FalconSoldier: A Study in Queerbaiting

Someday a professor will teach a one-credit elective in Queerbaiting in Early 21st Century American Media.  (Heck, that professor might even be me.)  And when that happens, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier will be the urtext.

Because by gum, Marvel has given us a PARAGON of queerbaiting with this latest show.

To be honest: normally I don’t recognize queerbaiting when I see it, and normally I’m inclined to look generously on authors who possibly didn’t mean it like that and/or didn’t know fans would read it that way.  

However, even I cannot ignore the awkward, excruciating obviousness of what Marvel is doing with The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

For those of you who don’t know: queerbaiting is when a work of media simultaneously hints at a same-sex romantic relationship and refuses to confirm that romantic relationship, in an effort to please everyone.  The two (usually male) characters exchange intense stares.  They come up with excuses to be physically close.  They show intense depth of feeling for one another.  Other characters joke about them being in a relationship.  But they never kiss, and they never break up.  Sometimes a coy one-liner at the last possible second confirms romantic feelings (Supernatural, Angel, Legend of Korra) and sometimes the tension is never resolved (Sherlock, Teen Wolf, Merlin) but either way we definitely never get any content that could be described as “representation.”

This is a classic Hollywood tactic to try and please everyone, or at least displease no one.  The younger and/or more liberal fans can have ship fuel (material that allows for romantic interpretation), while the older and more conservative fans have nothing they can be offended about.  Disney has this down to an art form.  It includes the minimum amount of representation it possibly can, hiding its women of color in full-body makeup and its Unnamed Canonically Queer Man in a single easily-dubbed line.  It queerbaits, in past instances that have been debatable (Captain Marvel, Captain America Civil War) and in the current instance that even I cannot interpret any more-generous way.

—

There are two moments in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (so far) that have been queerbaiting at their finest.

#1. Sam yanks Bucky off an exploding truck, they go rolling into a field arm-in-arm.  They stare at each other a second, faces a couple of inches apart, then separate.  (S1E2) 

How we know it’s queerbaiting: If this was a crude comedy (e.g. The Boys) then this would be an opportunity for Bucky to make a homophobic and/or racist comment while shoving Sam off of him.  If this was a show made by a production company with any courage (e.g. Arrow) then this would be the lead-in to a kiss.  Instead, neither happens.

What’s notable is that this moment adds literally nothing to the show.  It could be a chance for Bucky and Sam to have an emotional beat (e.g. “Holy crap we almost died” or “We dislike each other but we’ve been united in our hatred for that new Cap”) but neither happens.  Instead they stare at each other, breathe a few seconds, and move on.

Ergo, the only possible interpretation is queerbaiting.  The audience members that so choose will read this as the lead-in to a kiss.  The audience members that so choose will read this as a homophobic joke about eeeww, we hugged each other.

Everyone’s happy.  The status quo is maintained.  Nothing is ventured, nothing is gained, and everyone's existing worldview is reinforced.

# 2: Bucky’s therapist drags Sam into a therapy session, forcing him and Bucky to confront their issues with each other through intense stare-offs and trust exercises. (S1E2) 

How we know it’s queerbaiting: There is no other possible interpretation, because the character actions do not work on a literal level in context.  Dr. Raynor says that she "use[s] this exercise with couples" who are having communication problems.

If Bucky and Sam were a confirmed couple (see: Runaways) that line would make sense.  If this was the setup for a homophobic joke (see: Jessica Jones) then the line wouldn’t make sense, but at least we’d know how to interpret it.

But Dr. Raynor’s explanation doesn’t feel like a real thing a person would say in context, because Bucky and Sam don’t know each other that well.  They’ve fought side-by-side a handful of times, but they’re not close friends and they’re not roommates and they’re not lovers.  They’re coworkers.

A therapist forcing troubled coworkers to sit practically in each other’s laps, stare into one another’s eyes, and confess their deepest desires for a "miracle"?  That just feels like sexual harassment, but a bizarre and overly specific form of sexual harassment that could only ever exist if the character simultaneously knows that these two could be a couple and that they never, ever will be.  Not in any way that truly matters.

—

Part of what I find so frustrating about all of this is that (on top of being homophobic drivel) it makes the whole show worse for its inclusion.  If Sam and Bucky were simply presented as friends-of-a-friend who find each other aggravating but want to work together anyway, the characters would feel more coherent and the dynamic more tension-inducing.  We wouldn't get weird moments where the thrilling action sequence screeches to a halt just to show them looking at each other.  We wouldn't have Bucky's therapist violating every ethical boundary ever created, for no discernible purpose.  We could have more organic and in-character relationship building, and a more interesting show.

Or we could have a show about an actual same-sex romance between two cyborg bros who punch aliens together.  Which would be even better, but I know by now that is too much to ask for and (when it comes to Disney) probably always will be.

—Bug

The Faults With The Fault in Our Stars

1. The story co-opts the emotional gravitas of terminal illness without actually thinking about the embodied, lived experience of people with the same illnesses/disabilities as Augustus and Hazel.

Think of this like war movies that want to show their characters traumatized or hardened by the violence they've witnessed, only the actual on-screen fighting is choreographed, stylized, and 'cool' in a way real fights/wars/battles never are. The emotional arc--and, arguably, the plot--of The Fault in Our Stars is Hazel's journey of self-discovery as she deals with how her cancer affected her and those around her, including Augustus Waters, another teen cancer survivor with whom she falls in love. The book contains many frank conversations about death and dying. Augustus and Hazel's love story is tragic because they have only a limited amount of time together. Experiences like a first kiss, a picnic, and even climbing a staircase are serious and significant because of the rareness of such "normal" experiences in the lives of teens with cancer, and because of the physical and occasionally emotional labor Hazel and Gus exert to do tasks that are second-nature to "normal" teens. When the story wants to deal an emotional punch, we get the nitty gritty details of, for instance, walking up a staircase with an oxygen tank. But the embodied experience is only explored when it's convenient for the story--it exists to create angst, not a realistic portrayal of the embodied experience of living with a physical disability.

To give credit where credit is due, this was something I completely overlooked until a friend of mine, who had leukemia as a teen, pointed it out and gave some specific examples. One is Hazel and Augustus having sex. I hope it doesn't have to be said, but obviously amputees and people with lung diseases have sex. The thing is, there's a privilege in being able to spontaneously* engage in sex with no pre-planning or preparation. No making sure you've taken or not taken or adjusted your medication so you can enjoy the experience. No thinking about the logistics of making sure your positions and actions won't cause potentially severe injuries. Above all, no counting spoons. (If you haven't heard of spoon theory, read this now.) No calculating what things you might not be able to do later (cook dinner, drive to the store, go to work, paint your kitchen, etc) because you've expended a significant amount of energy having sex.

