Stories have the unique capacity to unite and inspire, and to develop empathy among young readers. The Power of Story, an initiative from Scholastic, is devoted to uplifting diverse voices and highlighting those stories that have been ignored or otherwise excluded from mainstream narratives.
Three upcoming books from Scholastic—Debating Darcy by Sayantani DasGupta, a YA novel that offers a Bengali-American take on Pride and Prejudice; Ann Clare LeZotte’s Set Me Free, a work of historical fiction (and companion to her previous Show Me a Sign) that takes part in a Deaf community; and Claribel A. Ortega’s Witchlings, a magical story steeped in Dominican traditions—each embody the spirit of the initiative.
The three authors spoke to PW about writing their very different books, capturing the voices of their individual protagonists, and about the first time they recognized themselves in a book.
Sayantani, what do you think makes Pride and Prejudice such an enduring story and why does it lend itself so well to new interpretations?
Sayantani DasGupta: It is a truth universally acknowledged that Pride and Prejudice’s Lizzie and Darcy are among the most iconic examples of enemies-to-lovers couples. They hate each other (or think they do) when they first meet, and clash continuously, only to realize how much of their conflict is based on prejudice and misperceptions. In fact, an earlier title of Austen’s novel was First Impressions. The protagonists learn, they grow, and they discover truths about their own characters through loving the other person. Who can resist a couple like that?
I also think Jane Austen is very modern in her ability to use a simple turn of phrase to poke fun at everything from restrictive social conventions to gender norms to inheritance laws to the way that wealth dictates social hierarchies. She uses humor as a subversive tool of social critique. Austen is a prime example of how powerful both language and laughter can be, in any cultural context, and in any era in history.
In many ways, high school is the perfect setting to explore themes of class, privilege, and preconceptions. Did you set out to write a book that draws from the classic, or did this idea develop after you’d already created your characters?
I am a huge Jane Austen-head. I’ve read all her books repeatedly, seen every film, TV and stage adaptation. Her stories are like old friends to me. So, I definitely intended to draw from Pride and Prejudice from the start. I’ve been nurturing this idea of a speech and debate version of Pride and Prejudice for a long time—because in Jane Austen’s original 1813 novel, Lizzie and Darcy essentially bicker, fight, and debate their way into falling in love. Wit is their love language, and words their path to each other’s hearts. That felt like a speech and debate novel to me!
The other part of the story is, of course, grappling with what it means to be a woman of color who loves Austen. Where is the room for people like me in these novels? In doing an Austen reimagining where my main characters were of color, I am claiming these stories as my own and inserting myself – us – into the narrative. But I’m also troubling what that sort of reclamation means. As the dedication for Debating Darcy says, this book is “for all the brown girls who dreamt of gossamer gowns, only to realize we were already wearing crowns.”
Ann, Set Me Free is a standalone companion to Show Me a Sign. How did you know you weren’t done writing about Mary Lambert and the other characters readers meet in the first book?
Ann Clare LeZotte: Show Me a Sign was absolutely supposed to be a single novel. I lived with the story and tried to find an interested editor for years. After the book published, I realized that young readers, especially D/deaf kids, took the character of Mary to heart and wanted to see more of her adventures. I got specific suggestions about what she should do next! It dawned on me that there could be other books—highlighting Mary’s personal growth while expanding the other characters—set against the backdrop of Post-Revolutionary America. And I could indulge my passion for Deaf history.
It’s amazing to learn that Show Me a Sign and Set Me Free are based on true circumstances. Can you share with me how you first learned about the 19th century deaf community that you so vividly write about?
I lived in Cape Cod in the 1990s. The first trip I took to Martha’s Vineyard was off-season, maybe mid-January. It was the cab driver from the airport to the B&B where I was staying in Edgartown who told me about the island’s history of deafness. I became immediately fascinated. On the first trip, I visited the Chilmark Free Public Library and bought local literature. When I left the island, the idea just kept expanding in my heart and mind.
Claribel, Witchlings is great fun to read, and it also sensitively captures a lot of the anxieties and pressures that go along with being in middle school. How did you strike a balance between the magical and the more mundane aspects of middle school life?
Claribel A. Ortega: I’ve always kept a close tie to my middle school days, I think because it was around this time that I started having a strong relationship with books and movies. In a way, I still sometimes feel like the same weird 12-year-old kid, so that definitely helps me when it comes to capturing the mundane aspect of middle school life. In terms of the magical aspect, I love the possibility of what magic can bring to the table, but I always try to make sure that problems in the book can’t just be solved easily with a spell or enchantment. While they do help at times, Seven, Valley, and Thorn use their minds, their experiences, and their friendship throughout the story and I think that’s what makes it really special. I love showing that it takes a little magic and a little bit of the normal stuff we’re all made of to get through hard times.
