Diverse Books Opinion
Losing anyone you love is a miserable, painful, and heartbreaking experience. But losing a friend is uniquely strange in the sense that the world isn’t really equipped to keep you in mind as you grieve.
Archaeologists, by definition, must care about the past; we wouldn’t be in this line of work if we didn’t. To care about the past, we have to connect to it. And it’s imagination, whatever form it takes, that makes this connection possible.
Our characters, Bee and Alice, talk about the same things middle-grade readers do: how the world works, bodies, queerness, and what is fair and right.
Where are the very real depictions of us saying, “yes, we have the thing, and it sucks, but we can still have amazing lives anyway, even when the disability causes us hardship.”
The hope is that LGBTQ+ teens can see that positive change is doable, even in difficult conditions, and that although it may not feel like it sometimes, it matters. They matter.
What looks like a cute, illustrated graphic novel about two girls falling in love in bright, vivid color, is also a deep narrative about unfair labor practices, the place of women in society and work, and the power of queer love.
My grandparents may be long gone, but with Isle of Ever, I can’t help but feel this new story is as much theirs as it is mine.
Vampires face an interesting dilemma in immortality. Their bodies, generally, remain the same while their minds change and while the world changes. Context matters. What does it mean to be queer in 1960 vs. 2010 vs. 2025?
Even as we need to keep telling the painful truth of book bans, we also need to take extra care to celebrate and elevate the unique gifts that each book offers.
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