Children of the corn
Jessa Crispin wonders what happened to all the adults in literature.

Boredom during a Chicago winter can lead to all sorts of odd behavior, like rearranging furniture for hours on end, as if the right feng shui will make the sun burst through the clouds. I finally settled on moving the bookcase of unread books into the bedroom to give myself reason to get out of bed in the cold, cold morning; then I started going through the books as I removed them from the shelves. There was The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem. Ali Smith's The Accidental. Galt Niederhoffer's A Taxonomy of Barnacles. Dara Horn's The World to Come. Evan Kuhlman's Wolf Boy. Amanda Boyden's Pretty Little Dirty. David Mitchell's Black Swan Green. They all had one obvious thing in common: the adolescent protagonist.

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