"In 2018, the Horn Book published Kekla's article 'The Un-Hero's Journey,' which celebrated the quietly heroic moments that are possible even when we feel our most ordinary. That message is more relevant now than ever, in a time when librarians are fighting to keep books on the shelves, teachers are fighting to protect diversity in their curricula, and authors are fighting to protect our words and the right to publish them. This is a moment when the children's book world needs superheroes...why shouldn't those heroes be all of us?" —Kekla and Cynthia

Smith and Magoon strike a superhero pose. Photo courtesy of Kekla Magoon and Cynthia Leitich Smith.

Nearly ten years ago, the two of us spent an unforgettable week together in sunny Austin, Texas, signing books at an independent bookstore, visiting local author friends, and sampling an array of delicious tacos. What made it so special is somewhat intangible. Perhaps simply being two children’s writers together brought out the magic in us — we were energetic and free, filled with a creative spirit as though the world were at our fingertips.

Soon, we found ourselves bounding through parking lots, headed for ­Cynthia’s little blue car, calling out “To the Bluebird!” as though we were superheroes embarking on grand adventures. We bantered back and forth, creating an alternate universe in which we had more power to effect positive change in the world.

Of course, since we’re children’s writers, our playful narratives quickly spun away from our adult selves. Soon it was our inner twelve-year-olds who found themselves tasked with saving a city. We dipped back and forth between fantasy and reality as we speculated on what it would have been like if we had known each other as middle schoolers — a time when we each could have used a strong best friend with complementary skills, an equally big imagination, and a shared drive to raise up and protect our communities. Inventing these stories together was the most fun either of us had had in a long time.

It wasn’t long before our minds turned from play to literary inspiration. We thought, what if we wrote a book about our imagined tween alter egos? Two years later, on a moss-shadowed veranda in Savannah, Georgia, we spent an afternoon putting our ideas down on paper. We reveled in a new sense of possibility, but we were also a little bit nervous. Did we really have the talent to transform our goofy game into a gift to young readers? Was it too ­presumptuous to base these characters on ourselves? By doing so, were we making ourselves bigger and more important than we deserved to be, or was there a deeper truth about our own power hiding in between the lines on the page?

Yes, indeed, many powerful truths were embedded within the brief proposal we hammered out (like Thor!) on that Savannah veranda. The deeper we got into developing our superhero books — which would come to be the Blue Stars series of graphic novels illustrated by Molly Murakami — the more we understood that the work ­contained myriad layers: deep truths about ourselves as readers, writers, teachers, and humans. Our stories magically cut through the fog of daily life — with all its distractions, frustrations, ­discouragements, and challenges — and enabled us to grasp something ­profound.

In other words: imagining ourselves as children with superpowers in an alternate world allowed us to see anew how badly such heroes are needed all around us. The fight for “truth, justice and the American way” is not something unfolding only on the comic-book page. (­Superman’s original slogan, popularized in the 1950s, was updated in 2021 to read “truth, justice and a better tomorrow” for reasons similar to what we are ­discussing here.)

The superhero genre itself is a metaphor. It springs from a long tradition of stories, from Greek myths to ­American tall tales, which express timeless ­values — such as integrity, bravery, responsibility, and teamwork — and contain teaching tools for citizenship in our communities and our world. Even the most exciting, dramatic, larger-than-life aspects of superhero stories relate to our everyday lives. There is a reason why this genre resonates.

There is also a reason why there are so many child heroes in the comic universes we know. Spider-Man gains his power as a teenager. Sixteen-year-old Ms. Marvel believes in her ability to emulate the adult heroes she looks up to. The X-Men series is set in a school for gifted children. Consider the Teen Titans and Shazam. Through these characters, the energy and power of youth are magnified, not dismissed. It is the opposite of what happens all too often in the real world.

Comics as a genre are often ­underestimated — in part because many people start reading them in their youth. This same discounting by society happens to children themselves every day. It also happens to people like us who dedicate our careers to serving, teaching, and ­inspiring them.

Superhero narratives remind children and teens (and all of us) that even the most ­mild-mannered among us can be harboring secret power. Their very existence can disrupt the status quo.

In comics, much is exaggerated — the heroes are superheroes, the villains are supervillains. For the Blue Stars series, we intentionally created an over-the-top, quintessential comic-book villain in the girls’ school administrator, who comes from a politically ­powerful ­family and wants to drastically cut sports, art, music, and library funding. At the time, we had no idea that voices just like his would be so much more influential in real-world public discourse by the time the book came out.

As a literary ­community, we are being attacked by a larger-than-life, real-world supervillain. This villain is not one person, but a movement. A movement to ban books, a movement to limit what we teach and thus ultimately how we think. A movement that seeks to define effective citizenship through a single, narrow, unfocused lens.

As with many superhero narratives, the villain and the hero are foils — powerful­ entities whose values contrast and who understand how to exploit each other’s weaknesses. With all the rapidly changing laws, restricted curricula, and systemic book banning, this villain is dangerously, powerfully strong. It is easy to look at the news around the country and feel desperate, helpless, even hopeless. What kind of hero can confront such a single-minded political machine?

Spoiler alert: the superhero we are waiting for is all of us.

