Jacqueline Wilson on letters, empathy, book bans

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Jacqueline – thank you so much for speaking with me. I wanted to begin by asking, what made you start writing about the experiences of children, and particularly girls, who are facing difficult realities?

I think it was because, when I was a child, I loved reading but always had a feeling that writers didn’t represent children as they really were. There were no real emotional worries: children were rounding up robbers in Enid Blyton; in school stories, girls were sometimes picked on, but the depiction just didn’t chime with me, even as I enjoyed reading the books. I liked Noel Streatfeild – my favourite book of hers was Ballet Shoes – and the sisters did quarrel, but it just wasn’t any kind of reflection on life. And I don’t just mean my sort of life because I was brought up in a council estate, but many people’s actual private lives. In fact, there’s a moment in one of my childhood diaries where I write in rather ponderous terms that I don’t want to write children’s books when I grow up, because they’re not truthful about children.

I actually really did want to write for children. And I was lucky that, by the time I started writing, things had shifted a little – there was suddenly room for stories like Tracy Beaker and children in care, or Andy in The Suitcase Kid, whose parents are splitting up. Very sadly, there seem to be more children in care now. And certainly many, many more children whose parents aren’t together anymore. Life has changed.

I don’t want to traumatise children, but I do want to be truthful. I want them to be comforted, and I want to have happy endings, and I want to have lots of funny bits to break any tension. I want any child going through a horrible time to feel that there’s somebody out there for them, that they’re not alone, that somebody understands what they’re going through. And, if a child is lucky enough to have a very secure family and lots of friends, for them to be able to empathise with other children who might seem a bit withdrawn or weird or angry.

It does give me great delight when, now, as I sign copies of Think Again,my book for adults, people have said quietly to me that my books had helped them and made a difference to their lives. Who wouldn’t feel pleased and touched that that’s happened?

Empathy really is so central to your books. You write with such compassion and sensitivity about your characters, and I know this has helped young readers to develop empathy towards others, and to cope with issues in their own lives that require the empathy of others.

Empathy is so often coded as a female trait, and so many of your readers are girls – though you of course have readers of all genders. I’m interested in your thoughts on this – on what constitutes empathy, and on its value in literature where empathy can be such a gendered notion?

I know it’s not fashionable to see differences between males and females, but in my experience, if you look at the primary school playground, girls are often going around arm in arm or whispering together, or suddenly turning against another girl, while boys fight or have a fierce argument and then it’s all over and done with, and is kind of more straightforward. I think girls often understand instinctively how somebody else might be feeling – but this is so generalised, because there are obviously many boys who do, and many girls who just want to go out and play football. I do feel that empathy often comes more naturally to women, perhaps because women have traditionally had to raise the children, and to try and think what another person is thinking, what it must be like for that person. That’s where I welcome the fact that so many youngish fathers are very much more in the picture now, wanting to empathise and help out and spend time with their young children.

I think most women would say that they’re almost fine-tuned into sensing when a child of theirs comes home and they’re a little withdrawn – they just know that something’s happened, that something’s gone wrong. But all I can really write about are my own experiences, and that’s the way it seems to me.

What do you think the responsibilities of children’s authors are, especially today, when, for example, online misogyny is on the rise, and children can so easily access this content through social media and the internet?

It’s a huge problem. It’s very difficult. I really don’t know how we get around it, because most children are wily about getting round any blocks on their phones and accessing the most horrible things. Although they’ve got all this knowledge, they’re also in a way more innocent too – they can think that because you see some horrible thing on the internet it must be true that women like to be hurt and humiliated in a sexual relationship. This is what’s so frightening.

There are very good male adult role models, of course. But there’s this sinister new movement about what it is to be a man, and you’ve got all these young boys who naturally want to get on with others and do what is considered right. But what is right, now? I do feel sorry for them. I just think it’s very hard to deal with.

Going back to what you said about writing in a truthful way, because your books deal with difficult topics in such honest and open ways, there’s often conversation around your books being ‘controversial’ or even ‘inappropriate’ for children. What’s your response when people (parents, for example) say they don’t allow children to read your books?