Of course everyone's experience with illness and disability is different. Some people with disabilities are able to be totally spontaneous when having sex or bowling or walking the dog or whatever. Some people without a disability need to carefully plan sex (or bowling, or whatever) beforehand, because that's what works for them emotionally. The real issue is that Hazel and Gus's physical disabilities are only explored when it's convenient for the narrative. Hazel's going to climb to the top of the Anne Frank house? In-depth description of her struggles to breathe, her exhaustion, etc. Gus is a bad driver? Well, that's played for laughs, so we won't go into the physical complexities of him driving with a prosthetic leg.

The movie is even more problematic in this regard, even before we get into the issue of casting able-bodied actors to play disabled characters, but this article explains it pretty well so I won't get into it here.

*I know they discussed it beforehand, but the moment itself happens pretty organically.


2. The novel simultaneously mocks and uses inspiration porn. 

Inspiration porn isn't real porn. I mean, I'm sure there's something, because this is the internet. But in this context, inspiration porn doesn't (typically) involve sex. It's those stories you see shared on Upworthy and similar sites. It's the state champion wrestler who "let" the kid with downs syndrome win the final match of the season. It's the head cheerleader who asked the boy with autism to prom. It's the woman who decided to record the girl using ASL with a deaf man on an airplane. It's the gee-look-we-gave-this-person-with-disabilities-something-they-might-not-have-even-wanted-in-the-first-place. Above all, it's the proverbial back-patting that occurs when other people read or watch the incident, treating the person with disabilities like a prop or a zoo animal. It's the good feeling that comes with watching a "normal" person deign to help out a "non-normal" person.

To be clear: helping people (disabled or able-bodied,) isn't necessarily bad. It's the turning it into a whole performance that's a violation of personal autonomy and dignity. For instance, the girl on the airplane wasn't doing anything wrong. Flight attendants asked over the PA if anyone knew ASL and she volunteered. It's the person who decided to take pictures and then share those pictures all over social media. It's the news organization that decided to print the girl's name but never bothered to find out the name of the man. (Here's another way this story could have been written: "Man Fluent in ASL Helps Student Practice; Helps Both Pass Time on Boring Flight.")

In The Fault in Our Stars, there are some good passages where Hazel explains how she's been given toys and things because people pity her. That's a good critique of inspiration porn. It shows, from the point of view of a disabled person, how demeaning and just plain annoying it can be to be treated like an oxygen tank (or wheelchair, or cane, or whatever) is your entire identity. Less good is the crowd applauding when Hazel climbs the stairs in the Anne Frank House. (Others have called this disrespectful, I don't feel I have the expertise to engage meaningfully with this critique.) Here's the problem:

"On a superficial level, it’s a positive thing to be considered inspiring – until you consider the implications.

When you tell someone with a disability or someone who is otherwise perceived as disadvantaged that you find them inspiring, you are essentially saying that you would find their way of life insufferable and wouldn’t be able to cope if the roles were reversed.

While it’s meant to be a compliment to perseverance, it’s not exactly the best way to raise someone’s self-esteem or general outlook.

Yes, people with disabilities often face more challenges, and their accomplishments should be recognized, but don’t condescend us.

Please stop pretending to be humbled by passively perpetuating our oppression in allowing the ableist status quo to persist." (Erin Tatum, Everyday Feminism) 

Same problem with John Green Peter Van Houten. First of all, Van Houten's assistant decides to use two teenage cancer survivors to try and inspire Van Houten to stop being such a curmudgeon. She lets them board a plane, fly all the way to Amsterdam, and use a Make a Wish (and those things aren't like candy,) under false pretenses. But the assistant aside (the novel doesn't exactly condemn her actions, but it doesn't condone them either,) Van Houten's entire character arc is him choosing to (sort of) reengage with the world because Hazel and Augustus inspired him. Augustus sending the obituary to Van Houten is the 21st century, hipster equivalent of Tiny Tim telling Ebenezer Scrooge 'God bless us, every one!'

"Fun" activity: watch this video about the premiere of The Fault in Our Stars and count how many times the word 'inspiration' is used. "It's inspiration that sold out the theaters this weekend," Voiceover Man tells us. And that's exactly the problem. For all it critiques inspiration porn, that critique is undermined because the critique (namely, Hazel's sarcastic narration,) becomes part of what makes her inspiring.


3. There's some serious issues with consent. 

I want to acknowledge that the sex scene in The Fault in Our Stars has been praised as a good example of explicit consent. My problem isn't that conversation. It's the larger context of what's unsaid before that scene ever happens.

Here's the thing: the question of consent in this novel is fairly unique and specific. If it had been explored or even acknowledged, it could have added some depth and nuance to the story. As it is, though...

The consent I'm talking about is Hazel and Augustus having sex before Augustus tells Hazel his cancer is back, and it's terminal. The problem isn't so much Augustus choosing not to tell Hazel, it's him choosing not to tell Hazel after she explicitly expressed her reservations about people with terminal illnesses starting romantic relationships. Yes, when she says "I'm a grenade" to explain why she doesn't want to start a relationship with Augustus she's talking specifically about herself. But her feelings, however flawed (or ableist) are still made clear: she doesn't want to expose anyone to the emotional trauma of falling in love with her only to lose her. She only changes her mind when Augustus makes it clear he understands the emotional risk he's taking and assures her he's making the deliberate choice to be with her even knowing he may soon lose her.

He doesn't give her the same choice.

Again, if Hazel hadn't expressed this sentiment, I don't necessarily think this would be a problem. I'm not an expert on consent. I'm not an expert on the complexities of having a romantic relationship with someone with a terminal illness. But as long as you're not endangering someone, I don't think you should *have* to reveal a life-changing medical status to someone before having sex. At the very least, having never been in that situation myself, I'm certainly in no position to judge.

The problem is, Hazel expressed some very real reservations about starting a relationship between a terminally ill person and a non-terminally ill person. Doesn't necessarily mean she's right. But it does mean she has a right to be fully informed before entering into any kind of relationship, especially sexual, with someone who knows her feelings. It's not done with malicious intentions, but Augustus gaslights Hazel. He lies about why he and his parents were arguing. He (and her mom) deliberately don't tell her that he discussed his illness with her parents. When she expresses concern when he seems weak/tired/etc, he deflects.

From what we know of the character, I suspect Hazel would have still chosen to have a relationship, including a sexual relationship, with Augustus had she known of his status beforehand. But she doesn't know. The truth is deliberately hidden from her until after they have sex. We can speculate all we want, but ultimately all we have is the text and the text does not give Hazel the choice. I highly doubt this was Green's intent, but Augustus doesn't give Hazel the same information, honesty, and chance for explicit consent that she gave him. The fact that it results in sex just makes it more unfortunate.

Okay? Not Okay.

