Memoir in Young Adult Literature

By Amelia Ehlen

“Can anybody remember when the times were not hard and money not scarce?”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

            Emerson’s words capture the common threads of human experience: we’ve all had it tough at some point in our lives. People may not have the exact same experiences, but they do go through similar paths through life. The universality of human experience is easy to acknowledge in theory, but that universality is difficult to remember when we are actually experiencing something for ourselves the first time. When we fall in love or anticipate our first kiss, we are the “first” ever to fall in love or kiss. When we suffer a disappointment, great or small, we are the “first” ever to suffer. Teens accuse parents of not understanding what it’s like to be a teen; parents’ assurances that they too were once young fall on deaf ears.

            The danger comes when we experience something more profound than not being selected for the cheerleading squad or class president. Depression, thoughts of suicide, abusive relationships with parents or friends, surviving war, overcoming addictions are all too often a part of growing up. Many young adults believe that they are alone when they experience life’s darker moments; they see peers who seem to just glide along in carefree ignorance, they see parents too busy to really talk or notice that something is not right.

Young adult fiction has changed dramatically in the last ten to fifteen years to reflect some of these more painful events: teens dealing with alcoholism (their own or that of someone they know), teens dealing with pregnancy, teens dealing with broken homes or death of a parent, teens dealing with abuse or street violence. However, according to Eleanor Garner, author of Eleanor’s Story: An American Girl in Hitler’s Germany,  “not enough has been written about the importance of memoirs in adolescent literature” (Garner p.1).  Memoirs have been a popular genre for adults for many years, but only recently have memoirs been written by and for young adults. In her article, “Memoirs in Adolescent Literature,” Garner says that there is a “unique learning experience memoirs can bring to classroom teaching” and that there is an “enormous appeal that personal stories have on adolescents” (p. 1).

Perhaps the best-known memoir is The Diary of Anne Frank, written by a 13-year-old Jewish girl who must go into hiding with her family when the Nazi’s invade Holland. Anne never intended for her diary to be published; her words are read widely and studied in middle schools across the American and, likely, the world because of her father’s desire to keep his daughter and her amazing optimism alive. Beyond Anne’s diary, very little non-fiction reaches our classrooms, let alone memoirs.

I’ve read three recent memoirs: A Child Called “It” by Dave Pelzer, The Burn Journals by Brent Runyon, and King of the Mild Frontier by Chris Crutcher. All three memoirs are very distinct, addressing very different issues that are part of growing up. I found all three fascinating and all three troublesome when considering how and why I would use them with my high school students. Two of the memoirs—discussion of all follows—present life experiences very different from those of most young people. Yet they are still of great value, I believe. “Indeed, a strange kind of intimacy spins between the author of a memoir and the reader. It’s like sharing secrets with a stranger” (Garner p. 2). Sometimes it is easier to connect with someone outside, not so close to our situation.

I first read A Child Called “It” shortly after its publication in 1993; after reading it again, I was just as horrified by Pelzer’s description of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his mother. What made his abuse so shocking was that he was the only victim among his siblings. For some reason, he was the “bad boy.”  Pelzer’s memoir opens with a recounting of the day he was saved, the day his teachers, his principal, and the school nurse agreed that they had enough evidence to prove young Dave’s abuse. The rest of the book recounts one atrocity after another, each one more horrible than the last: “After I finished the bowl of regurgitated hot dogs, Mother returned in her robe and threw a wad of newspapers at me. She informed me the papers were my blankets, and the floor under the table was now my bed…I crawled, completely dressed, under the table, and covered myself with the newspapers, like a rat in a cage” (Pelzer p.67). By that time, Pelzer had become “The Boy,” no longer called by his own name. For several years, Dave is forced to do impossible chores or he won’t get food, he is beaten regularly, he is banished to the garage—and his father and brothers are so intimidated that none of them try to stop this maniacal mother.

