Sara Farizan’s If You Could Be Mine tells a story that I don’t think has ever been told in Young Adult fiction before, and it’s an important one. Set in contemporary Iran, it’s told from the point of view of 17-year-old Sahar, who has been in love with her best friend Nasrin for almost as long as she can remember. Luckily for her, Nasrin loves her back. Unluckily for both of them, homosexuality is illegal. But they can still share their love in secret, at least until the day Nasrin’s family announces she is to be betrothed–to a dude. While there’s nothing for Nasrin to do except go along with it, Sahar sinks into ever increasing despair, determined to stop the wedding at any cost. Her solution becomes this: transition to being a man, as gender reassignment surgery in Iran is, funnily enough, legal.

I was thrilled to receive an advanced copy of this book, as it’s been on my radar for a while. Yet I found myself slightly disappointed with certain things as I made my way through it. I found parts of it didactic, yet with books that introduce details about a culture to a (young) Western audience that more likely than not knows very little about it, I concede that basic explanations woven into the storytelling are necessary. I had also been nervous about how this would translate for the trans community, as it presents an excruciating conundrum: faking trans emotions seems offensive (obviously), but at the same time the fact that Nasrin would be pushed to such ideas necessarily highlights the painful absurdity of the entire situation. But in the trans community that Nasrin joins to get advice and encouragement in the novel, I found that Farizan was able to balance this well by showing trans folk who actually were living their truths, and the varying spectrum of pain that went along with that, whether their “condition” was “legally treatable” in their country or not.

I guess my main issues with the novel were personal annoyances with the main characters themselves. While I started the book in extreme sympathy for Sahar, as she declines further and further into her desperate plans, she becomes single minded in a completely irrational way. When people repeatedly warn her of all the negative outcomes or futility of her desires, she seems to shrug them all away, essentially saying over and over–I don’t care. I need to be with Nasrin. On the one hand, I question whether I even have a right to criticize Sahar. The most obvious reason being that as a privileged white girl from America, how can I look down on how Sahar reacts to the harsh reality of a world I can’t begin to truly understand? How obnoxious am I?

And for another thing, we all know that teenage love does indeed make you completely irrational and single minded. So in reality, there was probably a large amount of truth to Sahar’s stubbornness. It was just a truth I find annoying. Because the thing that bothered me most was that I didn’t find Nasrin likeable at all. She’s consistently portrayed as a shallow, selfish girl who yes, probably loves Sahar very deeply on the inside, but doesn’t have the conviction to show it as Sahar does. So while Nasrin drove herself to insanity over this girl, I couldn’t even truly sympathize with her motivation. Maybe if the novel was longer, and we had more of a chance to really get to know both Sahar and Nasrin through deeper character development, I would have felt completely differently about the whole thing.

Because at this point in YA, I expect more. Yes, while teenagers can be irrational, I really wanted more internal struggle within Sahar about what she was doing to herself, her body, her mind, in exchange for a girl who might not deserve it. I wanted more rage not just at the boy who was set to marry her beloved, but at the system as a whole, at the government, at the wider world who lets it happen. Farizan proved she could show grit in her descriptions of some other minor characters and the struggles they bore to survive. I wanted more of that grit for Sahar.

This all said: Would I still stock this book in a middle school or high school classroom? Would I put it on display at libraries? Absolutely. It still opens the door to discussions that need to be had, and can educate a lot of young people who have grown up in an It Gets Better North American psyche who may have no idea of the struggles other young people just like themselves endure in different parts of the globe. And after getting through all the frustrating middle parts, I actually did really like the ending.

If You Could Be Mine will be released in August 2013.

Sarah Diemer’s Twixt drew me in from the first sentence, sunk its claws into me, and didn’t let go until the last page. The novel is named after the world it resides in – Twixt – and the world is a strange, frightening, utterly fascinating one. People wake up in Abeo City with no memories, and they’re forced to navigate a world that doesn’t work like the one we’re used to. Walls can be walked through, people barter hair for things they want, and everyone lives in fear of the Snatchers – skeletal, birdlike monsters that swoop down and take away anyone caught outside at night.

