A Swashbucking Sword Lesbian Graphic Novel: The Marble Queen by Anna Kopp & Gabrielle Kari

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The Marble Queen cover

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The Marble Queen is a new sapphic YA fantasy graphic novel by Anna Kopp (writer) and Gabrielle Kari (illustrator) published by Dark Horse Comics. I’ve been excited to read this book since it was announced. As someone who loves both sapphic romance and comics/graphic novels, it felt right up my alley. While I still enjoyed the book and can see how people could fall in love with it, it ended up not working for me as well as I would have liked. 

It is a dire time for the Kingdom of Marion. Having just lost most of their fleet to pirates and running short of options, the kingdom needs allies quick. Seeing the suffering of her people, Princess Amelia offers herself to be married off to secure an alliance with another kingdom. Even though her parents allow her to choose between potential suitors, she tells them that she will marry the highest bidder. She assumes that is Prince Mateo of the mysterious kingdom of Iliad. However, she later discovers that she is not betrothed to the Prince, but rather his sister, the newly crowned Queen Salira. Salira needs the marriage in order to secure supplies for her own nation as well as cement her status as queen. As Amelia begins to fall in love with the queen and help her administer the kingdom, she discovers a conspiracy seeking to usurp Salira and plunge the nation into war.  

Gabrielle Kari’s art is the standout aspect of this book and adds great depth to the story and characters. I loved Amelia’s character design, from her hair to all the beautiful dresses she wears, while Salira is the tall sword lesbian in a uniform that makes me swoon. Their contrasting styles also highlight the cultural differences Amelia has to face as she adjusts to her new kingdom. These differences are emphasized again with the contrast between the muted and generic look of Marion and the vibrant colors and architecture of Iliad. Kari’s use of different visual tools during Amelia’s anxiety dreams made her emotional struggles in the book feel more visceral. Gabrielle Kari uses these and other smaller visual features in the book to maximum effect to draw readers in and make them truly feel what the characters are going through.

In terms of the story, I found it to be a mixed bag. I enjoyed Amelia’s arc of coming to terms with her queerness and her role in this new foreign land. I liked Salira’s arc of learning what it means to be queen and how their struggles with anxiety were portrayed. I even found aspects of the political plot lines to be interesting. Still, I feel like both Salira’s and Amelia’s arcs got pushed too far to the side in the third act as the political narrative took over. Some aspects of their stories were even completely abandoned. There were still great character moments for both of them as the story moved towards its conclusion, but it still wasn’t enough for me. I would have liked to have seen more of the inter- and intrapersonal stories and less on the politics of the world. 

Despite these shortcomings, I still enjoyed my time with The Marble Queen and would recommend it to queer YA graphic novel readers. It’s a beautifully illustrated and fun book with lots of sweet moments between its two romantic leads. If you are someone who wants your queer YA graphic novel to lean less on the melodramatic and more on swashbuckling fantasy with pretty women with swords, then you will really enjoy this book.

Traumatized, Angsty Bisexuals: 6 Times We Almost Kissed (and One Time We Did) by Tess Sharpe

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6 Times We Almost Kissed cover

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Penny and Tate’s mothers have always been best friends—but the same cannot be said about the daughters’ relationship. Having clashed their entire lives, they must now put aside their bickering when Penny’s mom agrees to become a liver donor to Tate’s mother, as both parents have decided to combine households for the summer. Although this will help the families get through this physically, emotionally, and financially difficult period, it will certainly not help Penny and Tate’s ever-confusing dynamic. Because, for some reason, they keep almost kissing. And even though they made a pact to keep the shared home drama-free, living across the hall from each other makes it increasingly more difficult to continue pretending that nothing ever (almost) happened between them.

As a fan of Sharpe’s writing, I can confidently say this is her best work. I’d read The Girls I’ve Been and Far From You in the past and really enjoyed them, but neither of those books got close to packing the same kind of emotional punch that I experienced while reading 6 Times We Almost Kissed.

