Review: Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann
By Julianne Daly
Alice had her whole summer planned. Non-stop all-you-can-eat buffets while marathoning her favorite TV shows (best friends totally included) with the smallest dash of adulting–working at the library to pay her share of the rent. The only thing missing from her perfect plan? Her girlfriend (who ended things when Alice confessed she’s asexual). Alice is done with dating–no thank you, do not pass go, stick a fork in her, done.
But then Alice meets Takumi and she can’t stop thinking about him or the rom com-grade romance feels she did not ask for (uncertainty, butterflies, and swoons, oh my!).
When her blissful summer takes an unexpected turn, and Takumi becomes her knight with a shiny library employee badge (close enough), Alice has to decide if she’s willing to risk their friendship for a love that might not be reciprocated—or understood.
Whenever I hear a book has an asexual character, especially a contemporary book where the word will be on the page as it is, I get excited. Since realizing I was on the asexual spectrum in 2015, the lack of representation has been glaringly obvious; there are books out there, but they aren’t easy to find and they’re often speculative fiction (sci-fi or fantasy) so they don’t have the same names, the same language for it as we do. That was really, really hard to deal with for me. I had seen myself as broken through my teen years because, while I knew asexuality was a thing, I didn’t understand it. I didn’t see the spectrum – and neither do millions of other teens.
I’m absolutely guilty of not reading a lot of the books that I know have representation. Usually they aren’t my thing or they’re self-published, so hard and expensive to get a physical copy of (my preferred reading method) and the ebook just languishes on my Kindle with almost a decade worth of ebooks. Which made the announcement of Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann special to me – here was a Big 5 publisher putting out an openly asexual main character, something that’s still rare (though not as rare as it was when I first started researching). It was instantly on my wish list, a book I knew I had to have.
Alice, like me, knows she’s asexual, but she struggles to say the word out loud. Her story opens with her girlfriend, Margot, breaking up with her, frustrated that Alice never wants to have sex, and Alice can’t explain why. She can’t give her girlfriend those words. So, instead, she’s spending the summer between her sophomore and junior years of college living with her soon-to-be-married best friends, Feenie and Ryan. Alice sees this as a summer to relax, watch Netflix, and hang out with her friends, but things never work out that way – her parents want her to decide on her career path (preferably in law), the new guy working at the library with her as thrown her off, and now she’s questioning her sexuality.
On a story level, I loved this book. The writing is fun and quirky – Kann has a strong voice for writing Alice that won’t click with everyone, but that I loved. Alice is likable and relatable – she just wants to veg out and watch TV, but she struggles with money and family expectations. She’s trying to figure out how to be an adult – how to plan for the future, how to budget a meager income, how to speak for herself – while still feeling like a child in a lot of ways. Alice struggles in being honest with people around her; she can’t tell her parents she doesn’t want to be a lawyer, she can’t tell anyone besides Feenie and Ryan that she’s asexual, and she can’t tell Feenie and Ryan that sometimes they make her feel like a third wheel. Being honest with those you love, especially when you know it might hurt them, never gets easier and Alice dealing with that was wonderful to read.
There are some really fantastic and complex relationships in Let’s Talk About Love that I loved seeing. She loves her parents, but they’re older and don’t fully understand her. She has two siblings who are also older (she was a surprise child) and they joke with her while also being kind of bossy, which was something I see in my own relationships with my older siblings. Her friend circle is small – mostly her coworkers, who she’s not very close to, and Ryan and Feenie, who she loves but sometimes they don’t get her – and it was something I felt like isn’t always seen. A lot of YA novels tend to overlook friendships, and those that do only really acknowledge one friend. But Alice has two best friends who serve different emotional roles in her life and she has friends who she can talk to, but she doesn’t want them to know everything. And extra importantly, Alice and her friends both make mistakes, they both say the wrong thing or mess up on communication, but the love is still there, above all.
Of course, we have to talk about the obvious – Takumi. Takumi is the love interest, the boy who starts working at the library with Alice. He’s older, already finished with college and prepping for a career in teaching. And Alice is instantly attracted to him, something that doesn’t happen to her since…she’s asexual (that’s kind of the point of this review being here, you know?). This really throws Alice and that’s one of the big arcs in the novel. She’s been so secure in her identity as a biromantic asexual woman, even if she can’t say the words, but she finds herself questioning that label. She ends up getting to know Takumi, spending time with him in work and out of work. He’s polite and considerate, he likes to cook for her so she can stop eating ramen all the time, he’s patient and willing to share passions with her – he loves photography and lets Alice explore his photos, they have movie nights where they swap picking movie genres. Their romance is sweet and, despite the confusing start for Alice, it was delightful to read.