Can you talk about the importance of lore and folk and family traditions in your books and in the lives of your characters?
I sometimes don’t realize how much of the stories that were passed on to me make it into my books, but they always end up being so important. There are subtle nods to my Dominican heritage throughout Witchlings, from the pineapple jam cake, which is a tradition for special occasions, to the importance of names, which become a prophecy in the Twelve Towns. Much like in my own life, those traditions and that lore becomes a way for my characters to deal with obstacles and a lens through which they see the world.
A question for each of you: At what point in your book does your character find their power and their voice?
Sayantani DasGupta: In Debating Darcy, Leela Bose—my dark skinned, Bengali American Lizzie Bennet—describes growing up in a community where she was made to feel like “someone [who] could never be considered pretty, heroic, or worthy of being a protagonist, even of my own story.” She goes on to say, “I had been convinced I should try and erase myself from every social situation, from every public space, from the very narrative that is America.” Leela joins the high school speech and debate team to find her voice. She loves musical theater for the same reasons.
But like all of us, Leela is a work in progress. After being ridiculed as a little brown ballerina when she was young, she still hates dancing publicly—allowing her body to take up unapologetic space like that in the world. I was definitely thinking about the importance that dancing and balls have in the original novel when I wrote this into Debating Darcy. Leela also tends to make snap judgements about people—she misjudges her teammate Lidia, the handsome but ultimately no-good Jishnu Waddedar (my George Wikham stand-in), and of course she really misjudges her love interest Firoze Darcy.
Leela changes through the novel, learning from her mistakes, growing more into her beliefs and convictions, and asserting her voice in both individual and collective ways. By the end of the novel, she and the other young women on the speech and debate circuit are able to push back against the misogyny they have been facing in their community and use their voices to work for change.
Ann Clare LeZotte: If we’re talking about Mary, I think one of the interesting features of Show Me a Sign is that she’s a uniquely confident deaf girl from the get-go because she lives in a deaf-inclusive environment that’s still rare today. MVSL (Martha’s Vineyard Sign Language) rolls easily off her hands. She’s taken to a place where the deaf are viewed as less than human and it shakes her confidence, but she summons her resolve. In Set Me Free, Beatrice begins in squalid conditions. Like Mary, we don’t know how much she knows. Mary tries to get through to her as a tutor while Beatrice is attempting to make her inner self known. Their literal struggle in the deer park, and Beatrice conveying her name to Mary, are breakthrough moments for the younger girl. By the end of Set Me Free, Beatrice’s power is still rising
Claribel A. Ortega: Seven Salazar pretty much has her voice from the very beginning of the book. She has the courage to invoke the Impossible Task, which is a treacherous magical trial that could result with Seven and her coven becoming toads forever. She doesn’t hesitate to speak up for what she wants and believes. Part of her journey is discovering that power comes not just from ourselves, but through collaboration with loved ones.
What do you each find most challenging about writing from a middle grade or young adult perspective?
Sayantani DasGupta: Short Answer? Cell phones! Writing a story with texting in it without sounding like I’m somebody’s Gen X mom writing texts into a story—which I am, of course.
Long Answer: I think anyone writing for young people has got to respect and love young people. We are not in the business of talking down to or lecturing to our readers, but witnessing and celebrating their lives, giving them the tools and imaginative space to imagine themselves into characters, and in so doing, radically reimagine their own life stories, and maybe even the story of the world. I’m a parent and I’m a pediatrician by training. I’m also a classroom professor teaching young adults, and so, my work as a middle grade and YA writer feels very consistent with the rest of my life’s work. That said, I grew up in a different era than my characters. In writing a contemporary novel for young people, I had to remember the truth of what it felt to be 16 but also remember that my version of 16 was different than the experience of today.
Ann Clare LeZotte: I truly love it! Because I was a delayed reader, I think I’m catching up on the youth literature I missed. When I did library programs, like storytime in ASL and English, the kids were always with me. The adults in the room can be more challenging. I think that’s somewhat true in writing books too.
