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What if you've met the guy of your dreams, but he died 50 years ago? The teen boy who narrates Vintage: A Ghost Story, by Steve Berman (Lethe, 2008), has recently moved into his aunt's New Jersey home, having been thrown out by his parents for being gay. Walking home along Route 47 one night, he encounters a handsome boy wearing a vintage 1950s letter jacket—a ghost of local fame. What's truly remarkable is the ghost notices him back—and follows him home! Our hero, painfully unused to romantic attention, is so flattered and infatuated he doesn't realize how much danger he's in...

When I started reading, I was worried this would be one of those ghost stories in which it takes the characters half the book to realize the ghost is a ghost (e.g., Deep and Dark and Dangerous, by Mary Downing Hahn). Not so here. The narrator's friend Trace recognizes the ghost's description at once, and the friends begin researching the ghost's history. Meanwhile, our hero becomes gradually aware that he's attracted the attention/affection of an actual flesh-and-blood boy, too. There are occasional horror-y bits, more creepy than gory, but the romantic and mysterious elements win the day. I also found the sensitive narrator likable and highly relatable in his fear that none of his peers could ever love him.

Warning for people who care to be warned, whether for themselves or "for the sake of the children": there's some sexual encounters and recreational drug use. Nothing a high schooler couldn't handle.

Any disappointment in Vintage can be attributed to its having been published by Lethe, a small house founded by the author. It's an enjoyable, well-told story that deserves wider distribution and readership. I could easily see it having come from a more established publisher, where it would have benefitted from stronger style editing and copy-editing, not to mention (and here the book snob in me comes out) a greater air of legitimacy. Actually, one more gripe: do you know how hard it is for me to write a book blurb when the main character has no name?

All in all, though, Vintage was a page-turner that left a smile on my face. And I won't get tired of seeing more good, teen books with "incidentally" gay protagonists any time soon.

It's been a very good couple of weeks, reading-wise. These are two of my favorites, both excellent graphic novels for adults and teens.

Life Sucks, by Jessica Abel, Gabe Soria, and Warren Pleece (First Second, 2008)

What if vampires weren’t the romantic figures of legend: rich, beautiful, and powerful? What if they were ordinary people with “regular crappy jobs”?

That’s the question Dave poses to his vampire-wannabe crush Rosa, and he ought to know. Transformed (and therefore enslaved) by a Romanian, poker-playing sleazebag vampire named Radu, Dave is doomed to spend the rest of eternity as night manager at the Last Stop convenience store, rotating hotdogs and selling blood orange juice to the nightly crowd of vegetarian goths.

Dave endures all the drawbacks of being a vampire (can’t endure sunlight or regular food) but enjoys none of the perks. He’s the same shy, gawky geek as ever, and his work uniform isn’t exactly a chick magnet. Because he refuses to kill, drinking only expired plasma, he can’t cash in on powers like super-strength, hypnotism, and turning to mist. How can he possibly compete for Rosa’s affection?

Life Sucks is Clerks meets Dracula meets Better Off Dead, in all the best possible ways. Winning characters, hilarious dialogue, strong writing, and top-notch art make this a graphic novel you won’t want to miss. Highly recommended for teens and adults.

More Links
Bookshelves of Doom reviews Life Sucks.

Skim, by Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki (Groundwood, 2008)

In this quiet, poignant coming-of-age story, high schooler Kim (called Skim because she’s so often overlooked) comes to grip with Life in the wake of a fellow teen’s suicide.

Kim struggles with many familiar teen concerns. She seeks to define her identity through her diary and exploration of goth culture and Wicca. Her best friend, Lisa, seems to be drifting away. Kim’s hopelessly in love with her English teacher, Ms. Archer (significantly complicated by Ms. Archer seeming to reciprocate). She feels terribly out of place among the phonies at her all-girls school, all of whom seem to think she's suicidal just because she's different and depressed.

What makes this book so special is the fine storytelling and gorgeous, brushy illustrations. The characters are sympathetic and fully realized, and the writing is beautifully spare with plenty of wry humor. Again, highly recommended for teens and adults.

More Links
Belletristic Impressions interviews Mariko Tamaki.

Have you visited Google today?

