This is the genius of Judy Blume. It’s the single most important aspect of her legacy. Her work as a children’s writer did something nobody else could manage: it helped ensure feminism’s longevity…A movement requires a multigenerational buy-in to maintain its momentum. And over in suburban New Jersey, a soft-spoken stay-at-home mom was listening. Writing cutting-edge books for kids, Judy Blume became the Second Wave’s secret weapon.
There are several biographies of Judy Blume out there — most written thirty or more years ago — and author Rachelle Bergstein quotes from all of them. But what makes The Genius of Judy a special read is the way that Bergstein, with the benefit of looking back across the intervening decades and their shifting social and political climates, is able to give us the context in which Blume filled her literary niche and was able to positively influence countless young readers. From S. E. Hinton’s The Outsiders paving the way for more realistic young adult fiction to Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying giving voice to the modern woman’s existential malaise, Bergstein sets Blume in her cultural moment, explaining what a necessary force her books were for allowing girls to understand and take control of their own bodies. That’s no small thing; it’s everything, and it’s somehow under threat again today. The Genius of Judy traces Blume’s releases — sharing the stories of their inspiration, their plotlines, and reception — while also giving us the story of Blume’s life throughout the years; from unfulfilled suburban housewife to free speech activist. As a Gen X woman, Blume’s novels were hugely influential in forming my own outlook, and I have to admit, I took her for granted: I never once considered that for me to read these books, someone out there had to be thinking deeply on what was needed and taking risks to get them published. I truly appreciate the context that Bergstein supplies here and that I had the opportunity to revisit, and better understand, these formative reads from my youth. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
Are You There God?, Deenie, and Forever form a triptych, with eleven-year-old Margaret, thirteen-year-old Deenie, and seventeen-year-old Katherine creating a progressive portrait of the new American girl. All three are smart, spunky, and in touch with their bodies. They’re all white, middle class, and from the suburbs — Judy wrote what she knew — but together, they embody an ideal for Blume that transcended race or class. The trio offers a vision of how the up-and-coming generation could digest the feminist and sexual revolutions. They’re good girls with a twist; they’re all in touch with sexuality, but they have futures.
Those three novels were hugely influential to me as a girl in the late 70s, and mostly because I read each of them, years apart, at the exact right time — I needed the information and was ready to absorb it — and I remember that something about reading them felt transgressive; as though I was uncovering secret information about my body (how shameful!) that had been actively hidden from me. But I wasn’t reading Judy Blume anymore in the 80s (I never have picked up her adult novels; I think I want to preserve my memories of Blume in an unexamined amber of nostalgia) and I was oblivious to the periodic, and ongoing, bans that her novels have been subject to since then. Bergstein tells a fascinating story of those who have attempted to remove novels from schools and public libraries — from the Reagan era Moral Majority to Florida governor Ron DeSantis — and Blume’s efforts, in conjunction with the National Coalition Against Censorship, to keep not only her own novels but other often often-banned books (Slaughterhouse-Five, Catcher in the Rye, etc.) available to those who want them. Whether or not you’ve been reading Judy Blume, she’s been fighting behind the scenes to promote feminism and fight censorship.
In the end, Bergstein acknowledges that Blume’s books have fallen out of fashion — even the 2023 theatrical release of an adaptation of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret is a nostalgic blast from the past — and she laments that despite the YA book market exploding with lots of frank and explicit material (Forever, which shook teenaged me, is so sweet in retrospect), there’s something essential in Blume’s novels that is missing in today's cultural landscape:
What’s still missing from a lot of contemporary sex ed is an exploration of the way sex intersects with relationships, experts say. Even today, very few parents and educators are prepared to discuss the way dynamics of care and safety and vulnerability all contribute to true intimacy, which is crucial for a satisfying love life. That’s what Judy innately understood how to do. She taught us about our bodies and our hearts through her stories. Periods are something that happens to a whole friend group. First teenage love affects the entire family. Boys experience heartbreak, too! Truly safe intercourse requires talking and planning. You can’t go back to holding hands.
I’m so glad I read this book: I am delighted to have both learned so much more about Judy Blume’s true legacy and to have had this journey back to my own younger self; in so many ways, Judy Blume set key stones in the foundation of who I am and I hope that the young readers of today find their way to similarly good, foundational material.
I am mostly nostalgic for Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret and Forever — because each of them did come to me at the right time (before I experienced their core experiences) and years apart — and I don't even remember how they fell into my hands (I think I stumbled onto Margaret, maybe in fourth grade, and maybe my high school best friend, Kasia, loaned me Forever?) Reading about Deenie here, I definitely didn't remember that it was a controversial book that normalised masturbation, but I totally remember Deenie's scoliosis and back brace (and the crush who wanted to touch her breasts but got a hand full of hard plastic medical device instead; c r i n g e.) And I was surprised to be reminded that I had read so many other Blume books, too, even if they weren't core memories for me: Blubber; Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great; Then Again, Maybe I Won't; The Pain and the Great One; and Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself. It's simply fascinating, now, for me to consider that these books — many of which would see Blume accused of pandering and pornography — seem kind of retro and sweet, but they actually shook the world. Is anyone writing this thoughtfully for young readers today? Or is there nothing between Captain Underpants and Haunting Adeline? (Beacuse that's how it seems from my vantage behind a bookstore till.)
