My Darling from the Lions is a debut collection of poetry full of short, storytelling poems that are vivid and clever. Split into three sections, the topics range from family to race, sexual politics to growing up, and a range of other moments, with some hilariously sharp lines and insightful ways of phrasing things that’ll make you think ‘oh yeah, that’s it’. Some of the imagery and comments from the poems will stay with me for a while, particularly ‘Sandwiches’ and ‘Interview with B. Tape II’.
The poems are approachable and readable, making this a great collection to read and share, and they create a real sense of person and life even within very short poems. Powerful messages are combined with witty storytelling to bring a really enjoyable collection of poetry.
Maxwell’s Demon is a kind of weird literary mystery crossed with philosophical questioning, as struggling writer Thomas Quinn tries to work out if the world really is falling apart thanks to hypertext. Five years ago, Andrew Black wrote a bestselling book, a perfectly crafted mystery, and then disappeared. Now, Thomas thinks he might be being stalked by the hero of Black’s book whilst his wife Imogen is away. Black is tied up with Thomas’s past, both from their acquaintance and through Thomas’ father, and Thomas might have to look deeper than expected to find out what Black’s been doing and whether he can be followed by a literary creation.
Hall mixes metafiction, Biblical scholarship, Don Quixote, and the Second Law of Thermodynamics in this unusual novel about finding order in the world and making sense of what is happening (having not read Hall’s debut The Raw Shark Texts, I can only imagine that it probably contains a similar postmodern distinctiveness). The pictorial elements in the text feel quite House of Leaves, though less embedded in the narrative, but it is the questioning over the characters and narrative that occurs later in the novel that really brings out an unnerving sense as you read it. The focus on entropy is intriguing and the Biblical parts are perhaps best for the occasional jibes at Dan Brown (there’s a lovely sense that the book is very aware that at the beginning it could go down the direction of a Dan Brown novel instead of the much weirder narrative it takes). The self-consciousness, not even in terms of the narration but in terms of the book itself and the focus on writers only having one novel and whether they’ll create another, is enjoyable and it feels like a clever way to engage with ideas about authorial creation and looking for meaning.
Maxwell’s Demon is a novel for people who like to occasionally have no idea what just happened, but recognise that literary reference on the way. It is a philosophical mystery about family, writers, and narrative that some people will devour and probably others will wonder what the point was (and maybe that’s the point).
Loveless is a YA novel about a girl starting university and working out she’s asexual, whilst seeing that she doesn’t have to have the exact uni experience that she pictured herself having before she came. Georgia is just starting at Durham, alongside her best friends from school Pip and Jason, and though she’s never been kissed or had a crush, she loves romantic stories and is dreaming of one of her own in this new setting. Instead, she finds herself sharing a room with someone who is much more outgoing than her, not enjoying going to clubs, and risking friendships as she desperately tries to prove to herself that she can find love, but maybe she’s been too focused on certain kinds of love and things aren’t as fairy tale straightforward as Georgia has been imagining.
I’ve never read an Alice Oseman book before, though I’ve heard of her books and particularly her webcomic Heartstopper, but the premise of this one made me know I had to read it. The setting was well-realised (I went to a similarly archaic uni and found freshers week to be similar in its weird combination of club nights and old traditions) and the supporting characters are varied and interesting with their own hints of narrative, but what is perhaps most notable is the protagonist coming to terms with being asexual and aromantic. Georgia’s thought processes will have relatable moments for a lot of people who aren’t used to seeing these things depicted in fiction, particularly some of her more negative thoughts around herself and her own future, but Oseman balances this with Georgia working out how to accept herself and to build new visions of the future. As someone who found certain parts of Georgia’s experiences very relatable, it was exciting (and sometimes difficult) to read her fairly typically YA story of self realisation, but with these particular experiences.
The story also explores other characters who don’t think they have a romantic future for various reasons, including Georgia’s lesbian best friend and a character struggling with a past abusive relationship, and this works well to show that different people are going to need to find different forms of self-acceptance and support, from romance but also friendships (these characters also get a fun enemies-to-lovers situation). There’s also some undercurrents of how people don’t have one typical ‘university experience’ (though in this case it’s quite different from most people’s starting uni as Georgia has her two closest school friends at the same place), which is also pretty relatable, but will also help with teenage expectations of university and the fact you might actually be more yourself rather than reinvent yourself.
