Last night, in beginning my tireless/half assed research into young adult novels, I finished a little one called Debbie Harry Sings in French (Meaghan Brothers). It was cute and controversial. Controcute.
It tells me that the genre has come such a long way even from my youth, the days of Judy Blume (still banned in Christian schools across the country). It also tells me that nothing is taboo, and I can pour the glass completely out. The Rorschach test can be as honest as it is stark. Boom.