I initially clicked the image because the rich, rainbowy watercolors are reminiscent of Eric Carle; I thought maybe it was his birthday or something. But no, it's the winning entry from the 2008 Doodle 4 Google contest! Sixth grade winner Grace Moon wrote this about her design:

My doodle, "Up in the Clouds," expresses a world in the sky. This new world is clean and fresh, and people are social and enlightened. Every person here is treated as family no matter who they are. The bright sun heats this ideal place with warmth, love, and brightens everyone's day.

That's a dream worth pursuing any day of the year, but it seems especially timely given the past week's good news in California and the United Kingdom. I'm cautiously optimistic about the gay marriage news. There's still far too many anti-gay marriage bans tacked onto state constitutions, many of which materialized directly following the landmark Massachusetts decision. (Oregon is currently struggling with theirs; I imagine and hope other states are as well.) Still, it's a significant step forward, one worth rejoicing.

You can view the other Doodle 4 Google finalists here. Included are such whims as "What if pumpkins can walk and buffalows can talk?" and "What if I made a robot?" Hmmm, there's another dream worth pursuing...

TadMack has posted some lovely ruminations on why she writes. A snippet:

People have always starved, it's endemic to poverty -- the poor we always have with us, after all -- but things have been drifting quietly downstream for some time now, and in the distance is the roaring sound of the rapids.

...and yet I'm writing books. Is this the best use of my time?

Common sense suggests that paddling this canoe now won't even slightly delay our rush toward white water, but that's not why I'm still writing -- I'm writing because I believe in the power of stories.

Go and read the whole thing. Really. She writes very eloquently about questions I've often asked myself, that I know many of my friends have asked themselves.

On my dinner break I was mulling over this whole business of trying to sell my book, wondering why it's so darn important to me. This book in question is a middle grade novel about two girls falling in like. I remembered last year, when I was beginning to send it out--how when I told some of my lesbian friends about it, they said, "Wow. I wish there'd been a book like that when I was twelve."

And just like that, I remembered: Oh, yeah. That's why this is important. That's why I want this book to make its way out into the world, instead of being forever trapped on my computer. Because of all the twelve-year-olds who wish there was a book like that. That's why, as my agent starts sending it out, I've got all my fingers and toes crossed as much as fingers and toes ever were.

TadMack has posted some lovely ruminations on why she writes. A snippet:

People have always starved, it's endemic to poverty -- the poor we always have with us, after all -- but things have been drifting quietly downstream for some time now, and in the distance is the roaring sound of the rapids.

...and yet I'm writing books. Is this the best use of my time?

Common sense suggests that paddling this canoe now won't even slightly delay our rush toward white water, but that's not why I'm still writing -- I'm writing because I believe in the power of stories.

Go and read the whole thing. Really. She writes very eloquently about questions I've often asked myself, that I know many of my friends have asked themselves.

On my dinner break I was mulling over this whole business of trying to sell my book, wondering why it's so darn important to me. This book in question is a middle grade novel about two girls falling in like. I remembered last year, when I was beginning to send it out--how when I told some of my lesbian friends about it, they said, "Wow. I wish there'd been a book like that when I was twelve."

And just like that, I remembered: Oh, yeah. That's why this is important. That's why I want this book to make its way out into the world, instead of being forever trapped on my computer. Because of all the twelve-year-olds who wish there was a book like that, for all the people who look back on twelve and wish they'd had that book. That's why, as my agent starts sending it out, I've got all my fingers and toes crossed as much as fingers and toes ever were.

Filed next under the heading of books whose reviews on various blogs sold me: Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You, by Peter Cameron.

This is one of those books where everyone tells you it’s great, and it turns out they’re right. Eighteen-year-old James has always been a loner, always been a little depressed, but at times lately he’s been wondering if he wants to live. At the very least, he’s decided he doesn’t want to live the way his family and peers expect him to—namely, going to college, where he’ll be surrounded by all those dreaded people his own age.

James sounds stuck-up, and he is, a bit. But he’s also dealing with the pain of feeling so different and isolated from his peers—perhaps the rest of the world. Highly intelligent and sensitive, James has learned how to keep others from getting too close to him. His conversations with others are hilarious and sad, as he again and again turns others’ questions and comments back on themselves. His ridiculous conversation with his father in chapter 2, regarding whether James is gay, is what hooked me into reading to the end.

