Why Are So Many Middle Grade Books Still Written Like It’s the 1990s? A Teacher’s Observation
I was restocking my 6th grade classroom library last Tuesday, when Javi, a kid who spends most of independent reading period flipping through skate brand catalogs instead of books, pulled three consecutive popular realistic fiction novels off the “Student Favorites” bin and held them up like he’d found three counterfeit bills. Neon orange skate lanyard twisted around his wrist, phone peeking out of his hoodie pocket, he said, “Wait. None of these people have cell phones. One of them uses a payphone. Is this actually historical fiction?”
I squinted, and he was right. The first was a 2021 release about a group of kids solving a neighborhood summer mystery. The second was a 2023 National Book Award nominee about a boy adjusting to his parents’ divorce. The third was a Newbery Honor book from two years ago, billed as “present day” on the flap copy. Not one mentioned a text, a TikTok, a shared Instagram account, or even a smart watch. All three had that same loose, unstructured 90s vibe: kids roaming the neighborhood all summer, only checking in when they’re hungry for dinner, making plans by showing up at each other’s doors unannounced.
I asked my class that afternoon how many of them had ever showed up at a friend’s door unannounced. Only two hands went up. Most said their parents make them text 20 minutes before, to make sure the friend isn’t busy, isn’t having a tough family day, doesn’t have a practice they forgot about. It’s not that kids don’t spend time out of the house anymore, it’s that the entire context of their daily lives is totally different than it was 30 years ago.
After class, I counted through the 42 new realistic fiction books I’d added to my library in the last two years. 27 of them had no mention of smartphones at all. Most of them might as well have been printed in 1995. I texted my friend who writes middle grade, asked her why this keeps happening. She told me the first note her editor gave her on her first manuscript was to cut the subplot where her main character uses TikTok to fundraise for her school’s art club. “It’ll date the book too fast,” the editor said. “In five years, no one will know what TikTok even was, and the book won’t sell anymore. Just leave out the social media, it’s cleaner.”
That makes sense, right? Most of the people writing and editing middle grade books are Gen X or older millennials. We grew up in the 80s and 90s, that unstructured, low-tech childhood is the middle grade experience we remember. It’s also perfect for plot: if your main character can text their mom for a ride anytime, you lose the entire third act where they get lost and have to problem-solve on their own. If they can Google any old town secret in 10 seconds, you don’t need that whole road trip to the local historical society to dig up clues. And honestly? We buy what feels familiar. Parents and teachers are the ones buying most of these books, and we crave that nostalgic feeling of the childhood we had, so we reach for the books that feel like that. It’s a loop: publishers publish more of what sells, what sells is what reminds us of our own childhood, so we get more 90s-vibe books every year.
The problem isn’t that these books are bad. Last week, I saw Lila, my quiet 7th grader who always has 10 notifications popping up on her lock screen during class, check out that payphone mystery Javi put back. She told me after class that she likes it. “Nothing pings there,” she said. “No one’s blowing up my group chat while I’m reading. It’s just quiet.” A lot of kids like that break from the constant connection of their own lives.
The problem is when the shelf is so lopsided that kids like Javi can’t find any books that feel like their lives. When every book feels like a story about someone else’s childhood, it’s harder to get hooked on reading.
So what do you do, if you’re a parent or teacher sorting through book fair bins or library shelves? I’ve got three small, low-effort things that work for me. First, if your kid points out that no one has a phone, name it instead of brushing it off. You can say, “Most authors who write these books grew up in the 90s, so they’re writing the childhood they had. Does that feel weird to you, or is it nice to read about something different?” It opens up a conversation instead of leaving your kid thinking they’re weird for not relating. Second, keep a running list on your phone of 2-3 new contemporary middle grade books that do include modern kid life. I follow one middle grade book reviewer on TikTok who highlights new diverse realistic fiction every month, and I save one or two titles a season to pick up for my library. Books like Stuntboy, in the Meantime by Jason Reynolds or Measuring Up by Lily Lamotte have natural, organic mentions of phones, social media, and modern family life that don’t feel forced, and they age just fine. Third, if your kid doesn’t like the 90s-vibe books, don’t force them to read your childhood favorites just because you loved them. Let them pick the book that feels like their world, even if that’s a graphic novel or a fantasy series that works in modern tech naturally.
I ended up giving Javi Stuntboy that day. He stayed after class two days in a row to tell me what happened next, and turned in his project a week early with a note that said “this guy actually talks like my cousin”. Lila still checks out one 90s-style quiet mystery a week, and that works for her. The shelf’s still more lopsided than it should be, but it’s getting a little better, one new book at a time.
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