I’m back with a roundup of some new LGBTQ-inclusive picture books, including a sweet board book for new and growing families, a celebration of libraries, a new-sibling tale (sort of), two biographies that explore creativity, and a hairy fairy tale. Share them with the young readers in your life!
Click titles or images for full reviews.
Board Book
We Can’t Wait to Hold You, by Richard Van Camp (Orca): This cheery board book shows photographs of diverse families of color awaiting the arrival of new children; families with two moms and two dads are among them. “Hello, sweet baby. Can you please hurry up and get here already?” says the first page, while another asserts, “Let’s bloom and grow together.” A few of the photographs show pregnant parents and older children; others show two parents and a young child without specifying how the family was created, leaving room for many options. The simple and sweet book could be used with first/only children to share what the parents’ feelings were as they awaited the child’s arrival, or it could be used with children who are expecting a new sibling.
A Celebration of Libraries and Reading
A Family of Readers, by Rob Sanders, illustrated by Gabbie Benda (Charlesbridge): In this rhyming celebration of all that libraries offer, the titular family goes to the library one day “to search and explore,” encountering patrons of all ages and interests engaged in reading, building robots, and learning about gardening, bread baking, and more. At closing time, the family drives away, full of knowledge and inspiration. Meanwhile, a young child, whom observant readers will note has been hiding in plain sight on every page, finally picks up a first book to read.
While the main family here doesn’t appear to be obviously LGBTQ, their car has a rainbow bumper sticker, implying that one or more of them is queer or they are at least allies. A Progress Pride flag is also visible on the library circulation desk in several scenes, and one of the other patron families appears to include a two-mom (or mom-and-nonbinary-parent) couple.
The spot-on verse lifts up what could be a pedantic recitation of what to do at a library and makes it instead a lively and engaging story, tailor-made for read-alouds.
A New Sibling
Proud Dog, by Sharon Davey (Penguin Workshop): Dorothy, a dalmatian, “was proud of her two dads.” But when a new baby brings chaos to their family, the pooch longs for their old routines. Eventually, though, she comes to see that a new baby can be a delightful companion (and source of dropped food). She’s proud of her family—and in a final scene that shows them in a Pride march, we learn that “on very special days, she got to celebrate them with the world.”
This is a sweet story, delightfully told and charmingly illustrated. It’s not “about” the dads’ queerness, but includes a nice nod to LGBTQ culture. To that extent, I recommend it. It is, however, one of many books in recent years told from the perspective of a same-sex-headed family’s existing pet as they get a new baby or pet. (See full review for details.) Animal analogies can be fun, but there’s also something to be said for human representation, especially in a community where children may never have seen another family like theirs in real life. We still need more picture books about human families with LGBTQ parents told from the perspective of a human child getting a new human sibling, touching on their varied experiences and any of the many methods the family may have used to grow. While a few books in recent years have started to address that (see the Siblings (New) tag and look for ones that don’t have animals on the cover), there are many more such tales to be told. I hope authors and publishers consider new directions going forward.
A Hairy Fairy Tale
The Bear Fairy, by Paul Coccia, illustrated by Fred Blunt (Tundra): In this amusing but pointed story about acceptance, a boy named Spencer wants to catch a fairy, but is surprised when the one he finally catches is a “bear fairy” with fur and a beard as well as a pink dress and fairy wings. When he shows the fairy to his friend Mariah, she says that fairies should be beautiful, fancy, and long-legged, not pudgy and hairy. “He is the worst fairy I’ve ever seen,” she opines.
Spencer stands up for the bear fairy, insisting that he is beautiful, cuddly, and “perfect the way he is.” He and the bear fairy continue to play happily together in the park—and a final scene wordlessly indicates that Mariah just might now be trying to catch a bear fairy of her own. The book lightheartedly offers a lesson about acceptance and standing up for oneself and one’s friends. It should particularly (but not exclusively) be appreciated by families with one or more bear dads.
Biographies
Clothes to Make You Smile: Patrick Kelly Designs His Dreams, by Eric Darnell Pritchard, illustrated by Shannon Wright (Abrams): This bright biography of designer Patrick Kelly shows how he was inspired by the women wearing elegant clothes to church in his hometown of Vicksburg, Mississippi. He was encouraged in his love of fashion by his grandmother and mother, even though it wasn’t something other boys did. Later, people found his vibrant designs and unusual approach “too tacky” and “too much.” As a Black man with a Southern accent, too, he didn’t fit in with the fashion world.
He persisted, however, befriending other outsiders who loved his designs. His philosophy was “I want my clothes to make you SMILE,” and his message to the diverse models of his first runway show was “you’re beautiful just the way you are.” The main text doesn’t mention Kelly’s gay identity, but an afterward does, along with noting his “his life and business partner, Bjorn Amelan” and Kelly’s death from complications of AIDS.
Copland: A Story About America, by Veronica Mang (Viking): “This is a story about music,” begins this lively biography of composer Aaron Copland, “and it’s also a story about a first-generation American.” The book takes us from Copland’s birth in Brooklyn in 1900, through his childhood among immigrant families and his development as a musician in Paris, where new ideas are flourishing. When he returns to New York, people aren’t sure what to make of his risky new music. Copland seeks to write music “that sounds like America.” But what exactly does it sound like, especially as the Great Depression has increased people’s demand for change?
Despite some detractors, “The people he loves remind him to keep going”—and here we see the image of another man with his arm around Copland, by a piano at home. (In the backmatter, we learn that Copland knew he was gay from a young age, “lived quite openly for his time,” and that fellow musician and photographer Victor Kraft was his “longtime partner.”) This is a biography—but it is also a story about change, the book asserts, and how Copland’s music invites us to dream of a better future. The text skillfully captures the spirit of his work and its significance, while offering a broader look at the role of art in creating a better world.