Secrets

I hate reading. I hate it with every fiber of my being. Do you know why? Here is the big problem with reading: It always ends. How many more paragraphs do we have until you finish
reading this? Three? Maybe four if you’re really lucky? How many more chapters until the book
you’re reading ends? But we can’t stop ourselves. We gobble up the words line-by- line, page-
by-page, the insatiable desire to know how it ends driving us. But then it does end. And
suddenly we don’t want to know anymore, we want to go back to the not knowing so we can
read it and experience it all over again. Some stories are better than others, some endings more
fulfilling then others, but the feelings are mainly the same. We know the ending now.
Yesterday I finished a book that made me feel just this way. Ruby Red, by Kerstin Gier
was everything a book should be: confusing, daring, funny, a little sappy, and brave. I suggest
everyone who loves time travel and romance to go to the nearest bookstore or library and
begin reading it right away. But here’s the catch: It can be found in the Young Adult section of
the bookstore. Oh no, stop the presses! Another one? The horror! Here is my confession: I am a
twenty-year- old undergraduate student at one of the top universities in the nation, and I like
Young Adult Fiction. And not just the socially accepted YA fiction like Harry Potter and The
Hunger Games, I like the other stuff too. In fact, most of my book shopping is done in the YA
fiction section of my local bookstore, which has rather embarrassingly been labeled “Children’s
Books”. Big bold sign and all. So each time I buy a book, I sheepishly walk over to the cashier’s
table, plop my book on the desk, and ask questions like, “Can I get this gift wrapped here?” or,
“Have you heard of this book? My sister’s birthday is coming up and I want to get her a good
book” just to throw the scent off me.

But really, why do I have to be so sneaky? Why has is suddenly become a faux-pas to
spend time in the YA fiction racks? For some reason, a weird transformation took place when I
turned nineteen. Before my nineteenth birthday my parents were perfectly happy to see that I
was reading at all, who cares what section of the store I bought the books in? But after my 19 th
birthday, I suspect the adult fairy came and sprinkled me with the crushed dreams of childhood,
because from that moment on, my parents would ask me what I was reading, and then usually
respond with an expression similar to painful indigestion.
At one point my Dad went so far as to steal my Harry Potter books out of my room and
hide them from me. And I’ll admit it, I started crying. Which only further reinforced his idea that
I was too dependent on them and I needed to grow up. (Don’t worry I stole them back).
Despite this peer pressure I have yet to give up on YA fiction. What people fail to realize
is that Young Adult Fiction holds just as many metaphors, allegories, interesting character
developments, and life lessons as a Hemingway novel. And frankly, they usually have much
more interesting plot twists. So next time I walk into my local bookstore, I’ll hold my head up
high as I make my way over to the Children’s Section. I’ll stare that register clerk in the face and
say, “I would like to purchase this Young Adult Novel for myself please”, and then I’ll go home
and read that novel. And maybe write an article about it.