From adults to children: Argentine writers break barriers and dare to write children's books

In bookstores, the tables are organized by section : "Children's," "Young Adult," "Adult." This seemingly innocent division is actually the starting point for a profound debate: What does it mean to write for adults and to write for children ? To what extent does it make sense to label works according to the age of their readers? Does this decision limit the circulation of books?

María Teresa Andruetto , a leading figure in Argentine literature, maintains that the terms "children's" and "young adult" are constructs of the publishing market that, in many cases, diminish the power of texts and confine them to a literary ghetto. "Labels are necessary for selling, but not for reading," she warns.

Many books designed for children hide hints that only an adult reader will detect: double entendres, irony, cultural references. Last year, the "Books Have No Age" event, inspired by the Madrid-based Abrapalabra festival, brought together children and adults to discuss Begoña Oro's The Child in the Trolley . The result: diverse interpretations, shared emotion, and a common certainty: a good story speaks to everyone, regardless of the reader's date of birth.

British writer Katherine Rundell argues that good children's books have a nobility that should appeal to adults as well . Far from being "minor," these works recapture the curiosity, pure emotion, and wonder that adult literature sometimes forgets. At the same time, some classics of world literature—from The Little Prince to Moby-Dick — circulate freely between generations.

In our country, authors such as Florencia Bonelli , Daniel Balmaceda , Claudia Piñeiro , and Martín Kohan dared to explore a different language than they were used to: that of adults. What is the transition from writing for adults to writing for children like? What changes and what remains the same?

Argentine writer Daniel Balmaceda , known for his novels steeped in Argentine history, sums it up this way : "A change in language, but not in depth." In this sense, he explains: "When writing for children, the style changes, but not the commitment. The need to tell a story well, to be rigorous, to seek beauty in the narrative remains. What changes is the way of saying it : with young readers, you can no longer take anything for granted, nor trust that the reader will complete what you imply. You have to be clear, direct, without losing charm or rhythm."

The key, then, is not to confuse clarity with simplification. “Childhood is a stage of enormous sensitivity and developing intelligence. The responsibility lies in challenging them . I want children to learn because they want to know, not because someone is imposing a lesson on them,” notes the author of The Dark Knight .

He recently released San Martín, the Great Adventure of Freedom , with Penguin Random House. “I discarded the idea of telling a traditional biography. I imagined a new scene and new voices. That's how the idea of a bookseller with the soul of a storyteller was born, accompanied by three nephews who ask questions, interrupt, laugh, and doubt. That resource gave me the freedom to move freely, to play with timing and emotions,” he says about the creative process.

In this way, " San Martín's story found an attractive channel there , where didacticism is disguised as play, and the aspects I wanted to explore emerge from everyday conversations." For Balmaceda, the bookstore was central: "I wanted to share with them the sensations that a bookstore offers, that is, a space with a thousand worlds to discover," he explains.

Historical romance author Florencia Bonelli also talks about a creative challenge with the publication of The Prince of the Forest : “I only had to remember when I was a child, what I liked to read and what ingredients captivated me. Reconnecting with my inner child solved the dilemma .”

The Prince of the Forest is a story set in a fantasy world. To achieve this, he used language accessible to children as young as seven or eight . "I also like to use, even if only a few, words they don't know because it's a way to enrich the language," he says.

“ The Prince of the Forest has two great pillars on which the plot unfolds: unconditional love and friendship . I believe that adults, by sharing the reading with their children, will end up questioning these two values that I consider fundamental to rediscovering our most human and, at the same time, most divine side ,” he says.

The Argentine writer Martín Kohan , author of the children's novel The Happiest Time, emphasizes the figure of the implicit reader : "When writing for children, that imaginary figure became stricter and more demanding for me."

For writer and screenwriter Claudia Piñeiro , the change opens doors to poetic and magical language. Her book, "A Thief Among Us," is a favorite in schools. "In children's literature, I feel freer to go wherever I want. It's not about infantilizing, but rather about treating children as people who are highly capable of receiving a story ," she shares in an interview with Clarín .

Asked whether there are any subjects that are off-limits to children, Andruetto analyzes: “ Everything can be discussed with children. There are beautiful books about death, about war, about heartbreak, about abandonment, about poverty, but it is the way they are told that makes them readable to a budding reader.”

On this point, Balmaceda is clear: " It's not about censorship, but about knowing when and how to address them. The key is care , not hiding, but respecting the reader's time." In his book, he prioritized values such as childhood, effort, camaraderie, and a love of freedom: "These are powerful ideas that children can embrace without entering into more complex or contradictory areas."

Bonelli believes that the agenda is set by the children themselves : "Nothing should be forced. They tell us what they want to know, when, and to what extent. When faced with the topic at hand, we need the appropriate sensitivity to approach it in a way that a child's mind can understand."

For his part, Kohan agrees that some issues come up later in life , but emphasizes that for those that can be addressed, "when they are difficult or delicate, the way they are presented becomes especially decisive."

While Balmaceda works on a dual track: " There are layers more accessible to children and others more subtle for adults . Sometimes it's a wink or an observation that children don't grasp, but that makes adults think." Bonelli opts for neutral language accessible from age seven, incorporating some new words to enrich the vocabulary: "I like adults, when sharing reading with their children, to question values like unconditional love and friendship."

But Kohan disagrees with the idea of “child language”: “ There are registers of adult language that are perfectly accessible to children . From there one speaks to them, from there one writes.”

Andruetto offers the perfect example of how labels channel a book's journey. "It's true that sometimes it limits that classification, and sometimes it also helps a work. Because there are books that, having been published in a series for young people, acquire a place that, placed in the general universe of books, they wouldn't have. I can attest to this with my novel Estefano , for example, which is a novel that could easily be for adults, and in fact, many adults read it. But the fact that it's in a series for young people has made the book stand out in that area and in that range , whereas perhaps it was published without that readerly suggestion." And she concludes with that calm and profound reflection that characterizes her: "I don't know. We never know what happens to books because books have a path that goes beyond those of us who wrote them. Even beyond what editors sometimes think."

For Balmaceda, classifications can become barriers : “A good children's book shouldn't be 'forbidden' to adults, nor should an adult one be inaccessible to a curious child. What defines a reader is not age, but sensitivity and the stage of life.” And, in that sense, the author of the successful Fire Horse saga summarizes: “If a story reaches people's hearts, it breaks through commercial labels.” For her part, Kohan believes that delimitation can be pertinent, “but like all delimitations, it allows for and invites being crossed .”

Balmaceda argues that “ it shouldn't be a subject taught , but rather an experience lived. Its place is to open doors to imagination, emotion, knowledge, and critical thinking.” A well-told biography, he says, can help a child stop seeing heroes and start seeing people: “When that happens, they realize that admiration isn't a pedestal, but a path.”

Although the publishing market insists on classifying—and thereby running the risk of limiting and alienating readers from children's novels that might captivate them—authors like Balmaceda, Bonelli, Kohan, and Piñeiro agree on one essential point: a good story, well told, knows no age boundaries . It can move, challenge, and accompany a seven-year-old as well as an adult who still allows for surprises.