When I was invited to be the keynote speaker at the 8th Annual Harry Potter Festival at Chestnut Hill College, I had never read a word of the Harry Potter books. I had heard a paper about HP at an academic conference and, of course, I had heard and seen a variety of advertisements for the movies and merchandise. My friends and colleagues were big fans; my nephews and niece were super-fans. I knew more than one family of five who decided to all dress up as Harry Potter for Halloween. I had sat through countless HP references and inside jokes with only minimal understanding. In fact, it was kind of a thing that I had never read Harry Potter, and my closest friends and colleagues knew that eventually I would have to read them, even as I resisted the idea. Given my Girls on Fire work, the people I talked to were often shocked to hear that I had never read Harry Potter. But I was invited to the conference not because I was a HP scholar, but because I was not one—because my work speaks to HP fans and scholars in new ways. I was an experiment, and a successful one, I hope.

Until I accepted the invitation, I had no intention of picking up the HP books any time soon. But I knew that I had to have something beyond superficial familiarity if I was going to walk into the belly of the beast. I knew that every person at the conference would have read every book, and probably re-read every book. I knew that they would have seen all the movies and that many would probably be wearing HP clothing and accessories. I knew that they would all have at least a decade, if not a two-decade head start. I knew I could get nowhere near their level of interest, insight, or expertise. But I read the first two books and began the third one, and read some introductory scholarship, so that I would feel at least a little less than clueless.

The reasons I had never read HP were mostly coincidental. When the first book was published, I was just beginning grad school. And even if I had wanted to read HP, I was not reading anything that was not assigned for my classes or instrumental for my teaching. I also don’t tend to read a lot of books that are centered around male protagonists and I have never been a big fan of British literature. Because I do not have children, the books were never really on my radar and when I did begin reading again, I was much more inclined to read science fiction and dystopia and only turned to YA fiction when I ran out of Octavia Butler books. And soon I was deep in the world of YA dystopia with female protagonists—the “guilty pleasure” obsession that became my academic obsession. And, finally, I tend to be one of those readers/pop culture consumers who turn their nose up at wildly popular trends. For years, I was quite sure that HP was over-rated, but I certainly could not deny the impact that these books had on my family, friends, and colleagues.

So, I accepted the invitation to speak at the conference, in part, because I knew that this gig would challenge me and, in part, because the conference organizers assured me that my work would be relevant to the conference attendees. I accepted the invitation because I try to keep an open mind, and because I love to learn new things. And I accepted the speaking invitation because I will really accept any invitation that allows me to share my passion for young adult dystopia’s Girls on Fire. I was interested in finding out more about this HP world—or Potterverse, as the fans know it. I had assumptions and preconceived notions, but I also had a curiosity. As I have since confirmed via a few online sorting hat quizzes, I am Ravenclaw after all.

Overall, the conference was a wonderful experience, from the setting to the atmosphere created by a bunch of people who are passionate about Harry Potter and the work that they do—in and out of academia. Despite the fancy private college setting, the conference is put together with very few resources and with a lot of energy, and the conference organizers are committed to keeping the conference accessible to a diverse range of people. The papers accepted and presented are selected not based upon the academic credentials, but on the merit of the ideas presented in the abstract. There is also a clear effort to include undergraduates, independent scholars, and even high school students. The energy, the joy, the untapped possibility—they were all palpable.

As I noted during my plenary talk, what’s better than the HP books or the Girls on Fire books, is what readers, fans, scholars, and activists do with the texts. Even when I was unfamiliar with certain aspects of the overall story or later books, I found all of the talks to be interesting, insightful, enlightening, and some were even entertaining. More than once I was moved to tears by the passion of the participants, especially at the reaction of the two high school students who presented their papers and were awarded with scholarships to Chestnut Hill College.

I saw so many wonderful presentations and met so many incredible people. Dare I say the conference was … magical?! And, of course, the conference also did not disappoint in terms of my own learning and new insights I was able to glean regarding my Girls on Fire work. (Ravenclaw, again!) But for these insights, you’ll have to read the second part of this two-blog series! Stay tuned!

While I have enjoyed many novels considered “classics,” and many books in the capitol-L literature category, young adult dystopian literature is my go-to for pleasure reading. As I explain in my forthcoming book, Girls on Fire: Transformative Heroines in Young Adult Dystopian Literature, my obsession with YA dystopia became the subject matter for a class and for a book. And as I argue in both these settings, YA dystopia’s Girls on Fire provide a powerful lens for thinking about the future. But the stories of girls in the worlds of YA dystopia often share important similarities with their counterparts in dystopian Literature.