Here's the thing: I am definitely the wrong audience for this book. I don't like romance. I don't like realistic fiction. I'm not even a huge fan of YA--I'll take YA over books for adults, but my true love is Middle Grade. I also had the benefit(?) of having three different friends--one with a chronic illness, two cancer survivors--introduce me to the world of disability criticism and explain why they disliked movies like A Walk to Remember, My Sister's Keeper, and Beaches before I ever read The Fault in Our Stars. (By the way, I don't mean to lump my friends together--they each had a very different experience and a very different perspective. The previous sentence is just a cliff notes version of their thoughts, opinions, stories, drunken ramblings, scathing sarcasm, and in one case, scholarship.)

Point being, I was primed to approach stories about characters with disabilities, especially terminal illnesses, with a lot of skepticism. So, yeah. I'm a giant curmudgeon when it comes to The Fault in Our Stars. But I think it's an exemplar of the way disability and/or illness are often treated in popular culture--and that needs to change.

Resources/Further Reading:

Crip the Vote/The Disability Visibility Project: huge group that promotes political and social activism, disability rights, and supports the groundbreaking idea that stories about people with disabilities shouldn't almost exclusively be told by the able-bodied.

Human Rights Watch: Disability Rights: contains tons of reporting, opinions, scholarship, and opportunities for activism not just in the United States but around the world.

The Facebook groups Teaching Disability Studies and, of course, Disability and Chronic Illness in Young Adult Literature

There's a ton more out there, but these are good starting points.

-Cates

62 Thoughts I Had While Re-Reading Animorphs for the First Time in (Almost) Twenty Years Part I

TW for discussion of trauma, suicide, war, violence, etc. It's Animorphs, people. It's dark and twisted.

I first encountered Animorphs when my cousin showed me his (small) collection of books when we were seven years old. He let me pick one to take with me, so of course I chose the one with the girl turning into a grizzly bear. For the next two years, I lived, breathed, and ate Animorphs.* At recess, Andre, Matt, Matt, Jeff, Michelle, and I would run to the back soccer field and pretend we were the Animorphs. The woods were the Yeerk pool, the teachers were controllers, the goal posts were cages, and for reasons that now escape me we would morph by throwing ourselves on the ground, rolling over several times, and then jumping up and declaring what animal we had turned into.

*Not really. They're too crunchy.

Far greater than the impact Animorphs had on my third-grade social life, however, was the impact the series had on me as a reader and a writer. Nineteen years after I read my first Animorphs book, I received two Masters degrees: a MA in Children's Literature, and a MFA in Writing for Children. Whether I knew it consciously or not, Animorphs was what made me want to study children's literature, because it showed me that children's literature can be dark, complex, and morally grey, and if done right it can tackle 'adult' issues like PTSD, trauma, war, racism, ableism, and torture with just as much finesse as any book for adults. Meanwhile, my writing a. is exclusively for children or young adults, b. always has a large cast of characters, c. blends genres, and d. (hopefully) has strong action sequences, complex characters, and realistic dialogue. No other series has taught me more about being a writer, or given me more motivation to be a writer, than Animorphs.

This past December, I finally had the chance to re-read the whole series from start to finish for the first time. It took me from Christmas Eve 2015 to August 1, 2016. This wasn't the first time I'd read Animorphs since finishing the series, but in the thirteen-odd years since the last book came out, I'd mostly stuck to rereading my favorites, like the David trilogy and Megamorphs 2 and 3. Not surprisingly, this epic re-reading resulted in me calling Sol several times a week (sometimes several times a day!) and ranting about or laughing about or debating things I'd forgotten or never noticed before. (Pansexual Marco, anyone?)

In order to keep myself from writing dozens of blog posts about Animorphs (and yeah, I know this one is already hella long, and we haven't even gotten to the list portion yet,) I decided to make a list of 62 thoughts I had while re-reading the series. Why 62? Because there's 62 Animorphs books, discounting the two 'choose your own adventure' books. (Let's just pretend those never happened, kay?) There are 54 books in the main series, 4 Megamorphs books, the Andalite, Hork Bajir, and Ellimist Chronicles, and Visser.

So here, without further ado, in no particular order, is Part I (1-31) of the 62 thoughts I had while re-reading Animorphs for the first time in nineteen years. (Y'all should just be grateful it's not 620 thoughts : )

1. OH MY GOD TOBIAS TRIED TO COMMIT SUICIDE IN "THE ENCOUNTER" (Book #3)
Yeah, this was the first mature moment that went *completely* over my head when I first read the series. It's disturbing enough that Tobias tries to kill himself once, but when that doesn't work he proceeds to try it again two or three more times. When he first tries to fly into the glass door, it could be seen as a moment of temporary insanity/desperation. Attempting it again and again shows clear planning and intent. And that's just disturbing as hell.

2. Mostly, Animorphs holds up pretty well re: portrayals of race, class, dis/ability, gender, etc. However, there are a few cringe-worthy moments that either victim-blame, justify the male gaze (boys will be boys!), or objectify women. 
The first one I'm thinking of takes place in the same scene I mentioned above. Marco ends up saving Tobias's life by throwing a baseball through a skylight, breaking it before Tobias can hit the glass. Why was Marco at the mall and therefore able to throw the baseball? Because he was watching Rachel perform a gymnastics exhibition, even though she had clearly asked and told him several times not to come. And it's pretty clear he wants to see the girls in leotards, not that he has a deep appreciation of gymnastics. We also have the moment in Book #2 "The Visitor" when a grown-ass man follows Rachel, aged thirteen, in his car and tries to convince her to climb in...and Rachel blames herself for walking through a bad neighborhood. To be fair, these moments are few and far between, but I get really, really angry when Marco makes the occasional comment that blatantly objectifies Rachel and/or Cassie (like in #26 "The Attack" when he wants to see them wrestle while wearing bikinis,) because a. that's disgusting and disturbing, and b. it doesn't feel true to a character who is otherwise discerning and, while frequently irreverent, generally respectful towards people in general and his teammates in particular.

3. Rachel was the ultimate role model for my seven-year-old self. 
Before I had Alanna, or Loor (Pendragon,) or Jacky Faber, or Mulan, or Raven (Teen Titans,) or Buffy, I had Rachel Berenson. Before I had Rachel I had Nancy Drew, Cam Jansen, and Liza and Melody (Bailey School Kids,) but they weren't the same thing. Nancy abhorred violence, and always had her hair and makeup done to perfection. Cam, Liza, and Melody were all a. tame, and b. flat characters. Rachel was complex, she was nuanced, she unapologetically loved to kick butt and take names, and she was unquestionably the best fighter on the team. For seven-year-old me, that was HUGE. I didn't know I was searching for a character like Rachel until I 'met' her. From that day forward, I had much higher standards for female characters. I still do.