Now, granted, it may be unfair to compare two thriller/mysteries to an angsty romance, and, granted, I am a very emotional reader. But this book… This book had me sobbing the entire way through. I know this is usually said (often by me) in a hyperbolic way. But it is a factually accurate assessment of my reading experience to say that tears were streaming down my face, non-stop, throughout the entirety of this story. I refused to read this book out in public because it was a guarantee that I would embarrassingly start crying in front of unassuming strangers on their daily morning commute.

I’d know from her other novels that Sharpe was particularly skilled at writing teenage characters who have suffered through unimaginable trauma. Therefore, it should have been no surprise that the cast of characters in this story were equally well-written, if not more so. The complexities of their family dynamics felt extremely raw and realistic, and I couldn’t help but deeply root for each of them to grow and heal. It is in fact quite a heavy story, but it felt almost therapeutic to read through, to the point that even though I knew it was going to cause me irreparable emotional damage, I could not put it down.

Sharpe does an excellent job of showing how a parent’s illness, a parent’s death and/or a parent’s grief will affect their child in the short- and long-term. The book really is an in-depth look into the ways our reactions to collective trauma impact those who were also affected by it, and the ways in which their own coping mechanisms can bend and mold the person that we become after the fact.

I do have a soft spot for sapphic main characters with complex mother-daughter dynamics, which ultimately are at the core of this novel. Yes, it is about romance and love and allowing yourself to believe that people can care deeply for you even after witnessing you at your lowest. But it is also about how difficult it is to be a mother after facing life-altering events; how painful it is to be the child of a parent who struggles to recover from pain, suffering, and loss; how limited rural medical access can force people to put themselves at risk for the sake of those they care about; how you can hurt those around you, but it does not necessarily make you a bad person unworthy of forgiveness and love.

If you’ve read some of Sharpe’s other novels and appreciated either the character analysis or her iconic non-chronological style of storytelling, you will love this book. She definitely included much less mystery than in her other YA novels, but she makes up for it tenfold in angst, love, and tears.

Representation: bisexual main characters

Content warnings [as listed by the author]: emotional abuse, neglect of a daughter by a mother, PTSD, accidental death of a father, ovarian cancer, remission, oophorectomy, liver donation, mentions of suicidal ideation and pain medication being monitored, mentions of a past interrupted assault, anti-therapy and anti-medication attitudes

A New Classic of Queer Memoir: Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H

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the cover of Hijab Butch Blues

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I have had Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H on my list since it came out, and I am so glad my library hold on it finally came in. Lamya narrates a series of essays tying together her queer coming of age and her reconciliation of that with being a devout Muslim woman in a very satisfying way, providing deep insight into her personal journey and growth in both her faith and herself. Whether you are looking for a queer memoir to dive into, or a new perspective, or simply to hear the thoughts of someone who boldly references Leslie Feinberg’s Stone Butch Blues, this book will take you on a journey and leave you thinking by the end. 

Lamya starts off with recollections of her childhood, when she started questioning what the Quran was saying, or not saying, about gender and how it lined up with her own feelings. When the adults in her life were unwilling to entertain her lines of questioning, Lamya started a habit of deep inner reflection and questioning that is apparent in every section. Arrayed in mostly linear fashion, the essays cover her realization that she was queer, her move to America in college, and her struggle to find either queer or Muslim community where she didn’t feel like the other half of her was being excluded. They link to specific sections of the Quran as she meditates on what they mean to her on a personal level. Lamya is painfully ready to dig into her own inner thought processes and reflections, including her own internalized biases and homophobia she had to recognize and overcome before she could move forward. Her struggles and her sincerity shine from every page, drawing you in and inviting you along with her through the process. 

I love reading queer memoirs because a queer coming of age is a journey that can be so personal and yet so relatable to anyone else that has done it themselves. On paper, I do not have much oin common with Lamya beyond us both being queer. And yet, when she spoke of her friend questioning why she didn’t transition if she was going to keep becoming more butch—and her sound rejection of the idea—I felt such empathy and connection, because that was a thought process I had also gone through. The idea that we could be so different and yet so similar is heartwarming to me. Simultaneously, I gained new perspective and appreciation for Lamya’s circumstances and choices. This is a memoir that invites both learning and empathy. It also rewards personal reflection, since it is more than just a recounting of her life events. If you don’t normally read memoirs, Hijab Butch Blues is a book that will make you appreciate the genre more. 