It’s time to level up. That may not look like putting on suits and capes for everyone, but it does mean joining together in a moment of crisis. It does mean doing whatever you can do, no matter how small. Our middle school protagonists band together with their friends and community to counter the threat against them — and we must do the same. The more small steps we take, the better able we become to soar to the rescue when the time and opportunity present themselves.

We get it. It’s hard. Your jobs feel vulnerable, and so do ours. Books are getting challenged. Books are getting pulled and placed in restricted areas. BIPOC and queer authors are losing income and opportunities. Teachers feel micromanaged in the classroom. Librarians feel suppressed in their collection development. Progress and liberties we might have taken for granted — many of which we worked hard to earn — have constantly been under threat, and those efforts have recently ramped up again. The opposition is trying to erase not only truth, but entire ­identities.

As literary heroes, buying into the messaging from society at large can be our kryptonite. Messaging that says we are small, powerless, and at the mercy of influential lawmakers. Messaging that says talking with young readers about truth and our struggles is somehow amoral. Messaging that supports an artificial homogeneity and seeks to undermine our inherent diversity.

Our villain’s weakness is, quite ­simply, that they are wrong. Their movement seeks to protect white supremacy, patriarchy, and the myth of flawless American exceptionalism. These dangerous belief systems have shaped the world for far too long, and we know it, and the movement knows it. So, they live in fear. That fear is manifesting into actions that threaten our schools, our communities, and the fate of our republic and beyond.

We wish we could say that the Blue Stars series offers a blueprint for saving democracy, but obviously that would be overstating it. As authors, we’re everyday heroes, neighborhood heroes, the sort of heroes you find around your local middle school — however, we know that small acts of heroism, like writing a book with a powerful message or giving that book to a middle schooler, have ripple effects that may help save our democracy.

Writing the Blue Stars series taught us something vitally important about the work we already do: as authors, we are heroes in our own right, because we bring stories to life that inspire and empower. As literary practitioners who connect stories like ours to young readers, you are heroes too.

It may feel a bit strange to stand in front of a mirror and tell yourself “I am a hero,” but we encourage you to try it. Today. Saying the quiet truth out loud is part of how we heal the world. It’s part of how we grow ourselves. It’s how we resist the pressure from the powerful villains working only for their own interests.

It’s much easier, we’ve learned, to see the strength and heroism in each other than it is to see it in ourselves. As writers, we constantly admire, appreciate, and rely on the work that teachers and librarians do to put books in the hands of children and teens. You are our heroes!

We also fully recognize what you’re up against. In fact, if you’re still not convinced to stand in front of that mirror, remember this: villains and heroes are foils. They illuminate contrasts in each other.

Our villain craves a non-questioning, non-critical-thinking population of followers who don’t know any better than to serve the ends of the people in power.

Do you stand in contrast to that?

Our villain values homogeneity and fears diversity.

Do you stand in contrast to that?

Our villain would rather limit ideas than risk being challenged, unsettled, or transformed.

Do you stand in contrast to that?

Our villain considers their limited worldview representative of our national identity.

Do you stand in contrast to that?

If so, that alone gives you hero potential. What are you going to do with it? How can you take your passion to the next level? Where can you double down? You’re already doing a lot — we know. We’re looking for small steps, even if it is as simple as fighting the same fights a little bit longer, knowing it matters. Knowing you’re not alone. As a literary community, we must stand in sharp contrast to this villain. We must not give up.

These are big, lofty words, and to the cynic they might sound like platitudes, but if you take them seriously and realize they’re true, it puts all of us on the path to victory. To ensure we keep moving forward, not back. To ensure young readers have access to books, enrichment activities, stories, information, facts, and narratives that are honest and engaging and empowering.

If we hope to lead effectively, we need to understand the past, the present, and the possibilities of the future. To lead effectively, we need to activate our imaginations. To lead effectively, we need to appreciate our own skills and how to combine them with the skills of others. We must cultivate students who understand complexity, exhibit compassion, and value community. With that skill set, they will grow to be leaders in their own right. As future voters, parents, teachers, librarians, and community members, they will in turn have the power to fight for “truth, justice and the American way.” Because the idea of an “American way” doesn’t have to be about clinging to patriarchy, racism, and toxic nationalism. We can raise a generation of students who redefine and broaden who we are as individuals, families, communities, and beyond.

Our better tomorrow does not look like yesterday.

Changing our future requires people who possess the skills of imagining, inventing, and creating, people who have the mental flexibility to continue transforming the world. We need scientists and engineers and artists to be able to conceive of new ideas, and how can this happen if they’re never presented with fresh concepts when they’re young?

Diverse book advocates often say, “You can’t be what you don’t see,” which is sort of true, but it’s also not the whole story.

Representation is about more than showing what exists — it’s about expansiveness. It’s about demonstrating that there’s always more to learn, experience, and know. There’s no end to the different ideas, fresh challenges, and outside-the-box concepts that will shift our existence. You can be what you don’t see because there’s a first time for everything, but you can’t create what you don’t see unless you understand that the world doesn’t have to be the way it’s always been.

As lighthearted as comics can be, they also reveal a powerful vision for what good in the world can look like. Now, go challenge yourself to be super. We believe in you!

From the September/October 2024 issue of The Horn Book Magazine.

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