The narrative follows Lottie, a girl who proves from the beginning to be an exception to so many rules. People usually appear in Twixt at one of Abeo City’s crossroads at midnight, but Lottie wakes up outside of the city. She also appears to be immune to Nox, a drug that the people of Abeo City use to regain a memory from their past. The story centers around the mystery of Lottie’s past and is interwoven beautifully with her relationship with Charlie, an idealistic and deeply courageous girl whose job it is to retrieve new arrivals from the crossroads before they’re attacked by a Snatcher.

The growing relationship between Lottie and Charlie and the rich development of the world in Twixt are what drew me in and kept me captivated. I constantly long for genre stories in which the main characters are lesbians – fantasy and historical fiction and sci-fi and horror – and I think Twixt falls into the Young Adult dark fantasy category. It’s very suspenseful. The atmosphere really creates a feeling of oppression, dread, and the unknown: the landscape of woods outside the city is flooded with images of a red sky behind black bars of trees, and inside the city, the decrepit, dust-covered, crumbling areas are contrasted with a Victorian-esque affluent section. Through all of it, Lottie’s emotions are so close to the reader that I felt swept along with the story. Her relationship with Charlie felt so authentic, especially considering that, with so many mysteries and secrets, they struggle with telling each other the truth. At the same time, their relationship is incredibly uplifting and made me want to punch the air with triumph several times.

There are so many twists involved in this story that it’s hard to talk about without spoilers. I was really struck by the strength of the characters and the compassion they show. I really enjoy books that restore my faith in people through the characters; Lottie has such incredible courage in the face of really awful, soul-searing things, and Charlie has a tremendous amount of goodness and hope in her. All of the characters have their flaws and downfalls, and even the side characters are multi-faceted. My favorite lesbian books are ones where the fact that the characters are lesbians is only a part of it, informing their experience but not engulfing it. The messages of compassion and hope made this a very fulfilling read for me.

Somewhere in Manhattan there is a think tank wherein scientists have spent the last ten years perfecting an instrument that will allow them to measure a book’s suitability for beach reading. On the Beach Readability Index (BRI) the novella Bella Key, by Scarlet Chastain, scores a perfect ten.

The first point in Bella Key’s BRI favor is that the story is set on a beach. The beach-reader can immerse herself in sand and surf, both fictional and actual.

Bella Key takes its name from the tiny island off the coast of Florida where the book is set. Bella Key’s heroine, Maddie, travels there on a whim, feeling overwhelmed and beset upon by her job and her mother’s insistence that she marry the male attorney she has been dating. She feels like something is missing and she finds it in the form of Sunny, the beautiful bed and breakfast owner who lets her stay for free, provided Maddie cooks for the two of them.

From there Bella Key unfolds like the classic romance, complete with requisite sexual tension, colorful supporting characters, a fair dose of sex, and [surprise!] a happy ending.  The story is thoroughly enjoyable and the writing is very professional. Chastain does not make any rookie mistakes. The pacing is good. The scenes are vivid. Dialogue moves quickly.

I only have two criticisms, both of which are related to the genre. Criticizing a book’s genre-based aspects is something I basically disapprove of. You can’t read a sleepy memoir about growing up Methodist and say it would have been more fun if there had been strippers or maybe an alien abduction.  It’s just not helpful. But here I go…

My first criticism was that I found Bella Key to be a bit short. (It’s a novella, so, of course, it’s short.)

I had read that the e-publishing revolution had brought the novella back from obscurity. I wanted to explore this literary form, so I picked Bella Key.

Now here is a true confession I would never make at my day job (I am an English professor and writer by trade): I don’t really like short stories. The problem is that they are so short. If I’m satisfied when they end at page 12, then they can’t have been that good to begin with. (There are a few exceptions. I love Isak Dinesen, and I’m a sucker for anthologies with a theme like Portland Queer: Tales of the Rose City.) But usually I’m just disappointed when a short story is over.

I felt somewhat that way about Bella Key. It’s a perfect 10 on the Beach Readability Index because you can start it right after you finish your clam strips and finish it before you hit the margarita shack. But it is a good read, so, at the end of the day, I wish it had lasted longer.

