I was happy to read about the vitality and intelligence of this generation of teen readers in a recent Newsweek article (http://www.newsweek.com/id/136961), but I wasn't the least surprised. I workshopped with young readers for years; I saw their yearning. I heard their questions and stood nearby as they read well and wrote wisely. The teen readers I've come across are gloriously committed, smart, big-hearted. They're the type of people you want around when you've stumbled across some new lit passage you've got to love out loud.
Then there was this thing that happened the other day. I've had this high school student—I'll call him K—reading and writing with me this month, which is to say that he comes, we talk, I suggest some titles, xerox some poems, send him out into the world with a camera and pen, then wait to see what happens when he stops by again. A couple of weeks ago, I asked him to read Colum McCann's ZOLI. Next time we met, he said he hadn't. Well, yes, sure, I was disappointed. I'd wanted McCann for K, for K's sake, but I didn't bark, I just asked why. Why not ZOLI? Because, K said, he'd had Camus to read.
Camus?
For my book club.
Your book club?
Yeah. It's a bunch of us. We get together every week and talk.
So it was Camus last week. It'll be Orwell next week. Chances are they'll move on to Russian novels. It's classics, is what I'm saying, and no teachers, no parents are involved. These are high school seniors on the verge of the rest of their lives, getting together for books on Tuesdays, because it's fun, because it's good and right.
All hail the next generation.
