I just finished a highly regarded middle-grade novel by a well-known author, but something about the story grated on me and left me feeling slightly peevish. The premise of the story is intriguing and the main character engaging, there’s an arc and a satisfying conclusion and some nice nods to science, but still, something poked at me—wormed its way into my subconscious and wouldn’t let go. At first I wasn’t sure what was niggling me so I re-read the book and discovered that the stereotypical way the author presented the main character’s grandfather—who is the crux of the plot—irritated me. He wears polyester pants, button-down shirts, ties, black socks, and loafers. That seems innocuous—after all many elderly men dress like that, but many don’t and he could just as easily have worn a Hawaiian shirt and chinos or jeans and a sweat shirt. Have you seen Bruce Springsteen lately (he’s 65), or Sting (63), or Sir Paul McCartney (72), or Ringo Starr (he’s 74 for heaven’s sake)? Not a pair of polyester pants in sight! The grandfather in the story is cranky and rude, especially to younger people. Why? Was that necessary to the story? And then there was his “old-man wallet.” What exactly is that? Why couldn’t we have a description of the wallet instead of a dismissive name? Is it soft with age? Has the dye rubbed away from the leather where it’s been fingered the most? Does it bulge with old ticket stubs, or photographs, or neatly folded money? Let the reader make a judgment of the owner of the wallet from its description.
My wise writing teacher once asked her workshop group to think about the way we present elderly people in our stories. Must they all have gray hair, deep wrinkles, canes, or orthopedic shoes? Are those stereotypes that we want to perpetuate? Helen Mirren is 69 and wears a bikini. Jane Fonda is 77—I bet she doesn’t wear orthopedic shoes. I have elderly grandmothers in two of my novels and I’ve thought long and hard about this. In the end I envisioned characters who are a product of their environments and life experiences and wrote them that way.
Instead of polyester pants and cranky temperaments, is there a different, more vibrant way for an author to represent aging? Baby boomers are not going gently into that good night (to paraphrase Dylan Thomas). They’re running marathons, lifting weights, traveling to distant places, volunteering, working, and writing novels. And they’re the grandparents of many of your readers. Can you represent that in your story?
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
My wise writing teacher once asked her workshop group to think about the way we present elderly people in our stories. Must they all have gray hair, deep wrinkles, canes, or orthopedic shoes? Are those stereotypes that we want to perpetuate? Helen Mirren is 69 and wears a bikini. Jane Fonda is 77—I bet she doesn’t wear orthopedic shoes. I have elderly grandmothers in two of my novels and I’ve thought long and hard about this. In the end I envisioned characters who are a product of their environments and life experiences and wrote them that way.
Instead of polyester pants and cranky temperaments, is there a different, more vibrant way for an author to represent aging? Baby boomers are not going gently into that good night (to paraphrase Dylan Thomas). They’re running marathons, lifting weights, traveling to distant places, volunteering, working, and writing novels. And they’re the grandparents of many of your readers. Can you represent that in your story?
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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