In honor of the approaching Pride Month, we spoke over email with six authors whose forthcoming novels for children and teens center LGBTQ characters. Several of these middle grade and YA novels feature overlapping marginalized identities, illuminating the intricacies of the queer experience.
Dean Atta
What spurred you to write this book? Is there a personal story behind it?
This book began with a single poem I wrote about a sighting of a black flamingo in Cyprus, which is where my mother’s family is from. I felt a strong connection to the black flamingo and felt it spoke to my childhood experiences of feeling like I didn’t fit in. I felt compelled to write this novel in verse about a boy facing similar challenges as I faced growing up, such as not having his father around, figuring out his mixed-race identity, and coming out as gay. As well as all of that, I really wanted to write about drag and I thought The Black Flamingo would be a great name for a drag alter ego, so I decided to write a coming-of-age story combined with a drag origin story.
What role does sexuality play in the story?
Michael’s coming out story gets one chapter in the book, and he does have crushes on several guys throughout the story, but this isn’t a love story. This book is mostly about Michael learning to love himself. This life lesson isn’t exclusive to LGBTQ+ people; it’s something that many teenagers—and adults, alike—might struggle with at some point.
Do you remember the first book you saw yourself in as a young reader?
I felt like I saw something of myself in the poetry of Maya Angelou, even though I’m a Black British man and not an African American woman. There was just something in the way she wrote about self-belief and self-empowerment that spoke to me deeply. Reading or listening to her poems “Still I Rise” and “Phenomenal Woman” always makes me lift my head higher and stand a little taller.
How do you think LGBTQ representation has improved or expanded in recent years?
I think movies like Moonlight and series like Pose have been great for diversifying LGBTQ+ representation on screen by centering black LGBTQ+ characters. I think the continued success of Ru Paul’s Drag Race has brought a lot of mainstream attention to drag—which has been particularly good for my book—but drag is just one element of LGBTQ+ culture. There has been a marked improvement in the number of LGBTQ+ books being published in recent years, but there could always be more. It would be good to see many more LGBTQ+ movies, series, and books that are not just about coming out, in which we can see LGBTQ+ characters having other adventures and dramas that are not necessarily about their sexuality. This is certainly something I will keep in mind for my next book.
The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta. HarperCollins/Balzer + Bray, $18.99 May 26 ISBN 978-0-06-299029-7
Kacen Callender
What spurred you to write this book? Is there a personal story behind it?
Even though as a kid I often wanted to be a boy, and wished that I could reincarnate as a boy in my next life, I never really knew it was an option, or understood the terms “transgender” and “nonbinary.” It wasn’t until I was watching Degrassi: The Next Generation that the character Adam explained his identity in a way that made a major lightbulb go off in my head. I began to question my gender identity, and a year or so later, I began my social and physical transition.
There’re a lot of reasons I wanted to write this book: I hope that Felix Ever After can help any reader of any age explore their gender identities and do what Adam did for me, but I also wanted to make a character who already knows that he is trans, but begins to question his identity again, as can be so normal for many queer and trans people. I wanted to see a fun, romantic story that features a trans protagonist, that isn’t only about coming out and his gender identity, but shows a multitude of aspects about his life: love, friendship, heartbreak, and everyday teen issues, like worrying about college. I wanted to write a character with multiple layers of intersections, like me: Black, queer, and trans, and what it means to exist in a world that can so often make me feel like I’m too marginalized to matter. But, most of all, I wanted to communicate that I, and other Black and brown, queer, and trans people like Felix, are worthy of love, from others and most importantly from ourselves.
What role does sexuality play in the story?
One of my favorite things about being queer is my queer community. Every single one of my friends identifies as queer, and I love portraying that in my novels also. Sometimes heterosexual readers will claim that it’s unrealistic to see so many queer characters in one story, but this is my realistic experience—in fact, it feels unrealistic to me to see only one queer character in a story surrounded by straight friends. This is how the role of sexuality in the story plays out: it reflects a realistic queer community that I want to see more of in media, in loving and happy and supportive ways.
Do you remember the first book you saw yourself in as a young reader?
I used to say that I felt I saw myself in young Black characters from different books—but now that I look [back] on those moments, I realize I’ve never seen myself fully. Even as a child, I didn’t understand what nonbinary meant, but I always loved whenever someone wasn’t sure about my gender. I’ve never seen characters struggle with the boxes of gender they’ve been forced into. So, to be honest, Felix Ever After is the first time I’ve ever seen myself fully: as a Black person, as a queer person, and as a trans person.
How do you think LGBTQ representation has improved or expanded in recent years?
