“Literature for adolescents” sounds pretentious to me. And not only because the criteria for defining adolescence as a phenomenon are too vague – from 12-13 years old to 18 inclusive – but also because such a formulation reeks of artificiality. I fully agree with “children’s literature” and, for example, “youth prose,” although the second definition is far from clear. But it’s not the names that matter, it’s what’s behind them.
Obviously, for the category of readers aged 11-12 to 14-15, there should be something called “teenage prose” written with this audience in mind, taking into account the psychological characteristics and topics that are of paramount importance at this age. Another thing is that there are not many good books in this segment. If they do exist, they are mostly written by non-Ukrainian authors, and truly outstanding works are few and far between.
I consider it almost a crime to talk about the need for special literature for readers aged 15 and older. Compulsion to read or not to read at all is dangerous, unnecessary, and, in the end, almost impossible in our conditions-the Internet can give access to things that previous generations could not even think of. But from this age on, talk of “necessary” reading should be put aside altogether.
One of the best books, the most fruitful perception of which, in my opinion, depends on the timeliness of its reading, is The Catcher in the Rye by Salinger, who obviously did not write it for any particular audience. The same can be said about Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings (as opposed to J.K. Rowling’s novels) or some novels by the Strugatsky brothers and Ray Bradbury-as the common experience of more than one generation shows, the best things that are perceived at this age are not written for teenagers.
Yes, a person aged 15-17 is indeed looking for certain answers to certain questions, but it is not easy to please them. The organic need for rebellion and the highest possible demands on the environment create that perfect sense of flirting and falsity on the part of “adults” that unmistakably recognizes the artificiality of most “teen literature,” where they seem to talk about you and with you on an equal footing, but still from a position of “superiority” that compromises the whole idea. Yes, not everyone wants the “real and eternal,” the “serious and cruel”: teenagers are different, after all, and their taste for constant reading is only just forming. And yet, despite the level of demands and the general cultural level of the teenager, the “unreal” is usually cut off categorically and forever.
