Children’s Literature in Education (2007) 38:59–70

DOI 10.1007/s10583-006-9017-1

ORIGINAL PAPER

The Cultural Work of Magical Realism in Three Young

Adult Novels

Don Latham

Published online: 23 June 2006

Ó Springer Science+Business Media, Inc. 2006

Abstract Magical realism as a literary mode is often subversive and transgressive,

questioning the values and assumptions of the dominant society that it depicts. Young
adult literature, by contrast, is typically thought to serve a socializing function, helping
to integrate young readers into adult society. What then is the cultural work of magical
realism when it appears within young adult novels? An examination of three young
adult novels—by Francesca Lia Block, David Almond, and Isabel Allende—reveals that
they employ magical realism to accomplish socialization through subversion.

Keywords Identity Æ Magical realism Æ Socialization Æ Subversive literature Æ

Young adult literature

Magical realism, once associated almost exclusively with Latin American literature, can
now be found in literary works from around the world, including literature for young
adults. Neither fantasy nor realism, magical realism combines elements of both to
present a matter-of-fact world in which the extraordinary exists side by side with the
mundane realities of everyday life. That magical realism would be particularly well
suited to the young adult novel is not surprising given the means by which it accom-
plishes its cultural work. As Lois Parkinson Zamora and Wendy B. Faris explain,
magical realism transgresses boundaries; it concerns itself with ‘‘liminal territory ...
phenomenal and spiritual regions where transformation, metamorphosis, dissolution are
common’’ (1995, pp. 5–6). In significant ways, this liminal territory mirrors the
‘‘in-betweenness’’ of adolescence itself—a state that is no longer childhood and not yet
adulthood.
Of the numerous characteristics of magical realism outlined by Faris, five seem
especially apropos to the thematic concerns of young adult fiction:

D. Latham (&)
College of Information, Florida State University, 101 Louis Shores Building, Tallahassee, FL 32306-
2100, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
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(1) the unsettling disruption of otherwise realistic narratives by magical events or

beings;
(2) a merging of different realms;
(3) a depiction of identity (as well as space and time) as fluid rather than fixed;
(4) a preponderance of metamorphoses; and
(5) a questioning of the established social order (‘‘Scheherazade’s Children,’’ 1995,
pp. 168–179 passim)

Taken together, these characteristics function as subversive narrative elements,

serving to question and destabilize the values and assumptions of the dominant, i.e.,
adult, society. In its emphasis on the fluidity of identity and the questioning of authority,
magical realism proves to be a quintessentially ‘‘adolescent’’ mode (by which I mean to
suggest that magical realism offers a liberating potential that makes it particularly well
suited to young adult literature).
How then are we to understand the presence of these subversive elements within the
young adult novel, whose cultural work, as Roberta Seelinger Trites has noted, is
supposedly to socialize adolescents so that they will be ready to enter adult society
(2000, p. 7)? The presence of magical realism within young adult novels raises questions
about the cultural work of these novels as well as that of magical realism itself: (1) Can
such young adult novels serve a socializing function? (2) Can magical realism function
subversively within these novels? And (3) what is the relationship between these two
apparently contradictory social purposes? Focusing on Francesca Lia Block’s Baby Be-
Bop (1995), David Almond’s Kit’s Wilderness (2000), and Isabel Allende’s City of the
Beasts (2002), I will argue that each novel uses the characteristics identified above to
accomplish its cultural work of socialization through subversion.
These novels provide apt examples of both young adult fiction and magical realism.
All three authors have received critical acclaim for their young adult novels, all have
worked consistently (although not exclusively) within the magical realist mode, and all
three have been compared to and/or acknowledged the influence of Gabriel Garcı́a
Márquez, the Colombian writer considered by many to be one of the greatest practi-
tioners of magical realism.1 The three novels discussed here share formal similarities as
well: each tells a coming-of-age story, each features a grandparent who plays a pivotal
role in shaping the identity of the adolescent protagonist, and each uses ghosts as a motif
in its narrative presentation.
Before turning to the novels, let us consider the notion of ‘‘cultural work’’ and how
that concept relates to the young adult novel and to magical realism. I am using the term
‘‘cultural work’’ in the sense that Jane Tompkins uses it in her groundbreaking study
Sensational Designs: The Cultural Work of American Fiction 1790–1860. According to
Tompkins, cultural work is the task of ‘‘expressing and shaping the social context that
produced [any given literary work]’’ (1985, p. 200). As such, it involves strategies that
attempt ‘‘to win the belief and influence the behavior of the widest possible audience’’
(p. xi). What then is the cultural work of the young adult novel? According to many
scholars, one function of the young adult novel is to socialize young adults and thus
prepare them to take their place within adult society as productive citizens. Trites sees
this developmental task as a matter not so much of becoming an adult or achieving

