By Elizabeth Harlan
My first novel, Footfalls, was published in 1982, and tells the coming-of-age story of a high school freshman, Stevie Farr, a varsity runner whose beloved father is dying of cancer. As her dad’s life ebbs away, Stevie finds solace in a relationship with Jeb, a junior who also runs for their school.
Footfalls was well received critically and gained favorable reviews from Kirkus and Library Journal, among other outlets, but because I included some gentle and explicit descriptions of typical teenage sexual experience—which was far less advanced than by today’s standards—some librarians and book sellers were unwilling to shelve my novel.
As a young, inexperienced, and idealistic writer of a first novel, prestigiously published by Atheneum’s Margaret McElderry imprint, I was heartbroken, especially when my local library in the small town in New Jersey where I was raising my children canceled my author event, at which I’d been scheduled to give a talk and sign copies.
A doctor in our community, with whose children my kids went to school, was quoted in the local press referring to masturbation, to which a couple brief passages in my novel allude, as “self-abuse.” I’d never before heard this term applied to what I presented as a normal adolescent experience.
After Footfalls was published in 1982, I attended a New Jersey Library Association luncheon at which the guest speaker was George Woods, who at the time was Children’s Book Review editor of The New York Times. Mr. Woods was held in awe by most members of the juvenile literary establishment. He was frank and forthright and unflappable and spoke with passion about the state of the art of children’s book publishing.
It made him angry, Mr. Woods confided, that when children approach librarians for reading suggestions, they’re too often given books that reflect the many real-life risks—including drugs, alcohol, and sexual temptation—to which kids are exposed. The authors of these books ”don’t see beyond their navel,” Mr. Woods declared. What these youngsters need, he suggested, is a “magic carpet,” something to take them away from their problems—something, he implied, that would give them new vistas and fresh hope.
Fast forward to September 2024, when my new novel, Becoming Carly Klein, was published by SparkPress. It tells the story of high school sophomore Carly, who fakes an identity as a Barnard College student in order to start a relationship with Daniel, a blind senior at Columbia College who’s in therapy with Carly’s mother, a psychiatrist who practices in their home.
Carly sneaks peeks at handsome and intriguing Daniel as he comes and goes to and from appointments with her mother and reads her mom’s session notes when her mother’s away from home. Because he’s blind and cannot see her, Carly follows Daniel back to Columbia, tears off the notice he posts on a campus bulletin board advertising for a reader, and calls him to take the job under the false name of Serena.
Thus begins a relationship which grows into a romance that turns into an intimate affair. There are many complications and challenging consequences, but to avoid spoilers, I’ll leave it at that.
So far so good, in terms of reception. I’ve heard of no booksellers or librarians that have refused to display Becoming Carly Klein on their selves, which was selected as a BookLife Semifinalist in Young Adult fiction. That notwithstanding, some forty years after Footfalls was published, the hue and cry against including representation of teen sexual experience in Young Adult literature hasn’t dimmed.
Which leads me to reflect on why some adults are threatened, or feel that children are threatened, by depictions of adolescence that leave in the parts that have to do with sexual development and self-discovery, which are natural and universal events. I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s magic as well as denial at work in the minds of some adults who would not have children read books that include normal and inevitable sexual experience.
Perhaps, they convince themselves, if we don’t tell kids about these feelings and events, we can turn back the tide of development and make these things stop happening. But in truth, we cannot, and I’m not of the mind that even if we could, doing so would be in the service of kids coming of age.
Contrary to what George Woods hoped for in books for young readers, Footfalls and Becoming Carly Klein offer no magic carpet rides. Instead, my books have real-world landscapes filled with real-life events. In socially and psychologically realistic terms, they show how girls who live through wrenching, even daunting challenges run a course from despondency and despair to a new sense of possibility.
While Footfalls and Becoming Carly Klein include sexual awakening as part of the experience of coming of age, their most important take-away is the story each book tells about a young girl confronting adversity and overcoming obstacles en route to a healthy, happy, and hopeful life.
Elizabeth Harlan’s journey as an author is deeply rooted in the vibrant tapestry of New York City, where she spent her formative years and where Carly’s captivating story unfolds. Her writing openly addresses themes that she has not only defended but celebrated as an integral and beautiful part of life. At the heart of her work lies the poignant exploration of mother-daughter dynamics. Having mothered two children and grandmothered four grandchildren, despite the passage of time and the roles she has embraced, Harlan’s soul remains intertwined with young girls navigating the labyrinth of adolescence and struggling to grow out from under the oppressive yolk of mis-mothering. For more information, visit her website. Follow Elizabeth on Facebook and Instagram.
About “Becoming Carly Klein”: Neglected by self-absorbed parents who divorce when she’s 16, Carly leans on her best friend Lauren for solace. But when Lauren moves away, Carly is left adrift and becomes fixated on Daniel, a blind Columbia student and her therapist mother’s patient. Desperate for connection and to start up a relationship, she pretends to be a Barnard College student. What begins as a thrilling escape spirals into first love, deception and self-discovery as Carly grapples with the fallout from her choices. The novel takes readers on an emotional journey through family dysfunction and teen alienation that leads to the discovery of strength and resilience in unexpected places.
