#YAPride Challenge
Welcome to GayYA’s first ever #YAPride Challenge! #YAPride is all about spreading the LGBTQIA+ love– and you’re entered to win an AWESOME prize while you do it! The prize? A box of 8 #OwnVoices LGBTQIA+ YA books. We’ll announce the exact titles in a few days, but one of them will be a signed copy of You Know Me Well by David Levithan and Nina Lacour, and there will be a couple ARCs of upcoming releases!
Our #YAPride challenge will be split into 3 weeks. It’s a mutli-platform challenge on Twitter, Tumblr, Youtube, and Instagram. Enter as many times as you’d like! Please remember to TAG ALL YOUR ENTRIES as #YAPride– otherwise, we won’t see them! Here are the 3 challenges:
Week 1 (June 5th-11th):
Take a picture of one of your favorite LGBTQIA+ YA books. If you have room, share what it’s about, why you love it so much, and/or a favorite quote from it. Please feel free to take pics of library books, ebooks, or make art that references the cover or title if you don’t own a physical copy! Each book you talk about will count as one entry.
Week 2 (June 12th-18th):
Spread the love for your favorite blogs/bloggers/bookstagrammers/booklrs/booktubers that frequently feature LGBTQIA+ YA! Promote your faves & let others know they they’re awesome! Each blog/blogger you promote will count as one entry.
Week 3 (June 19th-25th):
Write an open letter to the author of an LGBTQIA+ book you loved, about what their book meant to you. The letter can be a string of tweets, a picture of what you handwrote, a screencap of a longer document, a post on tumblr… etc. Share it on social media! Each letter you share will count as one entry.
GayYA Recommends: You Know Me Well by David Levithan & Nina Lacour
Who knows you well? Your best friend? Your boyfriend or girlfriend? A stranger you meet on a crazy night? No one, really?
Mark and Kate have sat next to each other for an entire year, but have never spoken. For whatever reason, their paths outside of class have never crossed.
That is until Kate spots Mark miles away from home, out in the city for a wild, unexpected night. Kate is lost, having just run away from a chance to finally meet the girl she has been in love with from afar. Mark, meanwhile, is in love with his best friend Ryan, who may or may not feel the same way.
When Kate and Mark meet up, little do they know how important they will become to each other — and how, in a very short time, they will know each other better than any of the people who are supposed to know them more.
You know that feeling when you got a book, and that book got you, too? Yeah.
I went into You Know Me Well expecting a lot, because David Levithan and Nina Lacour are two of my favorite writers. And oh, this book did not disappoint. (This is actual footage of me during the last quarter of the book.)
Kate’s best friend Lehna is trying to set Kate up with Lehna’s cousin, Violet. Kate and Violet have known about each other for years but have never met or spoken. Right before they’re going to meet, Kate freaks out and runs away, and gets lost in the city. She ends up stumbling into a gay club, where she meets Mark.
Mark is at the club with his best friend Ryan, who he’s in love with. They’ve fooled around, but Ryan treats it like it’s nothing. Mark assumes this will change over time– at the club, however, Ryan meets another guy and falls hard for him, finally beginning to feel comfortable with things that Mark thought he just needed time for.
I really want to talk about all of the other things this book did that I haven’t seen before, or at least haven’t seen much of. Because there were SO MANY THINGS!
When David Levithan signed my book he called it “extraordinarily gay and extraordinarily YA” and honestly, that is exactly how I would summarize You Know Me Well. There are at least 15 queer characters in this book, and the whole thing is rife with different aspects of queer culture. It was so incredible! Because of all that gayness, David and Nina were able to 1) capture SO many different queer experiences without holding any up as the queer experience and 2) center queer friendship in a way that hasn’t yet been done.
“To The GayYA Team: This book is extraordinarily gay and extraordinarily YA, so it’s perfect for you.” — David Levithan
Most of the characters in You Know Me Well are already out, which is a super cool and needed thing in LGBTQIA+ YA. But one of the things I appreciated most about this book was how it handled being closeted and coming out. Ryan (Mark’s best friend), is eighteen, and not out. As an eighteen year old who came out to my parents only a few weeks ago, his storyline was so important to me. Ryan’s subplot is about being in the closet, but this book doesn’t use it. Some books use a character being closeted as the major conflict in a romance– the other character thinks that the one who isn’t out doesn’t love themselves enough, isn’t brave enough. That’s such an oversimplification of it. For me, it was never a question of bravery or not loving myself enough. It was wanting to keep this small, quiet, comfortable, and bold part of me inside my own body where my family couldn’t judge it or ask invasive questions about it or doubt it or prod at it or poke it. This is the only book I’ve read that has treated coming out with such sensitivity, that has had other characters treat it with such sensitivity, and it was so incredibly validating.
