Coming out this week and next are two picture books featuring transgender girls (one told from her sibling’s perspective), one about a kid whose mom is a transgender man, and one about a boy who wants to dance ballet!
Guthli Has Wings, written and illustrated by Kanak Shashi (Tulika), was originally published in India in 2019 but released in the United States today. It stars a child name Guthli, growing up in India, who has to convince her parents that she is a girl, not a boy as everyone believes. Guthli loves to draw, climb trees, and ride her bike. For the festival of Diwali, everyone in her family is getting new clothes. Guthli doesn’t want the clothes she’s been given, though, but rather a “light, frilly frock” like her older sister. She tries it on. Her sister screams, her brother laughs, and her father looks at her “with angry eyes.” Her mother tries to be more gentle, telling Guthli, “Son, you are a boy. You should wear your own clothes, not your sister’s.”
Guthli replies that she wants to be a fairy, “And why do you keep saying I’m a boy when I’m a girl?”
“Boys are boys and girls are girls, Guthli,” her mother responds, insisting that Guthli change clothes.
Guthli is sad throughout Diwali, and soon withdraws into herself. One day, however, her mother surprises her with a beautiful new frock. “Wear it and be what you want,” she says. Guthli is delighted because she can now be who she is. Her new-found confidence makes her think that someday she could change the world.
The plot doesn’t stray far from other books about transgender girls and gender creative boys who want to wear dresses and face opposition from family or peers (10,000 Dresses, Jesse’s Dream Skirt, Sparkle Boy, Jacob’s New Dress, Morris Micklewhite and the Tangerine Dress, among others), but the book stands out for its warmth, setting, and focus on an Indian family, as well as author/illustrator Kanak Shashi’s bright, textured cutout illustrations. The family’s initial negative reaction to Guthli’s assertion of her gender might be troubling to some readers, though. A few words (tyre, frock) reflect the British English used in India, but should be easily understood by readers elsewhere.
In My Sister, Daisy, by Adria Karlsson and illustrated by Linus Curci (Capstone), a boy addresses his sibling and describes his response when she told him she was a girl, not a boy as people had assumed. While he struggles sometimes to remember to use the right name and pronouns for her, and sometimes resents the extra attention she seems to be receiving, he ultimately realizes that they can still have fun together and he loves her as his sister. Karlsson makes a point of dispelling gender stereotypes, for example, by the narrator saying his sibling had long hair, but he knows that doesn’t make someone a girl. He even knows someone who is both a boy and girl and uses they/them. When he asks his sibling if she’s sure about her identity, she confidently tells him she is.
Their parents are accepting from the start. They get picture books from the library about “kids like you” and meet other families like theirs. The boy learns the word “transgender,” helps other kids remember his sister’s new identity, and sometimes goes with his sister to the “Rainbow Kids” lunch at school, with LGBTQ kids and those with LGBTQ family members. He meets older transgender kids and others “who weren’t he or she.”
Still, he struggles with his feelings and sometimes gets frustrated when he doesn’t use the right words or when Daisy gets all the attention. His parents stress how important it is to treat Daisy as she is inside, and that the “special attention” will fade over time as people begin to accept her. In the end, the narrator affirms that he loves Daisy as his sister and best friend.
The father is Black, the mother White; the siblings have skin tones between them.
This story is somewhat similar to Sam Is My Sister, by Ashley Rhodes-Courter and illustrated by MacKenzie Haley (Albert Whitman). Both were written by the real-life mothers of transgender daughters. My Sister, Daisy offers more insight in to the cisgender child’s feelings; Sam Is My Sister shows more of the transgender child’s journey to realizing her identity. Sam Is My Sister also shows Sam’s struggle against bullies and her sadness when she can’t be who she is. We also see Sam’s parents being more cautious than Daisy’s in letting Sam wear girls’ clothes. They then meet with “some doctors and experts” and come to be fully supportive. My Sister, Daisy, in contrast, shows Daisy knowing who she is from the start; her parents are immediately accepting. There are no encounters with teasing or bullies. Families will likely find one story or the other resonates more with them. (And for a story from the perspective of a cisgender girl with a transgender brother, try Jack, Not Jackie, by Erica Silverman and illustrated by Holly Hatam (Little Bee)).
Families should welcome My Sister, Daisy as a tool to help children understand and support a transgender sibling. Those using it in a school or library setting with a larger audience, though, should be aware that, like Sam Is My Sister and Jack, Not Jackie, it should not replace books about transgender children told from the perspectives of trans children themselves. (Try any of the books by Kyle Lukoff or look through my database at the picture books about transgender girls and transgender boys for others.) Nevertheless, for the audience of siblings that it is targeting, My Sister, Daisy is a warm and sympathetic story.