Claribel A. Ortega: It can be easy to get stuck in a hindsight view of childhood when you’re an adult and want to lead your stories with a lesson or view it as a learning experience. And while it’s true kids can learn from books, I find they tend to figure it out pretty quickly when they’re being preached to instead of pulled into a conversation. I work my hardest to read a lot and engage with my readers so I never lose what’s most important to them, which is a good story they can get lost in. If I’m doing my job with my characters and their personal journeys, kids will pull what they need from that.
In times of struggle or amidst personal setbacks, where do you look to for creative inspiration and momentum?
Sayantani DasGupta: The pandemic has made it so hard for creative people to fill up our inner wells of inspiration. We’ve been isolated, grieving, anxious, somewhat cut off from our communities, from theater, live music, museums, travel. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t found this time enormously challenging. The entirety of 2021, I had a lot of trouble reading for pleasure, for instance. Instead of writing, I’d do a lot of house cleaning. But I’m lucky to have a loving family, I’m lucky to have a lot of nature around me and a ridiculously misbehaved dog with whom I can take daily hikes. I love movies, and all sorts of books, and in 2022 have already made a good dent in my TBR pile. I’m also lucky to have colleagues and friends who have found creative ways to keep up connections—zoom social gatherings, distanced outdoor walks and the like.
Ann Clare LeZotte: That’s a great question. My main drive is to bring Deaf history, language, and culture into youth literature. That purpose drives me. I read to write. Other authors’ books help me to get going or keep pushing through. Poetry has been a wellspring for me for decades. Then there’s that mysterious reaching past yourself and finding inspiration or letting things flow through you. I create the conditions and then hopefully the characters start signing to me.
Claribel A. Ortega: Music is a big part of my life and my writing process, so whenever I’m having a hard time, I usually turn to music first. I also love to go back to favorite reads, like the Westing Game and Shadowshaper or The Graveyard Book that take me to familiar worlds and remind me why I wanted to become an author to begin with. Taking breaks, chatting with friends and family, going for walks, and snuggling my dog all help a lot too.
Do you each remember the first time that, as a young person, you felt seen in the pages of a book? How can authors and gatekeepers assure that today’s readers—especially those whose stories have been excluded from dominant narratives—have that realization themselves?
Sayantani DasGupta: Stories are good medicine. #RepresentationMatters not only because it is just to give all our young people a chance to see themselves in stories, but because seeing people both like and unlike you in stories is deeply, psychically necessary for all our well-beings as humans.
When I was young, I was a huge reader but never saw myself in the books or media around me, never saw a hero or protagonist like myself. And there became a part of me that was convinced that someone like me didn’t deserve to be a hero or protagonist. The first time I really saw myself was actually in the work of Black and brown women authors—Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Julia Álvarez, Paule Marshall. They didn’t necessarily share my exact identity, but they spoke about marginalization, intersectional oppression, immigration, family, colorism—things that very much impacted my life. And they spoke about these experiences not in generalities, but in deeply specific ways. Those protagonists spoke to me and made room for me on the page. It made me hungry to see more stories like that—stories that challenged dominant narratives of who counted as a protagonist in our broader culture. It’s why I write as specifically as I do—using Bengali words and phrases, being particular about who I center and empower and represent. I deeply hope my stories speak to readers who share those identities, but I also know a story’s particularity and specificity makes it in a sense more universal.
So yes, it’s critically important that all our young people can see themselves in books. But it’s also important for readers to see people unlike themselves as heroes in books. You never know where those moments of empowerment and resonance will arise.
Ann Clare LeZotte: Like a lot of deaf kids, I was language deprived. I came to reading late. So many disabled people will tell you how important Helen Keller was to them. Because she was part of the curriculum and people respected her. That was all. I see disabled creators are beginning to emerge. They will need support and help getting the word out. In a sense, even though our stories are very different, our books are in conversation with one another. And we want to open that conversation to educators and parents—and especially the young readers. Covid-19 has been particularly brutal to disabled communities. It’s more important than ever that kids find those mirrors and doors.
Claribel A. Ortega: Although the representation is not an exact match for me, The House on Mango Street was the first book I remember feeling any connection to in terms of feeling seen. I must have read that paperback about 200 times! It was very important to me and still is. I think authors are trying really hard and it’s important to remember that our communities have our own voices, and we don’t need others to write our stories for us; we need them to elevate the stories that we’re already hard at work writing and publishing. I think gatekeepers should know that our books can be and should be more than tools to teach about a culture or experience. Those books are super important too, but we need a wide range of books from marginalized communities that are fun, whimsical, and about adventures, too. We should be recognized for those books as well, and not just lauded when we write about our pain.