Another new thing You Know Me Well does is center queer friendship. Most queer YA books center romance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m SO here for queer romance. But romance is not all there is to being a young adult. Many young adults don’t date in highschool, or date very little. And if they do date it’s not necessarily the most important part of their experience. The majority of queer YA centering romance detracts from another very real and valid thing that can affirm queer identity: friendship with other queer people. In a lot of queer YA, the romantic interest is the only other queer person the main character knows. While that is certainly a reality for some, it is not the only reality. Queer people find community… sometimes accidentally. Nearly every single one of my friends I made when I was ten slowly all came out as something over the last eight years. I can practically count my straight, cisgender friends using only one hand. Friendships with other LGBTQIA+ people are what validated my identity and my experiences and I’ve heard many other LGBTQIA+ teens say the same. So it was so fantastic to see this reflected in a book.
You Know Me Well showcases all the ups, downs, twists and turns in queer friendship and says this, this a valid experience too. It’s great. I could relate to literally everyone, too. I felt for Mark, being used and strung along by someone who never plans to deliver and then turns around and says it’s your fault for expecting more. But I understood Ryan SO WELL, too. And Kate… Kate. Oh my god. MY PRECIOUS ANXIOUS BB. I related to her story so much. I had a few friends like Lehna, who put down everything I did, told me I wasn’t good enough, and then looked down on me for feeling like I wasn’t good enough.
There was a minor genderqueer character! They were only on for like three pages, but it meant so much to me to have them included, and to have the narration switch effortlessly to using they/them pronouns.
I would’ve loved to see one or two characters that were bi, pan, asexual, or aromantic. There were SO MANY experiences represented that it seemed odd not to have those identities represented. That said, I understand that one book can’t hit everything!
The writing was really good, but a bit off-putting at the beginning. During the first quarter, the characters were so stilted they didn’t really feel like humans. I could understand the situations they were in, but it seemed like they couldn’t. There were a lot of situations at the beginning that were really unusual, like Kate and Mark striking up a friendship. That type of thing totally happens! But usually when it does, you’re aware of how weird it is. The characters felt disconnected from their own reality. I was confused because like I said earlier, the authors are two of my very favorite writers! By the time I got to the end, though, I saw it all in a completely different light. The characters seemed distanced from their situations because they actually weren’t able to connect with their situations. They were so locked up inside themselves that they couldn’t understand what was happening around them or to them. As the book progressed, they became more aware and connected. (Or at least, that’s how I read it. Other people may have different opinions, but I thought it was brilliant!)
Some people have said that this book was too angsty and dramatic for their tastes. I can totally see that, especially during the first third or so, but I also felt like it fit. It was clear to me that that wasn’t how these characters lives usually were like, and it just happened that the book started at a time when crap started going down. It did get a little overwhelming at the beginning, but again, I thought it really picked up about a third of the way through.
All in all I thought this book was well-written, so so needed, and exactly what one would expect from such amazing writers as David Levithan and Nina Lacour. After I finished it I walked around stunned for a few hours, shocked that a single book had been able to capture so many bits of me, that these authors could see me. It’s like thunder in your chest when that happens, like a hummingbird in your heart.