4. Jake (probably) has depression and anxiety. 
When I was little, my order of favorite to least favorite Animorphs went something like this: 1. Rachel, 2. Cassie and Tobias, 3. Ax, 4. Marco, 5. Jake. It wasn't that I particularly disliked Jake, I just tended to overlook his presence, sort of like a nail you use to hang a painting: sure, it's essential for keeping that painting up there, and yeah, for such a small thing it's remarkable that it can hold that much weight, but, well, it's not flashy or shiny or colorful, so why bother thinking about it?

Reading these books as an adult, it's impossible (probably in general, definitely for me personally) not to empathize with Jake and all the weight he's forced to carry. It's pretty apparent from relatively early in the series that this is one stressed-out kid, but if you start to pay attention, there are subtle hints that it's more than just stress: Jake has trouble sleeping, and even when he sleeps a lot he wakes up feeling exhausted. Jake hates rainy days because they put him in a bad mood. In the moment, Jake is on top of things no matter how bad the circumstances, but in the aftermath or even during a lull he agonizes over every mistake, is often defeatist, and is exhausted even if the mission only took a few hours instead of a few days. When things overwhelm him, he shuts down and/or goes into free-fall (being squashed as a fly, being half-eaten by the T-Rex, Chapman almost shooting his dad, Visser One's trial.) Add all of that together, and you have some classic signs of depression and/or anxiety. It's never outright stated in the books or interviews (as far as I know) so I'm not comfortable putting a stamp on him and saying, 'yup. this boy has x,' but the signs are definitely there.

5. Jake's lack of a sense of humor/total failure at delivering jokes is one of the funniest parts of the series.
I think the one that comes immediately to mind is Jake freaking out over everyone correcting him about it being a crocodile, not an alligator, in #12 "The Reaction." Then there's his cringe-inducing joke in #17 "The Underground" which he's forced to explain to everyone. Of course, as the war goes on it gets slightly less funny because he's so stressed all the time he starts to fail to recognize and appreciate humor, but thankfully we have Marco to make fun of him and force Jake to step back and take a breather. Even if Marco is forced to then explain the joke to him.

6. Rachel, Cassie, and Tobias are (unintentional) a**holes to Marco in the first few books. 
For those first few books, when Marco's so reluctant to fight...dude. The guy recently lost his mom. Sure, he doesn't want to fight because he's afraid, but his main fear isn't dying, it's what losing him would do to his dad. Rachel, Cassie, and Tobias's reaction to Marco's reluctance demonstrates their total failure to grasp the true consequences of what they're getting involved in, not just for themselves but for everyone around them. Of them all, Marco is the only one who has truly experienced death at the start of the series.* Not surprisingly, he's the only one who has a healthy fear of death. And for trying to protect his dad, he gets called selfish and a coward. If only the others knew then how right Marco would turn out to be.

*Yes, Tobias thinks his mother and father might be dead, but as harsh as it sounds it's not like he has clear memories of them. Therefore I'd argue that he experiences death in a less visceral way than Marco.

7. The David Triology, especially #22 "The Solution," is a complex study in misogyny. 
I have to be careful opening this floodgate, because I could go on for pages and pages about this, but, in short(ish) here's the deal: the reason David hates Rachel so much, even before the climax of 22, is because she's a strong female. This isn't to say he's a MRA with an open manifesto against women. It's subtler and more ingrained than that. In both 21 and 22, notice the number of times he comments on Rachel's looks, or calls her pretty, or generally talks about her body. He sees her as an object, and when he's shown that she's stronger than him (the owl fight and the fork scene) it frightens him, which makes him really, really angry. The 'hey, enjoy your shower,' line will always be one of, if not THE most disturbing and mature lines of the series, but we also get three different moments (not counting flea!David) where David deliberately touches Rachel to demonstrate his power over her. The first is when he's playing Saddler in the hospital, and he touches Rachel's arm. The second is when they're in the Taco Bell and he smears beans down her sleeve. And the third, and most blatant, is when he morphs a snake (phallic symbol, anyone?) and wraps himself around her. Of particular note is that David calls Jake over while they're in Taco Bell. It's not enough that he demonstrate dominance over Rachel; he needs to show another guy that he has dominance over Rachel. Because on some level, in his mind, Rachel is Jake's possession. And he's showing Jake that he's going to take Jake's toy and there's nothing Jake can do about it. And that is disturbing as f*ck.

8. Applegate was able to get away with a lot of the violence and horror (#33, anyone?) because Animorphs was a long-running series. 
I have a lot of friends, colleagues, and teachers who write, illustrate, publish, edit, and review children's lit. Thanks to them, I get to see how the sausage gets made, so to speak. I know in general what publishers will and won't publish for any particular age group. I know in general what content will or won't make reviewers and librarians and parents angry. And because I know all that, I know (or at very least, strongly, STRONGLY suspect) that Applegate was only able to get away with things like graphically describing torture and bodies being ripped limb from limb and cages full of screaming people because reviewers and librarians weren't bothering to read the books after the first two or three. As for publishers, they sold well, so no one was really doing a close reading on Applegate's work. I'm not saying it's a good thing or a bad thing, but it is interesting.

9. Cassie is the teacher's author's pet, and it's really annoying. (For me.) 
Even though I liked Cassie when I was little, mostly because like most kids I went through a 'I want to be a dolphin trainer!' phase, upon rereading she quickly became my least favorite Animorph. Maybe it's because I fall somewhere between Marco and Jake on the whole 'you have to do some horrible stuff in war, but it's war, so you can't sit around moralizing about it' spectrum. Either way, when Cassie does things like reveal herself as human to Aftran, or turn into a skunk to save some babies, I get really, really annoyed by a. her refusal to see the big picture, and b. her willingness to put her friends in danger.

But even if I personally don't agree, I can still accept that she plays an important role in the series, and that she adds a lot to the dynamic of the group. My real problem is that Cassie is never freaking wrong. Skunk? They managed to save the babies! Aftran? That magically all worked out! Twice! Refusing to try and blow up the Yeerk pool with Taylor? She was right all along! GIVING TOM THE DAMN MORPHING CUBE?!?!?! Whattya know, in that split second in the garage with one freaking Hork Bajir, Cassie managed to conceive of a peaceful future for four goddamn species. Give me a break. This is a blatant case of Writer on Board, and it's very frustrating because it means that anyone who doubts Cassie, from the other Animorphs to the reader, is implicitly wrong.

10. While we're on things I dislike, the fact that #48 "The Return" is the last* time we hear from Rachel is so very unfair to the character. 
I mean, so many things about that book are ridiculous beyond belief. Why did David/Crayak/whoever capture Cassie instead of Jake? If the whole deal was that they wanted Rachel to kill Jake, why not put him in front of her? Wouldn't Crayak get more satisfaction from hurting Jake? What, if anything, in that book was real? If none of it was real, what was the damn point? There are some great moments throughout the series (turning into giant squid, David + fork, etc) where Rachel is forced to contemplate her capacity for and enjoyment of violence. This ain't one of them. Rachel's final book ends with her sitting on the ground sobbing while talking (or maybe not!) to a goddamn rat. She deserved better.

