As a child, I was fortunate enough to grow up in a household in which a strong emphasis was put on reading. I still remember dragging book after book up to my grandmother, pointing imperiously to the title and energetically demanding she read to me.
My politeness as a 5-year-old aside, those were some really formative years for me. I learned reading was my magical time to imagine, escape and create. I connected to others through words. I gained an insatiable desire to collect books and add to my arsenal of stories.
Anyone who grew up with books or a family that prioritized reading time can recall it’s easy for stories to get old.
In elementary school, you crave books that give you new adventures. Nothing against series like “The Baby-Sitters Club” or the “Magic Tree House” books, seeing as I loved them as a child and still appreciate the lessons they taught, but eventually, the main characters and storylines would often get a bit predictable.
In middle school, it seemed like most people were reading books about attractive, insecure white girls coming into their own. This usually meant getting the jock guy at school to look at her and eventually sweep her off her feet, perhaps while being egged on by her other attractive, semi-insecure white friends.
There are plenty of books with other issues; perhaps they focus on a parent’s divorce, the jock guy’s realization that his friends are dirtbags or even the protagonist riding a horse they have a really deep connection to. However, the classic storyline of white girl meets white boy and they fall deeply in love keeps cheerfully popping up like the old friend you knew in high school and see on campus sometimes: You’re happy to see them but, like, not that happy.
There is nothing inherently wrong with the “young, usually affluent and tortured white people falling in love” trope. It’s a well-worn trope for a reason (because it happens!) and many of these stories are wonderful. Some of them are page-turners, heart-breakers or even great literary works.
But often when reading, I find the books I learned from and remembered the best, the ones that changed my opinions or made me particularly introspective are the ones that were (pause for the buzzword) diverse in plot points, opinions and characters.
Seriously. There is a reason the #WeNeedDiverseBooks campaign exists. There is a reason 11-year-old Marley Dias is launching the #1000blackgirlbooks project. That girl is on fire.
Books with multiple characters of different religions, ethnicities and backgrounds expand our worldviews and offer insight into subjects and identities we are unfamiliar with.
Every individual, regardless of race, color, nationality, ethnicity or background, stands to learn more about the experiences of those different from them. Honestly, why else would you be reading if not to experience personal growth, even if minimally?
The call for more diverse characters in books, especially those for children and young adults, is not one that seeks to eliminate books that do not already fit this ideal. What it does call for is a world in which a bookstore can offer several options and not simply reaffirm a single identity, culture and existence.
A world in which a single narrative is perpetuating sounds boring, to be honest. I want interesting books. I want diverse books. I want to learn about lives, worlds and experiences different from my own.
Sally Greider is a UF English and public relations junior. Her column appears on Wednesdays.