Mark Sanderson, a writer for the Evening Standard (London), questions the purpose of such memoirs as A Child Called “It,” in his article “Another Memoir, Another Childhood Betrayed.” The article was written when Pelzer’s brother, Richard, published A Brother’s Journey exploring his own perspective on the abuse his brother suffered. “It is a sad indictment of our age that child abuse not only still goes on but that millions of people choose to read about it…such books are tearjerkers for trauma-junkies” (Sanderson p. 1). Sanderson’s harsh words do raise the legitimate question of purpose for such a memoir. In contrast to this point of view, I think of my high school—and some middle school—students who have loved this book. One of my students, Lisa F., read A Child Called “It” for an independent reading assignment for my junior English class, and then went on to read the two sequels on her own. When I asked her why, she said she was struck by how much young Dave had been able to take and still survive. Lisa had certainly never been abused herself, but she was moved to tears precisely because she had not suffered that way. The book helped her to appreciate how good her life was. Sanderson acknowledges this same attitude from one of his readers, from Essex, England: “This man [Pelzer] is an inspiration to everyone. To have made such a success of his life despite such a terrible start is incredible” (Sanderson p.2). Before definitively answering Sanderson’s question, of why we read such horrors, I’ll discuss the other two young adult memoirs first.

In The Burn Journals, Brent Runyon describes his attempted suicide at age 14 and his journey to recovery, a journey that has not yet ended even though he is 28. “Should I do it? Yes. Do it. I strike the match, but it doesn’t light. Try again. I light the match. Nothing happens. I bring it closer to my wrist and then it goes up, all over me, eating through me everywhere. I can’t breathe” (Runyon p. 17). Brent has doused his robe with gasoline, put it on, sat in the bathtub, and lit the match. Why? Brent’s journals indicate that he is unable to answer that question. The immediate event that precipitated the suicide attempt was a practical joke at school gone wrong, and Brent was fearful of his parents’ anger. According to Sue Ontiveros in “Raising a Teen: A Journey Across Troubled Waters,” Runyon’s suicide attempt was impetuous. “As soon as the teen did it, he knew: Oh no, this isn’t what I want” (Ontiveros p.1). Was his practical joke so awful that it deserved death? “No, of course not. Any adult could see that. But those facts weren’t so obvious to a troubled teen” (Ontiveros p. 1).

Ontiveros makes an argument for why memoirs can be so important for young adults to read. Runyon’s recounting of his sudden desire to end his life could be enough to make another teen think twice before taking such a drastic step. “As quickly as those despondent feelings came on, they seemed to leave him…Right before Runyon flicked the match that changed his life, he was tossing a basketball back to his brother in the driveway. Minutes later he turned himself into a human candle. That’s how fast things can change” (Ontiveros p, 2). A troubled or depressed teen acts in a moment; the future is the same as the present because it is beyond a teen’s capacity to understand that life can change. Reading Runyon’s account is not a pleasant experience and it is meant for a more mature teen and adult audience. Still, there is the benefit of Runyon’s hindsight. Even those who would never contemplate suicide might benefit from Runyon’s experience—a girl who is despondent from a difficult break-up and who thinks she’ll never have love again might understand that her hurt won’t last forever.

Not all memoirs are filled with such extreme accounts of survival. Writer, teacher, and social worker Chris Crutcher explores his youth and what led him to his present self in his memoir King of the Mild Frontier: An Ill-Advised Autobiography. A much lighter and humorous memoir than the two discussed above, Crutcher “portrays himself as a young cry-baby, academic misfit, and athletic klutz” (Shoemaker). One of the book’s funniest accounts is of his Little League experiences. Coming from a small Idaho town, he was expected to play or there wouldn’t be a team to field. As it was, older and younger kids were mixed on teams, and Chris was terrified of an older, stronger opposing pitcher. “Today, when someone uses the phrase ‘like a deer caught in the headlights,’ I automatically translate it into ‘like Chris Crutcher caught staring at a high inside beanball” (Crutcher p. 150). He perfected the art of getting hit by the ball, automatically advancing to first base, rather than trying to hit the ball.

Crutcher’s young life was filled with moments that many teens could relate to. He dealt with an alcoholic mother and a demanding father. He dealt with an older brother who constantly enticed Chris to do “something neat” that would get him into a load of trouble—peeing on the hot radiator is but one incident that caused the family to leave their home temporarily while it aired out. Chris played typical adolescent jokes on girls, most of which he was sorry for later.  “He talks openly about his struggles with a bad temper that constantly got him into trouble, how he came to terms with questions about God, how he confronted intolerance, and how he found his own place in the world” (Sullivan). I think most students, male or female, could recognize something of themselves in Crutcher’s book. Since teens often try to identify heroes or role-models, they will appreciate Crutcher’s description of a hero: “A hero is only a hero for the moment, only a hero when he can sift through the pieces of his life and find something to hold on to, something that is him” (Crutcher 248).  His conclusion helps teens to understand that heroes are not so different or so far-removed ordinary people—that the heroic can be found in themselves. Crutcher’s humor and empathy speak directly to teens; it’s easy to believe that he is one adult who really does understand what it’s like to be a teen.

