(Cross-posted at As the World Stearns.)

The label “science fiction” on a teen book usually translates as “soon-to-be failure.” Not always, no. For every dozen science fiction novels that bomb in the teen section, there are a few that by dint of smart packaging or awards attention succeed fantastically. (Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies series, which is packaged in such a way that it is about our own fascination with looks over brains; M.T. Anderson’s Feed, which is deservedly acclaimed and did well thanks to prizes and review attention; Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games, which simply kicks mighty ass—exceptions are easy to call to mind. But beside the point.) The biggest teen science fiction novel ever, Ender’s Game, was published as an adult book and then republished as a children’s novel (with a risible cover that makes it look dorky as all get-out).

But for the most part, those teen readers who cotton to science fiction? They’ve abandoned the teen section. They’ll never find, say, the Mortal Engines quartet by Philip Reeve, which they would love. They’ll never stumble across Westerfeld’s excellent dystopias, because they wouldn’t recognize it as science fiction, anyway. That’s because publishers, recognizing that that boy audience no longer browses the teen shelves, target their science fiction to girls. Those teen novels about not-so brave new worlds these days look like the strongest sellers in the genre: chick lit.

My read of the market comes from a hopelessly biased place: my own memory of how I grew as a reader. When I was a kid, I made the shift from books for middle graders to books for “adults” via the shelves of the science fiction and fantasy section. Teen wasn’t much of a category yet back then, and aside from S. E. Hinton and crap like Go Ask Alice, there weren’t clear books for teenage readers.

But science fiction and fantasy? Seeing as this genre (in general) avoids the messiness of sex and psychological complexities; seeing as it privileges idea over emotion, plot over character, specificity over ambiguity; seeing how it is typically focused on figuring out what it means to be a person—the core dilemma for any teen—these books were perfect for the eleven-year-old I was. The novels and stories of Robert A. Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, Robert Silverberg, Harry Harrison—they demanded more of me as a reader, without demanding too much. There was still a story that moved like a runaway train, yes, still lots of action and event; I hadn’t yet developed the patience to deal with, say, Philip Roth. Before I got there, though, I’d read Le Guin and Ellison and Disch and Russ and, in the process, become a stronger reader.

I believe a certain readership still matures the same way. Seems natural, especially for boys. Which means most teen science fiction is doomed, unless it’s disguised as something else that appeals to the remaining readers, who tend to be teen girls. Hence the treatment of the Westerfeld series, hence the treatment of Michael Grant’s Gone. When the target readership goes elsewhere, you’ve got to package your book as the thing that is selling.

But what this does is to make it still more difficult to publish science fiction for teen readers. It has become a self-reinforcing feedback loop that has left it near impossible to get a publisher behind a science fiction novel in the teen section. Never mind that this age group loves this genre. Those kids are not going to recognize the books that are published for them. And they’ll keep going to the genre section, where they’re sure to find those books that look like exactly what they want.