A reviewer seeks books that inspire and instruct teen readers

Readers of all ages, including teens, enjoy learning about celebrities, past or present. Biographies tell exciting, unusual or interesting stories, uniquely combining “old-fashioned history and the traditional novel” (1). For some, they provide hope as they relate how a person “just like me,” with

a similar background or abilities, made it big. For others, biographies give comfort, showing how an individual faced with enormous challenges not only survived, but also flourished. For still others, they’re object lessons to follow (or avoid). Teens may be led to biographies by movies, television, and other media; from studying history and becoming intrigued by a particular character, or reading historical fiction and wanting to know the “facts”; through museum exhibits and historical re-enactments; from an influential teacher or peer. They might be drawn in by a fascination with a specific subject or may just want to know more about the latest athletes and entertainers in the news.

Young adults also turn to biographies by assignment. Unfortunately, these are often restricted by teachers who–by creating narrowly focused lists of “acceptable” individuals and requiring a set number and type of sources–make it difficult to track down someone off the beaten path. Publishers also contribute to the problem by sticking to the tried and true, repeatedly churning out titles on presidents, explorers, inventors, and Civil Rights leaders, for instance, while neglecting artists, dancers, businesspeople, and others lacking a clear tie to social studies curricula.

As I review middle and high school biographies, I find many problems that impede their ability to both instruct and inspire. That biographies should be factually correct goes without saying–any nonfiction work “should be 99.9% accurate”(2)–and it’s distressing that books still make their way into print with misspellings, internal inconsistencies, typos, and other more grievous errors. But even the most scholarly titles may be inadequate. First, in this era of superficialities one can’t assume that readers know anything! Maybe the student who picks up Silvia Anne Sheafer’s Aimee Semple McPherson (Chelsea House, 2004) is an evangelical Christian and well-tutored in basic Christian beliefs–but more often than not, she’s doing an assigned report, has little to no background on religion, and is puzzled by references to hymns, grace, revivals, pastors, deacons, parables, Eden, and signs of the times. How can writers cover essential historical material without losing sight of the story? The best are able to smoothly incorporate background data as they go along. Albert Marrin, in Old Hickory: Andrew Jackson and the American People (Dutton, 2004), introduces Jackson’s first sight of Charleston with a contemporary poem, then continues, “[Andrew] could hardly imagine so many people (16,359 in 1790) gathered in the same place at once. The city pulsed with energy and excitement. Ships lined the waterfront, their holds crammed with cargo…” (p.35-36). Some books use a preface or introduction to cover the basics, while others contain sidebars or notes that further explain material.

Glossaries are extremely helpful for unfamiliar words–but each definition should be a complete entity and not require readers to chase through other terms or use a dictionary. (How helpful is it to say, “troubadors were minstrels” in David Hilliam’s Eleanor of Aquitaine: The Richest Queen in Medieval Europe [Rosen, 2005]?) Books may incorporate additional aids such as time lines, genealogies, and so on. Done well, such aids are tremendous assets; done poorly, they cause confusion or apathy.

Visuals are a key component of modern publishing, and colorful, attractive covers and illustrations have great appeal (and help clarify personal appearance, dress, and other information). Thus, it’s surprising to find new titles with old-fashioned, archaic pictures that seem to have leaped from 19th-century moral treatises. It’s crucial that illustrations be thoughtfully selected and appropriately placed; they shouldn’t be used solely to fill up space, and should never contradict the text! (In Elizabeth Silverthorne’s Joan of Arc [Gale, 2005], five pictures show Joan with long hair after it was cut “short to resemble a man’s” [p.28], among other discrepancies.) In historical biographies, maps are essential–but should be uncluttered, understandable, and ideally include all places referred to by the author.

Increased emphasis on document-based questions in testing, plus improved access to primary sources, has spurred authors to make far more use of contemporary writings and publications than in the past. This welcome trend is so pervasive that its absence is both startling and disappointing; Gail B. Stewart’s The French Revolution (Gale, 2005), a collection of mini-biographies, stands out, unfortunately, for just such a lack when compared to related titles. However, quotations should be pertinent and not obscure pullouts or mere “window dressing,” and difficult terms or allusions should be clearly defined. In Good Brother, Bad Brother: The Story of Edwin Booth and John Wilkes Booth (Clarion, 2005), author James Cross Giblin refers to a poster reading “ENGAGEMENT FOR ONE WEEK ONLY OF SIMPLE EDWIN BOOTH.” He then clarifies, “(In those days, the word simple, when used this way, meant 'slow-witted’)” (p.47). By contrast, in William Lloyd Garrison: Abolitionist and Journalist (Compass Point, 2005), Nick Fauchald leaves “It is high noon” (p.83) and “No man gathered into his bosom a fuller sheaf” (p.95) unexplained.

