Nine Novels That Make an Art of Earnestness

Bennie Bosley, the protagonist of my new queer YA holiday romance, Pining for You, is living for Christmas magic and Grand Gesture Romance the way Tiny Tim once did for that goose—and I love that for her. But I did worry those qualities would make her a pariah in an Antihero culture bought into the idea that cynicism and irony are key ingredients to complexity. But while there are plenty of hills I can do without dying on, I’m happy to get comfortable up here on Mount Earnest and stand by my own beliefs—that sincerity doesn’t mean toothless storytelling; that a hopeful protagonist invites high drama and big questions; that refusing to be bitter or performative is a reason for readers to read on—and when they do, they’ll be rewarded.

Fortunately, I’m in good company up here, and on the shoulders of giants—not to mention a hobbit, a pro wrestler, and a robot. And the following books represent a rich range of literary earnestness. We meet Count Rostov as he commences a criminal sentence.

The punishment—confinement to the Metropol Hotel—is designed to strip him of status and luxuries, and one imagines, to cause him to buckle and break. Instead, he quietly chooses his act of resistance—to remain unchanged. He arranges his room into a thinking man’s sanctuary.

He observes the rituals of food and wine even now, when there’s no one to impress. Eventually, he approaches the job of waiting tables with the same pride as tying a cravat. By demanding dignity for and of himself, he preserves his personhood, but he also extends that dignity to those around him.

Over the course of the decades we spend with the Count, his commitment to curiosity, civility, elegance, and beauty is sustained, and in turn, sustains him. Annie exudes earnestness in the face of repeated, profound personal devastation. Abandoned by her mother as a child, she spends her life possessed by the hope of finding her again.

She doesn’t naively believe her mother is perfect; she’s driven instead by her determination to understand. And because she doesn’t have the means to avoid reality or live in some dream world, Annie’s decisions—to hold a place for the benefit of the doubt, to choose openness and curiosity, to seek the capacity for love in others along the way—is even more powerful. The grace she has adopted in her hopefulness regarding her mother is extended to others in her life as well: when Lulabelle is prickly and puts Annie off, Annie refuses to give up on her, too—and in the safety of her earnest grace, they loosen and lighten in subtle, heartrending ways.