1
See, for example, ‘‘Isabel Allende’’ (2005), Contemporary Literary Criticism; ‘‘LJ talks to Weetzie Bat
novelist Francesca Lia Block’’ (2005); and Almond (2005) personal interview.
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maturity as it is of accepting one’s place within society’s power structures (pp. 7, 19). As
she explains,
The Young Adult novel ... came into being as a genre precisely because it is a
genre predicated on demonstrating characters’ ability to grow into an acceptance
of their environment. That is, the YA novel teaches adolescents how to exist
within the (capitalistically bound) institutions that necessarily define teenagers’
existence. (p. 19)
The cultural work of the young adult novel, then, is to delineate society’s power
structures and to depict the successful integration of young adults into these power
structures.
By comparison, the cultural work of magical realism seems diametrically opposed to
that of young adult novel, for the effect of magical realism is generally to undermine
society’s power structures. Maggie Ann Bowers explains that magical realism can be
considered subversive ‘‘because it alternates between the real and the magical using the
same narrative voice’’ (2004, p. 67). As a result, notions of empirical reality as being
somehow distinct from magic are called into question. Magical realism might also be
considered transgressive in the sense that it ‘‘crosses the borders between the magic and
the real to create a further category—the magical real’’ (Bowers, 2004, p. 67). Whether
one sees magical realism as subversive or transgressive (or both), the effect is the same:
‘‘The reader becomes aware that if the category of the real is not definite then all
assumptions about truth are also at stake’’ (Bowers, 2004, p. 68). Because of its sub-
versive and transgressive nature, magical realism has been the narrative mode of choice
in works ‘‘written from the perspective of the politically or culturally disempowered’’
(Bowers, 2004, p. 33) as a way of undermining the power structures of the dominant
society. For that reason, magical realism is often associated with the perspectives of
certain national and ethnic groups that were at one time colonized and/or otherwise
disenfranchised, such as Latin Americans, Indians, Africans, African Americans, and
Native Americans. Indeed, as Faris says, through the texts of magical realist literary
works, ‘‘marginal voices, submerged traditions, and emergent literatures have devel-
oped and created masterpieces’’ (Ordinary Enchantments, 2004, p. 1).
While adolescence is not normally thought of in these terms, in many ways teenagers
share some of the characteristics of ‘‘the politically and culturally disempowered.’’
Developmentally and culturally they exist in an in-between state on the boundaries
between childhood and adulthood. The fact that they are in the process of fashioning
their identities also means that identity seems explicitly, and sometimes frighteningly,
fluid to them. And, although they constitute a powerfully seductive demographic in the
eyes of marketers, teens have little real political or social power. Their behavior is
highly regulated by an adult society, in which teens have essentially no political voice (at
least not until the age of 18). Any real political or social power comes through a testing
of boundaries, a subversion of the power structures in which they are bound. When an
adolescent is also a member of a larger disempowered cultural or ethnic group, the
issues become even more complex. Suffice it to say that, given the way it accomplishes
its cultural work, magical realism is a particularly appropriate narrative mode for
depicting the complexity of contradictions and conflicts that characterizes the young
adult experience.
To be sure, magical realism is not the only narrative mode in young adult fiction that
deals with identity formation, nor is it the only mode that works through subversion.
Given that fashioning an identity is a foremost concern of most young adults, it is not
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surprising that literature written for this group reflects that concern, regardless of what
other themes may be explored within individual works. But there is, I believe, a crucial
difference in the way that identity formation is portrayed in magical realist works, which
has to do with the influence of magic as a catalyst. Works of realism and works of pure
fantasy may very well contain subversive elements, portraying, for example, the fluidity
of identity (a particularly postmodern notion) and the corruption of adult society. But in
magical realist fiction, the irreducible element of magic serves as a primary catalyst for
identity formation. In realism, no supernatural element is obvious in the text although a
character may profess a belief in the supernatural (in religion, for example). In pure
fantasy, magic may very well be present in the text, but it is depicted as part and parcel
of the alternate universe that is being portrayed; within this world magic is part of the
‘‘natural’’ order. In magical realism, however, the magic represents an intrusion into an