The book is definitely character-driven; it’s quiet, and only a couple of things could be said to “happen,” action-wise. Like any book about a disaffected teen boy, it’s been compared to Catcher in the Rye. In this case, it’s a very apt comparison, though to be honest, I enjoyed Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You rather more! It also reminded me of The Bell Jar, not just because of the depression aspect, but because of James’ frequent lapses into poetic musing and metaphor. When authors wax poetic, my eyes tend to skip. I had to be careful not to do so here; I would have missed some great images.

Other, somewhat silly, personal reasons for loving it: First, James’ habit of checking online real estate listings for cheap houses in the Midwest. I guess I'm justified, being 700 years old and actually somewhat ready to "settle down," but I do this more often than I should. (Even though I already live in the Midwest, non-condo real estate around here is basically unaffordable.) Second, James’ attitude toward his dog, Miró, who is given to looking at James “judgmentally.” The paragraph where Miró’s lying in the bathtub when James goes in to pee is priceless. Cameron must be a dog owner, no question.

Bloggers Who Led Me to the Book:

• KT at Worth the Trip
• Leila at Bookshelves of Doom
• Barbara Shoup interiewing Peter Cameron at The Edge of the Forest (I'm afraid this link will break as of May 1; I will try to fix it then)
• Probably a bajillion other people

This week’s Savage Love struck a chord with me. (Why am I mentioning a sex advice column in a blog that’s largely about books for young people? Bear with me.) The column, “How to Cope in the Closet,” features three letters by gay teens and serves as a reminder that as much as things on average are improving for queer youth in America in terms of support and acceptance, there’s such a long way to go.

In the first letter, a lesbian in high school who since coming out has dealt with daily harassment and ostracization by her peers and the unresponsiveness of school staff. Or the second letter, by a gay boy from an evangelical Christian family who, since being caught with gay porn on his computer, has been interrogated nightly by his parents about whether he has a girlfriend yet. Even the final letter, by a gay boy now out to his supportive family, is sadly telling; he and his boyfriend were too scared to come out until they were caught making out by his parents.

These aren’t the worst stories you’ll ever hear, of course—to quote the girl in the first letter, “nothing too terrible, no physical violence.” What they are is typical stories. Par for the course.

I’m always agog when I encounter adults in their 20s and 30s who claim they went to a high school where “no one batted an eye” at kids who were queer or suspected of it. These adults are never queer themselves, so I’ll excuse a little naïveté, but still I wonder what planet they’re from. At my high school, in the mid-1990s, if no one was harassed or bashed (yeah, right), it was for the simple reason that nobody was out.

At that time, there was no in-school support for queer and questioning teens, besides talking to a guidance counselor (whose quality varied). The only non-university support group in the area was hosted by the lesbian and gay resource center downtown. Kids regularly came from 20 miles away, and sometimes it was more like 50.

Since that time, brave kids at my hometown high schools have started gay-straight alliances, which I’m sure has done wonders for the climate. But this was in a fairly cosmopolitan city, for its size. What about all the places in America that, twelve years later, are still without a lesbian and gay resource center with 50 or even 100 miles, much less a GSA in every high school?

Where am I going with this? Well, I believe positive books about being GLBTQ are probably the closest thing to a universal support system available to queer youth in America. (Yes, there’s the Internet. The Internet is fantastic. But it’s as easy to find the wrong stuff as the right—maybe easier.) I say this because public libraries, assuming they’re conforming to the Library Bill of Rights , make these books available to any person in the community, for free, anonymously. These books will never make up for or excuse a negative climate for Q&Q kids, but they offer solidarity, reassurance, information, and hope.

Now, one thing that bothers me about the children’s book industry is the way sexual orientation and gender identity (“alternative,” that is) are still overwhelmingly treated as illicit topics for mature readers only—like sexual intercourse or drugs and alcohol. I say illicit because for the most part you only see these topics treated in books marketed for high schoolers. One industry professional told me coming out novels are overdone, yet said in the same breath that sexual orientation isn’t an appropriate topic for a middle grade novel. To which I can only respond: you’re wrong.