My second criticism was that I didn’t quite believe the sex.

Everyone knows that the sex in romance novels is not realistic.  I’m okay with that. In fact, I get a little embarrassed when romance novelists try to be realistic by having the dog jump on the couple while they are in bed or by having one of the lovers get up and pee. That’s not what I came for.

Nonetheless, when dutiful, overworked, previously-heterosexual Maddie has sex with Sunny for the second time and covers her body in honey and then licks it off, I don’t believe it. I just don’t know anyone who would go that high on the glycemic index on her first lesbian weekend.  Of course, that’s the whole point. Bella Key is an erotic romance novel. Chastain would be well within her right to tell me that if I wanted real sex, I could just get a copy of Our Bodies, Our Selves and read up.

Self-servingly, I’d like to point out that the scene would have worked if Bella Key had been a novel. If the honey came out on page 200 it would have all made sense.

At the end of the day, the really interesting thing about Bella Key is not the sex nor the fact that it is a novella, but the fact that Scarlet Chastain is a pen name for Sandra Bunino, a well-published author of M/F erotic romance.  (I read a few interviews with Chastain/Bunino. She sounds like a genuinely nice person.) Bella Key was not written for an exclusively – or even a primarily – lesbian readership.

I know some people who disapprove of this kind of crossing over, feeling that  lesbian erotica should be written for and by lesbians only.

Personally, I liked the idea that a successful M/F romance writer would introduce her primarily heterosexual readers to a lesbian love story. I can hear a few of my more politically correct friends saying “but that’s just another form of objectification!”

Maybe.

But I grew up on media that portrayed queer women as evil or noble-and-destined-to-be-tragically-killed.  Those were the options. I’ll take lesbians-as-sexy-romantic-heroines any day.

Arsenal Pulp Press posted Blue Is the Warmest Color: a book, a film, a Palme d’Or, and no shortage of controversy.

Bold Strokes Book Festival, UK posted Amy Dunne: LGBTQ Books Made Me Realise I Wasn’t Alone and Rebecca S. Buck posted about the origins of the festival.

Danika Leigh Ellis (that’s me!) posted my intro video for Booktube, including some of my favourite lesbian books. Hopefully I’ll be putting up more videos about lesbian books soon!

Gay YA posted a guest post by author Zoe Marriott, on asking her readers whether the heroine’s best friend in her upcoming trilogy should be a gay guy or a gay girl, and getting some unexpected answers and a guest post by Anna Mickelsen (the Lesbrarian!) about queer books and libraries/librarians.

Lambda Literary posted New in June: Steve Berman, Kate Worsley, Jasmine Beach-Ferrara, and David Margolick and A Week at Saint And Sinners–A Queer Literary Festival.

Queer Books Please posted Episode 21 – More Science Fiction.

Women and Words posted Wild Girls by Sacchi Green (and giveaway until Friday!)

“Sleeps With Monsters: Yes, I’m Talking About SFF Lesbians In Love Again” was posted at TOR.

“Rewriting the Story of Shame and Isolation: The Lambda Literary Awards Turn 25″ was posted at Hyperallergic.

Kelli Dunham was interviewed at Lambda Literary.

Nicola Griffith posted My night at the Lammys and My Lammy speech.

Sassafras Lowrey posted Lammys!

I Remember by Julie Cannon was reviewed at C-Spot Reviews.

Healing Hearts by Donna K. Ford was reviewed at C-Spot Reviews.

Mean Little Deaf Queer by Terry Galloway was reviewed at A Gay Ladies Book Club… 2 years ago. But I just found this blog!

The Bisexual’s Guide to the Universe : Quips, Tips, and Lists For Those Who Go Both Ways by Nicole Kristal and Mike Szymanski was reviewed at LGBTQ Recs Month.

It’s Complicated: Misconceptions by Erika Renee Land was reviewed at Sistahs On the Shelf.

Huntress by Malinda Lo was reviewed at A Gay Ladies Book Club.

The Crush by Susan X. Meagher was reviewed at C-Spot Reviews.

Strangers in Paradise by Terry Moore was reviewed at things mean a lot.