otherwise realistic environment, and paradoxically it is this merging of the magical and
the real that serves to socialize the young adult reader by portraying an alternative—and
perhaps subversive—view of society.
A key element of magical realism is the realism, for the impact of the magic depends
in large part on how convincing and realistic the context is in which that magic appears.
Each of the novels under discussion here invokes realism by employing realistic settings
and situations and by citing familiar modes from young adult fiction. Baby Be-Bop and
Kit’s Wilderness could be considered ‘‘problem’’ novels, a genre characterized by its
supposedly realistic treatment of personal and social issues. Baby Be-Bop, the fifth novel
in Block’s Weetzie Bat series, is both a coming-of-age and a coming out story, focusing
on Dirk McDonald, a gay teenager living in Los Angeles, who, after the deaths of his
parents, is being raised by his unconventional grandmother. The novel depicts Dirk’s
developing identity and his struggle to accept his sexuality. Kit’s Wilderness is the story
of Kit Watson, a 13-year-old boy who has moved with his family to Stoneygate, an
economically depressed, former coal-mining village in northern England, to take care of
his dying grandfather. The novel focuses on Kit’s deepening relationship with his
grandfather and his developing friendships with two schoolmates, Allie Keenan and
John Askew. City of the Beasts [the first novel in Allende’s young adult trilogy that also
includes Kingdom of the Golden Dragon (2004) and Forest of the Pygmies (2005)]
combines elements of both the problem novel and the adventure story in telling the
story of 15-year-old Alexander Cold. Elements of the problem novel can be seen in the
fact that Alex’s mother is battling cancer and, in fact, is so seriously ill that Alex and his
sisters are sent to stay with various relatives while their mother undergoes treatment.
Elements of the adventure story can be seen in the fact that Alex (minus his sisters) ends
up accompanying his unconventional journalist grandmother on a trip to the jungles of
South America in search of the legendary Beast. In their invocation of realism, problem
novels, and adventure stories, these novels are working within well-known and popular
genres.
At the same time, each novel disrupts its ‘‘familiar’’ narrative presentation by
incorporating elements of magic. This intrusion of magic, according to Faris, causes
‘‘unsettling doubts’’ in the reader, but such is not the case with the characters or the
narrators. And this, Amaryll Beatrice Chanady explains, is the key distinction between
magical realism and the fantastic: whereas in the fantastic the supernatural ‘‘is portrayed
as problematical,’’ in magical realism it is presented ‘‘in a matter-of-fact manner’’ (1985,
p. 24). In Baby Be-Bop, Block sets the stage for magic by incorporating imagery rem-
iniscent of fairy tales. At the same time, the novel is set in the realistic and yet not quite
real world of Los Angeles, a kind of ‘‘liminal territory’’ that Block lovingly refers to as
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‘‘Shangi-L.A.’’ Dirk and his grandmother, Fifi, live in a house described as having a
‘‘steep chocolate frosting roof,’’ a ‘‘birdbath held by a nymph,’’ and ‘‘seven stone dwarfs
in the garden’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 6). Dirk also has a magic lamp, given to
him by his grandmother to use as a hood ornament on his car. The lamp, she explains, is
a family heirloom, to which Dirk can tell his secrets whenever he is ready. But these
elements, while suggesting magic, are not themselves magical. The real magic occurs
later in the novel when Dirk is visited by the ghosts of his great-grandmother and his
father, and with the aid of a genie is given a vision of his future boyfriend, Duck.
Admittedly, Dirk is in a semi-conscious state when he experiences these visions, after
having been badly beaten by a gang of neo-Nazis. These visions could be chalked up to
trauma-induced hallucinations were it not for the fact that he sees his future boyfriend.
A reader of Weetzie Bat (1989), however, the novel to which Baby Be-Bop is a prequel,
would recognize Dirk’s vision of Duck as ‘‘true.’’ This prophetic vision cannot be ex-
plained as mere hallucination. Moreover, as an instance of ‘‘real’’ magic, it suggests that
the visitations by the ghosts may have been real as well.
Like Baby Be-Bop, Kit’s Wilderness also contains elements of magic that cannot be
accounted for through rational explanation. Kit’s grandfather, for example, tells him the
story of Silky, a child who many years ago was trapped in the coal mine when one of
the tunnels collapsed. His body was never recovered, and, since then, he has haunted the
mine, not in a menacing but rather in a mischievous kind of way. The story itself is not
magical, of course, and it might be explained away as nothing more than local legend.
However, the grandfather’s unquestioning belief in Silky, whom he claims to have seen
many times, prepares the way for Kit’s own personal magical experience: Kit himself
soon begins to see ghost children just at the periphery of his vision, and his perception is