Ultimately, Loveless is a witty YA novel that tackles characters struggling with their sense of self and the future of their lives and relationships. The writing style isn’t necessarily aimed at me, a twentysomething adult, but it was a gripping story and a good depiction of the complexity of the social side of university. As a book by a high profile YA author, it will hopefully share the experiences of someone working out being asexual and aromantic both to people (teenagers and otherwise) who need to see these narratives in relation to themselves and to people who might then understand how other people might feel.
Gender Explorers is a collection of interviews with young trans people, in which they talk about their experiences of their everyday lives, their gender, coming out, school, and their aspirations for the future. Ranging from primary age children to young people who’ve left school, the interviews give an insight into how life is for trans children in the modern age. Some are accompanied by interviews with the parent who accompanied the children to the support meetings where Roche conducted the interviews, but it is always centred around the experiences of the trans person in question. Roche terms these trans children ‘gender explorers’ as a way of highlighting the freedom to explore and be themselves, rather than be forced into a particular box.
This book feels very important in the current climate as a way of sharing the voices of trans children and young adults in a way that tries to protect them, seeing as all of the interviews are anonymous. Roche’s interview style (the interviews are structured to show who is talking and include the questions as well as answers) is empathetic and adjusts depending on the age of the interviewee in a way that feels authentic and allows for different focuses. A theme that arises from the collection is one of happiness: being able to explore gender or be treated in the way that they want to be treated brings happiness to these young people’s lives, and though there are struggles both discussed in the interviews and suggested under the surface, Roche always returns to asking for messages that they’d give to someone else who was in a similar situation and these messages are about kindness, positivity, and acceptance.
There have been some collections of essays and insights into the lives of adult trans people, but it feels groundbreaking to have a collection of the insights of young trans people that isn’t trying to then analyse what they say, but let their words speak for themselves. This isn’t a book looking for a single experience, but a way of opening people’s eyes to children’s lives and what can be done to support them. It definitely should be read by parents and anyone who works with children, but also people who are looking understand different experiences or feel heartened for the future.
The Wandering is a literary fiction choose-your-own-adventure novel, as an Indonesian woman who dreams of travel makes a deal with the devil. You’re stuck in a rut in Jakarta, teaching English, when you end up with a demon lover who offers you whatever you want. What you want is an adventure, to travel the world, and you end up with a pair of red shoes and the chance to go anywhere. But with such freedom, what are the best choices to make and the best stories to hear from the strangers you meet along the way?
Going into the novel, I didn’t know just how ‘choose-your-own-adventure’ it was going to be, but the answer is that it properly follows the format, with decision points that lead you off down different routes, mostly taking you to different countries and lives. It’s hard to tell how many different ways you can go, as I only took a couple of the different paths, but these offered various options so presumably quite a few (reading it on Kindle meant it was hard to get a sense of even how long it was or could be, and actually the hyperlinks worked nicely to make you more likely to stick to your chosen path). The use of storytelling and the ways different stories can have an impact on you was interesting (there was a nice element where you could go and be reminded of the plots of particular stories if you wanted in the middle of sections), particularly alongside the fact you were aware you were losing other stories by choosing ways to go.
This is an unusual look at global travel and the ways that choices can have a massive impact on your life. If, like me, you find choose-your-own-adventure a bit stressful due to not knowing if you’re making the best choice, then actually the novel works well to get across that point, whilst having enough text between decisions to feel like you are getting proper stories. As with the genre in general, it probably needs multiple reads to fully experience it, but it’s definitely an interesting exploration of where you can go with narrative.
Mad, Bad & Dangerous To Know is a young adult novel with an unravelling mystery, as a seventeen year old budding art historian ends up on the heels of a lost painting, and a woman forgotten by history. Khayyam is spending August in Paris as she does every year, dealing with the mess of a failed essay prize and almost-ex boyfriend she left behind in Chicago. When she meets a descendent of Alexandre Dumas, a young Parisian guy with access to documents about Dumas’ life, she starts to try and unravel the story of a lost Delacroix painting given to Dumas, which in turn reveals a woman with connections to these men and to Lord Byron, and whose story needs to be told.