In Girls on Fire I analyze some of the similarities and differences, connections and inspirations, between and among young adult dystopian literature and dystopian Literature by women.* Several of these adult books feature teenage protagonists—usually just at the cusp of adulthood. In addition to the books I write about in Girls on Fire (like California by Eden Lepucki as well as In the Heart of the Valley of Love by Cynthia Kadohata), there are several interesting contemporary examples of adult dystopian stories that center not-quite-yet-adult protagonists like Memory of Water (2012; 2014 in the U.S.) by Finnish author, Emmi Itäranta and America Pacifica (2011) by Anna North.

Our vague cultural markers, like the age of eighteen, supposedly imbue a teenager with adult status though the reality of adulthood does not hinge on this marker. In the realm of dystopia, our protagonists have adult responsibilities and adult worries beginning in childhood, but they are often ignorant in the bigger picture of their society—the ways in which the past has shaped the present and the ways in which power and corruption have done the shaping. Becoming an adult—in both YA dystopia and adult Literature—means having the blinders removed and finally seeing reality for what it is, not what we have been brainwashed to believe.

This is the case in both Memory of Water and America Pacifica. In the former, the protagonist has been interning as Tea Master, an ancient profession reserved for men. Noria is almost through her training when her world shifts; her father dies, her mother moves away, and she is left to protect and discover secrets that change the course of her life as well as her community. In America Pacifica, Darcy lives in a world that revolves around her mother and their bare level of subsistence. When her mother disappears, she is left to uncover the secrets her mother has kept, secrets that not only reveal her mother’s hidden past, but also the potential for revolutionary change for the oppressed of Darcy's world.

Both girls, who are also women, put into motion the possibility of change in their oppressive societies. Both societies have reached the point where extreme corruption and greed have made life unsustainable; both Girls on Fire influence the tipping point in an attempt to restore balance. For Noria, the price is death, which comes about mostly through lack of communication and misunderstanding. But she leaves behind key information that shifts the roles of power and possibility by revealing the government’s generations of lies. For Darcy, the price is losing her mother and almost losing her life as she helps to topple the corrupt regime and then follows her principles and sets out on a lonely, dangerous journey to find people on the mainland.

In both cases, there is much more work left to be done. Though circumstances force these girls to grow up—to take responsibility not just for themselves, but for their community—their coming of age is similar to the coming of age for a society or culture. That shift toward hope for something better happens, but more development is needed. It takes time to mature into adulthood just as it takes time for a society to mature into a just, free, equal community. Girls on Fire survive their toxic, abusive, violent societies and spark progressive change. They provide inspiration and incentive for us to do the same.
 
*The main difference between young adult dystopian novels is the role of sex and romance. Typically, there is far more sex and far less romance. This is the case in America Pacifica where Darcy has very little experience outside of her life with her mother, but has still made out with a number of boys and agrees to have sex with a guard to get the information she needs. This is not, however, the case in Memory of Water where there is no sex and no romance besides the hint of love disguised as friendship.

A foundational question asked of all sci-fi fans: Star War or Star Trek? Of course, there is no need to choose. And if you had asked me a few days ago, I would have answered Star Trek without hesitation.

Despite being a professor of popular culture (more or less) I am never current on popular culture. Even the stories I love best are rarely seen before they come to DVD. When I watched the Hunger Games films, after much anticipation, I fell asleep every time. I could stay awake on re-watches, but I hate to admit that I did not make it all the way through Mocking Jay part two until a few months ago.

I wanted to stay awake only to see what choices they made at the end of the film, and whether these choices matched my thesis in my forthcoming book, Girls on Fire: Transformative Heroines in Young Adult Literature. They did. I could have said a lot more in my book about the way in which this ending illustrates just how much the absence of the voice and countercultural strength of Katniss makes the movies a rather empty and superficial representation of Katniss.

But such a critique does not ultimately matter because our culture is not ready for the voice and force of Katniss. It might just be enough to have the equal presence of girls and women in films to start making a dent in the patriarchal strangle-hold on popular culture representations.