It’s their prerogative. If they don’t want children to read my books, that’s fine. I was in my local bookshop and there was a mum with her daughter and several other girls the daughter’s age, and they were looking at the children’s section. The bookseller is very loyal to me, and has a whole load of my books on that shelf, and one of the little girls said, ‘Oh, oh, Jacqueline Wilson, oh, can I have this one Mummy?’ and she said, ‘Certainly not!’ I fell about laughing in the background. It was very embarrassing.

I think adults often want to keep their children feeling that the world is safe and cozy – and why wouldn’t you? But I don’t think I’ve ever had a letter from a child or young adult saying they couldn’t bear a book. Once or twice, children have said a book made them cry, and I’ve said ‘I’m so sorry,’ but then one of them said, ‘But I like crying!’ It’s a tightrope, because I want to be truthful but I still want to be entertaining. I certainly don’t want my books to be banned.

Maybe adults going through a troubled time might, in retrospect, think that one of my books was too upsetting. But mostly I have had lovely positive reactions. There was a trend going round on social media , ‘Jacqueline Wilson traumatised me.’ But I think that was very tongue in cheek. Then there was a sort of counter-movement of ‘Jacqueline Wilson raised me.’ When Think Again came out and, in the initial weeks, there were t-shirts and tote bags with ‘Jacqueline Wilson raised me’ on them. I made my daughter put one on and photographed her, because she’s the only person who could legitimately say that!

I think that if anyone were to take the trouble to write to me and tell me exactly why they thought a certain book wasn’t suitable, I would read it very carefully and take it seriously. But I’ve never thought This was a huge mistake. It is difficult with books that I wrote, say, 30 years ago, because times have changed enormously. We’ve become much more sensitive about certain issues.

How much do you worry about book banning in general (which is of course a much bigger issue in America, where many children’s books are being banned from libraries and schools, often those which explore similar issues to those about which you write – like Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume)? Do you fear this will only get worse?

I have very few books published in America – they have been banned, I think. It’s a problem. But I do think that, here, publishers do struggle so much. Books are much more carefully edited, copy edited, sent to different specialist organisations to make sure that no offense can be taken. I understand all of this. With me, if something has been pointed out to me that could possibly cause offence, I always think very carefully. Mostly, I accept suggestions or edit myself very carefully. Sometimes, as an old lady, I think really? And just occasionally I will say something has to stay the way it is, because it wouldn’t work in any other way. It is a difficult thing.

Do you think the reception of your books would have differed at all if they were primarily aimed at boys, and centred primarily around male characters?

It’s hard to know. Melvin Burgess wrote a book, Junk, about three teenage boys, which delves into their minds, and it was probably a very truthful book, but I’m pretty certain that it would not be on any shelves now – not at all for any sort of issue of literary quality, but because I think people would prefer not to think about what it’s like in a teenage boy’s mind.

If you look at the top ten children’s books, I would say the majority of them have male characters – from Harry Potter to Wimpy Kid and Tom Gates. Books for children also seem to have changed a bit: they are much shorter and much more heavily illustrated; they deal with issues, but in a comic sort of way. Part of the problem is that any book now comes second to looking at a phone. If I was a bookseller or children’s librarian, I would recommend Impossible Creatures by the wonderful Katherine Rundell, because I think she’s a brilliant writer, and because it’s both quite easy to read and deals with such interesting things, for boys as well as for girls.

I’d also like to ask about the relationship you have with your readers. Writer–reader solidarity is something that PEN has been supporting for over a hundred years, and it feels like your bond with your readers is particularly special.

When I was growing up, I adored you and all of your books. I even had a Jacqueline Wilson branded diary that I wrote in, which made it feel a bit like I was sharing my thoughts with you and your characters. I was lucky enough to meet you a few times at book signings, and each time I gave you a letter that I had written, and you always wrote back to me. Your replies are some of my most treasured possessions. What has it meant to you to receive letters from your fans and what does that exchange with your readers mean to you? How valuable is letter-writing today?

It’s so wonderful. I’ve got boxes and boxes of letters children have written to me up in the attic. Initially, I replied to all of them. But it became difficult because I was spending far more time writing letters than actually writing books. Now I can’t promise that I can write back to everybody, but for anybody who writes a really interesting, sincere letter, or who is going through a particularly hard time, I do try and do my best.