confirmed when he discovers that his friend Askew can see them as well. The fact that
Kit and Askew see ghost children suggests that Kit’s grandfather may have seen a real
ghost as well. As in Baby Be-Bop, the irreducible element of magic allows for, we might
even say encourages, a supernatural interpretation of the other possibly magical ele-
ments.
In City of the Beasts the magic begins almost as soon as Alex enters the jungle. Early
on, he has a magical encounter with a caged jaguar that fixes him with his eyes and
speaks his name: ‘‘Alexander.’’ Afterwards, he recalls feeling as if he had entered ‘‘a
different world,’’ in which ‘‘he and the jaguar blended into a single voice’’ (Allende,
2002, City of the Beasts, p. 108). When he tells his friend Nadia about the experience,
she explains that the jaguar is his totemic animal, the animal spirit that accompanies him
like a soul. According to her, many people never discover their totemic animal. Alex
ranks among the great warriors and shamans because he has found his ‘‘without look-
ing’’ (Allende, 2002, City of the Beasts, p. 108). Later, while participating in the funeral
rites for a chief, Alex drinks a strong potion that causes him to feel that he is being
transformed into the jaguar that he saw in the cage. While this experience may be simply
a chemical-induced hallucination, Alex’s earlier, magical communication with the jaguar
suggests that it could be real as well. Once again, the irreducible element of magic colors
the way we read subsequent events and does not permit easy rational explanations.
Each of these novels depicts a world that is realistic yet contains a kind of magic that
is visible to those who know how to see, and each of the protagonists has, or develops,
this ability to see. As a result, each learns things about himself, including the fact that
he possesses a capacity for discerning the magic that permeates the physical world.
While the realism provides a credible context, the magic drives the plots and plays a
major role in shaping the identities of the protagonists. Moreover, it is the incongruity
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between the realism and the magic that calls into question other aspects of the rational
world and causes the protagonists to question the values and assumptions of the
dominant society.
One such tenet called into question is the belief in a clear and stable boundary
between the realms of the living and the dead. All three works feature ghosts. Dirk, for
example, receives visits from his great-grandmother and his father, both deceased. They
tell him their stories and, in doing so, help him to tell his own story and accept his
emerging identity and sexuality. These ghosts represent Dirk’s heritage, and their words
attest to the power of narrative to restore what has been suppressed or lost. That these
visitations may be hallucinations does not invalidate their reality for Dirk; in fact, their
indeterminacy further illustrates the ‘‘near-merging’’ of realms that Faris identifies as a
characteristic of magical realism (Ordinary Enchantments, 2004, p. 21). Kit also sees
ghosts, in the form of the spectral children from the various mining pit disasters. These
shadowy figures represent the history and tragic legacy of this former coal-mining vil-
lage. Through these ghosts, and through the stories his grandfather tells, Kit comes to
appreciate his own heritage and to understand more fully the rich and yet often difficult
life his grandfather has led. When Kit transforms his grandfather’s story of Silky into his
own story as a project for school, he shows that he has internalized the past as a part of
himself and in turn translated it for those of his generation. Alex encounters various
ghosts and ghost-like beings in the jungles of the Amazon. One such spirit is the sha-
man’s wife, a former slave whom the shaman mercifully liberated by killing her. In
gratitude, she became his wife, and now her barely visible spirit accompanies him
wherever he goes. As a former slave, this character—really more of a presence in the
novel than a fully realized character—represents the culturally disempowered and
marginalized and their remarkable endurance. Other ghost-like beings are the People of
the Mist, an ancient community of natives, untouched by time and modern civilization.
Strictly speaking, the People of the Mist are not ghosts, but they do have the ability to
make themselves nearly invisible; whether this is accomplished through cunning feats of
camouflage or through magic is never made clear. In any case, it is surely this trait that
accounts for their having been left undisturbed for so many centuries. As members of an
ancient culture and what many would call a ‘‘third-world’’ culture, they represent not
only the marginalized, but also the ghostly persistence of the past in the present. In all
three novels, the presence of ghosts attests to the unsettling permeability of supposedly
fixed boundaries—between the dead and the living, the past and the present, and the
marginalized and the empowered.
Further emphasizing the blurred distinctions between life and death, each of these
