This idea of librarians or teachers offering a kind of therapy through reading is a twist on "bibliotherapy," in which books and reading are used to help solve emotional or interpersonal problems. The term "bibliotherapy" was first used in 1916, but the idea didn't become popularized among psychologists until the 1970s. And unlike art, music or play therapy, bibliotherapy still hasn't fully entered the mainstream. (A Lexis search brought up only a handful of psychological articles and studies on bibliotherapy over the past few decades). Bibliotherapy has yet to stand up as a modality on its own; it's more likely to be mentioned as a supplement to other forms of therapy. That makes sense: Children aren't able to verbally articulate their thoughts, feelings and experiences as well as adults, so a book that they feel connected to -- whether they're experiencing something similar, know someone who is, or just relate to the thoughts of a character -- can be a way to work out, feel or express their emotions.

"Most kids aren't just going to come out and tell us what's wrong," says child therapist and controversial Y.A. author Chris Crutcher, whose books have been banned in schools. "It's scary; they're not sure how they feel; they don't know who they are. But if they can relate to that character, then they get to watch that character and see what the character does about some problem. When they read that some kid in a novel feels the same way they feel, all of a sudden they're less alone."

And books provide insulation, says Crutcher -- a way for kids to relate to their own experiences without running the emotional risk of actually talking about those experiences. A kid who's struggling with a violent or demanding parent, for instance, might find comfort in Crutcher's "Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes," in which a teen girl's father repeatedly abuses her: "The reader can be mad at Sarah's father," says Crutcher, "but he's afraid to be mad at his own father -- that might cost him too much."

Feinberg says she isn't opposed to problem novels as a whole: she's just opposed to those that aren't "emotionally satisfying" to kids -- the ones that don't seem to teach a lesson other than that Life Is Hard. This caveat doesn't come through in "Welcome to Lizard Motel." She takes Katherine Paterson's 1977 "Bridge to Terabithia" to task for killing off one of the characters, and repeatedly criticizes Sharon Creech's "Walk Two Moons" for what she considers Creech's "hasty resolution" of the protagonist's mother's death. She spends a lot of time in her local library, reading kids' and Y.A. books, and in the process, starts an ongoing dialogue about Y.A. literature with the children's librarian: "'When we were kids, didn't we used to read books that were less ... catastrophic?'" she asks. ("These realistic sad books are very popular," the librarian answers. "Teachers love them.")

But these books reflect life, say Y.A. lit experts, and kids and teenagers today are dealing with some harsh realities that shouldn't be glossed over. "Fine if you like a happily-ever-after book -- there's nothing wrong with that," says Crutcher. "But don't expect your life to be. You're going to be disappointed."

Feinberg's own teen years certainly weren't idyllic -- she was a runaway who grew up with an alcoholic father -- so it's surprising that she resists the possible therapeutic values of problem novels for kids and teenagers. She originally addressed the concept of bibliotherapy in "Welcome to Lizard Motel," Feinberg says, but cut it when she decided it interrupted the flow and structure of the book. "What I was complaining about in 'Welcome to Lizard Motel' -- maybe I didn't do it articulately enough -- were certain kinds of books that I felt were contrived and not emotionally satisfying for children," she says. "Books like 'Walk Two Moons' hit all these politically correct notes -- they talk about suicide, depression. But to me those books added up to a big fat nothing." Because, she says, they don't feel like they're coming from the voice of a child: They feel like an adult attempting to write like a child.

Webber, the teen librarian in New Jersey, disagrees. Kids and teens "don't want to be lied to," she says. "If they felt those books were inauthentic, they wouldn't read them. It's the same way that they know which teachers love their jobs and which are biding their time until retirement."

Although she repeatedly mentions "Walk Two Moons," Feinberg also takes on Paterson's "Bridge to Terabithia" -- a children's lit classic that's often taught in the fifth grade. It's the story of Jesse, a neglected farm boy in Virginia, who strikes up a friendship with the new girl, Leslie, next door. Together, they create an imaginary kingdom, Terabithia, in the woods behind their houses -- until Jesse's friend Leslie dies in an accident. Feinberg was a fan of the book until the end: "I think of the author, Katherine Paterson, for the first time," she writes. "Why in the world did you kill off your character? To make a point? I berate her: You didn't set the death up right. You didn't prepare us."

Paterson says she'd be more concerned about Feinberg's book "if I hadn't received hundreds and hundreds of letters from people who were deeply comforted by 'Bridge to Terabithia.' "Books like 'Bridge to Terabithia' give children a rehearsal for the things that they're going to meet in life, inevitably," she says. "We cannot protect our children from sorrow and pain." Paterson wrote the book, she says, because two of her four children lost close friends -- one died in her sleep; another was hit by lightning -- before they were 8.

Novelist Crutcher also uses his personal experience as a therapist to inform his books; many of his characters endure intense physical, emotional and sexual abuse. "I've never written a story that wasn't based in truth in some way," he says. "One in three girls, and one in five boys have been sexually abused -- and that doesn't count the kids who have been beaten or emotionally abused. Look out over a class of 30 kids and just do the math. And for those lucky kids whose lives have been relatively sheltered -- and those kids have troubles too -- they're sitting among those kids. It does not make sense to me to not try to tell those truths as best as we can as storytellers and let kids take a look at them." (It should be noted that statistics about the percentage of children who have been sexually abused are highly controversial.)

"Librarians aren't psychologists," says Stephanie Reynolds, a library science Ph.D. candidate in Denton, Texas, who is writing a dissertation on bibliotherapy and teen novels. "But at the same time, you never know when that one shy child who maybe has an abuse or neglect problem at home -- if you give that child the one book that might give her the guts, the power and the information she might need, it might save her life."

That might sound far-fetched, but Crutcher says it isn't: He tells a story about a 17-year-old girl who approached him after a book talk he gave in Texas in 1990. "I had just written 'Chinese Handcuffs' -- a really tough story about a girl who's been molested all her life," he says. "The girl walked up and said, 'I just wanted you to know that I read this story and I thought you knew me.'" It was the first time she'd talked about her sexual abuse, and she wasn't sure if she should tell anyone else, says Crutcher. He suggested she confide in the person who gave her the book -- her English teacher. A few weeks later, he heard from both of them: They were seeking therapy for the girl. "Without that connection that she made -- and it doesn't have to be to my book -- she might go another five or 10 years thinking she's the only girl who has to live through that," he says. "That makes my book a hell of a lot better than it ever had a right to be."

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