One other thing I really loved is that Alice went to therapy. Alice never identifies with a mental illness, but she wants to see a counselor to talk out her sexuality. A lot of queer people have concerns going to see any kind of counselor about what they can say, if there will be judgement. Alice worries that her counselor will be homophobic, or specifically aphobic, or racist or religious. Instead, even though he’s not the most well versed in asexuality, he’s there to talk with her about her concerns so she can puzzle things out on her own. And while she initially plans to just take advantage of a free session since she can’t pay for it and doesn’t want her parents to see it on insurance papers, Dr. Burris offers her a steep discount so she can come back a couple times a month. It’s rare enough to see any kind of therapy in YA books, so seeing it here and seeing it for someone who doesn’t have a mental illness, was refreshing.
As mentioned, Alice is always confident in her sexuality before she meets Takumi. She has a Cutie Code that she mentally uses to identify aesthetically appealing people and objects and Takumi is unlike anything she’s seen before. She even goes to the bathroom after meeting him and sees that she’s aroused just by seeing him. Alice actually panics thinking that maybe she’s not asexual and what does that make her if she’s not?
When I first read about this physical reaction, I had doubts. Then I thought about my own experiences and I understood it. Sometimes, you really do just have a bodily reaction and some people really are attractive enough to throw you for a moment. But then, on a little bit of reflection, it’s more than you’d rather hang out with them than anything else, and you’ll see how things go from there.
Something that was really meaningful to me was seeing Alice explore what her asexuality really was. There’s a moment where she wonders if maybe she’s not asexual, but graysexual – a moment I wish was explored more, but still an important moment in recognizing that asexuality is a spectrum and it’s not all or nothing for most people.
It’s also important to note that Alice is not sex repulsed and she’s definitely not touch repulsed. She loves cuddling and kissing and touching, it’s just the stuff after that she’s not interested in. Part of why Margot breaks up with Alice in the beginning of the book is because Alice will take care of Margot’s sexual needs, but she never lets Margot reciprocate and Margot feels undesirable and unloved. Margot’s interest in sex does get knocked a bit more than necessary, but she also shows she’s aphobic. She asks if Alice was abused, if she’s seen a doctor, if she’s saving herself – things a lot of ace people have heard. But ultimately, the most upsetting thing for Margot, besides finding asexuality “not natural” is that Alice can’t communicate with her, can’t explain that she’s ace.
Which brings us back to the point of the book – Alice has communication issues she needs to work on throughout the book. She needs to communicate with her loved ones, but she also needs to communicate with herself about what she needs and wants and feels – just like so many of us.
Ultimately, Alice’s story isn’t my story. I’m not biromantic, I’m a little touch-averse, I’m probably closer to demisexual on the asexual spectrum. But I did love how Alice’s story was told. I love some of her explanations of asexuality and some of her fears, fears I’ve had and explanations I could’ve used as a teenager. I love how asexuality was represented on the page, particularly since she is explicitly bisexual and because she is a black woman (the stereotype hypersexualized black women is even addressed in the book). Other aces may not to see themselves in Alice, but I think many will. Let’s Talk About Love is an important addition to the asexual literary canon and I’m grateful we have it.
Body Diversity in Queer YA
by Kristen Carter
When I was 16, I went on a starvation diet. Over the span of three months, I lost thirty pounds. As I lost the weight, friends would compliment me, which fed into my need to starve myself.
The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles) by Amy Spalding
Growing up, I loved reading, but I don’t remember reading about a character like me. I found myself having to choose between my marginalizations, black and fat (I didn’t know I was bisexual then). When I watched television, things were a little better because if a black girl wasn’t the main character, at least she was the best friend or had another supporting role. I could say the same for fat characters, always the sidekick or comic relief but never the protagonist. But as I grew older, that started not to be enough for me. I wanted to read about a black girl going on her own adventure, not just being the sidekick or comic relief on someone else’s journey.
Furthermore, the narrative surrounding fat protagonists was almost always related to their weight. I remember how much my life mimicked that narrative. I hated my body. I thought if I lost the weight things would get better. I was on an endless emotional roller coaster—most days I hated my body, but some days I didn’t. Honestly, I can’t remember the exact moment when I stopped hating my body and began embracing it.
Speaking as a former fat teen, now a fat adult, I think we should move away from that narrative. I’m not saying that it’s no longer necessary, but I would like to shake things up.
As much as I love queer YA, I often find myself wondering where the body diversity is. The situation looks bleak when you compare it to the other types of diversity in queer YA. Recently, when I searched for characters like me, once again I found myself having to choose between them being black, fat, and queer. I found two books that met most of my demands, and they are Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy and the forthcoming release The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles) by Amy Spalding. Those are the only two books that came up when I searched for recent or forthcoming releases with a fat queer protagonist. I couldn’t find one with a fat, queer, black protagonist.
Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy
According to a study from the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology and Education, the average woman in the United States is a size 16. However, we are still underrepresented in stories about characters who should look like the average United States population. When you add intersections like race and queerness, it opens a wealth of stories that could be told. So, why is there such a lack of non-white fat queer characters?