novels features a protagonist who experiences a kind of death-in-life experience. Dirk
ends up in a semi-conscious state after being beaten by a gang of neo-Nazis. After this
vicious beating, Dirk wants to die—and he nearly does—but he is saved by the visita-
tions from the ghosts of his great-grandmother and his father and the stories they tell
him, as well as the vision the genie shows him of his future boyfriend. Not only do these
stories give him a reason to want to go on living, but they also enable him eventually to
tell his own story and in so doing accept himself for who he is. Kit Watson has a similar
kind of death-in-life experience while playing the game called Death. In this ‘‘game,’’
which is presided over by Kit’s schoolmate John Askew, the participants gather in the
abandoned mine pit and choose who will ‘‘die’’ that day. ‘‘Dying’’ involves entering a
trance-like state, in a grim re-enactment of the multiple deaths that occurred in the mine
over the years. For Kit the game is real. Unlike his friend Allie, who says that when she
‘‘died,’’ she was just pretending, Kit insists that he did not pretend. Playing this game
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allows Kit to establish a connection with the Stoneygate children of the past, the ghosts
of whom he first sees in the abandoned mine and then later on the edges of the wil-
derness. The game also allows him to symbolically confront death even as his grand-
father is confronting death and to forge a connection with John Askew, whom he is able
eventually to save from his own self-destructive tendencies. Alex experiences death in
life during his initiation into the community of the People of the Mist. After enduring
hours of this ritual, Alex begins to ‘‘[lose] his sense of time, space, and his own reality’’
while ‘‘sinking into a state of terror and profound fatigue’’ (Allende, 2002, City of the
Beasts, p. 233). At times, he experiences searing pain and feels that he is about to lose
control. At the height of the ordeal, he recalls his totemic animal, and once again he is
transformed into the black jaguar. Through this magical transformation and by calling
on his inner strength and courage, he is able to survive the test and become a man.
Afterwards he recognizes that ‘‘he had left his childhood behind and that from that
night on he would be able to look after himself’’ (Allende, 2002, City of the Beasts,
p. 236).
In the process of developing an adult identity, each protagonist becomes acutely
aware of the fact that identity is fluid and contingent rather than fixed, and each
achieves this awareness through a series of personal metamorphoses, not all of which
are directly associated with magic. Dirk loses his childhood innocence after he and his
friend Pup kiss two girls. Dirk knows that this encounter has wrought an irrevocable
change in his sense of himself: ‘‘Before [they] had kissed the girls they were still safe in
their innocence, little Peter Pans never growing old, never having to explain’’ (Block,
1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 26). Kissing the girl only causes Dirk to feel more strongly his
love for Pup, but now that love is ‘‘rag[ing] through him bitterly’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-
Bop, p. 26). When Pup subsequently rejects Dirk’s love, saying that he ‘‘‘can’t handle
it’’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 31), Dirk reacts by radically altering his appearance
in a symbolic attempt to alter his identity. He shaves his hair into a Mohawk, dyes it jet
black, and begins to dress in black and wear buttons of punk rock bands pinned to his
collar. He acknowledges, however, that his new image is merely a ‘‘disguise’’ (Block,
1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 32), an attempt to hide the truth of his sexuality. But his actions
also suggest that identity is disturbingly malleable, and that it can be manipulated to
conceal as much as it reveals. The metamorphoses in Dirk’s feelings and appearance are
not magical, nor are they positive, but the ultimate metamorphosis he experiences is
both. The visitations he receives from his great-grandmother, his father, and the genie
help to transform his bitterness and self-hatred into understanding and self-acceptance.
The genie explicitly identifies the power of narrative as the cause of Dirk’s transfor-
mation: ‘‘ ‘You gave your story. And you have received the story that hasn’t happened
yet’’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 104). For Dirk’s part, he understands the true
significance of the metamorphosis he has undergone: ‘‘He was alive. He didn’t hate
himself now. There was love waiting; love would come’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-Bop,
p. 105). The magic lies not only in Dirk’s visions of his past and his future, but also in the
transformative power of narrative. As the genie says, to ‘‘ ‘de-story’’’ is to destroy; to
restore is to ‘‘ ‘re-story’’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 104).
Kit Watson experiences a similar kind of realization, although through different