Coming to terms with being straight, gay, bisexual, trans, fill-in-the-blank starts long before puberty hits, whether you’re conscious of it at the time or not. No sexual/gender identity is illegal. It isn’t a disease or psychological disorder. And (going out on a crazy liberal limb here, I know) it’s not a sin to live your life with honesty and dignity. If children’s book professionals support this view and want to do their bit to improve the social climate for Q&Q youth, they need to shake off the notion that high school is the right time to start talking about it. High school is too late. “Better late than never,” yes, but too late just the same.

Three notable middle grade exceptions to the trend are James Howe’s Totally Joe, Alex Sanchez’s So Hard to Say, and Lisa Jahn-Clough’s Country Girl, City Girl, each of which has middle school age characters coming to terms with sexual orientation. These books make concrete what ought to be obvious: that middle grade books with queer characters aren’t any more illicit than Jenny Han’s Shug, Jerry Spinelli’s Love, Stargirl, or the slew of other books for that age group that include a chaste boy-girl kiss.

Off the soapbox for now. Let me take the opportunity to link to some of my favorite websites to learn about GLTBQ books for young people.

Worth the Trip - Uber-librarian KT Horning blogs about youth books new and old with GLTBQ characters and/or themes.

I’m Here, I’m Queer, What the Hell Do I Read? - Writer Lee Wind posts GLTBQ book blurbs as well as blogging about various other queer media issues.

Great Gay Books for Teens - An annotated bibliography by authors Alex Sanchez and James Howe.

Hello, Groin, by Beth Goobie (Orca, 2006), is one the more enjoyable books I've read recently that deals with queer issues. It's not groundbreaking, or the most beautifully written book ever, but in terms of an engaging story and characters, it's a winner.

Dylan has felt – and denied – fireworks between her and her best friend Jocelyn for years. The past couple years their friendship has grown strained, as each has pursued romantic relationships with boys. Now Dylan has had it with denial and wonders what it would be like to finally give in to her sexual feelings for girls. But she’s having trouble confronting Joc, Dylan’s jock pals are openly homophobic, and she’s dating the most wonderful boy in town – a boy she’d love to marry and have children with, if only her groin were in synch with her heart.

While Dylan’s inner turmoil about her sexuality goes on a bit too long for my taste, Goobie fills the space with rich characterizations and inner reflection. Dylan’s relationships with her sensitive younger sister Keelie, her confused but compassionate boyfriend Cam, and “hot lips Sheila”, a lesbian from another high school, are especially compelling.

Goobie has also created optimistic, but still fairly realistic, high school and family environments. When a student suspected of being gay is bullied, the school administration takes swift and effectual action in response. Family reactions to Dylan and Joc’s revelation range from unconditional support to confusion to disgust, but support definitely wins the day.

I appreciate that in addition to Hello, Groin being a very affirming book to queer and questioning youth, it’s very sex-positive in general. Dylan’s major discovery is not that she’s a lesbian (she starts the book well aware of her feelings, even if she hasn’t fully come to terms with them) but that it’s okay to be a sexual being and explore sexual urges, both in fantasy and real life. As Dylan comes to put it herself, “Every part of [our body] is our heart and soul. We think and feel and hope with our groin, just as much as with our brain and heart.”

Bonuses: school library volunteering, discussion of intellectual freedom, a child with a Quidditch obsession, and repeated use of the word “grotty” (Goobie’s Canadian, and so are the characters).

Reaching waaay back in time (all the way to 2007!), there the YA YA YAs initiated a discussion about social class in young adult literature. Whether/where poverty is depicted in YA lit, whether/how it's tied up with race, etc. Figures that in the month since, I've read several good books that deal with class differences.

1. Mortal Engines, by Philip Reeve.

   I'd tried reading Larklight and just couldn't get into it, so I was intensely surprised and pleased when I discovered I LOVED Mortal Engines!

   It's a steampunk adventure set on a far-future Earth where wheeled cities roam the continents devouring smaller towns. The gentry live on the top tier, slaves operate the engines in the bowels, and everyone else falls somewhere in between.

