Schlitz’s Newbery acceptance speech was fabulous… except for one thing

Laura Amy Schlitz, thank you. Your Newbery Medal acceptance speech was so spectacular that even when it stumbled, it soared. Ms. Schlitz is a master storyteller. With her cascading white hair and well-chosen words, she looks and sounds like a bard, which is what you might expect from the author of Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!: Voices from a Medieval Village (Candlewick, 2007). Listening to Laura spin her tales makes you want to lean back and let her words carry you along.

As readers of my blog, Nonfiction Matters (blogs.slj.com/nonfictionmatters/), may know, the nonfiction lovers at the Newbery/Caldecott banquet (at ALA’s recent conference) were enthralled by Laura’s talk until she spoke about our baby—nonfiction books for young readers. Laura revealed an all-too-familiar attitude: like many other librarians, she admitted she had a preference for fiction over nonfiction. Why? “Facts are necessary,” she explained. “Facts are useful; facts are fascinating. But stories enlarge our lives.... They help us make sense of a random world.” Perhaps inadvertently, Laura reinforced one of the most misguided beliefs in all of children’s literature.

We all love the idea that human beings possess an internal story grammar. That’s probably why Joseph Campbell’s work in comparative mythology remains so popular (particularly his notion of the “hero’s journey”), influencing every aspect of our culture—from movies (such as Star Wars and Finding Nemo) to fantasies (including Tolkien’s and Rowling’s books) to Oprah’s Book Club to politicians who are quick to cite “personal courage.” To use a mathematical term, fiction is “fractal”—that is, whenever we tell a specific tale, it resonates with the whole vast tapestry of humanity.

We’re especially fond of the idea that a well-crafted story can simultaneously reach young people and touch upon larger truths. But there’s also a dark side to our affinity for fiction: many people who are associated with children’s literature—from publishers to teachers to librarians—were once English majors. So reading fiction makes them comfortable, while theories, formulas, facts, and abstract logic—the stuff of nonfiction—is forbidding to them.

Laura’s books are far better than her misstep suggested. She interlaces her stories with carefully selected facts and telling bits of information. Yet she expressed a wrongheaded belief that many others share. A few days earlier, a former member of a major kids’ book award committee told me that some committee members had refused to even consider nonfiction titles—even though they were eligible for the honor. And that’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Friends, that type of conduct is criminal. It’s a violation of a committee member’s responsibility to literature, to authors, and to young readers.

Our industry has come to accept—in fact, to validate—a certain kind of blindness. Since many of the authors, editors, reviewers, librarians, and teachers who deal with children’s literature enjoy reading novels and find science and math daunting, they’ve closed ranks and turned their limitations into a badge of honor. Not long ago, at another library conference, I remarked that some kids like solving calculus problems. My host quickly exclaimed, “That’s sick.” No, it’s not—it’s admirable.

In medieval times, people practiced humoral medicine, which was based on the belief that people were made up of four substances, or humors. Want to learn more about this theory? Then read what Thomas, the doctor’s son, says in Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! Laura captures the theory perfectly. Nowadays, we know that balancing humors can’t cure an illness. We’ve also learned about gravity, energy, and light and about cause and effect and supply and demand. Thinking is what makes “sense of a random world,” and story is just one way of expressing those thoughts.

Thank you, Laura, for bringing to light the medieval rigidity that has spread, unquestioned, through our world of children’s literature and publishing. I’m confident you’ll join me in combating it.