I believe that Hijab Butch Blues is going to go down as seminal work in queer narrative canon, and certainly as an eminently readable, unflinching memoir about reconciling faith, life circumstances, and an “authentically queer experience.” I cannot recommend it highly enough. 

A Standing Ovation for Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo

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Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo cover

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“There is another girl / on this planet / who is my kin. / My father / lied to me / every day of my life. / [ . . . ] I want to put my fingers / against my sister’s cheek. / I want to put my face / in her neck & ask / if she hurts the way I do.”

And so begins Clap When You Land, a gorgeous dual narrative novel in verse about grief, loss, and the healing power of family written by acclaimed Dominican-American poet and writer Elizabeth Acevedo (she/her).

Camino and Yahaira (Yaya) are 16-year-old young women living in the Dominican Republic and New York City, respectively. Neither knows the other exists until the tragic death of their beloved Papi upends each of their lives and reveals that they are sisters. As Camino and Yahaira grieve and desperately try to make sense of a world without Papi, they must also navigate their complex feelings about each other and figure out what it means to be sisters.

Acevedo is a masterful storyteller. Her use of dual narrative and verse made for an enjoyable and accessible reading experience. The alternating perspectives kept me engaged, and there were never too many words on a page, which allowed me to really savor what I was reading. As a Latina, I felt a swell of pride every time I saw Acevedo describe a quintessential visual from our shared experience: curious neighborhood women in batas and chancletas; a mother with rollers stacked high atop her head; a community coming together to solemnly mourn a loved one with a rosario. I also really appreciated how Acevedo highlighted the range of Afro-Latine beauty through not only her descriptions of the different characters, but also the affirmations and terms of endearment Papi used with each of his daughters.

The representation in Clap When You Land goes beyond race and color. Although all the characters have a connection to Papi, it is the strong female relationships that are the novel’s throughline. Camino refers to Tia, the curandera (healer) that raised her, as “the single love of [her] life”. Tia has showed up for Camino in ways her parents could not. Camino’s belief that “curing is in [her] blood” and her aspirations of being a doctor are borne of her deep respect and admiration for Tia. Yahaira “likes girls” and has a girlfriend named Andrea (Dre). Although Yahaira’s sexuality is a core aspect of her identity, it is free-flowing and doesn’t require exposition. Dre is Yaya’s rock. Acevedo paints a beautiful picture of how a healthy and steady love can ground you in your darkest times.

I loved this book. It was my first experience reading Acevedo’s writing, but it definitely will not be my last. If you’re looking for a quick read with lots of great Latine representation that packs an emotional punch, you should pick up this book. Acevedo has also authored Poet X, With the Fire on High, and Family Lore. You can find her on Instagram @AcevedoWrites or on AcevedoWrites.com.

Trigger warnings for descriptions of a plane crash, death, sexual assault, and colorism.

Raquel R. Rivera (she/her/ella) is a Latina lawyer and lady lover from New Jersey. She is in a lifelong love affair with books and earned countless free personal pan pizzas from the Pizza Hut BOOK IT! program as a kid to prove it.

Jamaican Joan of Arc: So Let Them Burn by Kamilah Cole

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the cover of So Let Them Burn

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I first saw Kamilah Cole describe her debut, So Let Them Burn, as a Jamaican Joan of Arc, which was enough to grab my attention even before the book had a cover. To be more specific, So Let Them Burn is the first book in a YA fantasy series that follows former chosen one Faron Vincent and her older sister, Elara. Five years after the war for their island’s independence, Elara inadvertently forms a bond with an enemy dragon, while Faron determines she will stop at absolutely nothing to save her sister from the threat of both the bond and the empire itself.  