*Yeah, I know we get a chapter from her POV in #54 "The Beginning." But those three or four pages don't make up for the incomprehensible mess that is #48.

11. There are so many tiny moments I missed that I loved this time through. 
Cassie holding Ax's hand after Estrid leaves. The kids sitting doing homework while tunneling as moles to the Yeerk pool. Jake labeling a box of Tom's stuff 'junk' and throwing it away. Ax teaching Tobias how to tail-fight. Rachel's ongoing amusement at Jake and Cassie's inability to say they 'like like' each other. But one of my absolute favorites is at the end of #31 "The Conspiracy" when Jake meets his friends in the woods after they saved his dad...and Marco is hiding behind a freaking tree because he thinks Jake might not want to see him. It's simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking and adorable and everything that makes the Animorphs so great.

12. Pansexual Marco is so totally a thing.
Or bisexual Marco, if you prefer. Either way, this is one of those things that I saw pop up in fandom and I thought, well, yeah, I guess that sort of makes sense, but I didn't think there was a lot of actual evidence in the series. Boy was I wrong.

13. Applegate really likes (and is heavily influenced by) South Park.
When I first read Animorphs, all the South Park references went waaaaaaaay over my head ("oh my god, she killed Kenny!") Over the years as I reread my faves, I recognized them but I didn't really get why Applegate felt the need to include them. South Park was vulgar, childish, rude, and frequently offensive.

And then at some point I actually bothered to try watching South Park. South Park is all of the things I just listed above, but it's also a deeply funny, well-written satire with complex and interesting child characters who frequently find themselves saving the oblivious grown-ups around them from various supernatural, political, environmental, and economic forces. Kenny, Kyle, Stan, Cartman, and later Butters and Wendy are rude little a-holes that frequently make you roll your eyes, laugh at their sharp pop culture references, and underneath it all maintain a surprisingly innocent view of right and wrong. Sound like anyone you know?

14. Why the heck do they not use their polar bear morphs more??
I love love love love love Sol's theory that the polar bear is a doppleganger of Rachel's grizzly morph, the pale, shadowy reflection of her grizzly bear which rises up and kills her in the end. So from a symbolic perspective, it makes sense that the polar bear should take a back seat, so that it seems mystic and other and ghostly when it kills Rachel. That being said...a freaking gorilla and grizzly bear could barely take down a polar bear that wasn't even trying that hard to evade them. As far as I can tell, with the exception of the dinosaurs and maybe the elephant, the polar bear is the strongest and deadliest brute force weapon in their arsenal. So why do they almost never use it? I know they have their battle morphs, and I know they're comfortable with them, but in some of those giant battles where they were waaaaaayyyyy outnumbered, it really would have made sense to roll out the polar bear army!

15. Animorphs is one of the best take-downs of the gender binary I've ever read. In these books, gender really is a construct.
In #3 "The Encounter," there's a whole ongoing joke where Jake and Marco, who both identify as male and use he/his pronouns, argue over who has to morph a female wolf. Then in #13 "The Change," Rachel (default female) morphs a male Hork Bajir and Tobias (default male) morphs a female Hork Bajir, and no one comments on it. There are also moments in the series (acquiring the polar bear and the T-Rex, among others) where some or all of them morph the exact same animal with zero thought for the animal's gender. In #51 "The Absolute," we even get Marco morphing a human female. The Animorphs started out with a reluctance to change genders when they morphed, largely because of the societal construct in which they grew up. By the mid-point of the series, the gender of the animals, and therefore their gender(s) isn't even given a second thought. Further, there's the Helmacroms, in whose society gender depends entirely upon your social status (which is a brilliant social commentary in and of itself....unfortunate jokes about females in leadership roles aside.) Again, this is part of what dooms David: the other Animorphs have absolutely zero doubt that Rachel is the strongest and bravest member of the team. David's failure to understand that, and his failure to see Tobias as human, are two of his biggest mistakes. Gender exists on a scale, and therefore gender roles are just that: roles that can be used or discarded at the individual's discretion.

16. Oh my god I constantly want to punch Erek in the face, which maybe is the point? Or something? 
Many, many, many other Animorphs fans have captured the frustration that is Erek King, cyborg with a super convenient non-violence program which seems to go in and out based on his whims. (Yes, I'm badly oversimplifying.) The ONLY way I can sort of kind of maybe justify Erek's existence in the series is that he's a nuclear weapon: yeah, you could use him, but at what cost? Yeah, it would be easy to press that button, but it's too easy. You can't just wipe out all of your enemies in one go because it's easier. So I think that may be the point Applegate is trying to make with Erek? Vaguely? Kind of?

But there's two major logical fallacies that surround the Chee in general and Erek in particular, and therefore render Applegate's point both murky and ineffective. Logical fallacy one is why the Pemalites would create violent programming for their robots in the first place if they were so against the idea. Why design them in such a way that they're capable of violence at all? I know the Chee have a certain level of sentience, so maybe the violence is all learned and the Pemalites were just trying to make sure their super strong robots couldn't hurt people, but it's still murky and frustrating. Logical fallacy number two is why (or even how) would Erek drain the Pool Ship's energy? Yeah, he's somewhat justifiably pissed at Jake, but what exactly in his programming lets him decide that draining the Pool Ship will prevent rather than cause violence and death? Yes, people on the ground are dying, but so are people in the air. How does he decide which lives are worth more? Whether or not it's his decision as a sentient being, how the heck is it justified? It's frustrating not just because it leads to Rachel's death, Tom's death, and the deaths of several other characters, but because it makes no freaking sense that Erek, no matter how mad he was at Jake, would take (or even be able to take) such a morally grey action.

17. I think #41 "The Familiar" is brilliant, no matter how many times people Sol points out all its flaws.
Here's why: it's Jake bearing witness to each of his friends' (and his own) worst nightmares come true. Rachel is unable to fight. Cassie justifies all actions to win the war. Marco suffered the same fate as his mother. Ax betrayed his people. Jake betrayed them to Tom and failed as a leader. Tobias...okay, so Tobias is a little murky, because it's never clear if the Andalite Jake talks to is in fact Tobias or not. For the purposes of my theory I'm going to go with 'not,' because then it's a Tobias who spends his time flying around completely alone, so disconnected from humans that he's no longer able to communicate. Forget losing the war for a second, this is the worst possible outcome Jake could imagine because it destroyed all his friends. THIS is what Jake wants to avoid above all else, but he doesn't know how he's supposed to avoid it. Then he meets the little kid, Justice, who says he'd save his friends first and then other people second. There's two ways to read this scene, and, by extension, the narrative and Jake's decision at the end.