   Our story’s heroes are Tom, an apprentice historian (middle-class), Katherine, the Head Historian’s daughter (nouveau riche), and Hester, a would-be assassin (outsider/untouchable). All become embroiled in London’s sinister plot to dominate Eurasia. It’s a page-turner with three glorious sequels.

   To me, it read most like Kenneth Oppel’s Airborn and Skybreaker, but it will find fans among most literary fantasy/science fiction (Philip Pullman, Garth Nix, Diana Wynne Jones, etc.) lovers, junior high and up.

2. Taken, by Edward Bloor.

   In this near-future suspense, 13-year-old Charity has been kidnapped, presumably for the high ransom her parents will pay. Kidnapping children from wealthy families has become an industry in this America of intense social stratification (yes, even more intense than today). Fully expecting to be returned home safely within the typical 24 hours, Charity is forced to reevaluate everything she knows when the kidnappers stray from protocol.

   In this book, race and class are definitely intertwined. In Charity’s South Florida community, the people living in gated communities seem to be mostly white, while the new servant class is largely Hispanic, African-American, or otherwise “of color.” Taken sort of hits the reader over the head with its social commentary, but it’s still one of the better written and thoughtful suspense novels for the junior high age group available. It should appeal to both boys and girls.

3. Another Kind of Cowboy, by Susan Juby.

   And now for something completely different. This contemporary YA book explores teenagers Alex and Clio’s coming of age. Alex is a reserved, closeted gay teen who lives for horses. Clio is a spoiled and naive debutante at the local equestrienne school. Alex’s lack of money causes problems in his quest to pursue the dressage method of riding, while Clio has more money than she knows what to do with. In spite of their glaring differences, they somehow become good friends.

   I really enjoyed the book’s realism and dry humor. It reaches a very satisfying conclusion, and avoids the obvious solution to Alex’s financial problems by having Clio bail him out.

Originally posted at my blog on January 22nd, 2008.

Scroll down on this page to the link to "Edwards Award goes to controversial anti-gay author" at http://ypulse.com/archives/2008/01/ypulse_book_ess.php. YPulse's comment is: Ug. How did this happen? This feels like a mistake that no one will admit to.

You know what? If I were on this year's Edwards committee, I'd fully admit to that "mistake." Only it's not a mistake. Normally I like what YPulse has to say about books and reading, but in discussing the Edwards Award they completely missed the mark.

Kimberly Paone and Roger Sutton are absolutely right in their statements to School Library Journal. The politically correct answer is that it's icky that Orson Scott Card got what is more or less the YALSA Lifetime Achievement Award for a book, but political correctness does not and should not have any bearing on the Edwards Award. If we hold Orson Scott Card to a certain standard then we must hold ALL the recipients to that standard, and that would be ridiculous because the scope of the award is not based on an author's life or personal thoughts. It's based on his or her art and contribution to the YA genre. There's a possibility that in 10 years, David Levithan will be given the Edwards for Boy Meets Boy, and couldn't the same argument be made then, that his writing about positive, fun GLBT characters is somehow wrong and corrupting of teenagers? I may not feel that way personally, but I guarantee that many people do today and will ten years from now. If Card should be chastised and denied an award for speaking his mind on GLBT people, then couldn't Levithan be chastised and denied that same award for doing the same, only in the opposite direction?

In many aspects of life librarians have to separate the personal from the professional. There's one author whose books I don't like at all and usually don't recommend, but I think the author is a great person. I hated more than one book I voted for at Popular Paperbacks this year because I knew that despite my dislike of them, they fit the charge of the committee perfectly. I review for Kirkus and VOYA and my separation of personal and professional is tested on a near-daily basis when writing for those publications. Giving awards and positive reviews to books and authors is almost never a black-and-white issue.

Try again, YPulse. It's not all about you.

September is GLBT Month at Young Adult (& Kid's) Book Central (YABC).

To quote the YABC site: While most GLBT teens today don't have to deal with as much prejudice as in the past, attitudes and acceptance vary greatly from place to place and from school to school. Luckily, they have an ever-growing range of books and authors to look to for help, understanding, and information (IMHO the best defense against mis-information and misconceptions is arming yourself with the facts). After all, we're all human beings and we're all in this together. It only makes sense that we all try to get along, no matter our sexual orientation (or political or religious affiliations).