I want to see fat queer characters getting in on the action and having their own adventures. I want to see how those intersecting identities affect the main character and their journey. I want to read about a fat queer character being the chosen one. Anything else besides being the sidekick or comic relief. All my life I have seen characters that look like me be sidelined and never get their stories told. I don’t want our teens to be twenty-something before they read or see someone like themselves. I don’t want them to wait that long for someone to validate them and reassure that they matter. I want to see the day when people like me are represented in queer YA.
—
Kristen Carter was born, raised, and still resides in Philadelphia, PA. Currently, she’s working toward a bachelor’s degree in Advertising and Public Relations. Besides being a full-time student, she works as a freelance writer. In her spare time, she enjoys reading YA fiction, watching TV, and sleeping in late.
Navigating Privilege and Cultural Capital as a Black Queer Writer
By Allison Jeanne Alcéna
Children’s literature writers are often encouraged to pen the stories they wanted to see when they were younger. In my case, I never saw my whole self in children’s books, although I sometimes saw parts. As an adult, I now understand that what was being reflected back to me were the privileged parts of my identity, allowing me to see pieces of myself in the slew of middle-class, white characters that were on the market. And because I saw certain parts of myself in books, I then felt like those must be the most important parts of me. However, the result was a lack of role models for two important identities I’ve always had: being Black and queer. Now, being a writer myself, I put a great deal of thought into how to juggle the marginalization and privileges I embody, both on the page and in my day-to-day life.
While there is more to me than my identities, I define myself in these ways because, in the USA, we live in a country that views people based on social strata and summarizes us as such. And I am made up of these things. I’m marginalized by certain parts of my identity that are not valued by the society I live in. This includes being Black, being queer, and being gender nonconforming. People that hold one of or several of those identities don’t traditionally hold power. However, I also have privileges in that other parts of my identity give me value in my society, like being thin, middle-class, light-skinned, being a citizen of the USA, etc. I didn’t work for nor earn those things. Lastly, I have cultural capital—a set of social assets that allow for me to move through social standings—in that I have a college degree, I can code-switch, and I’m familiar enough with wealthy, white American culture. Again, there’s more to me than these identities (I’m left-handed and have a cat, for example), but as society lets me know on a regular basis, how I’m seen first is as a combination of power and oppression, and thus I often think of myself in that way.
So that being said, many parts of myself are reflected in young adult literature. As a teen, I had things in common with other suburban, academically inclined, college-bound youths. However, they weren’t dealing with some of the same things I was at twelve-thirteen-fourteen years old, like what it’s like to be a young Black person, being queer as a young Black person, having questions about gender as a young Black person. I could empathize with Margaret questioning God, and even just a little bit with Holden Caulfield’s misadventures, as much as I couldn’t stand him. But still, I felt that something was missing. Despite the similarities between these characters and myself, I was always left feeling less than. Whiteness, the resounding factor in so many young adult texts I read, was something unattainable to me, however much proximity I had to it.
8 LGBTQIAP+ Books By Black Authors
Add these titles to your TBR
After inevitably attending college, I got more of a vocabulary about what I was seeing both in books and in my world: structural racism, making straightness the default through heteronormativity, and not representing marginalized folks by invisibilizing them. And thanks to that college experience and subsequent degree in English Literature and Black Studies, I also have been granted more access to that literary world than ever before—more access than a lot of Black kids get to have. Through all of my experiences and what I represent, I’m left to wonder how to leverage the access and privilege that I have (since that’s not going anywhere), all the while keeping in mind the ways that my Blackness, queerness, and their intersections are both entry points and limitations in the literary sphere. My focus remains on how to take the cultural capital that I possess and how to disperse the information I have, and bring even more young, Black queer people into those spaces.
And leveraging that power—decentralizing white supremacist notions of worthiness and exclusion—is no easy task. Our society is designed for us to value those with privilege and keep our own resources close. I would be remiss not to point out that it is a lifetime’s worth of self-work to counter how we’ve been socialized, and it’s a daily undertaking to actively and willingly strip ourselves of the things we’re taught to hold dear. I’m trying not to fall into the realm of those with privilege denouncing or denying their own privilege. Rather, I want to acknowledge my privileges and think of how to move forward with them, since most of them are permanent. Fortunately, many folks across different identities are striving to level the playing field, providing examples of how to mobilize one’s privilege and platform.
I want to find a solution to this disparity of power that decenters children—the very folks we’re supposedly tasked with writing for. The strategy that I’m most passionate about right now is to give Black kids the tools to share their own stories, because who knows them better than they know themselves? As much as I felt both seen and invisible as a kid, I was also (more cultural capital here) encouraged to share my own stories, and there I had a place to craft more of what I wanted and needed to see. I want to leverage my power by sharing my knowledge of the text with Black kids, encouraging them to share their own stories, and understanding that I have just as much to learn from children as I have to teach. That applies tenfold to queer Black kids, who deserve to know that their experiences are normal, valid, and important. And as an adult with access to the literary sphere, it becomes my responsibility to advocate for those stories to be shared and valued just as much if not more than adult, white authors’ stories. Again, the stories of queer Black kids are normal, valid, and important. They’re worthy of attention and praise. They should be treated with respect.