One: Jake basically left Rachel and Marco(?) behind to die at the beginning of the book. In this future world, he has to choose between letting Cassie die or losing the war forever. Justice reminds him that he should value his friends/comrades above all else. Jake chooses to save Cassie at the end.

Two: Justice's naivete confirms Jake's decision at the beginning. In a war, you can't value your loved ones more than all of the people you're fighting to save, because that's a guaranteed way to lose. This sets up the decision Jake will later make to sacrifice Rachel and Tom for the sake of winning the war. Jake chooses to let Cassie die at the end.

I know it's never going to be most people's cup of tea, but I think it's a really interesting look into Jake's psyche that foreshadows the end of the series through his loss of everyone he loves and his being forced into a position where he has to decide to either win the war OR save a loved one. No matter what, it can't be both.

18. The Animorphs are OOC (out of character) in several of the ghost-written books, but nowhere is it more egregious than #43 "The Test." 
To start we've got Jake casually deciding that it's fine if Tom happens to be down in the Yeerk Pool when it gets blown up. Even though this is the kind of thing they could prevent with about two minutes of detective work. And though Jake's entire character arc can be read as him being so beaten down by war that he orders the murder of his brother...he's certainly not this casual about it. "Yeah, Tom might die. But onto more important matters. What adventure will Miss Frizzle take them on in the next Magic School Bus episode??"

I actually stopped in the middle of reading this book and took a picture of a page to send to Sol, because it was so ridiculous. The page I sent was the moment when Ax is taking too long to start digging (after it's been well established that it's hard to control the Taxxon and they're all super grossed out,) and Jake "snaps" at Ax to get moving, which in and of itself is a little weird, and then...Well then, Rachel "more kindly" asks Ax if everything is all right. Without a hint of irony. Two pages later, Marco is "uncharacteristically silent" (yeah, no kidding it's uncharacteristic!) and Jake "snarls" at Tobias for bumping into him, causing Rachel to metaphorically wring her hands and wonder why everything is falling apart.

Then there's lines that are so poorly written they become unintentionally hilarious:

"Cassie's eyes darkened with some issues." Cassie's eyes have issues?!?! Try morphing and demorphing, Cassie. That might fix it.

When Tobias acquires the Taxxon, this is what happens: "Usually you don't feel anything about an animal while you acquire it. This time, I sensed something. Fierce and elemental, like a scream of rage." Yeah. Sure. Okay, Ghost Writer. That's totally how morphing works. Suuuureeeee.

"Four kids and a bird crowded around a laptop salvaged from a Dumpster and repaired by an alien kid and friend, Ax." So there's an another alien?!?! And he has a friend named Ax?!?! And Ax helped him repair the laptop?? Not to mention, where exactly is Ax in the previous statement? We've got FOUR kids and a bird, but it doesn't actually say Ax is there, just that he repaired the laptop. And then in the next line Ax starts talking. So is he behind them? Above them? Did he just apparate? So many questions.

I can't even be that mad because it's so clear that this writer has no idea what s/he is doing. The beekeeping and the army of rats are more ridiculous plot-wise, but this book takes the cake for flat-out awful writing.

19. Some of the books I remembered as being the best didn't quite meet my expectations. Some  of the books I remembered as being the worst weren't as bad as I remembered. 
Case in point, two different Marco books: #40 "The Other" and #45 "The Revelation." #40 is the infamous bee book, and I was dreading re-reading this sledgehammer of a story about how ALL people are special, even ones who are different than us! Yeah, this book is still cringe-worthy in its shaky Marco and Ax characterizations, but overall it's not *that* terrible. There's Marco's terror when he meets Gafinilan and he thinks Tobias is dead and Ax is about to be shish-kebabed...but he still manages to play the cool chess master despite his fear. There's Marco being so determined to protect Jake that he'll skip school, put himself in danger, and even turn into a hive-mind animal to make sure Jake is safe. There's Rachel's admiration for Marco's bravery, and then the hilarity of her trying to direct him into the greenhouse while she's an eagle and he's a bee. There's Tobias's line at the end, which feels like a neat summation of who and what the Animorphs are: <Okay, I'm getting a complex over here. I'm a nothlit. A freak. Whatever. My best friend is an alien with blue fur. My girlfriend is human--when she isn't in morph. How about we don't talk about "normal" anymore. Or "average" or "natural." Please.>

On the flip side, it's a well-known fact that the 40s are collectively the weakest chunk of books in the series. The exception (or so I thought) was #45, when Marco saves both Eva and Peter, fakes his and his father's deaths, and decides to look out for his own emotional needs for once instead of putting the needs of the team/humanity above his personal feelings. This book also signifies the beginning of the end: the Animorphs know they have very little time before the Yeerks figure out who they are. So I was excited to re-read this book, because I remembered it being really complex and well-written and a great Marco character study. The reality was...not so great.

 I mean, it's not terrible. And it's one of the best 40s books. But overall it was 'meh.' Mostly because after they rescue Peter, the book sort of floats along as it waits for enough time to pass that they can justify having the resources and knowledge to rescue Eva too. Also, the emotional payoff isn't really there. There's a few good moments, like Jake promising to have Marco's back, and Peter hugging Marco after Marco fills him in on the war, but it feels like there's a gaping hole where the reunion between Marco and Eva should be. It's been thoroughly established by this point that Eva's 'death' destroyed Marco's life, that saving his mother was his main motivation for fighting the Yeerks, and that having to set her up to die twice tears him apart emotionally.  Eva herself is first devastated because she has to leave her son behind, then horrified when she thinks he's a controller, then proud of him when she realizes how strong he's become and how he's willing to do anything to stop the Yeerks. They're two peas in a pod. We've seen them sacrifice so, so, so much for each other. And the most we get is Eva passing out in Marco's arms before cutting to Peter being a dick and asking his son to save his second wife too. Meh.

20. Yeah, Animorphs is most likely set in Southern California. But I don't care. I grew up in the Northeast, so when I read Animorphs it was set in the Northeast. And I think that's kind of the point.
Yes, based on the sun setting over the ocean the Animorphs must be on the West Coast. Yes, in #54 "The Beginning" it outright states that they brought Rachel's body "back" to California. Yes, for a variety of reasons that several people have cleverly noticed and listed, there's like a 99.9% chance that Animorphs is set in SoCal. You know what? I don't care. When I read my first Animorphs book, I was living in western Massachusetts. By the time I finished the series my family lived in Baltimore, Maryland. At some point, I vaguely decided that Animorphs was set somewhere in central Pennsylvania. Despite the fact that Pennsylvania has almost no shoreline to speak of. Despite the decided lack of deserts in Pennsylvania. The point was, the Animorphs didn't live where I lived, but they lived nearby. Applegate has said she chose to make Tobias a red-tailed hawk because they're indigenous to basically the whole continental US, so she wanted kids to be able to look up and see "Tobias" flying by. For years, my siblings and I would shriek and duck whenever we saw a black limo, because it was "Visser Three." Applegate deliberately chose locales and settings (zoos, malls, forests, black limos, hotels, construction sites) that are common pretty much across the US. She never gives us a definitive location until the last book, because she's aware that 3/4 of the fun of reading is imagining you're hanging out with the characters. Add in the chilling yet exciting thought that the Yeerks could be invading YOUR town, and it made for one hell of a reading experience. So yeah. My Animorphs will always be in central PA. Your Animorphs can be in SoCal. Or Boise, Idaho. Or Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Or wherever.