Like I said, I was sold on the concept the minute I heard about it, but even the coolest concept can turn out to be a let down in the wrong hands. Kamilah Cole is not the wrong hands. It took less than half a page for me to determine that I was going to love this book, and as the story unfolded, I only got more invested. Every time I had to put the book down, I was just a little bit resentful that I couldn’t keep reading.

Something that I thought was really fun is that while I knew this book follows a chosen one after she’s done her duty, Faron is not the only one who fits into a popular fantasy archetype. One dynamic I found particularly fascinating is the one between chosen one Faron and Queen Aveline, who spent the first seventeen years of her life on a farm with no knowledge of her true identity and now resents Faron a little bit for the fact that when the war ended, Faron got to go home and Aveline didn’t.

Literally all of the relationships were wonderful, though. The romantic relationships had me hooked, as did the friendships, but the central relationship between the two sisters just felt so real. They both loved and admired each other so much that, despite the hints of jealousy on each side and the expected annoyances, they were both so determined to keep each other safe, whatever the cost. I loved them both, and I am terrified for what the next book will bring for them.

I also really enjoyed the narrative voice, which was the first thing to win me over. It made me laugh throughout, though it never detracted from the more serious themes. Since this was third-person, I’m much less inclined to be annoying about how distinct the perspectives did or did not feel from each other, but there was at least enough difference that I never forgot which sister’s head I was in, even when they were in a scene together, so I’m quite satisfied on that front.

I already know I’m going to miss these characters when the series is done, but fortunately I’ve got some time until then. (Less fortunately, it also means I have to somehow survive that cliffhanger until then.) Even more fortunately, this series is not the only thing I have to look forward to from Kamilah Cole. Not every book that sounds amazing ends up living up to my expectations, but this one definitely exceeded them. I recommend it with my whole heart.

All the Monsters in Kai Cheng Thom’s Falling Back in Love with Being Human

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the cover of Falling Back in Love with Being Human

Editor’s note: This is one of the rare Lesbrary reviews of a book that doesn’t have sapphic content.

Kai Cheng Thom dedicates Falling Back in Love with Being Human to “all the monsters who are still waiting to be loved.” Fun fact: In Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the being that Victor creates is referred to as a “creature” far more he is referred to as a “monster.” Creature or Monster—that decision is always made by the person who beholds him. Because that’s the thing about monsters: we don’t get to choose who sees us as monstrous. All we—trans women—can do is be the monster, which is what Thom implores us to do. She tells us to be the monster, be the witch, be the madwoman. 

Falling Back in Love with Being Human is a book that can be read in under an hour, but it can be an overwhelming experience that will stay with you for much longer. In this series of letters, Thom writes of the grief and sorrow and loss that comes with being a trans woman. There are many parts of the book that do not reflect my experience because, as it turns out, not all monsters are alike. Among other topics, she writes about being a trans woman of color, her sexuality, and her experiences with Christianity. (Another part of the book that does not reflect my experience is that there is no sapphic content in this book, though Thom has written elsewhere about the problems that trans fems face in the sapphic community.) The epistolary frame allows her to discuss all of these experiences for the benefit of all readers while addressing certain people directly. Even when you are not the person who she’s addressing, though, Thom’s writing is invitational rather than exclusionary.

Yes, she is somehow inviting even in her letter to Joanne Rowling, in which she refers to us as “the Ones Who Lived.” She implores TERFs in another letter to see us monsters as people who have so much to give and no desire to take away. The anger is palpable, but Thom expresses it in a way that still aligns with her goal of making this work an expression of love and self-acceptance.

A book that feels this deeply personal is not an easy thing to write about. That is perhaps the best recommendation that I could provide for Falling Back in Love with Being Human. There’s a reason that I prefer to write about sapphic romances; HEAs and the tropes that us sapphic folks share are comforting. They are a nice break from the other tropes and all the doubts about whether a HEA will ever be in the cards for this monster.