Ahmed weaves together Khayyam’s summer with the story of Leila, fighting for her true love in the Ottoman empire two hundred years previously, to bring together works of literature and art with fiction. The novel is an enjoyable mixture of fiction, real elements of history, and a protagonist realising she wants to fight for women’s stories. Khayyam’s desire to unravel the mystery, and the parallels she finds with elements of her own life and identity, give the book a powerful meaning, but these are combined with the fun of the Parisian setting and the drama of Khayyam’s love life to make it a book that would be ideal to read on holiday (especially one in a old city, with a sense of these kinds of stories waiting to be discovered). For some people, the historical figures will just be part of the narrative, but for others this might spark an interest in Dumas, Byron, or looking for the lesser known woman around these or other men.
This is a perfectly pitched YA mystery that combines secrets of the past with a young woman hoping to prove herself. As a Byron fan that element was an extra bonus, especially the focus on The Giaour, but there’s no need to know anything about the historical figures in the novel to enjoy it.
Wonderland is a thrilling and dark reimagining of Alice in Wonderland, set in the same universe as Juno Dawson’s previous two YA novels, Clean and Meat Market. Alice is a trans girl who goes to an exclusive private girls school, where she’s mostly invisible apart from her dyed blue hair and the fact she missed a few months of school last year (nobody knows it was due to mental health issues). When Bunny, a rich girl with a reputation for going missing who Alice spent an exhilarating evening with, disappears and nobody seems to care, Alice starts investigating and is drawn into the world of ‘Wonderland’, an elite weekend party for ‘old money’ teens. And suddenly she’s a gatecrasher miles from home and trying to work out what is real.
It was hard not to be excited for a third book to follow Clean and Meat Market, which both exposed dark realities in the modern world using sharp, witty characters. Wonderland takes the two a step further, looking not only at issues of mental health, gender, and privilege, but combining it with a tense thriller-like retelling of Alice in Wonderland set over a single weekend. One of the best things about the book is that is takes the teen horror plot, which often tends to paint the villain or perpetrator as having some unidentified mental health condition, and complicates it, so mental health becomes part of the narrative. It feels like a combination of elements of Clean and Meat Market (there’s some cameos and extended references to characters from both, but it also combines the drink and drug fuelled socialite world of Clean with a character who’s an outsider to it, like in Meat Market) with some of the tension and murderous drama of the Point Horror books I loved as a teenager.
Alice is a wonderful protagonist with her Doc Martens and cynicism, wanting to be accepted but also not to fit in with the people so rich they can’t even understand what her life is like as someone less rich and not born with it. A lot of the issues she deals with will be relatable to a lot of people (whether around fitting in, mental health, gender, or figuring out pansexuality), and will probably help others to empathise, even though the world of Wonderland is very unlike anything most people will ever experience. The Alice in Wonderland elements work well not only on a narrative level, but to bookend the whirlwind weekend as something that has changed Alice’s life, but also with the expectation she’ll return to school, her family, and her best friend Dinah at some point once she’s out of ‘Wonderland’.
There’s more you could say about the novel, which has a vibe that is fast, clever, and dangerous—exactly as expected—but it’s better to just dive into its maze (whilst heeding the content warnings at the start). Probably ideal for older teenagers who enjoy similar teen dramas with hard-hitting themes, but also ideal for anyone who used to love Point Horror and wants something that’s a bit more up to date and relevant (plus full of literary references).
Hideous Beauty is a YA thriller about first love, grief, and why people keep secrets. Dylan’s secret relationship with Ellis is exposed right before a school dance, forcing Dylan to come out to his parents. He knows they weren’t as okay with it as they acted, but maybe he and Ellis can be happy and openly together. However, a car accident leaves Ellis dead and Dylan trying to work out who saved him but not Ellis and what dark secrets Ellis was keeping from him.