You Know Me Well is our June #GayYABookClub pick. It releases on June 7th– so pick up a copy from your local bookstore or library, use the #GayYABookClub hashtag to share your reading progress, and join us June 29th at 8pm EST for a final Twit Chat! 🙂
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Vee S. lives in Minnesnowta. They like books, writing, writing about books, theatre, and feminism. Vee is a volunteer at Addendum Books, a freshly-minted library aide, and the admin of GayYA.Org. Find them online and on Twitter at@findmereading
Juliet Takes a Breath: A How-To Guide for Young Queer Latinas
by Sonia Alejandra Rodriguez, PhD
Juliet Milagros Palante is a 19-year-old Puertoriqueña from the Bronx. She knows she’s gay but hasn’t told her family. She decides to come out to her family the night she’s set to travel to Portland, Oregon Juliet Takes a Breath is everything! I found Gabby Rivera’s[2] debut novel to be a much needed sorts of “how-to guide” on being a young queer Latina. It is important to note there aren’t many young adult or new adult novels with LGBTQI Latina characters. In a previous GayYA post I wrote about the need for novels that capture the complex experiences of queer young Latinas. Rivera does just that. Through Juliet, Rivera has created an endearing and complex character with struggles with which many queer Latinx youth can relate. Juliet’s coming out is difficult for many of the typical reasons—fear of losing her family, concern for her physical safety, and a desire to belong. However, Juliet’s coming out is also tied to her ethnicity and her class status— which even she won’t realize until much later. Readers can follow along Juliet’s process as she learns more about her queer Latina identity. Throughout this journey Rivera drops names, terms, and history facts like: Lolita Lebron, Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Assata Shakur, Octavia Butler, PGPs, microaggressions, womanist, white feminism, banana republics, and more. This new knowledge forces Juliet to reconcile her Puerto Rican identity with her queer identity. At times Juliet is also asked to understand the complicated and oppressive role the United States has played in Latin America. Juliet also learns about the dangers of essentializing feminism and womanhood. In 2013 the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) and the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) released a report of a survey conducted with 1,937 self-identifying Latino and LGBT[4] youth as an attempt to provide a broad spectrum of LGBT Latino youth experiences in the United States. According to the report, “LGBT Latino youth suffer more isolation in their communities than their non-LGBT Latino peers in several specific ways. They are more likely than non-LGBT Latino youth to face harassment and violence in the community, and much less likely to participate in a variety of community activities” (26). Simply put, LGBT Latino youth face more harassment and violence in their communities than straight and cis Latino youth. Furthermore, the data collected suggests that as a result of this isolation and harassment, “LGBT Latino youth are twice as likely as non-LGBT Latino youth to say they will need to move to be accepted” (27). In other words, majority of the LGBT Latino youth in this study feel that in order to be open about their sexuality they must leave their community. Juliet and the HRC report demonstrate that more conversations about the reasons queer Latinx youth feel they need to leave their communities to be openly out and about the ways communities can create safe spaces for their queer youth are imperative. All this to say that Juliet is not alone. Many will be able to relate to her need to escape her family, her community, and even her culture in order to be out. Juliet captures a desire to survive and to thrive as a gay person. However, it is also important to understand the larger context and longer histories of oppression that have made it appear that young queer Latinx cannot thrive in their own ethnic or cultural communities. Very simply put, the juxtaposition that Juliet lays out between the Bronx and Portland stems from what Jasbir Puar calls “homonationalism.[5]” That is, there’s a dominant (often read as white male) gay experience that is more often accepted, and therefore more often represented, in society that does not allow for other gay experiences (like those of queer people of color and native people) to be part of the narrative. The history and consequences of homonationalism are a few of the reasons why Juliet feels that Harlowe and Portland have more to offer her in regards to her queer identity than the Bronx or her family can. Watching Juliet go through this process of understanding her Puerto Rican identity in relation to her queer identity is both beautiful and heart-wrenching. Through Rivera’s narration it is evident that Juliet has high hopes for Harlowe and for Portland. As a reader, I can relate a bit more to Ava’s, Juliet’s queer cousin, own political consciousness and while I really hoped that Juliet would find what she was looking for in Portland I was also very afraid for her. By the time Juliet gets to the Portland airport she is very vulnerable. Her mother refused to talk to her after she revealed she was a lesbian. To top that off she’s also experiencing a lot of culture shock. Portland is way different from the Bronx. Readers will have so many feels for Juliet. I know throughout the novel I wanted to give this nena a hug. Harlowe eventually lets Juliet down in a very racist and oppressive way. It will be a painful, and even triggering, scene to read. Juliet, like many of us with underrepresented and marginalized backgrounds, was searching for knowledge, understanding, and belonging. Often times we gravitate to information that is available in search of ourselves and cling on for dear life to the parts we understand. Juliet wanted to see herself in Harlowe and in Raging Flower because she needed to see herself represented. Harlowe’s betrayal forces Juliet to turn to her family for support. It turns out that her family is more supportive than she thought when she first left for Portland. Her