In the last couple of years, one thing has remained true for me: all Black stories need to be shared. When created by Black authors, stories about Black life need to be disseminated to Black children to reflect the real-world diversity of Black experiences. And multiply that several times over when adding how other identities intersect with Blackness, like queerness.
To the folks navigating their own light-skinned tears as I am and always will be: write it, anyways. And be careful. Be thoughtful. As we strategize on best practice, let’s keep a goal in mind: centering Black kids, however we can. In my ideal world, children write the literature that they want to read and are given space to do so, so there isn’t this mediation process on the part of adults. But until then, as adults, as folks with privilege, however that may coincide with our marginalization, we must come to terms with our roles as gatekeepers of children’s literature.
—
Allison Alcéna is a writer, educator and lover of all things Black. Allison hails from Spring Valley, New York and holds a Bachelors of Arts in English Literature and Black Studies from Swarthmore College. You can reach Allison at allisonalcena@gmail.com, on their website and on Instagram and Twitter.
8 LGBTQIAP+ Books By Black Authors
by Kaitlin Mitchell
As LGBTQIAP+ literature has become more prominent in the past years, there is still a serious lack of black LGBTQIAP+ voices being highlighted in publishing. We’re featuring 8 books by black authors that you can support to join in the call for more black LGBTQIAP+ narratives in publishing. If you have more recommendations, add them in the comments, or share with us on Twitter (@YA_Pride) or Tumblr (YA-Pride.tumblr.com).
Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann
Alice had her whole summer planned. Non-stop all-you-can-eat buffets while marathoning her favorite TV shows (best friends totally included) with the smallest dash of adulting–working at the library to pay her share of the rent. The only thing missing from her perfect plan? Her girlfriend (who ended things when Alice confessed she’s asexual). Alice is done with dating–no thank you, do not pass go, stick a fork in her, done.
But then Alice meets Takumi and she can’t stop thinking about him or the rom com-grade romance feels she did not ask for (uncertainty, butterflies, and swoons, oh my!).
When her blissful summer takes an unexpected turn, and Takumi becomes her knight with a shiny library employee badge (close enough), Alice has to decide if she’s willing to risk their friendship for a love that might not be reciprocated—or understood.
Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert
When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she isn’t sure if she’ll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (along with her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support.
But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new…the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel’s disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself–or worse.
King Geordi the Great by Gene Gant
Is there such a thing as caring too much?
Geordi never thought so. He knows he’s lucky to have progressive parents who support him after they discover he’s gay, but when his dad gets overzealous, things go downhill. Geordi’s friend Toff is not only hurt that Geordi hid his sexuality from him—he’s also been in love with Geordi for months. Rather than further damage their relationship, Geordi goes along with a romance he doesn’t feel. When things start to get physical, though, Geordi knows it’s time to be honest with himself and his friends, no matter what the consequences. A tragedy is about to strike, and Geordi, Toff, and their friend Jess will need each other more than ever. For Geordi to find his strength, he’ll have to first find the courage to chart his own course in life—outside the control of his parents or the pressure of his peers.
Sunday You Learn How to Box by Bil Wright
Fourteen-year-old Louis Bowman is in a boxing ring — a housing project circa 1968 — fighting “just to get to the end of the round.” Sharing the ring is his mother, Jeanette Stamps, a ferociously stubborn woman battling for her own dreams to be realized; his stepfather, Ben Stamps, the would-be savior, who becomes the sparring partner to them both; and the enigmatic Ray Anthony Robinson, the neighborhood “hoodlum,” in purple polyester pants, who sets young Louis’s heart spinning with the first stirrings of sexual longing. Bil Wright deftly evokes an unrelenting world with quirky humor and clear-eyed unsentimentality.
The House You Pass on the Way by Jacqueline Woodson
Staggerlee is used to being alone. As the granddaughter of celebrities and the daughter of an interracial couple in an all-black town, she has become adept at isolating herself from curious neighbors. But then her cousin, Trout, comes to visit. Trout is exactly like Staggerlee wishes she could be: outspoken, sure of herself, beautiful. Finally, Staggerlee has a friend, someone she can share her deepest, most private thoughts with. Someone who will teach her how to be the strong girl she longs to be. But is Trout really the girl Staggerlee thinks she is?
The Secrets of Eden by Brandon Goode
When Eden discovers he possesses forbidden magic, keeping his affair with the crown prince a secret becomes the least of his worries.
