In celebration of Pride Month, we spoke with seven authors of LGBTQ+ stories for young readers about highlighting joy in their books, their concerns about rising book bans, and how they hope to see queer children featured in publishing in the future.
Caroline Huntoon
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And what were the most challenging ones?
Being able to have a character explore their identity on the page with familial support was such a joy to write. In Skating on Mars, Mars is confident and sure. They don’t struggle to understand their own identity. What was hard was balancing that with some of the harsher realities of being LGBTQ+. I worked to give Mars a triumphant ending, but I don’t have any easy answers for what the future of their life in sports looks like. I’m hopeful, but I also know that the road is long and hard.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
We really are entering a golden age of LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature! I applaud every author who has come before me and worked to nurture the existence of queer kids in literature. It’s so important to see that queerness is moving beyond tokenization. I look forward to seeing that breadth of stories expanded, so more young people can see themselves and also so more young people—and adults!—can cultivate a deeper understanding of the experiences of those around them.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
With the way publishing works, we have little control over when our stories enter the world. It’s fascinating to see my own story about a trans athlete hitting shelves when books bans are on the rise and there is an alarming increase in anti-trans legislation in the U.S. I write stories that I hope remind people that LGBTQ+ kids are, in fact, kids—complicated, messy, lovely, funny kids who just want to follow their own dreams and passions.
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
Mars is a nonbinary figure skater, and while they often feel at odds with their own body in the book, when they are on the ice, they feel completely comfortable and at home. When they skate, the world makes sense to them. It was such a joy to write that kind of euphoria, especially connected to the way Mars relates to their own body.
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
Moving forward often means taking small, clumsy steps… and young people are capable of taking them.
Skating On Mars by Caroline Huntoon. Feiwel and Friends May $17.99; ISBN 978-1-250-85187-1
Luma Mufleh
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And what were the most challenging ones?
There was a freedom to writing my story down; it was liberating yet difficult at the same time. I had to relive experiences that I had tucked away in compartments. I think realizing how young and alone I was for such a long time during my teen years, I wanted to write the book that I wish I’d had access to as a kid, where I wouldn’t feel like I was the only one.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
We are seeing more visibility; it has evolved significantly. Publishers are seeing the growing importance of it. I think we still need stories that reflect the diversity of the LGBTQ+ community, especially those from different cultural backgrounds. And we need stories that go beyond our LGBTQ+ identity. This will help bring people in. My Muslim and Arab identity are central to who I am, and I wanted to make sure I brought that in—that I wrote about experiences that people could relate to even if they don’t identify like me. It’s humanizing the experience and finding our commonalities at the same time, highlighting the struggle and resilience and strength we have because of our experiences.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
It’s funny, but not really: when I was writing the book, I told my editor this book will get banned in Saudi Arabia and the Middle East. Now the reality is it will probably get banned in Florida, Texas, Tennessee, and more. It scares me to see the book bans. I was born in a country where everything was censored by the government. It’s a way to oppress and control people, and it’s as anti-American as it gets. With all the issues in our education system, we want to focus on book bans instead of actually teaching kids how to read?
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
I tell the story of reading about [tennis player] Martina Navratilova in Newsweek, her being an “open homosexual,” [and how] it hit me hard in my chest. That there were others like me. That I could live my life the way she did. It was a turning point for me. I was really struggling at that point. I had attempted suicide [and] I didn’t see a way out from my situation. I don’t think she will ever know that that article [about] her being out back in the ’90s saved me. Visibility is important and she did it at a time when no one else was out.
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
I hope young readers know that they are not alone, that families are complicated [and] that reconciliation is possible. I hope they also make choices to be good and kind to each other, to not be assholes to their friends, and to ultimately understand that life has ups and downs, and you don’t have to experience it alone.
From Here by Luma Mufleh. Penguin/Paulsen, May $18.99; ISBN 978-0-593-35445-2
Deya Muniz
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And what were the most challenging ones?