Prohibited Passion (Bandit Creek #10) by Alyssa Linn Palmer was reviewed at Loving Venus – Loving Mars.

Best Lesbian Romance 2013 edited by Radclyffe was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

Survival Skills: Stories by Jean Ryan was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

The Pyramid Waltz by Barbara Ann Wright was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

Broken In Soft Places by Fiona Zedde was reviewed at Sistahs On the Shelf.

When I chose Dear John, I Love Jane to review, I knew I wouldn’t be breaking any new ground, and it’s yet again a topic entirely out of my realm of experience. I mean, I knew from a young age that I’m lesbian, and I haven’t been married to a man or in committed, heterosexual relationships as an adult. However, in reading each story I became aware of something I and these other women share very much in common, and it just began rippling from there, so of course I have to tell everybody all about it.

Any group of stories like this excites me because I always love little tidbits into peoples’ lives, told from their own perspective. As good as it is to have one big novel-length autobiography about a person’s experience, no matter what it is, I find that anthologies like this feel like they represent their theme very well. One of my favorite things, possibly my favorite, about this particular book is that each woman’s story is very different from the last. When experiences start to bleed together and seem the same, that’s always suspect to me, but at no point did I stop during reading Dear John, I Love Jane and say to myself, “Well, this doesn’t seem authentic at all.”

On the contrary, I think I highlighted more out of this volume than I tend to. I highlighted whole sections about how saying your partner is your wife is “coming out on speed,” (Over the Fence) and how gay men were seen as harmless, but lesbians were not to be talked about (Leap of Faith). In numerous stories I have paragraphs highlighted about how it feels to have to prove your “lesbian credentials.” Even as a woman who hasn’t left a heterosexual relationship to pursue one with a woman instead, you would have to try hard to not relate to any of these stories.

Of course, not all of them are the same, which is the beauty of this anthology. Some of the women writing their stories haven’t left their marriages; instead, they’ve made the marriage work around their newfound (or newly accepted) sexuality. Some of the writers’ husbands or boyfriends were supportive and lovely people, and some were not. The inclusion of women who have stayed in their heterosexual partnerships is important, I think, and was encouraging to read, as was the inclusion of a few women who weren’t yet sure what they were going to do. All in all this whole volume is full of hope for the future no matter what situation these women find themselves in, and for that I’m grateful. I never want to forget the generations of women who shelved their desire for whatever reasons, who sacrificed and became truly “themselves” later in life, and I never want to forget that desire can change people in any direction. Dear John, I Love Jane is a powerful collection I would recommend to anyone who’s ever been confused and uprooted their life for changes they’ve felt.

I picked up Freak of Nurture, a collection of essays and autobiographical stories by comedian Kelli Dunham, because Dunham seemed to have a sense of humour I enjoy, the writing sounded strong, and so far nothing published by Topside Press has steered me wrong. And Dunham is funny! I wasn’t wrong about that. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was the sort of dark topics that Freak of Nurture covers, from her growing up with alcoholic parents to having two successive partners both die from the same (usually curable) cancer, to volunteering as a nurse in Haiti. This is not light material. And yet somehow, even when reading about this really difficult experiences, the writing style is so compelling that I could hardly put it down. I read almost the entire book in a day. The topics covered in this collection are really interesting, including Dunham’s genderqueer lesbian identity, her comedy career, and her attempts to become a nun in her twenties.

This collection covered such a range that I really think there’s something in here to interest anyone. I tweeted near the beginning of reading Freak of Nurture that I was enjoying it and would recommend it to anyone looking for a light, funny memoir. Well, it gets a lot more emotional later on, but there still is a comedian flare to these stories, and Dunham always managed to slip in some sarcastic joke even in a heartbreaking scenario. The last essay in this book is a conversation in which she repels cocktail party guests looking for funny quips from the resident comedian:

KELLI: I called my most recent girlfriend my miracle love because I thought I would never love anyone after my other girlfriend died. She developed, and then died from the same disease my first girlfriend had. Having two partners who die of cancer withing a five-year period is an extremely statistically unlikely negative situation, which is kind of the opposite of the concept of a miracle.