Eden has always obeyed the laws of Rolaria. He spends his days teaching children how to read in order to distract him from his mother’s bizarre disappearance. She worked in the castle before suddenly vanishing, and when Eden mistakenly receives an invitation to the Royal Ball, he goes to feel closer to her.
That same night, Prince Jared must find a bride. But after an unexpected encounter between Eden and the prince, a relationship begins. After a night with the prince, Eden explores the castle on his own. Lost in the corridors, he stumbles upon a hidden room and finds his mother’s journal, whose pages reveal a lineage of outlawed magic.
He soon realizes the castle walls not only hide his romance with Jared but secrets about his mother’s disappearance. In order to unravel the mystery and understand his awakening abilities, Eden must risk exposing his relationship and thwarting Jared’s chances to rule Rolaria.
The closer Eden gets to the truth, the closer he finds himself facing the same fate as his mother.
Hurricane Child by Kheryn Callender (Out March 2018)
Prepare to be swept up by this exquisite novel that reminds us that grief and love can open the world in mystical ways.
Twelve-year-old Caroline is a Hurricane Child, born on Water Island during a storm. Coming into this world during a hurricane is unlucky, and Caroline has had her share of bad luck already. She’s hated by everyone in her small school, she can see things that no one else can see, and — worst of all — her mother left home one day and never came back. With no friends and days filled with heartache, Caroline is determined to find her mother. When a new student, Kalinda, arrives, Caroline’s luck begins to turn around. Kalinda, a solemn girl from Barbados with a special smile for everyone, seems to see the things Caroline sees, too. Joined by their common gift, Kalinda agrees to help Caroline look for her mother, starting with a mysterious lady dressed in black. Soon, they discover the healing power of a close friendship between girls. Debut author Kheryn Callender presents a cadenced work of magical realism.
Running with Lions by Julian Winters (Out June 2018)
Seventeen-year-old Sebastian Hughes should be excited about his senior year. He’s the Lions’ star goalie, his best friends are amazing, and he’s got a coach who doesn’t ask any team members to hide their sexuality. But when his estranged childhood best friend Emir Shah ends up on the team, Sebastian realizes his future is in the hands of the one guy who hates him. He’s determined to reconnect with Emir for the sake of the team. Sweaty days on the pitch, wandering the town’s streets, and bonding on the weekends sparks more than friendship between them. How can Sebastian convince Emir he can trust him again without wrecking the team’s future?
Trans Girl Classic Gets New Edition
When Being Emily came out in 2012, it was the first YA novel to tell the story of a transgender girl from her perspective. This May, a new edition will be released with updated language and science, new scenes, a new author’s note and an introduction by poet and Harvard professor Stephanie Burt.
To celebrate this upcoming edition, Being Emily author Rachel Gold and Stephanie Burt interviewed each other about the novel and related topics. We begin with questions for both of us and then devolve into Rachel sidetracking Stephanie to talk about comic books. (Which is really easy to do!)
Why is now the time for a new edition of Being Emily?
Rachel: I’ve wanted to change the language in Being Emily for years. For a number of reasons, parts of it were outdated not long after it came out and I learned a lot in the years since its publication. Also it gets taught in Gender Studies courses, so I wanted to update the science to make it even more current. There’s a lot that people still don’t know, so I want this story to be able to do as much as it can for both trans and cis audiences.
Plus early 2017 sucked and I figured trans kids needed all the love we can give them, so I asked my publisher what it would take to re-release Being Emily. That turned out to be a really easy sell. (Thank you, Bella Books!)
Stephanie: a new edition is always a good thing for an important book, so why *not* now? Also, the new edition means new scenes, especially the last scene (the epilogue), which I selfishly want all humans to read. Some non-humans may benefit too. Plus I got to write an introduction, which the first edition did not have!
Rachel: Which is an introduction I want many humans to read!
What’s one of your favorite parts of this new edition?
Rachel: There’s more about Emily’s relationship with her dad—I want to say a bunch about that, but I’ll just end up spoilering people. I didn’t take out anything from the original, but I added scenes that deepen that relationship. Also I changed a lot about Claire’s chapters. I could see better ways to highlight the journey that she goes through. Plus she gets to think and talk about being bisexual more.
Stephanie: Among the other additions, one that’s extraordinarily important to me—and it’s brief—comes when Emily and her dad are learning about the science behind medical transition, from a doctor who’s kind and together enough to explain it.
The new edition explains fertility preservation for trans women starting medical transition. I’m very glad that I’m out and have started transition. I’m also glad that my partner and I have kids. I’d hate for trans teens, or anyone really, to think that you can’t have biological children, if you want them, once you’ve transitioned! You can. But you have to take certain steps first.
Rachel: Also I want to add that I love Stephanie’s introduction, but of course in saying that, I’m going to sound like a cheeseball. The part about it being the first YA novel, “…with a trans girl’s voice at its center, the first one you could give a trans girl and feel good about the idea that she’ll see herself in it.” That’s exactly what I wanted it to be, but had never articulated it that clearly.