So, the YABC dedicated September as GLBT Month, and is all about GLBT books and the people who write them and read them and whose lives are saved by them. The YABC Blog is full of interviews and reviews. And, there are five different contests, with prizes!

I'd been planning to post about this from the time I read about it; and you see how bad I am with timing, and how busy, when it's taken this long to actually do it! But I was inspired following this YABC post about the negative feedback the site has gotten. Follow the links. It's quite depressing.

Parrotfish by Ellen Wittlinger. Advance reviewer copy from author. Publication date: July 2007.

The Plot: Angela remembers being age six and the swim teacher saying, "boys in one line, girls in another." Angela was puzzled: "why did everybody think I was a girl?" Ten years later, Angela realizes that "inside the body of this strange, never-quite-right girl was hiding the soul of a typical, average, ordinary boy."

Angela picks a new name: Grady. And with short hair, bound breasts, and a boy's wardrobe, Grady quietly yet proudly comes out as transgendered and starts living life as a boy, both at home and at school.

The Good: Do you know how hard it was to write that plot description without using "her" or "him"? Wittlinger avoids those difficulties by having Grady tell his own story, in first person.

Reviewing a book so far ahead of its publication date is tricky. As with Beige, I'll hold off being too spoilery.

I began the book thinking Angela/Angie/she, as that is what the main character is called. But then Angela announces choosing Grady for a name; I quickly began thinking "Grady" (Angie's family had used Angie for sixteen years, I had only used it for a few pages) but found myself thinking she, she, she until about page 200 when I started thinking he, he, he without even realizing it. About that same time, I stopped picturing a girl dressed as a boy and started picturing a boy. As a reader, my journey was mirroring the journey of the people in the book.

This is not a message book about being transgendered; this is a coming of age book about Grady, who happens to be transgendered. Grady learns what is needed to be a real friend, sibling, child; and to be all those things, he has to learn how to be himself. That's a common teen journey. And that alone is reason enough for this to make my Best Books Of 2007.

Grady is strong; but he doesn't realize how strong he is. To start dressing as a boy, changing one's name in the middle of the school year, and honestly telling everyone requires strength; a weaker person would have continued to be quiet, on the sidelines, and waited for a new school year.

Grady is now in high school; but he, along with his sister Laura and brother Charlie and best friend Eve, was homeschooled. Homeschooling is not portrayed as a negative; Grady and Laura are now in high school because a, their mother decided they had gotten beyond what she could teach, b, socialization. As for socialization -- the kids went to soccer, swimming lessons, and the like; Grady specifically says that "socialization" really means that "they hoped that being around boys would make me act like more of a girl." So this is NOT saying homeschooled kids aren't well socialized! It's saying these parents, suspecting something was up with their child, yet not being sure what, thought that going to school would change Angela.

I also have to point out the humor in this book. Think transgendered teen, and you think angst and depression. Not so! Wittlinger not only doesn't make this a "if you are transgendered it's all sad" book, she also adds humor that had me laughing out loud (and thinking this would make a great movie.) For example, Grady lives in "that house." You know, that house -- the house in the neighborhood that is so over-decorated for Christmas that you wonder about their electric bill and how people find the time to put together something so extravagant. Grady's father has everything from reindeer to a nativity scene to bears; the family actually dresses up in Victorian clothes. This, despite the fact that Mom is Jewish.

I want to repeat this book is as far from a didactic message book as one can get. Which, to me, would mean a fiction book that is really a non-fiction book dressed up with a story, resulting in thin plot and thinner characters. Here, at all times the story -- Grady's story -- is what drives the book, as it should be with any good book.

The book's title comes from the parrotfish, an animal that can change its own gender. Beyond that, this book stays away from religion, politics and other arguments about transgendered people, concentrating instead on the story of one boy's struggles. Certain issues are dealt with: changing for gym, bathrooms, breasts. They are things someone would wonder about, so they have to be addressed, but it's done briefly and matter of factly.

I also want to say that there is so much more I want to talk about; but it'll wait until a few months after publication. What else can I safely say now? Wittlinger surrounds Grady with a mix of supportive and non-supportive people; but at all times the supporting characters are well rounded. None are one-dimensional; none are used solely to spout things in either opposition to or in support of Grady.