I do a lot of my work thinking of young Deya, what she would have liked and what she would’ve deserved. I’m usually not thinking, “I am writing a story for LGBTQ+ youth”—it just ends up that way because that’s who young Deya was, and that’s who she would’ve like to see out there. And it does make me happy to imagine how proud she would be of me. I remember writing essays for school about wanting to be a comic artist, and it’s wild to think that I’m doing it now.
The biggest challenge to me is precisely the awareness that LGBTQ+ youth will be the ones reading my stories, since I am yet to figure out time travel to gift my younger self this book. I feel some responsibility to deliver a good message and to make sure the readers come off the story feeling happy. As a former very dramatic, angsty and emo teenager I am well aware there’s enough to be sad about out there. I like keeping the stories I make soft and fluffy. Even when I’ve tried doing edgier stuff it ends up all fluffy.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
I’ve seen a huge increase in LGBTQ+ characters and stories and I think that’s fantastic! I really wish I had had access to stories like that when I was growing up. Only finding queer stuff hidden in weird corners of the internet reinforced the idea in my young impressionable head that queerness was something to hide and be ashamed of.
It’s really cool that kids now can see queer people represented in mainstream media. Hopefully the LGBTQ+ youth growing up right now have an easier time understanding and accepting themselves than I did! I’m kind of weird, so it’s hard to find characters that feel “like me,” and I spent too long trying to fit into roles I had no business trying to fit into.
Personally, I’d like to see more stuff that explores gender outside of just the idea of male and female. But without making it sound Gender and Sexuality 101, and without making it the whole point of the story/character. You know Jim from Our Flag Means Death? I like Jim.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
Honestly, considering the political climate and what I was going through in my personal life while pitching this story, I expected more pushback against how gay this book is. Thankfully everyone I pitched and who helped bring this book to fruition was super nice and many were queer as well!
The overall climate around queer people has gotten worse since then, especially when it comes to trans people and trans youth, and it’s heartbreaking to see. It makes me wish I had gotten further into Camembert’s relationship to gender in this story, but I was still so confused about my own gender when writing it; I couldn’t really put it down on the page yet. I just want people to know it’s okay to question their gender and explore different forms of expression! Fight what you can and make the most out of what’s available to you!
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich is a story where a character ends up in a tight and unfortunate situation because of stupid discriminatory laws and, despite it all, she does manage to find love and joy in being herself! I think the book ends in a big moment of queer joy, so I’d like anyone going through anything similar right now to get some hope out of it.
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
If this book can bring any warm fuzzy feelings to them, even just one little laugh, that would make me very happy! Especially for those who are struggling and surrounded by people who don’t accept or understand you. As I said before, I want this book to give you some hope. There’s a life out there for you, one where you can be yourself and be with people who love you just the way you are. The road there might be bumpy, and I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but you’ll get there. I did, and so can you.
The Princess and the Grilled Cheese Sandwich by Deya Muniz. Little, Brown Ink, May $17.99 ISBN 978-0-316-53872-5
Lesléa Newman
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And were the most challenging ones?
For me it is always joyful to play with language, especially verse. Finding just the right word is what I live for. For example, towards the end of the book, there is a verse that reads, “They rode in an enchanted coach until they reached the sea/then built a castle in the sand that rang with gaiety.” To me, in this instance, “gaiety” means lighthearted, and it also implies that the castle is a place where gay people are embraced. The most challenging aspect of the book was figuring out Annabelle’s character. She loves her friend Benjamin and supports him. At the same time, she also wants a turn to play the roles that he desires most. I wrote many drafts until I was able to pin down Annabelle’s emotional arc.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
Things have certainly changed since 1989 when my book Heather Has Two Mommies was published! No publisher would touch that book back then (my friend Tzivia Gover and I co-published Heather under the auspices of her desktop publishing business, In Other Words, with a lot of community support). Now publishers large and small are putting out books with two-mom and two-dad families. I’d like to see more books that feature nonbinary and trans characters and BIPOC characters who are front and center stage.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
I have been writing books about LGBTQ+ families for decades, so in a way this is nothing new. And in a way it is very new because the attacks on these books have grown more vicious. Banning books from schools and libraries on a state-wide level is very frightening. Legislating hate is truly terrifying. And who suffers most? The children who are receiving the message that something is wrong with their families and their friends’ families and that it isn’t safe for them or for people they love to be their authentic selves. Every time I read about another attempt to silence our voices, my resolve to keep writing and publishing LGBTQ+ children’s literature grows stronger. It is my way to make the world a safer place for everyone.
