This week’s new LGBTQ-inclusive middle grade novels include one where the cover and publisher’s blurb make it obvious that there’s queer inclusion, and two where they don’t. That’s why I’m here—because these are all books you won’t want to miss.
Helga the Fair, by S. J. Taylor, illustrated by Alla Khatkevich (Atheneum): In this reimagined and queer-normalized Viking Age tale inspired by the Icelandic sagas, 13-year-old Helga loves life with Goat-Thigh, her adopted father who found her abandoned as a baby. Most of the village shuns Goat-Thigh, though, because of his berserker fits that endanger all around him (though he hasn’t had one since he adopted Helga).
Helga’s plan to ingratiate him with the chieftain goes awry, though, releasing a horde of vicious undead draugar from inside a nearby mountain. Goat-Thigh’s fits return and he just might be cast out of the community entirely—or worse. Helga must work with her best friend, Scratcher, and the chieftain’s prickly tempered daughter, Margrét Thistle-Heart, each of whom have their own family issues, to save the community from the draugar and convince them that Goat-Thigh isn’t connected to the terror. As they seek to do so, they unearth a tangle of family secrets that touch them all.
Queerness is normalized throughout the story; Helga and friends are assisted by the delightful older two-woman couple Gríma Witch-Face and Torfey Wood-Leg (whose prosthetic doesn’t stop her from wielding a sword). A relationship between two men also plays a key role, but I won’t spoil it, though I will note that it’s not their queerness per se that is the surprise, just the fact of their relationship. One minor but notable character is also nonbinary (though the term isn’t used).
While bias rears its ugly head, it is not bias because of any character’s queerness. There are lessons to be drawn from the tale that could apply to how queer people (and other marginalized folks) are treated in the real world, true, but in this imagined version of the era, queerness is fully accepted and prejudices lie elsewhere. As author S. J. Taylor says in an Author’s Note, not every book with queer characters, particularly if it is a fantasy, has to explore anti-queer bias and queer trauma. I completely agree; sometimes, it’s good to see queer characters simply exist like anyone else.
Some (adult) readers might argue that the acceptance of queer people shown here veers too far from the “real” setting of the Icelandic sagas, but (and I say this as someone with a graduate degree in medieval history) the sagas are fictionalized tales, written down centuries after the events of which they speak, and weaving in myths, spirits, and magic as well as historical happenings. They are meant to entertain and to convey virtues and values rather than to be histories in the modern sense. Taylor’s take honors the originals by following very much in those footsteps. As she notes, too, queer people have existed throughout history. Why not include them here?
Helga the Fair is a captivating story of magic and adventure, with engaging and well-rounded characters, but it’s also much more: a surprisingly moving and at times bittersweet tale of family made and found, and of belonging, love, respect, and community. It blends in thoughtful messages about how we don’t always need to be strong or perfect, how we shouldn’t try to “fix” those we love, and how we can forgive and heal. Scattered illustrations by Alla Khatkevich add to the charm (and suggest to me that this would make a splendid animated film someday). All told, it’s a highly recommended book that should find many fans.
Lightmare (The Incorruptibles #2), by Lauren Magaziner (Aladdin): After the events in the first volume of this post-apocalyptic boarding school fantasy, Fiora and her Thistle team from the Incorruptibles Academy are continuing to fight against the sorcerers who took over the United States a century ago and now oppress non-sorcerers. New revelations fracture the team, however, and hit close to Fiora. Will the group be able to take on the ever-growing threats even as the flaws in their own side are exposed?
I won’t reveal more of the plot, since some of it spoils things for the first volume. It’s no secret, however, to say that there’s a strong thread of found family and extensive queer inclusion, while author Lauren Magaziner continues the series’ nuanced look at the shades of gray in power, justice, morality, and the ways people handle trauma.