Summarising the novel doesn’t really get across either the characters or the way it deals with a lot of intense themes, not only death and sexuality but also cancer and sexual assault (which are all warned about before the novel starts). It is the kind of dark and gripping young adult novel that I would’ve enjoyed as a teenager, combining mystery elements around what really happened and the pages of Ellis’ journal that keep being sent to Dylan with a lot of emotions that need to be dealt with. The love story at its heart features both sweetness and complication, and the ending gives Dylan a chance to deal with the intensity but also grief and the fact he needs to move forward with his life. Plenty of moments in the book are very sad, and Dylan’s relationship with many of the characters is complex and often troubled at some point, but there is also the titular ‘beauty’ to be found, in characters being themselves and in their deep connections (Dylan’s friendship with Mike is a good example of both sides of this).
Moving between the present of the narrative and events of the previous six months, Hideous Beauty manages to tell a complex story that touches on guilt, justice, and trauma as well as love and friendship. It is definitely one to be aware of the topics covered inside before reading, but it shows that the classic dark YA thriller (there are hints of some of the more guilt focused Point Horror books in this) can be updated to cover the lives of LGBTQ teenagers and to carry an undercurrent about society and acceptance.
The Magnificent Sons is a funny, compelling novel about a man dealing with his relationship with his family and coming out as bisexual. Jake is twenty-nine, in a relationship with a nice woman, and feels completely different to the rest of his loud, in your face family. When his younger brother Trick comes out as gay on his seventeenth birthday, Jake realises his own response might be to do with his own repressed self. People already think they know Jake, though, so he finds himself navigating old and new relationships, as his family and friends work out their own lives too.
I knew of Justin Myers from his commentaries on The Guardian’s Blind Date feature on his blog The Guyliner, and he combines the sharp wit of those posts with the underlying sweetness of wanting people to have a nice date in The Magnificent Sons. This isn’t a lingering musing on emotions or even really a brooding look at coming out (regardless of how much people see Jake as brooding), but a funny, sharp book that focuses on character relationships and the quirks and differences that people have. Other characters’ points of view are brought in at times to highlight where Jake is holding prejudices and assumptions about not only their lives, but how they see him, and the novel in general is not only about Jake, though focused on him. The characters, style, and a few unfinished storylines left me wishing the book didn’t end, but it was also well-pitched to show that events were still a work in progress and that things wouldn’t be easy for Jake, Trick, or anyone else just because some things were more resolved.
This is a fun book that is great to sit down and devour in a short space of time, but it is also a great look at how people of different ages deal with sexuality and relationships, how assumptions don’t help people get along or support each other, and how people can react to bisexuality. There’s also hope that the novel will help people in similar situations to Jake to think about their own lives and what they want, because coming to terms with sexuality isn’t something restricted to a particular age group.
Music From Another World is a young adult book set in 1977 about teenagers in California becoming friends, getting into music, and dealing with the realities of sexuality in late 70s America. Tammy’s strictly religious family don’t know that she’s gay, but she writes unposted letters to her hero Harvey Milk to describe her situation to someone. When a school project forces her to have a pen pal from the state, she didn’t expect to get someone from San Francisco. Sharon is getting into punk and hiding her brother’s sexuality from their mother, and Tammy becomes someone she can start to share things with via their letters. When things escalate, it turns out Tammy and Sharon might need each other more than they realised.
Robin Talley has written another young adult book that combines important historical moments—in this case, Harvey Milk’s political career, and parts of the battle for LGBT rights—with a story of friendship and love and people standing up for who they are. The novel is entirely written in letters, both unposted ones and those between the two protagonists, and the style works well both to bring across the perspectives of the two characters and the ways they’re being honest or not so honest with each other and themselves, and to frame the novel’s setting as a time before an easier way to get to know a remote stranger. In a world where people use the internet to find other people like themselves, Music From Another World shows how people did the same thing before it.
This is the sort of novel that allows people, both young adult and otherwise, to enjoy the empowering narrative and also think about important movements and milestones of the twentieth century that it is worth finding out more about. It is gripping and readable, showing how struggles both political and personal haven’t necessarily changed a huge amount, and how people can fight to be themselves.