I imagine that Falling Back in Love with Being Human might be a difficult read for some; if you’re reading this review, however, I urge you to pick up Thom’s book. Early results of the 2022 U.S. Trans Survey were released recently. Though the vast majority of us (94% of 92,329 people surveyed) are happy with the decision that we’ve made regarding our gender, over half of us are thinking about or have already moved to another state because of unequal treatment. Falling Back in the Love with Being Human is far more powerful than survey results (even though the U.S. Trans Survey is itself an extremely powerful story told in a responsible, ethical manner). Thom provides a narrative that is similar to the survey results in many ways, but her version of the story is the monster’s version. 

And that’s the other thing about monsters: people are always telling stories about us. One more fun fact: There are two versions of Shelley’s Frankenstein. There’s the 1818 version where the Creature has the possibility of free will and humanity, and the 1831 version where the Monster is kind of, well, doomed. It would be accurate to say that Shelley “saw some things” in the intervening years, souring her view on humanity. Thom asks all of us to move in the opposite direction. She knows that some people walk around with an image of “the ghost of a monstrous transsexual…in their heads,” and yet she implores us to choose love anyway. Thom’s stories cast us as a sisterhood of outlaws, caregivers, deathwalkers, and sidekicks whose Bruce Wayne never showed up. My favorite story that she tells about us monsters is the one about the “silly girl,” “the girl who was never meant to exist but breathed herself into being on the strength of her desire alone.”

There is no Victor Frankenstein in this story, but there are monsters like Kai Cheng Thom who are doing their best to light the way.

Content warning: many different kinds of violence

Liv (she/her) is a trans woman, a professor of English, and a reluctant Southerner. Described (charitably) as passionate and strong-willed, she loves to talk (and talk) about popular culture, queer theory, utopias, time travel, and any other topic that she has magpied over the years. You can find her on storygraph and letterboxd @livvalentine.

A Small Middle Grade with a Big Punch: The Mighty Heart of Sunny St. James by Ashley Herring Blake

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the cover of The Mighty Heart of Sunny St. James

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Sunny St. James has a new lease on life. In her case, this is literal after she receives a heart transplant and finally, finally has a chance to have something close to a normal summer. Swimming in the ocean, staying up late to watch movies, and devouring junk food are now actual possibilities rather than daydreams.

This also means that she can finally begin implementing her new life plan:

Step One: Do awesome amazing things I could never do before.
Step Two: Find a new best friend.
Step Three: Find a boy and kiss him.

At first, her plan is off to an incomprehensible level of success when Sunny meets Quinn Ríos Rivera and finds that making a new best friend isn’t that hard. However, it doesn’t take long for her to realize that the rest of her plan is going to be a bit more difficult. Between struggling with the fallout of her relationship with her Former Best Friend (FBF), to the unexpected arrival of her estranged mother, to the realization that maybe she doesn’t even want to kiss boys in the first place, Sunny is struggling to figure out how all of the different parts of herself fit together.

This was such a fun book, pure and simple. I’ve read Ashley Herring Blake’s middle grade work before in Ivy Aberdeen’s Letter to the World, but she continues to blow me away with how well she portrays the experience of being an awkward twelve-year-old with a first crush. Sunny is the perfect balance of exasperated and exasperating in the way that kids can be and I love how Blake doesn’t shy away from her characters making mistakes.

I’m also always amazed at how much Blake can pack into her books. It’s about being a twelve-year-old. It’s also about coming to terms with queer identity in a world that can be hostile to that, and unusual family structures, growing out of friendships, and how to wrestle with a constant stream of anxious thoughts. I especially love how the book handles the complexity of Sunny’s relationship with her mom, a woman who hasn’t been in her life in almost a decade due to her struggles with alcoholism. The book doesn’t shy away from the tougher conversations, but they are approached with such thought and care.

If you’re a fan of Blake’s adult romances like Delilah Green Doesn’t Care or Iris Kelly Doesn’t Date, I suggest giving these a try—you’ll find a lot of the same things that make her other books so much fun. For me, they are such a wonderful escape into a cozy world where things turn out alright in the end as long as you’re true to yourself.