means. The fluidity of identity is emphasized in Almond’s novel in several ways, not all
of which involve magic. Kit’s friend Allie, for example, aspires to be an actress, precisely
because she is thrilled by the opportunity to change her identity at will. Kit, however,
rejects this way of developing his identity, as is evident in his insistence that when he
‘‘died’’ in the game called Death, he was not pretending. His great fear is that he may
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actually be, or that he has the potential to become, a figure of darkness and self-
destruction like his friend John Askew. Early on, Askew tells him, ‘‘‘You’re like me,
Kit. You think you’re different, but you’ll come to see that me and you is just the same’’’
(Almond, 1999, Kit’s Wilderness, p. 12). Kit is both repelled by and drawn to Askew. At
one point he dreams of following Askew across the wilderness, which can be read
symbolically as the transitional territory of the adolescent. Kit’s dream takes a turn,
however, and ends violently with Askew’s hands at his throat. Askew is a marginalized
person in this community, partly because of his family’s reputation for violence and
drunkenness. Even though the Askews have lived in Stoneygate for generations, they
are still outsiders of a sort. As Geraldine Brennan has observed, Askew’s invention of
the game called Death is a way for him ‘‘to assert the authority that he cannot acquire
through a more respectable route’’ (2001, p. 103). Kit, then, in being both attracted to
and repelled by Askew is responding in part to the boy’s marginalized status. Ulti-
mately, Kit appropriates Askew’s experience for his own story while at the same time
using the narrative to better understand both himself and Askew. In writing the story of
Lak, the caveboy who risks his life to save his baby sister, Kit acknowledges that he is
writing the story not just for a school assignment, but also for Askew. The connection
between the two boys’ identities is further emphasized, and strengthened, when they
work together as collaborators, with Askew drawing illustrations for Kit’s stories. These
elements in and of themselves are not magical, but the connection between Kit and
Askew derives from their ability to perceive magic, namely the ghost children of
Stoneygate. Through this shared experience, Kit and Askew experience a transforma-
tion: Kit comes to a fuller understanding of his past and of his place within this com-
munity, while Askew is drawn out of his self-destructive isolation and into the
community of which he has never really been a part. Through their magical, mystical
connection to each other, they are transformed in such a way that they are able to form
a deeper connection with their community and, consequently, prepare to take their
place as adults within this community.
Alex too experiences profound changes in his identity through his adventures in the
jungles of the Amazon. To be sure, some of these changes are the result of his having
been thrust into a drastically different environment from the one he is accustomed to,
but others are clearly the result of magic. In many ways, the deeper he goes into the
jungle, the more difficult it becomes for him—and for the reader—to separate the
magical from the real. When he first arrives on his grandmother’s doorstep, he appears
to be a typical American teenager, or at least a typical teenager as portrayed in many
young adult novels: he is a picky eater, he likes sports, he plays a musical instrument, he
has a crush on the prettiest girl in school, etc. In fact, before his mother gets sick, he
thinks of himself as ‘‘a pretty normal person’’ (Allende, 2002, City of the Beasts, p. 15).
But during his adventure, the accoutrements of civilization are stripped away, allowing
him to develop a stronger, more complex and more empathetic identity than he
otherwise might have done. His finicky eating habits quickly disappear as the basic need
for food takes over. He soon sheds his heavy, ‘‘civilized’’ clothing when it proves to be
more burdensome than protective. And, as he gradually begins to recognize and accept
the possibility of magic in the world, more significant changes occur. This shift in per-
ception happens in a dramatic fashion when he gazes into the eyes of the caged jaguar.
When he learns from his friend Nadia that the jaguar is his totemic animal, he begins to
think about identity in a new way, and this new way of thinking changes him profoundly.
Alex begins to see his innate strength, a strength that is demonstrated time and time
again during his jungle adventure—during the chief’s funeral rites and later during his
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own initiation rite. On several occasions, when he needs to draw on his inner strength,
he is transformed into the jaguar. This corporeal transformation signals a sociocultural
one as well, for Alex comes to realize that he ‘‘[cannot] put his trust in reason after
having experienced the hazy territory of dreams, intuition, and magic’’ (Allende, 2002,
City of the Beasts, p. 250). The metamorphosis in his identity is symbolized by his
transformation into the jaguar, but clearly the change is even more profound than that.