Which brings me back to Star Wars. After the disappointment of the new Star Wars films, I did not pay much attention to the newer Star Wars films. I heard echoes of strong female protagonist, but I did not pay much attention. I hadn’t had a chance to watch The Force Awakens until visiting my sister and her family at the beginning of my sabbatical this winter.

We watched the film with plans to go see the new release of The Last Jedi in the theater during our visit. At first I was not excited about this plan, and I watched the film out of the corner of my eye while finishing breakfast. But soon I was hooked, with my eyes glued to the screen. I had found another Girl on Fire.

But Rey, as a Girl on Fire, is only the most obvious aspect of this film’s feminist activism. (And she is totally awesome.) Girls and women pepper the second film in a variety of roles. Women are old and young. Good and evil. They are leaders and heroes. They solve problems and they make mistakes. They are present. They are stock characters. They are role models.

Such representation is exactly what I argue and illustrate in Girls on Fire: Transformative Female Protagonists in Young Adult Literature. We don’t look to girls to lead us—in the present or the future—because we have not been given the opportunity to see girls and women outside the narrow confines of sex symbol and side story.

Before the film began, there were a variety of sci-fi themed films with Girls on Fire at the helm. There were, of course, plenty that did not feature girls at all, but we don’t have to be and do everything. We just have to get the opportunity to be seen as equals, to be equals as the norm rather than as the exception.

The Baby Boomer generation is having trouble accepting equality as fact. Generation X is trying to live within contradictions. But we can see hope when we see that the next generations see women in the world at every turn and in every position. Girls and women are the phoenix rising from the ashes of a world that has silenced us for too long.

In my forthcoming book, Girls on Fire: Transformational Heroines in Young Adult Literature, I conclude by considering “Utopic Visions for Dystopian Realities.” While the constant storm of Trump’s Presidency makes my book relevant in many ways, the recent news around Steve Bannon is exactly what I address in my conclusion. Below is an excerpt from my book. In fact, this is the end of my book. We all need a little hope; and we definitely need to talk more about a vision of the future where social justice has shaped our lives, culture, country, and world.
*
In his speech to his supporters at the Democratic Convention in Philadelphia, on July, 25, 2016, Bernie Sanders passionately declared that “We want nothing less than the transformation of American Society.” His message was timely, and especially appealed to young people. While it is clear that Bernie’s vision of transformation is progressive—it seeks equality and justice and an end to racism, sexism, homophobia, and all those other liberal policies—exactly what this transformed society looks like, is not clear. Nor is it easy. It will take work—a kind of world-building. This is the work of the future.

Meanwhile, similar words can have a different vision. Heather Digby Parton writes, “[Steve] Bannon is a radical white nationalist whose main objective, as he has openly admitted, is to blow everything up — essentially to destroy the existing social and political order.” In his first public appearance after Trump’s election, Bannon reiterates the “unending battle for ‘deconstruction of the administrative state’” (Rucker). Bannon’s words are more radical, but they do not sound all that different from Bernie Sanders’s words. Radicals on the left have also used the language of, for instance, blowing up the establishment. These are words that can inspire the disenfranchised (for instance, black people) as well as those who perceive themselves as being disenfranchised (for instance, white nationalists). Bannon’s words alone do not reveal the sinister motives and ideologies behind them that are so different from what Bernie Sanders’ words mean. After Bannon blows everything up, Parton continues, “What that leaves us with after the smoke clears is anyone’s guess, since he is notably vague on the endgame.” Here too, the future is uncertain. The vision of the future, after leaving the “existing social and political order” in ruins is vastly different for Bernie Sanders compared to Steve Bannon, but neither future is spelled out.

We might understand these two futures in the terms of Utopia vs. Dystopia. Bernie’s future is a utopia. We have a difficult time finding utopia in the U.S. and in our fiction—one person’s utopia is another’s dystopia and utopia can quickly turn to dystopia. Using YA dystopia as a lens is far more helpful. For instance, the futures that Girls on Fire navigate are always a result of forces that are already in process—the environment, our global health, political corruption, social chaos. The world that Bannon seeks to create is the world we find in YA dystopia. In fact, Bannon is a perfect model for almost any of the evil hegemons as well as the corrupt power structures we find in YA dystopia’s fictional futures. He has been compared to Darth Vader and Satan and has said in response, that “darkness is good” (Tani). But these comparisons might be giving him too much credit. His attempts to impose chaos might not be effective, and can remind us that, as Dustin McKissen argues, “If what we are looking at is a government with no one at the wheel, then this is an opportunity for each of us to step up and take our places as the real authors of history.” And if the person, or people at the wheel are pure evil, as they often are in YA dystopia, we need Girls on Fire even more.