RANDOM PARTY GOER: (VERY LONG SILENCE)

Kelli: Some people find irony humorous.

You may recognize Kelli Dunham from accepting Lambda Literary Award for best bisexual non-fiction on behalf of her late partner Cheryl Burke for Burke’s autobiography My Awesome Place. I would definitely recommend Freak of Nurture to just about anyone, whether you’re reading it for the bits about gender, lesbian jokes, nursing anecdotes, tales of a queer ex-nun, or just human experiences told well. Kelli Dunham has written several others books to do with nursing, but I hope that she comes out with other autobiographical collections, because I’ll definitely want to pick those up. And that’s another great read from Topside Press!

Whether it is the author’s exceptional writing talent, the fact that we have had an uncommonly snowy winter, or a combination of both, but when I started reading Snowbound by Cari Hunter I was immediately drawn into the atmosphere and the plot.

Snowbound is set in the fictional English village of Birchenlow, in the Peak District during a heavy snow storm. Police Officer Sam Lucas and her partner Mac are called on the scene of a robbery. The burglary turns sour, Sam is injured and taken hostage in the middle of nowhere.

When one of the criminals calls and asks for help lest his younger brother might die, Dr. Kate Myles volunteers to go and assist him as well as Sam in the cold and isolated barn where the latter is held captive by the increasingly desperate and dangerous pair.

I do not want to spoil the story for you; suffice is to say that the two women connect in a way they had not anticipated. Sam is still bruised by her former relationship while Kate never seemed to have envisaged that there was more to life than her job and her cat.

I thoroughly enjoyed Snowbound. The novel is fast-paced and well-written. The characters feel real and true-to-life, the kind of women we might actually run into.

[Originally posted at Isabelle's blog]

The Real Folktale Blues, Book 1 of Beyond Ever After by Random Jordan

Publisher: Create Space Independent Publishing Platform

Genre: Fiction, Fantasy

Overview from Amazon:

Gnidori has not always been a bounty hunter; in fact her first job was as a simple delivery girl wearing her trademark hooded red cloak. However, after her choice surrender of her former position as a Faerie Godmother, she was left with a young girl she had very nearly married to Prince Charming, and an entirely new life filled with simple quietness. That is, after she sealed away her magical talents. Why was her magic sealed away? Well, as she would put it: nothing is ever simple when magic is involved. Years with her magic stripped from her, and Gnidori is drawn into a plot spurred on by Prince Charming once more. She finds herself seeking the Big Bad Wolf, who has returned from death and comes to realize there is more to what is going on than she was told. Before long she encounters a tower fuming yellow smoke and a baby fox born from a human heart. But that’s only the beginning. Can Gnidori survive pirates, faeries, dragons, mirror spirits, time spells, gnomes; and even the most sinister of all: Bluebeard’s Tower? And all without access to her magic?… or maybe she does have it? Beyond Ever After is a series following the chronicles of Red Riding Hood with countless other Faerie and Folktale characters long after or even before their happily ever after. This is not a faerie tale retelling; it asks the great question: What happens beyond the happily ever after?

Review: 4 1/2 out of 5 stars

It’s been a long time since I have found myself smiling through an entire book but that is exactly what I found myself doing while reading this one.  This is the debut book from Random Jordan and she weaves an interesting tale full of childhood fairytale characters.  Now don’t run off thinking this is a children’s book or even a fairytale.  The reader is introduced to the person behind the legend and it’s fairly clear that the legend is not the person.  Rather a small aspect of that person.  In some ways it reminded me of the labels we tend to affix to people and how that label becomes the defining characteristic for that person, whether it’s accurate of not.

The story itself is fairly complex and introduces the reader through a variety of characters while Gnidori is trying to determine who has stolen her cloak and seems intent on killing her.  There are a couple of places in the story that get a bit confusing because there is an element of time travel.  However, I found that it was cleared up fairly quickly.  I’ll be interested to see what happens next for Gnidori, Ash, Etti and the rest of the crew.  Overall I found this story intriguing and fun to read.