21. My favorite books are the ones with minimal plot that focus more on the dynamics of the team. 
Namely, #11 "The Forgotten," #25 "The Extreme," #27 "The Exposed," and Megamorphs 2: In the Time of the Dinosaurs. Another way of saying this would be: take the Animorphs away from home, force them to focus on their survival instead of fighting, thereby making them reflect on their group dynamic, and I'm happy as a clam. With the exception of "The Exposed," in all the books I mentioned above the Problem of the Week takes a backseat as the Animorphs just focus on surviving in an extreme (ha! see what I did there?) environment. Even in "The Exposed" the main tension comes from the horror of traversing a landscape where demorphing means instant death. Yeah, the Chees' potential exposure is a big problem, but the emotional weight rests on Rachel, the ultimate 'just do it' girl, being put in a position where she (and her friends) is/are unable to fight.

The reason I love these books is we get some great moments of the Animorphs reflecting on themselves as a team and as teammates. There's Jake leaving Ax behind in "The Forgotten" and Tobias being the only one willing to call him out on it, and in the same book Jake professing to be 'terrified' because Rachel, the strongest person he knows, is scared. There's also the great moment in the book's opening of Rachel playing sarcastic matchmaker for Jake and Cassie, a rare moment that has nothing to do with the Yeerks and everything to do with them being friends/family.

Then in #25 there's Marco calling out Rachel and Tobias's relationship and then feeling bad about it. There's Marco, Rachel, Jake, and Cassie huddled together as wolves which Marco calls a "strange and kind of wonderful experience," and also does a great job of highlighting the fact that they're the Core Four and, in some small, subtle way, Tobias and Ax will always be outsiders. Finally there's Marco wanting to hide the sight of the dead mommy seal from her babies, and Cassie's blunt statement that the babies won't survive without their mom. Also the mental image of the Animorphs all traveling together for several days back to the US. They might not say it much, but they love each other. And they're a family. It is small, and broken. But it is good. Yeah, still good : )

22. I don't mind the Helmacrons. 
Or maybe a better way of saying it is I really enjoy some of the moments that come about because of their presence in the Animorphs' lives, and so I'm willing to forgive the nuttiness and unfortunate women-in-leadership-roles jokes. There's Rachel taking on the Helmacrons with a baseball bat, there's Marco's idea of 'groveling,' there's Visser Three's reluctance to fight the Animorphs because it's such a ridiculous set-up. There are also a few touching moments--Jake freaking out because Cassie and Marco just disappeared into thin air, Rachel feeling really guilty about accidentally infecting Marco with Helmacrons, and of course the other five Animorphs gathered around cockroach!Marco basically begging him to not be dead. Here's a hypothetical question for Jake Berenson: which is more humiliating, a battle involving instant maple-ginger oatmeal, or a battle standing in pools of your best friend's snot? It's really a toss-up.

23. Rachel is Cassie and Jake's super sarcastic and snarky Yente. 
One of my favorite moments is in #29 "The Sickness" when Rachel both invites Cassie to the school dance on Jake's behalf AND accepts Jake's invitation on Cassie's behalf. My headcanon is that Rachel shut down anyone at their school who wanted to date Jake. And Jake being Jake and Cassie being Cassie, they were probably totally oblivious.

Jake: Rachel, why did Susie Jenkins just run away crying?

Rachel: I have no idea. *turns around and makes a throat-slitting motion at Susie that causes her, four other girls, and two guys to run in the other direction*

Jake: Oh. Okay, then.

There's also Rachel making fun of Jake while square-dancing and nearly making him drop dead of embarrassment when she points out Cassie's arrival. And of course Rachel standing behind Jake and making funny faces while he's trying to compliment Cassie's bathing suit. She mocks because she cares, guys.

24. Apparently Marco learned to swim at some point between books 4 and 15? 
That's all I got. Just a really weird continuity error of sorts. It stands out because they made such a big deal about Marco *not* being able to swim in book 4 that it's weird how casual he is about swimming in book 15. Ah well. No one's perfect. JK Rowling had lemon bushes.

25. I've always been and always will be more of a fantasy fan than a scifi fan, which is why I enjoy books like #36 The Mutation and Megamorphs 2 and 3.  
We could argue endlessly about the definition of Science Fiction vs the definition of Fantasy, but for my purposes, what I enjoy about fantasy is the made-up cultures/places/people and the moral dilemmas characters are thrown in as they try to find the line between good and evil. What I don't enjoy about science fiction is overly technical explanations for everything, the need to apply logic to all technology/phenomena, and all the doom-saying about how humanity has destroyed the world.

Therefore, I actually like #36, in spite of Jake dropping the Idiot Ball several times. I LOVE the idea of an underwater graveyard full of ships from every time and place and people. I love the idea of a city built from the pieces of shipwrecks. And I love the coldness with which the Nartec regard humanity. They need a resource, and they have to kill humans to get it. So be it. Similarly, I love the Animorphs running around with dinosaurs and playing Forrest Gump with all the major global conflicts. In all of these cases, we don't get a ton of explanation for how they end up in these crazy places, or how these places came to be. Sure, there's a basic explanation--Sario Rip, radiation, Time Matrix--but it's never given a drawn-out explanation. Instead, we're focused on the cultural conflicts. And that's pretty dang fantasy. Me likey.

26. Similarly, I don't tend to enjoy the sci-fi heavy books like #10 The Android, #28 The Experiment, or #34 The Prophecy. 
One of the reasons I'm not so fond of sci-fi is that either it's too easy to poke holes in the Phlebotinum Science, or the author goes to such great lengths to explain the Phlebotinum Science that my eyes start to glaze over. Now, to be fair to Applegate, she usually keeps the explanations short (Ax wasn't paying attention in school that day!) but that also makes it easier to see the holes in the cloth. How the heck can one random crystal be a processor powerful enough to rewrite all of the Chees' programming? Don't the Yeerks notice the missing Yeerks the Chee have swimming around in their brains? Or, if those Yeerks are allowed back into the Yeerk Pool, don't they tell their fellow Yeerks about the Chee? When Erek claims the Pemalites had "forgotten" about war and violence, Marco says it best: "That answer frustrated me. It made no sense." Thing is, he's right, but the books never even come close to offering an answer to his question.