cousin Ava, also a queer Latina character, is a fountain of information throughout the novel but is unable to fully get through to Juliet until after that Harlowe incident. Ava takes Juliet to a party exclusively for queer people of color where she refuels her energy and develops a new sense of self. Spending time with her family and learning from and with them is a vital part of Juliet’s identity construction. After figuring things out with Harlowe, Juliet returns to the Bronx and reaffirms her love for herself through a letter: “Dear Juliet, / Repeat after me:/ You are a brutal. / You are a warrior. / You are a feminist. / You are a beautiful brown babe” (258). I call Juliet Takes a Breath a how-to guide of sorts not because it has all the answers but because the reader learns much about queer identity, feminism, and Latinx history alongside Juliet. There is no right prescription for finding one’s identity and Juliet demonstrates that. Her research in the library, her participation in the queer sci-fi workshop, and even her new hair cut suggest that that the focus of the “how-to” strategy is to trust in our voice and the knowledge that surrounds us (including using our family as sources of information). Rivera introduces us to a character with whom many young queer Latinas will relate. Novels like these are significant because there are plenty of Juliets searching for themselves and this book gives them an opportunity to see themselves represented. Juliet Takes a Breath tackles many issues that queer youth, a more specifically queer Latinas, will understand. Furthermore, this novel is an opportunity to break down the misconception that queer youth of color need to leave their communities to be openly gay. While that need has certainly been fueled out of a desire to survive because not all families are supportive and there is no denying the history of violence against gay and queer bodies, we must also make room to commit ourselves to creating safe communities for our queer Latinx youth. Rivera’s book is a gift to this and future generations of queer Latinas. I expect Rivera will receive many fan letters asking for opportunities to intern with her. [1] Gentrification and the displacement of black and brown residents is a serious issue in Portland, Oregon. Recently, Portland has been named the “most gentrified city of the century” (https://www.colorlines.com/articles/gentrification-spotlight-how-portland-pushing-out-its-black-residents) and “hipster heartland.” While gentrification is not a major theme in this novel, there’s a glimpse of it when Juliet takes the bus late at night (p.74-75). [2] Gabby Rivera “is currently the Youth programs Manager at GLSEN and is developing their National Student Council and curriculums for GSAs across the country. She’s fostered other LGBTQ youth groups and taught as a multi-media artist for organizations such as the DreamYard Project” (Back of book matter). Learn more about Rivera at gabbyrivera.com [3] This need to leave home to be Latinx and gay comes up in Alex Sanchez’s Rainbow Boys, Mayra Lazara Dole’s Down to the Bone, Rigoberto Gonzalez’s The Mariposa Club, Charles Rice-Gonzalez’s Chulito, for example. [4] I use the term “LGBT Latino youth” because that is the term used in the report released by HRC and LULAC. [5] Puar, Jasbir. Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times. Durham: Duke University Press, 2007. Print. —
The novel opens with Juliet gushing over Harlowe Brisbane’s book. Raging Flower has awakened Juliet’s awareness about her body and her sexuality. From this book, Juliet found the empowerment she needed to come out to her family. Her love for Harlowe and the potential Portland has to offer is clearly juxtaposed to Juliet’s description of her side of the Bronx as a place that is loud, violent, and suffocating. Her antagonistic attitude is further reified when she’s harassed by young men of color trying to sexually pursue her. Juliet’s stark comparison between the Bronx, that is, her family, her culture, her ethnicity, and Portland, where she believes feminism and liberation await her, suggests that she feels she can’t be gay at home in her community. Unfortunately, this feeling is not uncommon among young queer Latinx and it is certainly an experience that is captured widely across queer and gay Latinx YA novels.[3]
Dr. Sonia Alejandra Rodriguez’s research focuses on the various roles that healing plays in Latinx children’s and young adult literature. She currently teaches composition and literature at a community college in Chicago. She also teaches poetry to 6th graders and drama to 2nd graders as a teaching artist through a local arts organization. She is working on her first middle grade novel. Follow Sonia on Instagram @latinxkidlit and on twitter @mariposachula8
I Volunteer As Tribute: Writing the Book I Wish I’d Had As A Teen
by Chelsea M. Cameron
“So, are you just going to write books about lesbians now?”
This was usually the third or fourth question I got from people when I came out. After “how did you know?” and “what did your mom say?”
“Um, no?” was usually my response.
I’ve been publishing books (first independently, then also traditionally, aka, being a hybrid author) since February of 2012. Every single one of them was about a heterosexual couple. Because I was heterosexual. Until, in October of 2015, I realized I wasn’t. Twenty-nine years of denial, down the drain. It was intense, it was terrifying, but it was right. For the first time EVER, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm and clarity. There wasn’t a battle raging under my skin any more. I had no idea how hard I’d been fighting that crucial part of myself. While technically, I am a lesbian, I prefer the labels of gay or queer, mostly because my attraction is to anyone who skews femme, including non-binary people and demigirls. After I got over the initial “OMG, I WANT TO DATE GIRLS INSTEAD OF BOYS,” I started worrying about my career. Would I still be able to write heterosexual romance? Would I be expected to write f/f romance now? And if I did, would people take me seriously since I didn’t know my sexuality until now? Was I gay enough to call myself an LGBTQIA+ author?
