Lately I’ve been trying to expand the range of my reading material, in the interest of improving my own writing. My theory is that, at this stage of my writing career, at least a portion of what I am writing is reflective of what I’m reading.

So I’m trying to mix it up a bit by reading different authors with different writing styles, by reading different genres, and even by reading books for different age groups. Right now I’m simultaneously reading The Plot Against America by Philip Roth, a hypothetical-historical piece of literary fiction, as well as Fade by Robert Cormier, a YA book about a boy who learns to become invisible and witnesses the dark secrets of his friends and neighbors, which I originally read many years ago and am now re-reading.

My experiences with both books are obviously very different, and the juxtaposition is interesting. Roth’s prose may be elevated and his characters a little more nuanced, but Cormier’s Fade is no less profound. Part of me is surprised at how much I’m enjoying the YA book, because as an adult I typically expect myself to read books that are, well, meant for adults. And I still feel this way even though some of my favorite books of all time have been ones I’ve grown up with. Harry Potter, the His Dark Materials trilogy, and The Giver all come to mind here. I’d imagine I’d have a good deal more YA titles on that list had I not donated most of my YA collection to the library some years ago, thinking I’d outgrown them.

On the other side of that, had anyone introduced me to Kurt Vonnegut when I was younger, there’s no doubt in my mind I would have adored him. I already felt like I was cheated out of a longlasting literary relationship when I first encountered Slaughterhouse-Five in high school. Sure, being younger I probably wouldn’t have understood half of what he said. But I still would have enjoyed his books, if only on a surface level at first. And my appreciation of them would have matured as I did, much in the way my appreciation for, say, The Giver has grown over the years. So what’s so bad about being exposed to adult literature before you’re an adult, even if you don’t experience it the way adults say you’re supposed to?

Even though I’m inclined to regard the whole YA/adult book classification system as a ruckus, I have to acknowledge that there’s a grain of truth to it. I’m not interested in a lot of YA fiction today because it doesn’t challenge or enlighten me the way it used to. And a lot of the fiction I read now I would have found too dense and boring in grade school. But there are a surprisingly large number of books that have the ability to bridge the age divide, and there’s the ones I’m thinking about right now.

I wonder how people’s reading habits would change if bookstores and libraries grouped books by genre, or even subject, rather than strictly by target audience. For example, you might peruse the “Irony” section, which would be full of Cormier, Tao Lin (who would be cross-referenced with the “Hipsters” section), and Vonnegut (who would be cross-referenced with the “Satire” section). Or you could browse the “Whimsy” section, where you’d find Roald Dahl, Norton Juster, and, hey, Benjamin Parzybok. It might be confusing and a little messy to wade through all the sections, what with the boundless opportunities for cross-referencing, but at least it would be a somewhat truer classification of books than what we have now. And it would make it far easier for potential readers to find the books they’ll really like.

Tanya talked a few weeks ago how many adults tend to view YA as a “guilty pleasure” rather than “serious fiction.” But why can’t it be both? And what about books that might appeal to both adults and younger audiences alike? Does their classification as either “adult” or “YA” induce their failure to reach a whole generation of readers? Am I the only one who’s felt limited by the YA/adult classification system?