Stephanie:
What do we want the next generation of trans kids to know?
Rachel: You don’t have to have it all figured out and you can trust yourself. And there are a lot of ways to be trans. I keep reading amazing posts from people on their blogs or tumblr talking about their experiences of being embodied—there’s so much diversity and wonder! Being Emily a very specific book about one girl’s experience, it’s not the definitive text on how to be a trans girl or a trans person. If it speaks to your experience, wonderful! If it doesn’t, keep reading and if you write, keep writing!
Stephanie: Again, you’ve said the most important things!
The first time I tried to come out as trans, in the early 1990s, what I should have heard from my cis friends—and did not hear, or wasn’t ready to hear (TBH at least one of them tried to tell me), was: FIND YOUR PEOPLE. If you don’t already have friends who have your back, and who have your interests at heart, and who can teach you what you need to know, or work with you to discover those things together, then you need a way to find those friends. And now, in 2018, there are lots of ways. Online communities organized around being trans; online communities organized around something else; in-person meetups and conventions; trans-friendly subcultures of many sorts; Twitter… I tried to say as much in my introduction, and of course the book says so itself. Every Emily needs a Natalie. Ideally more than one.
Corollary the first to the above: YOUR PEOPLE ARE OUT THERE. If you think nobody understands you right now, you may be right (for now), but that’s likely to change, especially if you make some effort to change it.
Corollary the second: your straight or cis or longstanding allies, including your birth family, may well stick by you; you do not necessarily have to abandon them, or expect them to abandon you, in order to figure out who you are. (That’s part of Claire’s arc, but also part of the now stronger arc with Emily’s dad.) Individual straight cis people are not the enemy, and will not necessarily stare at you in blank incomprehension! Sometimes they’ll take a while to understand, but will, nonetheless, eventually understand.
That said, the systems of patriarchy and domination, and the unacknowledged assumptions that go with those systems—from what a man is, to what a woman is, to what sex is supposed to be and why sex matters…. Those systems are, actually, the enemy. The more of us come out, the more of us say what we think, the more of us write about what we think, the more we will be able to understand those systems and dismantle them, or at least get them out of the way, so that we can build something at least a bit better (whether or not what we build looks like the old systems from the outside).
Rachel: And that’s why you’re in charge of saying the things that aren’t stories, because you just put that so much better than I would have, and I wholeheartedly agree.
What do we want the next generation of trans kids to teach us?
Rachel: How to dress. Also how many things don’t have to be a big deal. I’m always impressed when I see young people breezing by things that seemed so hard when I was a teen. Like how we’re so far beyond coming out about your sexuality in some areas that it’s not even “coming out” anymore—it’s either just being or “bringing in.” That doesn’t mean it’s easy for most people, but I think seeing moments of ease helps all of us have more confidence and hope.
Oh and this isn’t exactly teaching (but is), would some of you please program video games with nonbinary characters? I really want to play them! I know some exist, but more and bigger, please!
Stephanie: (deep breath) I’m still learning. It would be a cop-out to say “surprise me; I don’t know what I don’t know.” Wouldn’t it?
I’m older than almost all the other trans people I know, and when I see people younger than me coming out and learning how to be out and describing their lives, my reaction is sometimes “I want to be there to help you” (that is my chief reaction when they are my students). Sometimes, though (when they are not my students), my reaction is “you get to be who you are! Hurrah! I’m happy to stand on the sidelines while you inhabit your awesome world. Thanks for letting me stick around. Please show me—even if you cannot tell me—what you’ve figured out.”
Also, how to dress.
We’re both a little more out than we were a few years ago, how’s that going?
Rachel: [hides behind Stephanie]
Stephanie: [hides behind Rachel] I read BE1.0 when I had just come out for the third time, as publicly nonbinary but privately thinking “maybe I’m really a girl and I should just be a girl all the time and start medical transition.” And I recognized myself so completely in Emily, who was, also, starting to come out.
I’m now pretty much all the way through the social and emotional coming out process, although of course I’m still learning how to do makeup (it’s hard! But parts of are fun, if you are me!) and the legal/financial name change stuff is a ridiculous time suck. I did the whole social and medical transition thing (starting hormones, presenting myself as a woman full-time, using Stephanie all the time as my name and rejecting my guy name) in 2017. None of the things I most feared about doing an honest-to-Artemis social and medical transition—that I’d become a worse parent; that I’d become a worse or less honest partner; that I’d regret what my transition did to my parents; that our kids’ school community would reject me; that I’d become a worse teacher—none of those things happened. My life is better in literally every way.
But it’s still scary. I’m still very afraid of being too open, revealing other people’s secrets, offending people I should not offend, crossing lines and making mistakes. That fear is, also, part of being me.