Authors should also distinguish between supposition and fact. In his biography of the Booths, Giblin mentions “an anecdote” about John and Abraham Lincoln, gives its source, explains it “may or may not be true,” and tells why (p.80-[81]). And, unless the book (or series) specifies that only one aspect of a person’s life is treated, readers should expect a complete, balanced overview. Books that cover every trivial event become tedious–”[b]iography has to omit and to choose” (3)–but authors shouldn’t leave unexplained gaps or avoid items standard references consider important. Brenda Haugen’s Frederick Douglass: Slave, Writer, Abolitionist (Compass Point, 2005) devotes 60 pages to his 20 years as a slave, but only 24 pages to his remaining, highly impressive and influential 57 years of life. And in Nancy Whitelaw’s Queen Isabella and the Unification of Spain (Morgan Reynolds, 2004), Isabella first appears at age 13; her birthdate and anything about her childhood are absent, implying that they don’t matter.

All of the above can be admirably fulfilled, but if the writing is poor or uninspiring, the book has failed. Overuse of the passive voice is a frequent problem, as in David Hilliam’s Thomas Becket: English Saint and Martyr (Rosen, 2005): “Eleanor was demanding…King Henry was supporting…He was asking…” (p. 41). Other issues include repetition, wordiness, and reciting or listing events without creating a sense of the individual. British biographer and critic Hermione Lee explained, “Whether we think of biography as more like history or more like fiction, what we want from it is a vivid sense of the person. The reader’s first question…is always going to be, what was she, or he, like?” (4). A physical description (or several, following the person over the course of their life) is essential. Concluding (or even beginning) with a brief summary of the individual’s significance and contributions is a useful touch and reinforces learning; Russell Freedman ends The Voice That Challenged a Nation: Marian Anderson and the Struggle for Equal Rights (Clarion, 2004) with two pages succinctly evaluating her life and influence. In addition, teens like to know what happened to other major players in the book; authors shouldn’t leave them hanging as to the fate of spouses, children, and coworkers.

Finally, readers should be able to trust that authors have done their homework, as shown by complete footnotes or source notes. I always check these in the titles I review and am appalled at the high percentage that are incorrectly quoted from their sources. Nancy Whitelaw’s Queen Victoria and the British Empire (Morgan Reynolds, 2004) has wrong page numbers; attributes quotes to incorrect dates, places, events, and recipients; and uses two separate editions of a source while citing only one. In Brenda Haugen’s Alexander Hamilton: Founding Father and Statesman (Compass Point, 2005), 14 of 17 footnotes are wrong–incorrect/omitted words, punctuation, or page numbers, or have incomplete citations. Sloppy footnoting implies sloppy research and is a poor example to students. Bibliographies or recommended reading lists are crucial–and annotations are a huge plus. However, titles for the latter list should be recent (preferably in print); pertinent (some authors throw in anything that remotely touches on the topic); and age-appropriate. Historical fiction is a nice addition, as long as it’s clearly labeled as such.

Biographies are wonderful sources of information as well as gratifying reads. A good biographer combines “the highest standards of research, a skill at blending analysis with narrative, much fun, excitement and responsibility, and an unquenchable curiosity about her fellow human beings” to create “an atmosphere in which her characters can breathe and come to life on the page” (5), leaving readers with a profound sense of satisfaction. Publishers and authors can contribute greatly by bringing more individuals to life in books and by following the suggestions above. Teachers and librarians can play their part by expanding their horizons as to who is worthy of attention, holding biographies to higher standards, and enthusiastically promoting good books about intriguing, noteworthy people.

1. Holroyd, Michael. Works on Paper: the Craft of Biography and Autobiography (Washington DC: Counterpoint, 2002), p.[20].
2. Rogers, Michael and Mirela Roncevic, “Is ODNB Tarnished by 'Errors’?” Library Journal, April 15, 2005, p.16-17.
3. Lee, Hermione. Virginia Woolf’s Nose: Essays on Biography (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2005), p.36.
4. Lee, p.[1]-2.
5. Holroyd, p.107 (discussing Elizabeth Longford).