I think Molly Beth Griffin’s novel Silhouette of a Sparrow might just be the best lesbian young adult novel I’ve ever read.  I don’t say that lightly.  It has everything I could hope for: effortless yet beautiful writing, an authentic and lovable young heroine, a subtle and moving romance, an environmentalist sub-plot—honestly, what more could you ask for?  I think, though, that what I appreciated the most about this book is that, while the romance is cute and sexy and authentic and great, it wasn’t the focal point of the novel.   Rather, it’s the character development of the protagonist, Garnet, that Griffin is focused on throughout.  I would be the first to admit that the romance was my favourite part, but I am also really pleased to read a book about a young woman whose interests are diverse.  I think too often, especially in young adult books, even queer women characters continue to be defined by their romantic relationships.

Garnet is a strange and interesting mixture of artist and ornithologist (someone who studies birds).  She’s rebellious by 1920s standards, but Griffin resists the urge to make her so modern as to disturb the carefully constructed historical accuracy of the book, which deals thoughtfully and realistically with issues surrounding class, gender, race, and sexuality.  For example, Griffin writes about Garnet’s prejudice and preconceived notions about African-Americans at the same time that she explores the friendships that occur between working class white and black folks.  It would have been tempting to pretend a young middle-class white woman at that time wouldn’t have been raised in an explicitly racist environment, especially if you want modern readers to sympathize with her. Griffin, however, resists that temptation and I think this strategy is an honest acknowledgement of racism and a much braver approach than presenting a historically inaccurately rosy picture of racial harmony.

Okay, I have to talk about the romance a little bit, especially since it has a classic romantic ‘caught in the rain’ moment, which is my favourite:

“I looked over at Isabella—those perfect lips, that short hair starting to dry with little tufts sticking up at funny angles, those boyish clothes all rumpled and soaked.  I wanted to tell her secrets I hadn’t even told myself yet.”

Ah, that moment just before you kiss, when you know it’s about to happen, and you’re really excited but kind of terrified and it makes you feel like an entirely new person but wholly yourself at the same time?  Griffin does a great job of capturing their teenage romance and of painting Isabella as an enticing, rebellious, and sexy young woman, yet also a flawed, complex human being.

As great as Isabella is, though, it’s Garnet’s personal journey that is really the star of this novel.  Revelations such as this one border on the philosophical:

I looked closely at my edges, my boundaries, the slightly elongated lines that set me apart from lake and sky and island and bird and boat.  I looked closely, pretending that I knew nothing about the girl I saw, pretending that she was some beautiful creature whose borders contained something worth holding in—something unique and extraordinary, something worth saving.  I looked closely, the way I’d taught myself to look at birds, the way I’d learned to look at Isabella, and I saw myself.  Then those scissors were cutting after all, as I snipped out my own image.  I ignored the small ripples of the water and traced the lines that separated me from the world, and the lines that fit me into that world like the piece of a puzzle.

This passage actually reminded me in some strange way of Jeanette Winterson’s recent memoir; I might go as far as to say that Silhouette of a Sparrow is as inspiring, insightful, and beautifully written as Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?—albeit a fictional, young adult version.  From me, the praise can’t get much higher than that.  Please, go pick up this book!

Beatrice Donahue’s The Blue Hour is a historical short story set in 1920s England. It was released May 2013. Rosina (Rose) King is unhappily married to an abusive and controlling husband. She’s well aware of her seemingly fortunate position, having married up to become a middle-class housewife. Virtually friendless and unable to bear children for Charles, she spends more and more time sleeping to avoid the realities of her life. A chance meeting with a vibrant American artist names Eve disrupts Rose’s existence dramatically.

Eve is daring, independent, and alluring, and almost immediately asks Rose to model for her, which I understood to be the equivalent of asking her to come up and see Eve’s etchings. Rose’s captivation does not escape her husband’s notice, however, setting up a collision course with Charles and a choice for Rose between the person she has been–cautious, quiet, and invisible–and the person who feels seen by Eve.

I’m a fan of historical romance, and this did not disappoint, although I was sad that it ended so quickly. However, after thinking about it for a while, I appreciated the economy of words; the story was poignant and intriguing. Rose’s awakening felt familiar, but the setting was a clever twist. I recommend it, and would like to read more of Donahue’s work.