And as for #28...the idea that a drug could get rid of free will is patently ridiculous. Yes, there are drugs that could render someone essentially comatose, or severely disrupt their brain functions, but that's affecting them on an anatomical level, not taking away their free freaking will. I think the moment at the end when Cassie makes her little speech is supposed to be empowering, but it comes off as silly. Wouldn't the Yeerk scientists be able to make use of existing psychiatric medications, if Visser Three was that desperate to make the humans easier to control? Will it work if a human eats one hamburger, or would the Yeerks have to find a way to make sure every host ate a hamburger every single day? Hey, maybe that would at least take care of the whole atmosphere-being-destroyed-by-cow-farts problem.

27. On a subconscious level, Jake has accepted that he probably can't save Tom as early as #4.
It's one line, one blink-and-you'll miss it line. When the Animorphs first meet Ax, they tell him about Elfangor's death. When Ax reveals that Elfangor was his brother, Jake says, "I've lost a brother too." Now, he adds that his brother is a Controller, but it's interesting that Jake immediately compares himself to Ax upon finding out that Ax's older brother is dead. (Or finding out that the guy he already knew was dead is the brother of the guy he just met and that guy just found out his brother is dead so...you know what I mean.) Sol has talked many, many times about how Jake's refusal to secure his own oxygen mask is one of his biggest weaknesses and one of the things that dooms Tom. Another weakness, as displayed here, is Jake's sense of fatalism. Jake assumes he has no control over the universe, which is why he struggles so hard to exert as much control as possible. Unlike the others, Jake never really has thoughts like, 'when the war is over, I can't wait for x.' From the moment he sees his brother screaming in a cage in the first book, Jake realizes just how hopeless this is. And though he'll try his best to disturb the universe, he also assumes that he and everyone he loves are already doomed. In a way, he's right.

28. There are a lot of brilliant parallels between the Yeerk-Human War and the American Civil War, which is why it's such a shame that the one book (#47) which actually features the Civil War is a steaming pile o' poop. 
There's the brother-fighting-brother trope (and by the last few books, it's not just a metaphor--it's literal.) There's the fact that both sides have home field advantage.* Although it's more complicated than one issue, one of the driving forces behind the war is an attempt to secure freedom for thousands of people. Both sides are fighting to keep what they perceive as the status quo, and are angry at their opponent for infringing on their cultural autonomy. The focus of the war is on causing as much property and financial damage as possible.

And then freaking book #47 equates escaped African-American slaves with free Hork-Bajir. Now, this would be problematic from the outset because in this comparison, the slave stand-ins aren't even human. But it's much, much worse because it's well established that the Hork-Bajir are significantly less intelligent than humans. The message of the book seems to be that you shouldn't patronize people just because they're less advantaged than you, but there's a HUGE difference between people being less advantaged than you because they've had their culture obliterated and have been enslaved for generations and people being less advantaged than you because they are a whole different species who aren't capable of the same higher-level thinking as your species. Intentionally or not, this book implies that the escaped slaves are far less intelligent than the Union soldiers. And that's just awful.

*Yeah, the Yeerks aren't native to Earth, but they have the benefit of their hosts' knowledge.

29. Also, on a (somewhat) lighter note, are we really supposed to believe that Isaiah Fitzhenry was writing in his journal as he lay dying on a battle field, AND that the journal somehow survived the war and made it back to his family? 

Every time I read that final journal entry, all I can think of is this scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. 

30. Marco and Eva survive the war because, unlike the Berensons, they recognize that there are some fights you can't win. 
Not surprisingly for such a brilliant author as K.A Applegate, the first book in the series heavily foreshadows the last book in the series. In the construction site, Jake and Rachel purposely draw the Hork Bajirs' attention so that their friends can escape, even though a. the others might have been fine if they'd just stayed quiet, and b. doing so greatly increased the risk Jake and Rachel would die or be infested. In the same book, Tom turns around and attacks Visser Three instead of running for safety, even though as Jake points out, Tom has exactly zero chance of doing more than mildly annoying the Visser. It shouldn't come as a shock, then, that two of the three Berenson cousins we meet in the first book end up dead in the final book: this is a family of people who are "recklessly brave," who act on their emotions and run into danger, especially if it means they have a chance to save someone they care about.

Now contrast that with Marco and Eva. Marco is of course the one who expresses the most reluctance about becoming an Animorph. He raises the very good point that they are outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered, and outplanned. Rachel, Jake, Tobias, and Cassie all want to fight because it's "the right thing to do." Marco's the only one with enough objective, cool-headed thinking to ask if it being the right thing to do makes it the smart thing to do. Then in #5, when Marco finds out that not only is his mom a controller, but also she's freaking alive, he's levelheaded enough to hide his reaction. Unlike Jake with Tom, Marco never maintains the illusion that he can save his mom from the Yeerks...which is why he saves his mom from the Yeerks. Twice Marco sets her up to die, because it's what makes sense and he knows it's what his mom would want. The most heartbreaking scene in the series for me will always be Eva begging Marco to reinfest her, and saying she's proud of Marco when he agrees to do it. Because Eva and Marco focus on winning the war instead of winning each battle, they recognize that one or both of them may not make it out alive. And because they accept their own mortality, they're not distracted by it or blinded by it in the same way as the Berensons. Jake, Rachel, and (from what we see of him) Tom go into every fight determined to win. Marco and Eva go into every fight calculating how the various outcomes might affect the overall campaign. And that's why they survive.

31. Elfangor would be proud of his little brother because Ax stopped trying to make his big brother proud. 
For much of the series, Ax lives by a simple rule: WWED? His admiration and love for his brother is so great that he agrees to take the blame for giving humans the power to morph in order to protect his brother's reputation, and his inability to avenge Elfangor's murder is an albatross around his neck for the whole series. Yet what would make Elfangor proudest isn't Ax's prowess in battle or his adherence to Andalite law and tradition even though he's billions of miles from home, it's Ax's gradual realization that he can think and act for himself. The things Elfangor loved most about humans aretheir ability to quickly adapt to any situation, their individualism, and their sense of fun--three things that are sorely lacking in the Andalite culture. The most important lesson Ax learns from his friends (and, indirectly, Elfangor,) is that a good soldier and a good citizen doesn't blindly obey, he actively engages with and challenges his society, thus ensuring that those in power live up to the same rules and standards to which their hold their citizens and inferiors. Ax never stops being torn between his Andalite identity and his Animorph identity, but by the end of the series he stops feeling guilty for asking questions. I think Elfangor would be proud of his li'l bro.