I was in John Lewis in Oxford Street recently, doing a signing in the new Waterstones bookshop in the store, and there were four people in the queue who had kept their childhood postcards from me. I’m amazed at the number of people who have kept them. It’s just so lovely to feel that people cared enough to put pen to paper (or crayon to paper!).

There are people I’ve written to almost as if they were nieces. These are very special to me. There’s a young woman in Ireland who wrote to me when she was very ill, when she was about twelve, and we are still communicating. And there’s another young woman I write to who lives outside Glasgow. I recently met up with her, which was lovely.

There’s a young man who I first wrote to when he was about seven. Now he’s 24 and has recently moved to London, and I think he is coming to visit soon – which will be a bit strange for both of us. But it’s lovely to feel that people have really liked my books. I’ve been sent so many photographs over the years of girls’ bedrooms with all my books, and it’s just so sweet.

That’s so heartwarming to hear. Finally, I wanted to ask about your experience of writing for adults in Think Again, compared to writing for children. What was it like revisiting your old teenage characters, now in their adult lives, and your younger readers, now grown into their own adult lives?

It’s surreal. It really is. Often at book signings it’s the mother who’s keener to have a photo than the child. I’ve got this sort of double kind of audience, which is so special.

It’s been in my mind for a long time to write about a few of the characters I wrote about in the past. I had a conversation with my daughter, in which we were playing about a bit and trying to think what might have happened to some of the characters. Other people have done that online, and there seemed to be some interest. Then, wonderfully, someone approached my agent and asked if I’d be interested, and I said ‘Yes please!’ The Girls series was one of the most popular, so I thought Let’s have a go.

You’re opening yourself up for criticism a bit, because everybody has expectations about what might have happened. I’ve had suggestions that are so remarkably funny and lurid and certainly not publishable.

When I was writing about teenage girls, I was endlessly going into schools, and often having to face Year Nine (who can be a bit scary at times). With the permission of the teachers, I could talk to the girls during break time, and ask them what was worrying them the most, who had a boyfriend, whether they were allowed to go out by themselves in little bunches? In Think Again, Ellie is 40; I am obviously way, way, way past 40. I do have some friends who are 40, but you can’t really ask them any really intimate questions, you would feel shy and peculiar and nosy, unless they’re your best friends. So I had to think quite hard about what it would be like for Ellie to be 40. I did have some diaries that I kept when I was that age, but I find it very cringey going back to my diaries, so I tried not to do that. Then, wonderfully, as soon as I started writing, somehow Ellie just came to me.

I found it much easier than I thought it would be. And I loved writing it, I really, really did. I always like writing, but it was something new. I wondered what it would be like going out to promote it, but I’ve never had such a lovely book tour. People were so kind and so appreciative, which is just the sort of boost you need when you think, Oh, I’m getting old; am I getting past it? 

A lot of older friends and family have said, ‘Why are you carrying on writing? You’ve made enough money to see you and your partner through and to leave to your daughter; you’ve got a lovely house, and you’ve got lovely books, everything that you would want; why keep on writing, because it must tire you out writing a lot at home and then going out and promoting it?’ One particular friend said to me, very genuinely, ‘I think you should take up doing jigsaws.’ I thought You have no idea what pleasure (and also what anxiety) writing gives me – and it’s not going to happen with jigsaws! I think I just am a writer, and I have to carry on writing while words make sense.

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Interview by Eleanor Antoniou.

Dame Jacqueline Wilson is one of Britain’s outstanding writers for young readers. Known for her contemporary stories many featuring feisty characters like the enduring Tracy Beaker, she has also used historical settings for many recent books such as Hetty Feather and The Runaway Girls. Opal Plumstead was her 100^th book and The Seaside Sleepover is her 120^th. Over 40 million copies of her books have been sold in the UK alone and they have been translated into 34 languages. 

Born in Bath, Jacqueline spent most of her childhood in Kingston on Thames. She wanted to be a writer from the age of 6 and wrote her first ‘novel’ when she was nine. She started work as a journalist for DC Thomson in Dundee where JACKIE magazine was named after her. She has been writing full time, all her adult life.

Jacqueline has been honoured with many of the UK’s top awards including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award, the Smarties Prize and the Children’s Book of the Year. She was the Children’s Laureate from 2005-2007 and holds Honorary Doctorates from the Universities of Kingston, Bath, Winchester, Dundee and Roehampton where she was also Chancellor for six years.