Liz Lighty is a Black, nerdy, poor, wallflower, which sets her apart in her small, rich, Midwestern town. But when a scholarship to an elite college falls through, she unexpectedly finds herself in the social spotlight, running for prom queen and the prize money that brings. As if that’s not hard enough, she may also be falling for one of her competitors.
You Should See Me in a Crown (Scholastic) is the first novel from Leah Johnson, a 2021 Lambda Literary Emerging Writers Fellow. Johnson draws on high school tropes—prom! mean girls!—but cranks them up to 11, while also giving us a vibrant original protagonist and supporting characters. Liz’s first-person voice is immediately engaging. She knows she doesn’t fit in at her prom-obsessed Indiana high school. She and her brother have lived with their grandparents since their father left and their mother died of sickle-cell anemia, the same disease her brother inherited. She’s not from a “legacy” family of prom queen winners and has avoided the social spotlight since her best friend from middle school abandoned her for the popular football crowd. She has friends, though, a group of “certified oddballs,” who support her as she ventures into the very public prom competition.
Although Liz isn’t sure about some of the personal changes her friend and “campaign manager” is urging, she tries her best, gamely participating in the community service events and public appearances required by prom court candidates. But a new girl, Mack, a drummer with a tattoo and pierced nose, is also running for prom queen despite not fitting in … and she’s also somehow attractive. What would happen to Liz’s chances for queendom, though, if her classmates discovered she was queer—and dating the competition?
This is a pitch-perfect romantic comedy and Johnson builds the relationship between the girls with just the right pacing. Behind the lighthearted romance and prom froth, however, is a more serious goal. As Johnson, who is Black and queer herself, explains in a note to readers, “Over the course of my life, I’ve read about a lot of carefree white girls with big bank accounts and even bigger love stories. These stories were everything to me.” At the same time, “I didn’t see many characters who looked like me or had problems like mine, especially not in romantic comedies.” Johnson therefore created one. “Here, Liz is given the space to be queer and confused, anxious and awkward, broke and brilliant, scared and smart. And most importantly, in this book, Liz is given the space for a happy ending.”
Brava. Johnson doesn’t deny the challenges that confront Black, queer people in the United States—amidst the prom drama we see both the systemic bias and the microaggressions Liz faces—but she also reminds us of the importance of things that offer hope, like happy endings. This is a terrific book—and studios should be falling all over themselves to snap it up for a film adaptation.
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