He’s My Mom!: A Story for Children Who Have a Transgender Parent or Relative, by Sarah Savage and illustrated by Joules Garcia (Jessica Kingsley), is a companion (but standalone) book to the author-illustrator pair’s She’s My Dad, following a similar story arc but this time starring a child with a mom who is a transgender man. Benjamin (who goes by Bambi) and their mom are getting ready to go on the annual camping trip of all the men in their family. (We only ever see Bambi’s mom; we don’t know if they have another parent.)
Only after several pages does Bambi explain that their mom David “used to be a she but now he is a he” after doing something called “transition,” which involved taking medicine to make his voice deeper and wearing different clothes. While this was scary at first, David reassured Bambi that “I will always be your mom and I will always love you very much.” Bambi tells readers that while David uses he/him pronouns, he likes it when Bambi calls him either Mom or David. Now, David smiles and laughs a lot more, Bambi observes. Part of their mom’s transition involved going to the hospital for surgery, but Bambi says that even though their mom’s outsides changed, “inside he’s still my mom.”
While camping, Bambi gently corrects a cousin who uses the wrong pronoun for David, explaining that it took them a while to get used to the pronouns, too. The book ends with a joyous image of Bambi and their mom hugging as Bambi proudly says, “He’s my mom!”
Garcia’s simple, bold, illustrations pop with color and keep the focus on the characters, who are all drawn with medium-toned skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. A Reader’s Guide offers a glossary and questions for discussion, like: “Why is it important to use the right pronouns when speaking about someone?” Bambi’s gender is never stated in the main story, but one of the discussion questions at the end uses “they,” so I’ll follow that; the publisher’s website uses “he.”
Savage, a writer and transgender advocate, has written a book that manages to be both explanatory and upbeat. Bambi’s explanation of their mom’s gender identity comes from a place of pride, confidence, and love. Too many picture books, even ones that are ultimately supportive, have explained LGBTQ lives only after someone questions or demeans them. (Another book that also takes a positive approach is Gayle Pitman’s My Maddy
As I said about She’s My Dad, He’s My Mom, we should just remember that not all trans parents will use the parental titles depicted here; some might choose not to have gender affirming surgery; and some might be parenting with a spouse or partner of any gender, to list only a few possibilities. That is in no way a criticism of either book; I appreciate Savage’s focus on one family at a time. We simply need even more books that show trans parents—even as we should be glad to have this one.
Bonus note: Older children and teens may find value in My Trans Parent: A User Guide for When Your Parent Transitions
When Langston Dances, by Kaija Langley and illustrated by Keith Mallett (Simon & Schuster) stars a young Black boy dreaming of dancing like his hero, Alvin Ailey, in a joyful story about having the confidence to be oneself.
“Langston liked basketball, but he adored ballet,” begins the text, showing us that Langston isn’t letting himself be limited by people’s assumptions about what a young Black boy might enjoy. In fact, Langston “fell in love” when his mother took him to see the Alvin Ailey Dance Company. When he asks her if he could dance like that, she tells him he can do whatever he sets his mind to doing.
He practices at home until he’s ready for his first dance class, and dances along the street on the way there. A kid passing by tells him “Boys don’t dance like that,” to which Langston responds that he’s seen them do so.
At the studio, he is nervous and wonders if his basketball jersey and shorts are appropriate. He passes by classrooms of children doing tap, hip-hop, and African dance—all with strong histories of Black artists—but doesn’t stop until he finds the ballet class. The classroom is full of girls in pink tutus and white shoes. The teacher welcomes him and helps him to find a pair of black ballet slippers. “They were different from the others” but “fit him perfectly”—an apt metaphor. He shows off his moves and the teacher approves, but reminds him that he’ll have to work hard to earn the shoes,. He promises he will.
Over the final few pages, we see him, older, performing ballet in front of an applauding audience and then leaping, untethered, through a starry sky. If the book doesn’t make you cheer as well, check your pulse.
Mallett’s illustrations are almost photorealistic at times and capture each nuance of expression in the characters. Langston and his mother are Black; the teacher has lighter skin and could be White or Latina, and the other children at the dance studio have a variety of identities.
Langston isn’t explicitly queer, but his desire to do a gender-atypical activity and his queer hero, Alvin Ailey, make this a book that may appeal strongly to queer children, among others. Author Kaija Langley has also written for several queer publications, so we can assume she’s attuned to the possibility that Langston could be queer. Additionally, his name evokes Langston Hughes, who may also have been queer—and the very ambiguity of Hughes’ orientation perhaps reflects protagonist Langston’s own. The ambiguity is not a negative; a boy of Langston’s age (maybe 7 or 8) may not yet think of himself as queer even if he is. (Some kids know this early; others don’t.) Additionally, it’s important for non-queer boys who simply enjoy gender-atypical activities to see themselves, too. This story of self-acceptance has a message for all.
Don’t forget to check out the now not-quite-so-new picture books about gender and inclusion that I wrote about only a few weeks ago!