In each of these works, magic serves not only as a catalyst for identity transformation,
but also as a means for questioning the established social order. Baby Be-Bop, for
example, shows the insidious and pervasive effects of homophobia on the development
of gay adolescents. Dirk learns at an early age that, as a male, you are expected to be
strong; difference is not tolerated: ‘‘The weak, skinny, scared boys got picked last. They
got chased through the yard and had their jeans pulled up hard’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-
Bop, p. 4). His grandmother’s gay friends, Martin and Merlin, reflect the pernicious
effects of homophobia in their ‘‘startled and sad’’ eyes. Dirk knows intuitively that
‘‘[t]hey had been hurt because of who they were’’ (Block, 1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 6).
Later, when Dirk declares his love for Pup, he is rejected, not because Pup does not
return his love, but rather because Pup, having internalized homophobia, cannot accept
that aspect of himself. Dirk is beaten up by the neo-Nazis partly because he insults them,
but also because they know that he is gay. When they call him a ‘‘faggot,’’ Dirk feels
that, in spite of his efforts to hide it, they have discovered his ‘‘terrible secret’’ (Block,
1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 45). Fortunately for Dirk, he survives the beating, and, with the
help of his grandmother as well as the genie and the ghosts of his great-grandmother and
his father, he is able to accept himself and to tell his own story. As a result of his ordeal,
he comes to realize that ‘‘[o]ur stories can set us free.... When we set them free’’ (Block,
1995, Baby Be-Bop, p. 106). The stories become a way for Dirk to accept his sexuality
and forge an adult identity in spite of the oppressive effects of heterosexual society. The
magical visitations and prophetic vision, along with the ministrations of Dirk’s grand-
mother, offer an implicit criticism of society’s pervasive homophobia and in so doing
help Dirk to break free from the self-loathing that such homophobia has engendered.
Similarly, Kit Watson forges an adult identity by learning about the economic
oppressiveness of a post-industrial, often dehumanized, society, and it is the ghost
children of Stoneygate who help to facilitate his growing awareness. The part of
northern England where Kit lives is where Almond himself grew up. Almond has said
that this place and its people ‘‘have historically been pretty much excluded from
mainstream English culture’’ (Almond, 2005, ‘‘Fiction and Poetry Award Winner,’’
p. 31). In that sense, these people have been culturally disempowered. Part of Kit’s
development involves his coming to understand that fact about this place and its people
and his relationship to their history. In returning to Stoneygate, Kit returns to the world
of his grandfather, a world that was once both nurtured by and exploited by coal mining
interests. The coal mine, now depleted of its rich ore, has been abandoned, and the
people who worked there forgotten. The dangerous working conditions that made this
prosperity possible are emphasized repeatedly throughout the novel by numerous ref-
erences to mining accidents. Shortly after Kit returns to Stoneygate, his grandfather
takes him to the monument commemorating the Stoneygate pit disaster of 1821, in
which one hundred and seventeen people were killed, many of them children. As Kit
traces the names on the monument, he comes to that of ‘‘Christopher Watson, aged
thirteen’’ (Almond, 1999, Kit’s Wilderness, p. 21). In this moment of recognition, Kit
becomes keenly aware of his innate connection with this place and its people. He also
realizes that had he been born in an earlier generation he, like his grandfather, would
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have gone down into the pit. As his grandfather says of himself and those of his
generation, ‘‘‘We understood our fate. There was the strangest joy in dropping down
together into the darkness that we feared’’’ (Almond, 1999, Kit’s Wilderness, p. 19).
Now the mine is defunct, and Kit and the other children, through the game called
Death, ritually re-enact the dangers their ancestors faced. Ironically, with the closing of
the mine, physical danger has been replaced with debilitating desperation. One casualty
of this dehumanized economic system is Askew’s abusive and alcoholic father. As Kit’s
grandfather explains, Askew’s father is one who has been ‘‘‘wasted’’’ because there is
‘‘‘[n]o proper work for him to do, nothing to control him’’’ (Almond, 1999, Kit’s Wil-
derness, p. 109). As a result, he is a ‘‘‘bitter soul’’’ (Almond, 1999, Kit’s Wilderness,
p. 110) who takes out his frustration on his son. Part of Kit’s identity development
hinges on his coming to understand the legacy of the past, with its joys and sorrows, its
dangers and harsh economic realities. Much like Dirk, Kit is able to transform these
social realities into stories that help him to define his identity. Moreover, these stories
help to establish his friendship with Askew—a friendship that ultimately saves Askew