These are certainly not the only memoirs available, but they represent a cross-section of experiences teens may relate to and learn from. And certainly not all books are for all young adults. Teachers need to use common sense and sensitivity to student needs before using or recommending memoirs. While nothing in Crutcher’s memoir may be very offensive, books like A Child Called “It” and The Burn Journals are for a more limited audience. Mark Sanderson said that the two latter books  “offer voyeurism not vision—and cynical publishers know there is no shortage of victims willing to expose their gaping wounds” (Sanderson p. 2). To me, Sanderson’s criticism of such memoirs has some merit—humans do love to gawk at the accident scene while simultaneously being repulsed by the blood. I did try to read one young adult memoir, Please Don’t Kill the Freshman by Zoe Trope, but I couldn’t get past the omnipresent use of the f-word, references to sex, orgasm, masturbation, and lezzies—and these were just the first ten pages! The book is, indeed, listed as Young Adult Non-fiction, but I can’t think of one student who would benefit from reading this book. Though I read so little of it, I felt like there was little of the human spirit to find, to be inspired by in its pages. In the books I read, I felt that there was something to take away and keep, to learn from, to relate to.

“A memoir must show the universal themes and drama that expose the underlying patterns of life, not only as a witness to history, but also as a mirror to the vulnerabilities that we share with all humanity. The story cannot be all sad, depressing; it must contain a counterbalance of light moments…to show that even in the most difficult times, the heart can still dance, that hope never goes away completely” (Garner p. 8). Garner’s observations illustrate the qualities a teacher must consider when considering memoir for her students. For the stories I read, I find that all include a vision of hope. Would I teach these to my classes as a group activity? No, not likely. But I can definitely see using excerpts in relation to other literature we read, to compare fictional or historical accounts with someone’s real experience.

Excerpts from The Burn Journals would fit in well with my junior’s study of Arthur Miller’s The Crucible when we discuss the theme of reputation. The play contrasts two points of view at its end—that a good reputation is more important than life versus life being more important than a good reputation. Excerpts from King of the Mild Frontier would be interesting to compare with Miller’s Death of a Salesman as students examine the importance society attaches to sports and athletic ability. A Child Called “It” could be contrasted with Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun: the latter depicts a family that lives in hardship but does everything to keep the family together, the former depicts a family that seems to have everything and yet allows horrible abuse to one of its members. 

The authors of memoirs tell their lives as they were. A different kind of activity teachers might present would be to take an excerpt and have students—alone or in groups—recast the scene to have the author act in a different way, to alter his destiny. What might have been a turning point for each person’s experience? What do we see that the author couldn’t see at the time?

Memoirs raise as many questions as they answer, but they are a catalyst to discussions that can seek to understand, to answer those questions. In the epilogue to his journals, Brent Runyon realizes that his experience wasn’t as unique as he had once thought: “As I talked to more people, I realized that the only thing unique about my story is the rather unfortunate and dramatic way in which I tried to kill myself. Other than that, I’m just another guy with a history of depression, which is somehow very comforting to me” (p. 324). Our human experience is universal. The more teachers expose their students to memoirs, the more students just might catch a glimpse themselves. Students may not feel so alone, and may start to feel that their own stories—their lives—matter.

 Works Cited

Crutcher, Chris. King of the Mild Frontier: An Ill-Advised Autobiography. NY: Greenwillow Books, 2003.

Garner, Eleanor. “Memoirs in Adolescent Literature.” ALAN Review, Summer 2004.

Ontiveros, Sue. “Raising a Teen: A Journey Across Troubled Waters.” Chicago Sun-Times, Jan. 21, 2006.

Pelzer, Dave. A Child Called “It”. Deerfield Beach, FL: Health Communications, Inc., 1993.

Runyon, Brent. The Burn Journals. NY: Vintage Books, 2004.

Sanderson, Mark. “Another Memoir, Another Childhood Betrayed.” Evening Standard (London), Feb. 7, 2005.

Sullivan, Ed. From Booklist, Starred Review. American Library Association, 2003.

Trope, Zoe. Please Don’t Kill the Freshman. NY: HarperCollins, 2003