Guest article by Amir and the Djinn Princess Author MT Khan
MT Khan is a science fiction writer with a penchant for all things myth, science and philosophy. She focuses on stories that combine all three, dreaming of atmospheric worlds and dark possibilities. When she’s not writing, MT Khan can be found travelling the world or solving physics equations after completing a degree in mechanical engineering. Born in Lahore, Pakistan, she currently lives in Toronto, Canada, with a hyperactive cat and an ever-growing selection of tea.
Around Amir and the Djinn Princess: This enchanting story follows a wealthy young human boy, Amir, and a fiery genie princess as they search for Amir’s missing mother and take part in a tournament of heirs, set in the same fascinating world as Nura and the Immortal Palace.
In Wilbur and Charlotte the Pigwhen EB White wrote: “What is life anyway? We are born, we live for a while, we die,” he managed to gently introduces young readers to issues of life and death, in a story as classic as the time. Children are not immune to the world’s barbarism, they are often the most vulnerable and victims of it. As a word weaver for these developing minds, it is a delicate task to portray their misery and terror, but also to embrace them in the arms of the pages.
The blessing and curse of children’s literature is its limitations. Yet every great invention was born from a list of constraints established during the design process. An iPhone has to be handily sized, made of relatively cheap materials to keep costs down, and cannot exceed a certain GB of storage. Without these constraints, we might have phones that barely fit in our pockets or blow our budgets. In engineering, these design constraints influence the decision-making process, prevent time from being wasted, and provide a challenge that only further fuels creativity. The same is true of children’s literature. Thinking broadly is thinking vaguely, including everything is excluding focus, and having a huge toolshed means forgetting what tools are necessary.
That challenge is the condescending aunt who looks you up and down, it’s the academic rival who never believes you’ll make it, it’s your own tired reflection in the mirror that asks you why you even tried. But I tell you, there’s so much magic in that narrow gap between childhood and adulthood. We just have to learn to get comfortable.
I have lived through this mystery twice now and can hardly wait to do it again. My debut novel, Nura and the Immortal Palacewas praised for its commentary on child labour, and my satisfaction with it comes from choosing to focus on the victims of this horror, the children themselves. So often we see adults reacting to these situations, never allowing the voice of the child to be heard. What are their hopes? Their challenges? Their inner desires? The things they wish were different? There is such a wonderful breadth in a child’s mind, such a complex simplicity that can be teased out of them. Children are brilliant megaphones of incisiveness – where we adults wander, they stab like arrows.
The purpose of writing about difficult topics for children is threefold. First, it is to serve as a guiding hand, a Gandalf to keep them company on their overwhelming journey, and a protective talisman to protect them from the creeping darkness. Children’s literature is more than just entertainment; it is a tool for education and emotional development. Through stories, children are exposed to different experiences and perspectives, allowing them to deal with emotions and situations that they may not yet fully understand in reality. Books act as a mirror that reflects and validates children’s own experiences, and as a window that offers insight into the lives of others. This dual function helps children develop a deeper understanding of the world around them and transform abstract or difficult concepts into tangible and relatable ideas. Literature provides a safe space for exploration and discussion, allowing children to grapple with difficult topics in a controlled and supportive environment.
Another purpose is to build empathy and resilience. I remember watching the movie HIGH at age ten, watching this young, bright couple go through so many stages of life, all the happy and the ugly. I wasn’t an adult, I didn’t have a partner, I barely understood what love was, but storytelling instilled so much compassion in me and I learned never to be quick to judge what another was going through. When children encounter characters facing adversity, loss, or injustice, they learn to recognize and understand those emotions and situations. In addition, witnessing characters overcome difficulties can instill resilience in young readers. They learn that challenges can be overcome and that it is possible to find hope and strength even in difficult times. We can give children the emotional tools they need to overcome their own challenges in life.
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The final goal is impact. Difficult topics in children’s literature reflect real situations and are therefore extremely relevant and poignant. While I touched on the child labor crisis in my debut novel, Amir and the Djinn Princessturns the story of poverty on its head and follows two wealthy, potential heirs to greatness. I wanted to comment on the extreme divide between the wealthy upper class and the impoverished, toiling working class that exists in Pakistan. I touch on exploitative corporations, greenwashing, and the fine line between social justice and buying people’s support. These concepts sound nebulous, they sound like Thanksgiving arguments, they sound like ideas you’d find flipping through a textbook. But all of these topics and more can be discussed in stories about fairies or genies, dragons or monsters, middle school or summer camp.
The trick is what I call Veil. In Patrick Ness’ Seven lives after midnight, The monster that tells Connor stories late at night, becoming increasingly violent as the story progresses, is a representation of Connor’s own denial of his mother’s illness. In this case, the monster is a veil over the difficult subject of grief and loss. Veils can take many forms—characters, magical systems, settings. To children, veils are translucent or opaque, but to adults they are transparent. We understand the darker intonations of what is being portrayed, whereas a child sees an embellished, refined version of it, contained within the safety of the veil. It is in this allegory that great stories take shape, creativity blossoms, books defy genre and age, and become timeless pieces of literature.
There’s a common misconception about children’s novels. That they’re easy to write. But writing children’s novels is like balancing an elephant on the head of a needle, assembling the countries of the world into a neat jigsaw puzzle, or searching for a four-leaf clover on a pitch-black night with nothing but a melting candle. It’s a challenge. A delicious, mind-altering challenge. And I challenge you to try it.
