In honor of Pride Month, we asked the creators of five YA books about centering queer youth in their stories, visibility in literature, and their hopes for the future of LGBTQ+ children’s books.
Emery Lee
What inspired you to center queer youth in your book?
I think the café rom-com trope is one we see all the time and even across cultures, but they'’re almost always straight. It was wild to me that a trope I see talked about all the time is so rarely explored with queer kids, so I wanted to bring them to the forefront.
How did you approach representing the spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities and experiences through your characters and story?
I didn’t, and I think that’s a pretty impossible thing to do unless you have an infinitely large cast. There are so many identities under the umbrella—there is a “plus” there for a reason—and even more experiences that exist under each identity. I never set out to represent the full spectrum in a story because I know that’ll ultimately let readers and myself down. I wrote two distinct, gay experiences in Café Con Lychee, and that was all I ever set out to do with it.
When was the first time you felt seen as a queer person in literature?
This is a really hard question because I think marginalized people are taught to feel “seen” differently than non-marginalized people, and I think the more [intersectionally] marginalized you are, the more you learn to feel seen in minuscule ways. I’ve never read my queer experiences in a book, both the specific combination of identities that I have but also my experiences with things like coming out, exploring my gender, dating, etc. but I’ve learned to see myself in characters since I was a kid; they were just characters who didn’t look or act like me but had certain elements that I identified with. I think the first time I felt a character had begun to represent me a little more holistically was reading More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera.
What changes do you hope to see in LGBTQ+ representation in children’s and YA literature in the future?
I think what we get is still extremely limited. We're still very much confined to only telling the stories that cishet white abled people are open to imagining. I just really want us to get to a point where queer kids can say, “I wish there was a story that really conveyed this element of my life” and whatever it is, we could walk over to a shelf, pick one up, and say, “Here it is.”
Cafe Con Lychee by Emery Lee. Quill Tree, $17.99 May 10 ISBN 978-0-06-321027-1
Andrea Mosqueda
What inspired you to center queer youth in your book?
I wanted to center queer Latinx youth because of how little representation there is in publishing of Latinx people from the Rio Grande Valley, especially queer people. I was born and raised in the RGV, an area on the Texas-Mexico border that has a predominantly Latinx population. It’s not often represented in mainstream media, and with all the lies vultures like [Greg] Abbott and Elon Musk are spreading about the area, stories about life on the border that aren’t centered around pain and trauma are more important now than ever. I wanted to show people what the Valley was like in my experience: a resilient community centered on family and love. I wanted to write a book that my young queer self would have needed growing up as a bi Chicana in the Valley: a story to remind my community that happy endings aren’t just for straight white people.
How did you approach representing the spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities and experiences through your characters and story?
The feelings at the heart of Just Your Local Bisexual Disaster—feeling misunderstood, wanting love, longing to belong—are universal, but they impact LGBTQ+ youth of color a lot more because they are set against a backdrop of systemic oppression that is adding to that feeling of being excluded and not having your needs met. I wanted to put prose to the many facets of that experience, and having that thread to tie all the characters together made it easier to imagine how they’d react based on their own individual identity and experience. Knowing each character’s specific background and cultural identity is very important to me because my stories are very character-driven, so I want to make sure I’m honoring their experiences as best I can.
When was the first time you felt seen as a queer person in literature?
Truthfully? When I started reading fanfiction as a kid. Being in fandoms that not only accepted but celebrated queer relationships helped me [give] language to the feelings I was having and opened my mind up to a whole world of happy endings for people who loved like me.
What changes do you hope to see in LGBTQ+ representation in children’s and YA literature in the future?
I hope to see more diverse representation of queer experiences, but especially those of queer youth of color. I hope to see more trans MCs, more non-binary MCs, more queer MCs with disabilities. Above all, I want more queer narratives that aren’t centered around pain and trauma. I want a million more happy endings for queer characters of color.
Just Your Local Bisexual Disaster by Andrea Mosqueda. Feiwel and Friends, $18.99 May 24 ISBN 978-1-250-82205-5
Andrew Joseph White
What inspired you to center queer youth in your book?
I wanted Hell Followed with Us to be everything teenage me needed. I wanted it to be gruesome, furious, controversial, and, above all, show a world where queer youth are the heroes of their own story. I wanted to show a community of queer kids trapped in terrible circumstances by adults who ruined their lives—and the lengths they go to in order to protect themselves, each other, and the world. Growing up, that was the only kind of story that made sense to me, and I was never able to find it. That meant when it came time to write my own story, I knew that’s what I had to do. I had to put queer youth at the heart of it, because that’s what matters most.
How did you approach representing the spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities and experiences through your characters and story?
There are a lot of different kinds of characters in Hell Followed with Us—after all, it does focus on the surviving members of an LGBTQ+ youth center under siege by monsters and cultists. They’re a diverse bunch! If I showed just one tiny corner of the community, like the one I happen to embody, I’d practically be lying. But that meant doing a lot of research. It meant learning, watching my step, and knowing what experiences were or weren’t mine to talk about—and while I’m proud of my work, whether I did a good job isn’t for me to decide. My approach was simply to be upfront about others’ experiences while not claiming them or trying to speak on their behalf, and I hope all readers love these characters as much as I do.
When was the first time you felt seen as a queer person in literature?