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
The moment comes after Annabelle, who is playing Prince to Benjamin’s Princess, expresses her dismay; she wants to have her turn as Princess but Benjamin doesn’t want to give up his crown. In a moment of inspiration, Benjamin suggests that they both be princesses (“Two princesses means twice the fun”) and the joyful look on both children’s faces—thanks to my magnificent illustrator Joshua Heinsz—says it all.
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
I hope the message that comes through loud and clear is be yourself! It’s great to be gender-nonconforming and it’s great to be gender-conforming. There are no rules. Embrace who you are and live with joy. And extend that acceptance and celebration to everyone around you.
The Fairest in the Land by Lesléa Newman, illus. by Joshua Heinsz. Abrams, May $17.99; ISBN 978-1-4197-5709-9.
Melissa See
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And were the most challenging ones?
Writing Love Letters for Joy was a joy in itself. And perhaps the most joyous aspect was seeing the intersectionality of disability and queerness on the page. Getting to write this story of two queer, disabled teenagers falling in love with one another, for exactly who they are, was a wonderful exploration and declaration of identity.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
When I was growing up and beginning to read young adult books, I first saw LGBTQ+ representation in titles like Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan. The Realm of Possibility is one of my favorite books of all time.
Over the years, I’ve seen LGBTQ+ representation expand to include more diverse voices as well, which is of paramount importance. As for what I would like to see more of, I would love to see more books featuring queer, disabled characters.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
As someone who has studied banned books, in addition to now being an author writing during this time, it’s been difficult. I’m fearful for the children who need LGBTQ+ literature to know that they are not alone in their lived experience. I’m seeing wonderful, necessary, important books being banned or challenged, and it breaks my heart. Because what these adults engaging in this virulent crusade are refusing to see is that queer children need LGBTQ+ literature to thrive. They deserve—and need—to see themselves reflected in the pages of these books. And by participating in book bans targeting queer children’s literature, these adults are taking that opportunity away.
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
One particular moment of queer joy in Love Letters for Joy is at the very end, during the graduation. That’s all I’ll say here!
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
I hope that young readers—especially queer, disabled readers—will know that they are not alone, that they are valid, and that they are loved, exactly as they are.
Love Letters for Joy by Melissa See. Scholastic Press, June 6 $18.99; ISBN 978-1-338-87541-6
Jen St. Jude
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And were the most challenging ones?
It’s an important question, and a good one. And yet I somehow think the most joyful and challenging things are one in the same. I am so grateful I can create a space for queer kids struggling with mental health to feel seen, loved, and not alone. I’m also so incredibly sad that queer kids still have to feel that way—and maybe increasingly so, given all of the conservative legislation being passed in our country and others. I hope this book finds the people who need it most, and if you’re unable to access it for any reason at all, please contact me via my website.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
I am pounding the table for more YA books by trans feminine and trans women writers. I know a lot of other people are too. So much of homophobia and other types of bigotry are rooted in misogyny. We’re all in this together and we need to recognize the impact these books could have on young lives. Of course, there is also a great need for more books by BIPOC and disabled authors as well. Everyone deserves to feel seen.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
It’s heartbreaking. My main character deals with shame as a young queer person raised in the church. I’ll admit that even as an adult, even as someone who has also let go of my own guilt around who I am, it still comes rushing back sometimes in this environment. It’s sad to know people think of me as perverse or inappropriate for children. Of course that makes me feel something like shame, even if it’s not deserved. I can’t imagine what children are feeling.