Fiora herself has a same-sex crush; other significant queer characters include a trans woman, a trans boy, and a nonbinary student, plus Fiora’s crush. One character can shift gender identity and presentation at will. Another has two dads. While their queerness isn’t the focus of the story, it comes up when relevant, e.g., when Fiora remembers that she knows about the Incs’ records office because the trans woman had mentioned that the Incs changed her name in their records after she came out and transitioned. Similarly, Fiora’s Jewish heritage and the values stemming from it are incorporated in ways that feel organic.
As I said in my review of the first volume, too, the series clearly takes its inspiration from Harry Potter, but doesn’t simply add a few queer characters to a magical boarding school. Told through the eyes of anti-magical folks engaged in a resistance movement against magical supremacy, it questions the simplistic binary of good versus evil, avoids a “chosen one” trope, and offers readers a more in-depth and multi-faceted look at equity, belonging, and the limits and perils of power, magical or otherwise.
Despite the substantive exploration of these themes, however, the book avoids preachiness. There’s enough excitement, adventure, mystery, magical powers, and technological weapons to make it a rip-roaring action tale as well. Magaziner balances all of the elements to create a highly recommended story that feels satisfying even as it sets things up for a presumed third volume. I can’t wait.
Just Ask Elsie, by Ari Koontz (Feiwel and Friends): Eleven-year-old Elsie Parker knows more about puberty than most of the students in her fifth-grade class in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Not that she’s gone through it yet—but her parents have enrolled her in an affirming and inclusive puberty class through their Unitarian Universalist (UU) congregation. Elsie has therefore already discussed things like pimples, periods, and the difference between sex and gender (though she already knew the last because of her trans dad and bi mom). It’s awkward, but she finds it interesting and perhaps even helpful. Her public school classmates, however, only bring up puberty-related topics as a way to make fun of someone.
When others in her school learn that she’s taking a puberty class, they therefore tease her—but then, one of Elsie’s classmates slips a note into her locker with a question about puberty. Elsie realizes that her peers, too, are seeking answers about puberty, but don’t know where to go. The one-hour video about puberty that their school health class will show at the end of the year is clearly too late and too brief. Elsie therefore launches an anonymous advice service through a whiteboard on her locker, and uses her knowledge from the UU class, plus research in some books her parents provided, to offer answers.
When school administrators find out about her service, however, they aren’t as happy that she’s sharing this information. Mostly, they seem concerned about parents who “have not consented to that type of discussion yet,” and Elsie begins to suspect that they are particularly concerned about LGBTQ-related topics—though she knows there are students in her class who would benefit from this information. But how much can Elsie push things without getting into the kind of trouble that would ruin her admission to a prestigious middle school?
While she’s trying to find a way forward (with a little help from Nate, the friend of her parents who donated the sperm to create her), she is also navigating her own crush on a girl in her class, and a shifting relationship with her best friend from childhood. Without spoiling too much of the ending, I’ll say that the solution lies in collective action, making this not only the story of one student’s growth, but a lively and timely tale of how kids can create change.
Elsie’s relationship with her crush is sweet and feels perfectly handled for her age and point of development. I also like that her relationship with Nate is a supplement to, but not a replacement for, her relationship with her parents. Both are supportive in different ways.
A few of Elsie’s arguments for why broader puberty education is needed feel ever so slightly stilted, like talking points from others who have written on the topic. I say that, however, after just having read and reviewed The Period and Puberty Parenting Revolution, which makes many of the same points in a non-fiction book aimed at adults. These points may feel more original and fresh to younger readers—and maybe I’m not giving today’s young people enough credit for being able to voice such arguments themselves.
Make no mistake, though: These arguments are vital, for as Elsie says, “There’s so much happening with our bodies and our feelings,” and schools are by and large not helping students to understand them. Debut author Ari Koontz has created an important, timely, and recommended story that just might help young people to understand why talking about puberty shouldn’t be gross or embarrassing, and how they themselves could become activists for more widespread and inclusive puberty education.