Rachel: It’s been delightful seeing you come out more. And me too except that I mostly haven’t settled on what to call myself. I keep wanting to give lists or complicated charts, which I think is part of being genderfluid or gender malleable or a nonbinary lesbian. I like that there isn’t a handy box for me to be inside of. I don’t like the boxes, but it makes being out and talking about things a little harder, at least for me right now. And I appreciate that you, and a lot of people, have created space for me to be in a process and not at a destination—and that there may be no destination.
For Rachel: You’ve made some additions and changes between BE1.0 and BE2.0. Is there one big, or biggest, change, or just a stack of small ones?
Rachel: In the first two-thirds of the novel it’s mostly small changes. The language has changed. There are mentions of nonbinary trans people and we briefly meet one! There’s more understanding that not all trans women want surgery, that not all trans women fit the “I knew really young” narrative.
In the last third, I added about four major scenes, including deleting an entire Claire chapter and replacing it. Honestly, I’m a better writer than I was seven years ago (since most of the editing of Being Emily happened in 2010-2011). I got a little mad at myself in the editing process because I could see what I’d been trying to do, but reading it now, it didn’t work. Writers grow and learn; we’re not perfect out of the gate. I’m really glad to have this opportunity to take a story that I love and make it better.
For Stephanie: We both grew up reading comic books. (Now Kitty Pryde is leading the X-Men!) Why is it important to have both metaphors for how you are in the world (“I’m like Kitty”) and to have real-world how-to advice like the kinds in Being Emily (“I’m a trans girl; here are things I can do”)?
Stephanie: That’s a great question! Metaphors and fictional worlds, especially nonrealist fictional worlds (superhero comics, science fiction and fantasy, myths, games), show us possibilities for being and doing that haven’t been realized, or haven’t been realized yet, or couldn’t be realized literally in the real present-day world, even if what they represent emotionally could be realized here and now. They show us that the future can be different from, and better than, the present.
They also let us escape from the here and now, from the constraints and the pressure of having to be the same person all day long (a pressure which, so I’m told, gets to cis people too). And they’re fun! If you identify with X-Men characters, for example, you have to think about problems that in the real world you should be very glad not to have (being infected with Brood embryos, for example) but you also get to make things explode, or become invulnerable, or walk through walls.
If you have only metaphors and nonrealist models for your own experience, though, you won’t be able to make the connections you need to make to your real life, to answer the literal question “what should I do next?” Some kinds of psychological interactions—especially those that involve very long-term relationships, or birth family who are not entirely hostile, or money—are usually better modeled by realist novels (adult-literary or YA) than by science fiction and fantasy. I’d be worse off, and unhappier, without Kitty and Wolverine and Scott and James Tiptree, Jr. and Nnedi Okorafor. But I’d also be worse off, and a worse person morally, if I had never read Middlemarch.
For Stephanie: In BE, after Emily comes out to her parents, her mom goes into her room and takes, among other things, her X-Men comics. Why?
Stephanie: Let me answer that with a series of links:
http://www.xplainthexmen.com/2014/10/kitty-queer-by-sigrid-ellis/
http://www.xplainthexmen.com/2015/04/on-coming-out-queer-identity-and-continuity-in-all-new-x-men-40/
http://www.publicbooks.org/join-mutant-resistance/
https://www.themarysue.com/jay-edidin-tedx-talk-you-are-here/
For Rachel: BE1.0 was almost all alone in the world when it appeared: there were trans people in YA and in adult fiction but not many, and literally none you could recommend to someone vulnerable or young or not yet out (or all three). How much do you think the fiction landscape has changed?
Rachel: I think fiction has changed less than nonfiction, which surprises me. Also I see more changes in speculative fiction than in contemporary. I really want to see more contemporary YA that’s about challenges trans kids face but where those challenges aren’t getting beaten up or your parents freaking out. I’m getting a little hypocritical here because Emily’s parents freak out and in my second book, Just Girls, there’s transphobic violence (against a cisgender character). I know those are real challenges people face, but I feel like we’ve covered that territory enough so let’s move on.
There’s such an opportunity in YA because that’s a time in all our lives when we’re learning about hormones and being adults and embodiment in the context of intimate relationships. I want to see more stories about trans kids learning to have empowering relationships and being joyful in/with their bodies. These stories are out there to be told and they’re more universal than mainstream publishers might think. In YA, everyone is feeling awkward about how to be an intimate/sexual being, but more so if there’s a complicated relationship with how your body is read by others.
That’s not just a problem for trans kids. And there’s starting to be good fiction about cis people deconstructing the gender boxes they’re given. But I think it’s a set of problems that trans kids and authors have more insight about. I’d love to see a novel with a genderfluid protagonist figuring out how to be seen in a relationship when their sense of their body changes day to day. (And yes, if you make me wait long enough to see this, I’ll write it.) I’d love to see more characters who attain whatever aspects of medical transition they want but don’t feel they have to fit completely into female or male boxes. I’d love to see more trans kid protagonists who don’t hate their bodies but hate what the dominant culture insists their bodies mean. And I want to see these told in the subtle, interior ways that make the experiences more universal.