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
I really love the scene where Avery and Cass decide to pretend the world isn’t ending and go see a movie together. Sure, the theater’s been raided, but since Avery worked there in high school she knows where they keep the popcorn kernels. It’s this little moment of normalcy where they return to their childhood, but this time together and in love.
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
I hope they walk away from the book feeling like tomorrow is worth waiting for, even if today feels impossible. They’re not alone in their grief, sorrow, and fear, even if it very much feels that way.
If Tomorrow Doesn’t Come by Jen St. Jude. Bloomsbury, May $19.99; ISBN 978-1-5476-1136-2
Jonny Garza Villa
What were the most joyous aspects of writing this book centering LGBTQ+ youth? And were the most challenging ones?
Getting to write a story where the characters’ queerness isn’t centered in the trauma and contention was the most joyous. Living in a state [Texas] that is trying to erase stories centering young people who share my identities and intersectionalities—and, let’s be honest, trying to erase us, period—[made] normalizing the pronouns Ander uses, the way they love, the queer people in their life, and the way their family embraces them from page one was both a gift to write and, in a way, extremely radical. I think that lends itself to the challenge, in that I never asked for Ander, as a main character, or for Santi to be radical. But finding it necessary to channel and accept this as my activism—which I do, gladly—but not ever wanting to write an “activist” story, meant having a clear idea of what “forward” looked like at all times.
How have you seen LGBTQ+ representation in children’s literature evolve over the years? What would you like to see more of?
I think the intersectionality of queer stories is really at a point that makes me so proud to be a part of and is something I would like to see only grow. I’d also love to see stories where we get truly messy queer characters. More of what Felix Ever After gave us and Meet Cute Diary and The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School and This Is Why They Hate Us.
What has it been like bringing queer children’s literature into the world amid book bans that are specifically targeting LGBTQ+ literature for children?
It is both the honor of my life and incredibly terrifying. To be able to hear, especially in person, from queer BIPOC readers, especially young queer Latine readers, how much representation means and [what] these stories mean to them emboldens me beyond measure to keep going—to keep telling stories, and to keep up hope that the young people who need them will get them. But I can’t pretend like there wasn’t a little bit of trepidation doing book tour events across Texas. It does us no good to pretend as if this culture war begins and ends with books and not with the eradication of trans and queer lives. I know those on the side of hate are on the losing side, that at some point progress will win; but as they say about cornered dogs, this is where they bite, and being an author of very brown, very queer stories for young people often feels almost like I’m offering my own arm. But if that means one more young queer Latine, queer Chicane, will see themself as the main character and find empowerment in it, find self-acceptance and self-love and self-worth, then I’ll gladly offer both arms.
What is a moment of queer joy in your book?
There’s a moment, after Santi helps Ander finish painting a mural, where Ander opens up about their struggles finding love and worth in their art, and Santi tells them about how impactful their art is to him. There had been a couple of cute moments before then, but this is really when, even if it’s never said or alluded to in the text, both of them think, “I could see myself loving this person.” It brought me a lot of joy writing it and showing this growing connection the two of them have for each other, not just physically but emotionally and through their shared culture.
What do you hope young readers will walk away with after reading this book?
Love doesn’t solve the world’s problems. It doesn’t stop xenophobia, it doesn’t erase anti-immigrant sentiments, it doesn’t make everyone around you suddenly embracing of your queerness, and it doesn’t keep bad things from happening. But love is still always worth it.
Ander & Santi Were Here by Jonny Garza Villa. Wednesday Books, Apr. paper, $12 ISBN 978-1-250-32339-2; hardcover, $18.99 ISBN 978-1-250-84399-9