I love the explosion of queer stories in recent years, but there’s still so much work to be done. I’ve been dismayed by the indifference I’ve seen towards Black people and characters with dark skin in particular. I try to remain optimistic, but it can be difficult to see books featuring white or white-passing characters upheld while there isn’t as much excitement for Black stories, in the same way that it can be depressing and angering to feel that people dismiss me because I’m Black in everyday life. This is the sort of racism that’s a little more difficult to call out: no one is outright saying that they aren’t interested in me or my stories or my fellow Black authors because of our skin color, so it’s difficult to prove, and easy to dismiss as untrue. But Black, queer stories face the same struggle with “invisible racism” that Black people always have in queer communities where there’s white and white-passing overrepresentation, in the same way Black people have to deal with cold shoulders when we walk into a queer bar filled with white people, or struggle with a history of racism on online dating apps where people will say “whites only, no offense, it’s just a preference.”
We simultaneously struggle with acceptance from the Black community, which has its own particular history of queerphobia because of toxic masculinity in the community. As an author, this often means struggling to break out and feel seen, even with multiple starred reviews and awards; and as Felix says, it’s a constant struggle to feel accepted because he’s “one marginalization too many.” I hope that Felix Ever After and other stories featuring Black, queer characters will continue to break down the walls of “invisible racism” and indifference so that our beautiful stories receive the same amount of love and respect as our counterparts—and I hope to see many more stories featuring Black, queer, and trans and nonbinary characters in the future.
Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender. HarperCollins/Balzer + Bray, $18.99 May 5 ISBN 978-0-06-282025-9
Jennifer Dugan
What spurred you to write this book? Is there a personal story behind it?
When I sat down to write Verona Comics, I knew I wanted to feature two bi/pan kids in a relationship, particularly one who could appear heteronormative to outsiders. As a queer woman married to a man, I know firsthand the stigma and loss of community that can accompany a bi person entering a relationship with someone of a different gender. Unfortunately, biphobia is something that runs rampant not just in the world at large, but also within queer spaces. It was important to me to show bi/pan teens that it’s okay! You are still valid, and your sexuality is not defined by the person you are dating at any particular moment in time. That was something I desperately needed to hear when I was growing up.
What role does sexuality play in the story?
Ridley and Jubilee’s sexualities play multiple roles in the story. For Ridley, it is a source of tension between him and certain members of his family, but it’s not something he’s ashamed of or keeps quiet. He’s comfortable calling himself bi, but he’s worried about it being “too much” for some people. His past experiences, along with his family’s reactions, have had a major impact on the way he approaches relationships.
Jubilee, on the other hand, wrestles with her identity in the way many people who are attracted to multiple genders do. When she falls for a boy, she struggles with the idea of being “queer enough” and where she fits. Despite having supportive friends and family, she still needs to unpack her own feelings about her sexuality. So, unlike Ridley, it’s not a matter of being “too much,” it’s a fear of being “not enough.”
It was important to me to explore the full range of emotions that can go along with being bi/pan and in love—and to show readers that whatever they’re feeling, it’s valid!
Do you remember the first book you saw yourself in as a young reader?
To be honest, I don’t know that I ever truly saw myself when I was a young reader. As a result, I became adept at inserting myself into whatever rep I was given or could imagine for myself. I could pretend I was Jessica Wakefield’s love interest in Sweet Valley High or imagine myself as one of the side characters in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, or whatever other book I could get my hands on. The closest I got to seeing myself in a story as a teen was when I could sneak away and read obscure fanfiction—and even there the queer relationships represented were almost always between two men.
How do you think LGBTQ representation has improved or expanded in recent years?
I’m very excited about the strides we’ve made in queer rep, particularly in the YA community. Just this year, I’ve read several incredible books that put queer girls front and center, like The Falling in Love Montage by Ciara Smyth and The Henna Wars by Adiba Jaigirdar. While there is certainly more work to be done on this front, particularly when it comes to the acquisition and marketing of queer books by and about POC, I’m proud of the effort the industry is making.
However, in my experience, the majority of the mainstream queer rep we get in other forms of media is still between two white men, and even then much of it remains subtext so the showrunners can have plausible deniability—or worse, we’re promised queer characters only to realize on release it’s a “blink and you miss it” scene that can (and will) be cut for international distribution. I would love to see a stronger push for diversity in storytelling throughout all media, and I would love to see these stories get the attention they deserve when it comes to marketing.
Verona Comics by Jennifer Dugan. Putnam, $17.99 Apr. 21 ISBN 978-0-525-51628-6
Katie Heaney
What spurred you to write this book? Is there a personal story behind it?