from both his father’s abuse and his own self-destructive tendencies. But again, it is Kit’s
and Askew’s shared ability to see the ghost children of Stoneygate that helps both of
them to see their mystical connection to each other and to the past.
The insidious effect of economic exploitation is a recurrent theme in City of the
Beasts as well. Many of the people Alex meets in the jungle are outsiders who wish to
exploit the natives for their own gain, and each represents a particular societal insti-
tution. Professor Ludovic Leblanc, for instance, is presented as a caricature of the
American academic. He has made a career of studying the natives of the Amazon
region, yet his persistent views of them as bloodthirsty savages show that he has little
real understanding of their culture or their true nature. Mauro Carı́as represents the
wealthy entrepreneur without a conscience. He is willing, even eager, to exploit people
and resources, no matter what the cost, for his own financial gain. His corrupt comrade
in arms, Captain Ariosto, is the commander of the local barracks and representative of
the military establishment. Dr. Omayra Torres, an employee of the National Health
Service, goes along on the expedition supposedly to vaccinate the natives against the
white man’s diseases, but in reality to administer viral agents intended to infect the
natives and kill them off. Alex’s maturation process, in part, involves his discovery that
these people, these representatives of various societal institutions, are vain, dishonest,
and heartless. In short, they display the characteristics that Professor Leblanc accuses
the native peoples of possessing. In actuality the natives offer a contrasting model for a
society based on the communal values of mutual care and support. As Alex develops his
identity, he internalizes the natives’ values while rejecting the values of the corrupt
white officials.
It is largely Alex’s acceptance of the possibility of magic—made possible by his initial
encounter with the caged jaguar—that allows him, even compels him, to question his
society’s values. Although the novel is filled with examples of such questioning, one
example in particular stands out. At one point, Alex has a vision of visiting his mother in
her hospital room in Texas as she receives chemotherapy—a vision, incidentally, that his
mother experiences simultaneously. This mystical vision gives his mother the strength to
fight for her life. At the same time, it causes Alex to question the efficacy of medical
science. Later, he works arduously to capture a few drops of the rare and precious water
of health so that he can take it to his mother. He knows that ‘‘his hopes had no logical
base,’’ but he has also learned through his journey ‘‘to open his mind to the mysteries’’
(Allende, 2002, City of the Beasts, p. 318). When it is eventually revealed that Dr. Torres
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has been infecting the natives with a virus, Alex’s mistrust of medical science and his
eagerness to explore magical alternatives seem all the more well founded.
So, to return to the questions I posed in my introduction: (1) Can young adult novels
that employ magical realism serve a socializing function? (2) Can magical realism
function subversively within these novels? And (3) what is the relationship between
these two apparently contradictory social purposes? The answer to all three questions is
that magical realism in young adult novels can and does use subversive strategies to
promote socialization. As we have seen, all three works under discussion here employ
magical realism to question and undermine received notions about the nature of reality
and the social order. However, they ultimately use this subversive technique for the
purpose of socialization. All three works contain positive adult role models, especially in
their portrayal of the protagonists’ grandparents and their supportive, socializing role in
helping shape their grandchildren’s identities by fostering an appreciation for the past
and a deeper understanding of their relationship to that past. Furthermore, each work
depicts a protagonist undertaking a journey of self-discovery that ultimately allows him
to return to society a changed and more mature person. Dirk McDonald’s journey
allows him to discover his family roots and to both accept and create his gay identity. Kit
Watson’s journey helps him discover his heritage and to integrate that heritage into his
own emerging identity. Alex Cold’s journey, into the jungles of the Amazon and into the
recesses of his inner self, allows him to discover that he has the courage and strength to
be the Jaguar. Each protagonist is changed by his experience. Each gains the potential,
through creating and telling his own story, to change the society to which he returns.
These three novels, in highlighting the special ability of their adolescent protagonists to
see the extraordinary amid the ordinary, implicitly offer an empowering message to
their adolescent readers, namely that they too have the potential to transform not only
themselves, but also the communities in which they live.

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