Newbery honoree, National Book Award finalist, and two-time Stonewall Award winner Kyle Lukoff has written another queer-inclusive middle-grade novel, and that alone should be enough to convince many to run out immediately and get it. If you want more details about this moving, funny story of family, identity, and intergenerational queer communities, however, read on.
Different Kinds of Fruit (Dial Books) brings us to the Seattle suburbs, where rising sixth grader Annabelle lives with her mom and dad. She expects few surprises in this final year at the private school where she’s been since kindergarten. She longs, however, to spend more time in the world beyond her neighborhood, and is intrigued by the drag brunches that she once saw advertised in Seattle proper. Her father, however, is reluctant to discuss anything LGBTQ related. Annabelle assumes this is bias on his part.
Her expectations for a boring year are upset, however, by a new teacher with ideas for a more relevant curriculum and by new student Bailey, who is nonbinary, wears cool t-shirts, and isn’t afraid to stand up to the class bully. Annabelle has not developed crushes on either girls or boys before, but soon develops one on Bailey, and isn’t sure what this means for her own identity. This is more than just a first-crush story or a coming out story, however. Lukoff then gives us a family revelation (hinted at in earlier chapters for observant readers) that rocks Annabelle’s world. Since the publicity material for the book is revealing it, I will, too: Her dad is trans, but has lived a “stealth” life for many years, choosing simply to be seen as the man he is. The book then leads readers into an exploration of little-seen (at least in middle-grade fiction) aspects of queer community, including intra-community differences, the intergenerational impact of bias and secrets, and even what young queer people can teach their elders, as well as vice versa.
Annabelle and Bailey also come face to face with bias in their school when their new teacher’s curriculum plans, involving student-led projects on issues that matter to them (such as climate change and LGBTQ equality), are opposed by the conservative mother of one classmate. Given the many real-life examples of conservative attempts to restrict curricula across the U.S. right now, this feels frighteningly timely—and this kids’ eye view of a similar situation reminds us exactly what is at stake.
Lukoff weaves in information about LGBTQ identities as necessary to explain his characters, but often does so with thoughtful analogies or observations that made even this queer reviewer stop to ponder the insights they gave. He also never lets pedagogy or the hefty social issues he tackles get the better of the story, which is fundamentally about human growth and relationships. Annabelle’s first-person narration is delightful, brave, and vulnerable all at once. She grows in many ways over the course of the story, not only in terms of her own identity, but also in her relationships with her parents, Bailey, and other students in her class. Annabelle’s parents are complex and flawed but also learn to change; in many ways, their growth is as important here as Annabelle’s. Bailey’s dad, while slightly less central, nevertheless amusingly has what Lukoff refers to in the Acknowledgments as “big PFLAG energy” (though Lukoff also reminds us that there can be downsides when a parent is too enthusiastic).
Other characters grow and change, too, but I will say no more for fear of spoilers. I think it is best for most readers to go into this story without knowing where it will lead, trusting Lukoff to guide us. Even after the major revelation there are still surprises. (See this book’s entry in my database where you can choose to reveal spoilers if you really want to evaluate the book for the kind of diversity it includes.)
I laughed out loud at the many moments of humor, such as Annabelle referring to risotto as “a gloppy rice situation,” but also paused to absorb lovely phrasings like “I had this strange falling sensation, not like I was falling asleep, but like I was falling from my childhood into whatever would come next.” Lukoff wins awards because he is a superb writer, and his talents are again on display here.
Different Kinds of Fruit not only offers us queer representation, but shows it from new angles, stressing how queer people may help—or sometimes hinder—each other in our quests for both personal happiness and social justice. It is about queer people in connection, conversation, and occasional conflict, across and within generations, and it is ultimately a story of hope, by one of the most skilled middle-grade writers around, queer or otherwise. It deserves to be widely read by middle graders—but I also recommend it for parents, as a reminder to ourselves of how our actions impact our children, and of the ongoing evolution of what it means to be queer.
Annabelle, Bailey, and their families are all presumed White; their classmates reflect a variety of racial and ethnic identities.