Part of the reason I wanted to write this book is because I wasn’t out in high school, and didn’t know anyone who was out in high school, and I wanted to imagine what it might have been like for out queer students to be a regular part of high school life. And Quinn, my main out-and-proud character, is inspired by my wife, Lydia, who came out when she was 14, and who inspires a lot that you’ll learn about Quinn: her talent for soccer, her competitive spirit, her love of Lord of the Rings, and some elements of Quinn’s relationship with Jamie, her first girlfriend.
What role does sexuality play in the story?
A huge one! I wanted my characters to be already out and comfortable in their identities, but I also wanted them to be teenagers who still have a lot to learn about themselves and others. These are girls who seek out queer community, like the Triple Moon coffee shop, because even though they are out and well-liked at school, they still, of course, live in a heteronormative world, and they still feel othered at times.
Do you remember the first book you saw yourself in as a young reader?
Probably Harriet the Spy—a girl who was a big reader, writer, and incredibly nosy.
How do you think LGBTQ representation has improved or expanded in recent years?
There is always more room for more (and diverse) queer stories. I think for a long time, queer audiences felt indebted to the few queer cultural products available at any given time— more recently, it’s started to feel like there are enough queer movies and shows and books that we can feel free to dislike some, too. It’s not just The L Word anymore. I’m sort of paraphrasing a joke my gay friends and I make—that true equality looks like having so much representation to choose from that some of it is free to suck—but I think it’s true, too. It shouldn’t feel like a token, but a real reflection of the world we live in.
Girl Crushed by Katie Heaney. Knopf, $18.99 Apr. 7 ISBN 978-1-984897-34-3
George M. Johnson
What spurred you to write this book? Is there a personal story behind it?
Toni Morrison said if there is a book you want to read and it hasn’t been written yet, you must write it. This book is the book I always wanted to read and the story that I know so many youth and adults need to have out there. This book is so much bigger than me, though. It is a love letter and an ode to Black people, specifically my Black family who operated from a space of unconditional love for a boy that was queer. I had gotten to the point where 800-word essays weren’t enough to capture the full weight of my storytelling. I knew that there needed to be a body of work connecting the dots of how I became the magical non-binary unicorn I am today. The story tells the journey. The ups and the downs. But the story isn’t one of tragedy, but one of hope and resilience. Most importantly, this story is part of my grandmother’s legacy now. She passed in December and is a large part of the book and the who and what I have become in my life. She will now live on forever, and the world will get introduced to the most wonderful person I’ve come across in my life.
What role does sexuality play in the story?
Sexuality as well as gender play a huge role in my story. From the age of two, my family knew I was queer. At the age of five, I knew that I was “different” because I didn’t have the language yet to know what was going on. I had this very effeminate nature growing up. I had an attraction to “woman” and “girly” things. When puberty hit, I knew I was attracted to boys. Although, in my head I imagined that I was a girl many times because that was the only way I could reconcile my attraction to boys. As I got older, I became more comfortable with the notion that I would be male presenting and have an attraction to boys.
Sexuality in my story is presented both with consent and without consent. I thought it was important to discuss molestation, a sexual assault I had in a bathroom when I was 15, as well as the first time I topped and I bottomed. I wanted to give a full picture of my sexual history and how it shaped me in many ways until I had the agency to make the decision to consent to sex.
Do you remember the first book you saw yourself in as a young reader?
No, LOL. I honestly never saw myself in a book before. I wasn’t some gay sidekick to a main character. I think growing up in the ’90s, there wasn’t much literature for us at that age. Going to a Catholic school, things like that simply weren’t discussed. All the books we read had no characters like that. I think that’s partly why I’m trying to push this story for younger readers. Kids like me exist in every school system. There has to be space to hear our story. The same way we read about heterosexual characters, we should be reading about queer characters. We all exist together in real life. If art imitates life, then we should exist just as much on the pages of the books we read.
How do you think LGBTQ representation has improved or expanded in recent years?
Visibility and representation have expanded in myriad ways. You have actual books with queer characters being read by children. You have movies and TV shows with queer characters, too. Every year it seems that we are expanding with the amount of stories about us, as well as us being the lead for a change. There are even cartoons with known queer characters. Growing up, that just didn’t really exist. I remember the one Black gay on Spin City, Will and Grace, and a few other shows on premium networks. Now you have queer creatives on YouTube and multiple networks and in books, and we have the ability to show up in more spaces.
The work that remains is we still need more. I still haven’t seen my life depicted in media. I’m hoping to change that. There are still so many stories that have not been told from our community. The other issue is the visibility and representation are still not translating well in the community. We are still facing violence at alarming rates, still having to fight for civil rights as things are being taken away from us. So there is still much work to be done as visibility and representation are our starting point, not where we finish.