It’s something I still struggle with. All. The. Time.
What I remind myself (several times a day) is that I’m still ME. I’m the same person I was months ago. Knowing that I’m gay doesn’t change the essential makeup of who I am. And I’ve always written whatever I wanted. I started out writing paranormal YA, flipped to contemporary NA, then contemporary Adult and then I tried romantic suspense and now I’m working on NA fantasy. My readers are pretty used to it by now. Plus, I have always had LGBT side characters.
But taking the plunge and writing my first f/f romance was something else entirely. What if I got it wrong? What if I screwed it up? Would my regular readers still want this book? I agonized and worried and stressed and incessantly messaged friends on twitter and FB.
Yesterday, I hit publish on Style, my first f/f YA romance. Fitting, since it was the first day of Pride season (totally unplanned. It just worked out that way). I am more nervous for this book than I have ever been for any other. I know it shouldn’t be different. It shouldn’t matter. But I know that it does. This book carries more weight. It’s heavy with the wishes and hopes and longings of all of the girls who like girls. They can’t just browse through a bookstore and pick up ten or fifteen books about girls like them.
Things are getting better. I graduated high school eleven years ago and I remember there being one LGBT book in our entire library and it was about gay boys. And there were maybe a handful of out people and they were definitely NOT accepted. Often, I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d had access to books like Style when I was younger. Maybe it wouldn’t have taken me 29 years to get to where I am now. Who knows.
What I DO know is that I can’t go back in time and put a book in my hands, but I CAN put it in someone else’s. I might end up giving away more copies of this book than I sell, but I don’t even care.
The catalyst to my own “gay epiphany” was books. Books by Siera Maley and Kristen Zimmer and Dahlia Adler. I read them and re-read them and started questioning WHY I was re-reading them and BOOM. There it was. My ultimate dream is that I can give this gift to someone else. Just one person and it would be worth the hours spent alone staring at a computer screen and ditching my friends and rubbing my wrists with Tiger Balm because I did too much typing.
Style is the easiest book I’ve ever written. It didn’t feel like “work.” I smiled and laughed and swooned as I watched Kyle and Stella stumble their way toward each other. I got to write flirting and kissing and swooning and all the magical things that happen with first love. Joy. It was joy.
I’m still going to write heterosexual romance. In fact, I have one coming out at the end of June. But I’m never going to stop writing f/f. I joked on twitter that I wanted to be known as the Nora Roberts of f/f, and I was pretty serious. At the end of my life, I want to have written so much that there is something for everyone. Femme girls and dapper girls and bi girls and pan girls and trans girls and short girls and tall girls and curvy girls and smart girls and poor girls and depressed girls. I want to write them all, because they all deserve to have their stories told. Everyone deserves to be able to see themselves in a book character.
Just three days ago at midnight, I had another book idea. My schedule is already packed (in addition to the book coming out at the end of the month, I have a deadline on August 1st with a publisher, not to mention the fantasy I’m slowly chipping away at), but I opened a blank doc yesterday and started typing. The girls were talking to me and wouldn’t stop. I have a feeling that’s what the rest of my life is going to look like and I’m more than okay with that. Someone has to do it and I’m happy to volunteer as tribute.
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Chelsea M. Cameron is a New York Time and USA Today Bestselling author from Maine. She’s a red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world’s worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car, tweeting (this one time, she was tweeted by Neil Gaiman) and playing fetch with her cat, Sassenach. She has a degree in journalism that she abandoned to write about the people in her own head.
Editor’s Note: *whispers* You can buy Style here!
Seeking the Non-privileged Gaze
by Andrew Karre
I don’t think a day goes by in kidlit where we’re not in one way or another reminded of the importance of #ownvoices in telling the stories of historically underrepresented, oppressed, and marginalized people. Many authors and critics have been more articulate on that point than I can be—often on this very blog–and I’m grateful for their work and all the ways it informs mine (which is a fancy way of saying the ways it keeps me from making an ass of myself).
Andrew Karre is executive editor at Dutton Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group. He lives in St. Paul, MN. Find him on Twitter @andrewkarre