I'm always on a quest to revisit retro books from my youth and work my way through books I have on hand on my physical piles. This one ticks both boxes.
MY THOUGHTS:
Essentially, Margaret Simon, our 11-year-old protagonist, moves from New York City to New Jersey with her parents. She makes new friends, conscientiously tackles school assignments, grapples with a crush on the boy who mows their lawns, and tries to compare different church services to choose the most outstanding. On the face of it, this doesn't sound like a book which deserves to have been banned many times since its publication in 1970. Yet it has been, even though it's now considered a classic!
To me this novel is less of a revelation than a recognition. I first read it in the early 1980s when I was the same age as Margaret and her tweenie friends. Back then, my own secret girls' club certainly found our current fixations mirrored in theirs.
It's a world of trainer bras, which are basically strips of fabric for kids who don't really need them but simply can't wait. My friendship group also had the same unofficial race to start our periods, consequent period envy, and fascination with our changing bodies, not to mention those of the boys in our classes.
But the book's critics deem it too frank a forage into the mindsets of enquiring adolescent girls. The content has been dubbed, 'inappropriate' by many parents, teachers, and librarians, which sadly suggests these gatekeepers diminish the preoccupations of pre-teen girls as unworthy of attention.
Sure, I find my own behavior a bit facepalmy in hindsight, but this novel reminds me that the physical aspect of adolescence really seems the substance of magic while we're living it. Our metamorphoses are like spiritual portals into the secret (and sexy) world of adulthood. I think being reminded of our feelings, and having them normalised is probably a healthy thing.
The book has a great cast, including Mr Benedict, their young teacher fresh out of college, poor, well-endowed Laura Danker, who puts up with so much rubbish from her peers, and Philip Leroy, who behaves like a total clown but gets away with it, because all the girls agree he's so handsome. And Nancy Wheeler, Margaret's best friend, is such a diva, using water-works, exaggeration, truth stretching, tale telling, and gossip like weapons. I do pity her older brother, having to live with her.
The second reason for frequently banning this book is its other main preoccupation, in which Margaret undertakes her personal quest to discover her ideal religious faith, or at least one that gels with her. Her community itself, in that time and place, seems divided between Judaism and Christianity. Throughout this story Margaret attends a Jewish temple with her paternal grandmother, and three different Christian denominations with friends. Yet the fact that she ends up even more confused if not downright disillusioned is assumed by some readers to be Judy Blume's indictment against organized religion.
Some reviewers object to the idea of an 11-year-old embarking on her own independent examination, without the guidance of any clergy-person, such as a priest, rabbi, or pastor. Yet to me it's clear that Margaret, knowing herself to be a clean-slate, instinctively intuits that seeking professional guidance would instantly enmesh her in the webs of institutions she might choose not to continue with. She isn't ready for that yet. It is a jungle out there, for a young person in Margaret's position, and after what happened to her parents, she fears getting burned too.
From the start, Margaret has always felt slightly bereft to be known as the girl with 'no religion.' Her parents have been seriously hurt in their past in the name of their faith. (My own youthful background has parallels but I won't go there and blow out this review.) Her mother's piously Christian parents disowned their daughter for marrying a boy with Jewish roots. I don't blame Margaret for finding this horrifically over-reactive and dreadfully sad.
One of her most private habits is talking things over quietly with God, who she assumes is not only interested in her but active in her world, shaping her personal events behind the scenes. Hooray for Margaret, who has successfully managed to place the main thing in its rightful spot without any input from anyone.
The ending disappoints some readers, when Margaret apparently rejects all of the religious services she attends. But surely the end is not really the end. Margaret is still only twelve years old. Although this novel finishes, her search for faith presumably doesn't. And for the record, I believe encouraging people as young as eleven to research and think for themselves rather than blindly following any type of herd is a great move.
I can't help thinking that if Judy Blume had written this story in such a way that Margaret did feel drawn to any of the denominations she attends, she couldn't have possibly pulled it off without appearing agenda driven, and then she would have been accused of outright propaganda.
It's simply an extremely hot topic she's chosen as a main theme.
Overall, it is amazing to think that, having been first published in 1970, this book is over half a century old. Its content still seems so fresh and evergreen, with a few exceptions. (Class visits to the library to consult encyclopedias for school projects. Margaret's father's Playboy subscription, which his wife and daughter never turn a hair at. I don't remember noticing this dodgy detail when I first read it as a twelve-year-old. I also discovered more recent editions, including mine, have been subtly updated. Sanitary belts in the original have been changed to adhesive pads, which are all I've ever known, and I sincerely hope I'm not far from menopause.)
Bottom line: for such a slim, simple, enjoyable, and fun little story, the content has certainly pushed lots of people's buttons over the years. Human nature is a funny can of worms. Prod and poke it with care.
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