author the previous year.
In last spring and summer’s tumult, I decided I wanted to contribute more. I offered my editing and writing coaching advice free for Jews of Color. And I started investigating what types of latent racism penetrates books.
This is where my apology comes in: In one of my books, not long into my reading and listening, I stumbled onto a realization: I had employed a racist stereotype in Adina at Her Best.
The stereotype is “the White Savior,” although it’s a bit complicated by the fact that the “White” person in this case–Adina herself–is a functionally White Mizrachi Jew. Nonetheless, readers witness a White girl rescuing a Black character (I’m not going to tell more in order to avoid spoilers) on page. There are a few other issues with the text, but this is my main offense.
I have to take responsibility. *I* wrote that book, I and no other. I did it with good intentions. I wrote it at least a year before I had heard of anyone employing a sensitivity reader for any character who wasn’t the main one (for example, I’d heard of it in the case where a non-deaf person wrote a story centering on a deaf protagonist…but not for a book in which one character is deaf and it’s not part of the primary plot). I wrote the book with the best information I had at the time I wrote the book. However, that doesn’t mean that the material won’t offend some readers or reinforce a racist stereotype for others (that Black people require rescuing by White ones).
People are still reading Adina at Her Best, and now that the book’s out there, there’s little I can do other than feel ashamed and to do better next time (pay a sensitivity reader! promote books about People of Color which are about People of Color!). At least, that’s how I felt till recently.
There’s a chance that the book may be included in a program which involves a reprint of the book. If it goes through, the organization asked me if I was willing to implement the suggestions of a sensitivity reader while preparing the new edition. To this I responded, “Yes!” with enthusiasm. If the deal is finalized, there will be a new edition of Adina, one which will include all the valuable content…and none of the rubbish.
Do I think Adina at Her Best is a bad book? No. Do I think it’s current edition has been influenced by my own latent racism? Yes. I’m praying (literally, praying) that the opportunity I’m alluding to comes to fruition and that it will allow me to rectify those errors to better serve my readers and the community as a whole.
What should people who have read Adina at Her Best or who own copies of it do?
Be cognizant of its shortcomings. It’s by me, a functionally White person, and like anyone else who grew up in the U.S., I have biases I’m not even aware of regarding race.
Read other Jewish books with People of Color as characters, whether those characters are Jewish or non-Jewish.
Demand that Jewish publishers print more such books.
Better yet, read and promote books by People of Color, from their perspectives–this goes for Jewish books and secular ones.
What if you were considering buying and reading Adina at Her Best with a loved one? I think you should read the above and if you still want to read the book, make the mishandling of race part of the conversation with your young reader. Discuss how Black people and White people interact in the book, and feel free to tell them that I (the author) think I got this particular detail wrong.
I’d love to hear from other White (or functionally White) people, especially authors, how have you changed your perspective on race in the last year or so? In what ways have you changed your behavior going forward to be more sensitive to the needs of non-White members of our society? And if you are a Person of Color, in what ways would you like to see White authors improve?
Rebecca Klempner 