When I read Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz in high school, it was the first time I’d ever seen queer boys in literature—but the problem was, at the time, I didn’t realize I was a boy. I adored the book in a weird, distant way, embarrassed by my attachment to gay boys when I still thought I was a girl. It wasn’t until I read Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas, after years of searching and self-reflection, that I finally found someone, anyone like me on the written page. I was desperate, bordering on starving, and I read the book through tears. I remember thinking, “The next generation won’t be so alone.” Honestly, it wasn’t so much a revelatory moment for me as a sigh of relief for my community. And look how far we’ve come!
What changes do you hope to see in LGBTQ+ representation in children’s and YA literature in the future?
I’m hoping more stories start veering away from “good representation”—as in, “we are a good example, we are role models; if anything bad happens to us we are picture-perfect victims, we are non-threatening and won’t make a mess.” We’ve had our respectable era. I want to see more queer teen characters with chipped teeth, scraped knees, and bruised knuckles. I want to see more queer teen characters who face down monsters, who become monsters in turn. I want to see more queer teen characters who reflect the reality that many real queer teens face right now: they’re angry and sharpening their teeth. The kids are ready. It’s just the adults who are scared.
Hell Followed with Us by Andrew Joseph White. Peachtree Teen, $18.99 June 7 ISBN 978-1-68263-324-3
Julian Winters
What inspired you to center queer youth in your book?
Growing up, almost every book assigned to me in school that featured a Black and/or queer character mainly focused on that character's trauma, suffering, and eventual death. It took so many years to change that narrative in my own head. That’s not what I want BIPOC queer readers to feel like when they pick up a book. Their existence is more than the painful moments. Being who they are doesn't equal tragedy. I want them to know love, growth, unquestionable joy. To know they never need the world’s permission to be the hero.
How did you approach representing the spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities and experiences through your characters and story?
Thoughtfulness first. I think about who’s often erased from these narratives, but I never add a character or experience to a novel just to check something off a list. Every character has a story. They deserve care and empathy. I engage with the communities around me. If you go to a grocery store or a Starbucks in almost any city, you’ll find a wide spectrum of identities. Our differences don’t negate that, as humans, we have similar needs and wants. I hope the representation in my books are reflective of that.
When was the first time you felt seen as a queer person in literature?
It was while reading Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz. I found this book later in life. Dante Quintana healed so many wounds I’d carried from my childhood. As a queer, Black boy, I was constantly told it was wrong to cry. To care too much. To wear my heart on my sleeve. To love another boy. But Dante was a queer, BIPOC boy who loved loudly and cried and felt a multitude of things. A boy who just wanted to exist without fear of losing everything. It was the first time I truly believed I could tell the stories I wanted to, unapologetically.
What changes do you hope to see in LGBTQ+ representation in children’s and YA literature in the future?
One of my missions as an author is to ensure that young readers never experience what I did as a kid: feeling as though I didn’t matter because I could rarely find myself in books. I hope to see more LGBTQ+ representation from a myriad of voices, new and established. We need to get away from the mindset of “we already have our one Insert Marginalized Identity.” No one author can tell every experience. We need more intersectionality. More voices from varied communities. More LGBTQ+ BIPOC stories. I hope publishing seeks out, encourages, and nourishes those voices so kids are overwhelmed with choices of what to read next. So they never feel like their existence doesn’t matter.
Right Where I Left You by Julian Winters. Viking, $18.99 Mar. 15 ISBN 978-0-593-20647-8
Ashley Woodfolk
What inspired you to center queer youth in your book?
I am always asked questions like this and the truth is, I’m pretty exhausted by having to continually explain that queer kids and Black kids and Black queer kids are people. Queer girls centered in stories is extremely rare, and Black queer girls being the stars of a novel are even rarer. But there shouldn’t be a lack of these stories being told. There shouldn’t be a need to be “inspired” to include a certain kind of human at the center of a novel because all kinds of people fall in love and make mistakes and get their hearts broken. I think a better question is, why have so many of the same story been told? Why are we only now getting a variety of stories about queer kids, kids of color, and queer kids of color? The answer to those questions, I think, make for a much more interesting and challenging conversation. But Nothing Burns as Bright as You is the story I desperately needed when I was younger—and it’s a story I still need now. As a bit of a late bloomer when it came to recognizing and acknowledging my sexuality, I think having access to stories about kids like me would have helped me come out sooner. That and learning to recognize but not internalize toxicity would have made so much of my life play out differently. I hope I can do that for some of the people who read my novel.
How did you approach representing the spectrum of LGBTQ+ identities and experiences through your characters and story?
I don’t hope to represent a spectrum of identities or experiences. I’m telling a very specific story about very specific characters and I don’t think they need to or should represent the complex network of experiences within the queer community. I wanted to tell a story about a pair of suburban Black queer girls with somewhat undefined identities who are still figuring out how love and life work. I think I succeeded.
When was the first time you felt seen as a queer person in literature?
Odd One Out by Nic Stone.
What changes do you hope to see in LGBTQ+ representation in children’s and YA literature in the future?
We just need more of everything. And I do feel hopeful we'll get it.
Nothing Burns as Bright as You by Ashley Woodfolk, HarperCollins/Versify, $18.99 April 5 ISBN 978-0-358-65535-0
For more articles highlighting creators of queer children’s literature, see our interviews with picture book authors and middle grade authors.