For Stephanie: In your intro you talk about the importance of trans girls being able to see themselves in BE, but also the importance of being seen by others as trans girls. Is there a balancing act to this or do those to aspects reinforce each other?
Stephanie: I’d say there’s a positive feedback loop, at least for me (but I’m pretty other-directed and pretty sensitive to what other people think, especially for somebody in my fields, so YMMV).
The more I think other people can see me the way that I want to be seen, the more I think I can be, or become, or become visible as, the person I want to be, which in this context means: the girl, or the woman, I want to be. (The ambiguity between “girl” and “woman” in there says a lot about who I am, and how I see myself, and I am still figuring out just what it says.)
There is a philosopher I like a lot, Marya Schechtman, who argues that our very sanity, our ability to keep function as souls and minds, depends on our sense that somebody else can see us, and our life stories, in ways that we can recognize as ours.
There’s also a thing that happens when you, or at least when I, read a work of imaginative literature (poetry or novels or comics or anything) and see aspects of ourselves there—the feeling that “this person gets me! This author gets me!” is one of the best feelings in the world, and you can get it from a real live person, or from a book.
Ideally we get it from both. (And then we tell real live people to read that book.)
For Rachel: Emily comes out (sort of) through gaming and gameworlds before she comes out at all in real life (or what we are pleased to call real life). Can you talk about the importance of gaming and gameworlds to trans people, or to LGBTQ+ people more generally, or to you as a writer?
Rachel: In gamewords, you get to try on different bodies and different roles. I think that’s beneficial to a lot of people, not just trans people. But of course it can be especially powerful if you’re walking around in the world and people always treat you one way and then you get to log into this other world and get treated the way you want. I might especially like it because I can have different bodies on different days, which is how I feel in real life too.
Interactive play spaces are great environments for trying out the ways we want to be seen by others and getting feedback. I still remember being a teen, telling a group story with friends, and my character was a werewolf who started as a woman and then turned into a man for a while—and that was a powerful experience for me that I could be someone whose body changes and not just be tolerated, but be valued for that.
For Stephanie: In the novel, Emily’s little brother is always doing these superhero match-up fights, so … Starfire vs. Kitty Pryde, in which they’re both trans? Do they fight, just for fun, or go shopping? If so, where and for what?
Stephanie: They fight briefly, realize they’re not really enemies, and definitely go shopping. Does Starfire have the power to get off Earth whenever she wants, in this continuity? I think not, which means they have to find the nearest awesome mall.
There’s probably a superhero fight going on *in* the mall, because that’s what happens when X-characters go to the mall. I like to think that they stop the fight and then go right on shopping. Assuming it’s time-displaced 1980s Kitty and Starfire, rather than present-day Kitty (whose style has changed!) I’m pretty sure I’ll see them in Sephora, and then at Charlotte Russe.
Rachel: I could not agree more! I was assuming classic 1980s Kitty & Starfire, in which case I think the fight in the mall should be Wolverine vs. anyone and when it’s over, he ends up sitting outside the dressing room holding Kitty & Starfire’s purses and giving shockingly good advice about what looks good on each of them.
Stephanie: I would trust Logan on a lot of things, but I’m not sure I’d trust him on that. But maybe that’s why it’s *shockingly* good?
About Stephanie
Stephanie Burt is an expert in American poetry, both in its composition and its critique. She has been called “one of the most influential poetry critics” of her generation by the New York Times. Burt teaches at Harvard University, sharing with students not only her expertise in poetry, but also LGBTQ literature and graphic novels and comics. She is the author of several texts on poetry, including Close Calls With Nonsense: Reading New Poetry (2009), The Forms of Youth: Twentieth-Century Poetry and Adolescence (2007), and The Poem Is You: Sixty Contemporary American Poems and How to Read Them (2016). Her essays have been featured in a wide range of publications, including the New Yorker, the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Boston Review, and the Times Literary Supplement. She has also published four full-length collections of poetry, among them Belmont (2013), and her latest, Advice from the Lights.
About Rachel
Raised on world mythology, fantasy novels, comic books and magic, Rachel is well suited for her careers in marketing and writing. She is the author of multiple award-winning queer & trans Young Adult novels, including Being Emily (2012), Just Girls (2014), My Year Zero (2015), and Nico & Tucker (2017). As a marketing strategist, Rachel gives presentations and trains professionals on topics ranging from branding to search engine optimization. But if that makes her sound too corporate and stuffy, you should know that Rachel is an all around geek and avid gamer. She also teaches at The Loft Literary Center, including a course that is a roleplaying game. For more information visit: www.rachelgold.com.