All Boys Aren’t Blue: A Memoir-Manifesto by George M. Johnson. FSG, $17.99 Apr. 28 ISBN 978-0-374-31271-8
Nicole Melleby
What spurred you to write this book? Is there a personal story behind it?
I keep referring to In the Role of Brie Hutchens… as a middle grade Love, Simon meets Lady Bird. I actually walked out of the theater after seeing Lady Bird and said, “I want to write about a coming-of-age queer middle grade story based on my experience in Catholic school.” Only, when I sat down to write that story, I realized that the experiences of Catholic school middle grade readers now are much different than when I was that age. In big part thanks to the internet (I always sound about a thousand years old when I say it like that), today’s middle graders have access to and an understanding of queer identities and vocabulary that I had no idea existed until I was in my 20s. I did a school visit with a GSA not long ago, and these two kids came up to me to ask, “What letter of LGBTQ+ are you?” I answered them, blushing and stumbling over my words, and with confidence I’ve never had, one of them proceeded to say, “Well, I’m bi, and she’s pan.” Meanwhile, when I was their age, I remember turning to a friend of mine and saying, “Do you ever just... really like the way another girl’s face looks??” I had no idea I was talking about attraction!
So, I had to find a way to tell the story I wanted to tell, but for today’s audience. Brie is exactly like I was: dramatic, confused, a little self-centered, questioning the idea of faith and religion. But Brie knows that she has feelings for girls and doesn’t really struggle with understanding what that means—just what to do about it, and how it’ll affect her already complicated relationship with her mom.
What role does sexuality play in the story?
Throughout the story, Brie comes out again, and again, and again (and again...) to a variety of responses. If I was going to tell a coming out story, I wanted to show that “coming out” isn't one moment. It’s a lifetime of moments. And it sucks! It’s frustrating for Brie as much as it is freeing. But I wanted to balance the bad reactions with the good ones. I wanted to show that, despite the struggle and the pain, there is good, there is hope. The soap opera scene that Brie consistently goes back to, the one where the character Bianca comes out to her mom, Erica Kane, is this sweet, heartbreaking scene where Bianca begs her mom to see her. “Can’t you see who I am? I want you to see who I am.” That’s exactly what Brie wants throughout her whole process, too. She wants to be seen; she wants her mom to see her.
I also wanted to give Brie a boy-crazy best friend—because some eighth grade girls are, and there’s nothing wrong with that!—so that I could have Brie encounter those awkward moments and feelings and conversations I was used to having. Those ones where a friend says, “Which guy are you crushing on?” and you have to decide, “Am I going to lie?”
Do you remember the first book you saw yourself in as a young reader?
This is always a difficult question to answer. It’s funny, because when I really think about it, I come back to two book characters who I related to really strongly as a young reader: Jo, from Little Women, and Harriet, from Harriet the Spy. Both characters who can be (and often are) read as queer, regardless of the fact that it’s not explicit anywhere in the text. It wasn’t until I was in grad school that I read a book with an actual, on the page, queer teen. It was Lies We Tell Ourselves by Robin Talley, and it changed the course of my goals for grad school. Instead of just focusing on children’s lit, I started finding it in me to be brave and write queer children’s lit.
How do you think LGBTQ representation has improved or expanded in recent years?
When I was in grad school, deciding that I wanted to write and study queer children’s books, I was able to buy every single queer YA book that was released in the course of the year. I can’t do that now—or, well, I can, but I’d be spending a ton of money, and probably still missing some. It’s growing—more authors are writing them; more publishers are publishing them. That’s, of course, thanks to the writers who had been doing it from the start. They paved the way to make room for the rest of us, and that path is growing wider and wider.
A lot of work still remains to be done. We’re just starting to break more ground on children’s lit books about gender, we’re just starting to see more middle grade titles that aren’t just about coming out, more genre fiction with queer characters. There’s also an abundance of white characters and stories, but still not a lot of books that have intersectionality. Dahlia Adler’s website, LGBTQ Reads, has great lists of all the books within age brackets and genres, and within those lists it notes whether the books have queer characters of color (written by queer authors of color). And it’s a small number of books, comparatively. Kacen Callender’s King and the Dragonflies is a great middle grade book about intersectionality, and Mariama Lockington’s next book is about queer black girls, but if we’re going to try and have books that act as mirrors for all readers, we need to make room for that to happen.
In the Role of Brie Hutchens… by Nicole Melleby. Algonquin, $16.95 June 30 ISBN 978-1-61620-907-0
For more of our LGBTQ children’s book coverage, click here.
