What did you read when you were eleven? I was most definitely NOT into eleven-year-old-girls doing eleven-year-old-girl things (unless they were training to be witches).
This summer, my best friend asked me if I wanted to go the see the movie Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret (based on the classic young adult book of the same name). I had never read the book, but because we are both big into banned books, I said sure. It struck me as the sort of book she would have read as a kid, and it made me feel good that she wanted to share it with me.
We sat in the dimmed theatre as the previews ended and the title screen and date - 1970 - came up.
I leaned over and whispered, "I've never read the book." There was a pause and she whispered back, "neither have I." Turns out we both assumed, because of our banned books crusades, that the other had read the book at some point.
Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret.
It is one of the long-running repeat offenders on the banned books list. It is 53 years old. FIFTY-THREE. This is one of those books like To Kill a Mockingbird and Julie of the Wolves that every time I see it on a list of challenged titles, I roll my eyes and say, "seriously? This one again?"
Ooh, check out this piece of history (original 1970 cover).
One of the more recent covers. I like that it lends itself to the idea of waiting for answers.
Watching the film (and, later, reading the book as my annual personal banned book challenge) it seemed pretty innocuous.
An 11-year-old girl moves from New York City to suburban New Jersey and begins her journey to fit in with other girls her age. She is self-concious that she is still flat chested. She and her new clique discuss bras, when they'll get their periods, what boys they like... y'know, eleven-year-old girl stuff.
The girls sneak a medical reference book and a playboy magazine from various parents to examine the anatomy, wondering what they'll look like when they're older; wondering what their male classmates look like under their clothes.
In addition to being flat-chested, Margaret has also yet to get her period, which causes her much angst when members of her friend group start getting theirs. She and the other girl in her group who have yet to start "men-stroo-ating" buy pads at a drug store, mortified by being rung up by a teenage boy and, in a panic, add a couple other items to their purchase because heaven forbid they should be seen ONLY buying feminine products.
Margaret has a lot of questions. Their joke of a sex ed class consists of a presentation by a representative of a feminine products company. Rumors fly about the busty girl in class and what she may or may not be doing with older boys... Margaret's questions increase when the source of these rumors turns out to have been lying about other things.
Margaret also has questions about religion. Her mother was raised Christian; her father, Jewish. Margarets maternal grandparents disowned her mother when she married outside the faith, but her Jewish paternal grandmother is a constant in her life, and usually a source of support.
The book opens with a "prayer." Despite being non-religious, Margaret often "talks" to god, treating him as a "Dear Abby" sort of figure. At first, her quandry about religion is as simple as whether she should join the YMCA or the Jewish Community Center.
Margaret's teacher, himself new and unsure, assigns the class to each choose a topic for a year-round study. Margaret, having decided that almost-twelve is old enough to choose her own religion, decides that she will spend the year studying different religions to pick one that suits her.
(Though what Margaret considers "different religions" boils down to Jewish and three Christian denominations.)
Sounds pretty innocent, right?
Well, let's keep in mind this book was released in 1970. This was a time when discussing many of these subjects in mixed company would have been taboo, or at least recently-so. Heaven forbid we discuss bras, "busts," periods, and the like. Heaven forbid girls should talk about boys they like, what it might be like to kiss them.
Margaret's parents raising her essentially agnostic and allowing her to choose her own religion as she got older would have been seen as extremely groundbreaking.
This was also a time when there was very little discussion, both in school and the home, about what a young woman could expect when her period started. The presenter at the girls' special assembly gets flustered at the mere mention of tampons. One of the girls in Margaret's circle of friends becomes hysterical when she starts her period in a restaraunt bathroom.
Margaret narrates examining herself in the mirror, looking for signs of puberty. She stuffs three cottonballs into each side of her trainer bra and is pleased with the results. (And if there's anyone reading this who didn't do something similar as a teen or pre-teen I'd be much more shocked than I was reading either scene.) Margaret worries that she's taking too long to develop.
"I just want to be normal. Please, God," she begs.
That, for me, is really the crux of why we should let our kids read these books. "Hey, this girl is worried about x - she's just like me." "This boy is struggling with Y - he's just like me."
In 1970's, kids who couldn't get these answers turned to Playboy and medical textbooks. Now they can turn to YouTube, Tik-tok, and a rabbit's warren of porn and disinformation on the internet.
When my daughter is ten, eleven, twelve, I hope she'll turn to me when she has questions. But if she doesn't I'd rather she turn to Margaret, a book about a girl her age, than pretty much anything else.