Utopia has its value toward imagining more, but dystopia reminds us of the urgency of the present. Rebecca Solnit notes that transformations “begin in the imagination, in hope” (4). Dystopia keeps us accountable, reminds us of our collective responsibility. Dystopia even gives us hope, perhaps a more realistic vision of hope than utopia. Solnit describes hope in ways that mesh with dystopian stories: “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised, not guaranteed” (4). Dystopia does not take for granted the progress of the past because this progress has, at least in part, shaped the dystopic world. Girls on Fire know that if they fail to act nothing will change. Solnit continues, “To hope is to give yourself to the future, and that commitment to the future makes the present inhabitable” (4). Girls on Fire are a source of hope; and we all have a stake in the future. But we also have to live in this world and keep it “inhabitable” for the future.

When the lights go out, who will be left to find a new source of light, to discover that human element of fire again?

The Girls on Fire are keeping the fire burning, stoking the fire and keeping watch to ensure that we don’t burn out or burn up.

“Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!”
—Katniss in Mockingjay

“And it would do nothing at all. It would change nothing at all. It would move no one at all, and so it really wouldn’t be art, would it?”
—June in The Summer Prince

“We were going to change how people think…. You can’t transform a society with violence, Ashala. Only with ideas.”
—Ember in The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf

American dystopia is a long-standing tradition, and Trump’s appearance on the scene of American politics has inspired many references to dystopia (like on The Daily Show with Trevor Noah and in liberal campaigns). But we have long been a dystopia in the United States, and many brilliant authors have shed light on this quality from a variety of angles. War, apocalypse, unchecked technology, disease, climate change, natural disaster, invasion, slavery, violence, reproductive slavery, sexual violence, decimation, devastation.

When we talk about American dystopia today, we talk about George Orwell. We talk about the classics. We talk about men and power and the end of the world. And Margaret Atwood’s A Handmaid’s Tale is back on the bestseller list and being made into a television series in Trump’s dystopia. We need to look to other stories as well. We need to tell more stories.

The major issues of our times point toward a country, and a world, that we can find in the books of Octavia Butler, Suzanne Collins, Sherri L. Smith, Ambelin Kwaymullina, and Alaya Dawn Johnson. Many “Girls on Fire” tell us stories that speak to intersectional futures—to multifaceted ideas, people, and movements and to the possibilities of change in many possible futures.
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This collection seeks critical and creative explorations of dystopia: short stories, essays, graphic art, interviews, poems, testimonials, or any format that uses dystopia as a means for understanding the present moment. This collection seeks the stories, the images, the ideas and ideals of “Girls on Fire”—to inspire hope, vision, and action through the power of dystopic visions. To get us all through the fear, disappointment, anger, and anxiety.

Tell a compelling story that sheds light on our present moment and inspires us to work for a better future. Write a scathing commentary that exposes the problems of the present and the possibilities of the future. Capture a moment, an image that speaks to today’s dystopia. Imagine a manifesto, a moment, a movement. Create an image that moves us and makes us think. Use your arts—your mind and your heart and your skills and your training—to speak back to the present through the lens of tomorrow.

Imagine what the future of America looks like—30 days, 4 years, or several decades or centuries into the future. How has Trump’s reign shaped our cities, the country, the world? How have we been divided; how have we been united? What is the state of the climate, our social and cultural institutions? What dystopic future grows from the present moment? What challenges do people face? Where is there hope? What are Girls on Fire making from this future?

This collection is intended as a sort of companion piece to (working title): Girls on Fire: American Dystopia and Intersectional Futures, Sarah Hentges’ forthcoming book from McFarland Publishing, Inc. This book explores the ways in which young adult dystopian texts with female protagonists can inspire social justice. It considers foundations and possibilities. It looks to “Girls on Fire”—in fiction, and in life—to lead the way to a better future.

See http://www.cultureandmovement.com/ya-dystopia.html for more information about Girls on Fire: American Dystopia and Intersectional Futures

pdf call for submissions
5,000 words maximum. Images should be high quality.
Inquiries and ideas can be emailed to sarah.hentges@maine.edu
Submit to: sarahdwh8@gmail.com by January 20, 2018