Content warnings: surgery, illness, homophobia, references to addiction

A Lush Fae Romantasy Series: Faebound by Saara El-Arifi 

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the cover of Faebound

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I have recently become deeply entrenched in the lands of fantasy romance fiction, and when I heard that Saara El-Arifi, author of the fabulous The Ending Fire trilogy, was releasing a new sapphic fantasy romance, I was eager to read it! Faebound (2024) is the first book in a lush and exciting trilogy with the well-crafted worlds that we’re used to with El-Arifi’s fiction. 

Faebound follows Yeeran, a warrior in the elven army, and her younger sister, Lettle, who is a diviner. When Yeeran miscalculates in battle and makes a terrible mistake that costs lives, she is exiled from the Elven lands. Cast out into the wilderness beyond civilization and beyond safety, Yeeran and Lettle must fend for themselves—that is, until they encounter the seemingly impossible presence of the fae in the lands beyond Elven territory. The fae have been in hiding for a millennium, but Yeeran and Lettle are thrown into their world, and they find themselves embroiled in a plot much larger than themselves, but one that affects their loyalties and their desires. 

I enjoyed this novel overall, but there were parts of it that left me with mixed feelings. My primary genre lately as a reader has been fantasy romance, and El-Arifi’s latest is a unique and absolutely individual contribution to the genre. The world is complex and fascinating, and Yeeran and Lettle’s characters are vividly articulated. As a first book in a trilogy, this book is doing a lot to set up the larger plot and the world of the later books. I do wish that perhaps this had been a bit longer in order to fully immerse the reader in the world, but at no point was I lost or confused. El-Arifi makes use of the worldbuilding space to make the stakes of the plot clear for the reader. A slower development might have been useful—I’m thinking of the kind of pace of The Final Strife. 

I do think that some of the nuances in the romance suffered as a result of the length. I loved the sapphic romance element, but it felt so rushed, and I wasn’t seeing the transition from enemies to lovers as anything but abrupt. It just didn’t feel exciting to me, despite starting off so well in the beginning. The other romances in the novel were stronger, but I did want more. 

Plot-wise, Faebound was fun. I did immediately figure out the main reveal in the novel, so it was a bit maddening to watch the characters struggle to figure out what was obvious, but I was very much along for the ride throughout. 

Overall, Faebound is an interesting addition to the fantasy romance genre and it’s got lots of great BIPOC and queer representation, barring some of the clunky elements related to the pacing and the romance. 

Please add Faebound to your TBR on Goodreads and follow Saara El-Arifi on Instagram.

Rachel Friars is a Doctoral Candidate in the Department of English at Queen’s University in Ontario, Canada. Her current research centers on neo-Victorianism and lesbian literature and history. Her work has been published with journals such as Studies in the Novel, The Journal of Neo-Victorian Studies, Queer Studies in Media and Popular Culture, and The Palgrave Handbook of neo-Victorianism.

You can find Rachel on X @RachelMFriars or on Goodreads @Rachel Friars.

Making The Future Gay: The Five Things I Checked out From the Queer Liberation Library

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Recently, a nonprofit in Massachusetts put out an exclusively queer book collection on Libby called the Queer Liberation Library (also known as QLL). Their mission is simple: by providing queer people with diversity-focused literature and resources, QLL is building a future that is undeniably queer. This collection of e-materials is available to anyone with an email address, and sign-up is very easy. I signed up and had received confirmation and account information within twelve (12) hours. There are so many titles and collections available, with the focus of their homepage collections being on Black queerness right now in celebration of Black History Month. I would highly recommend signing up for a card if you want exclusively queer literature available at your fingertips. 

Of course, I went a little wild and immediately began downloading so many sapphic titles on the QLL. Here are five things that I checked out from the Queer Liberation Library that I think you should too:

Those Who Wait by Haley Cass

the cover of Those Who Wait

Sutton had a simple plan for her life: finish graduate school and fall in love. But life is never that simple, and it doesn’t help that she is useless around other women. On the other hand, Charlotte has every bit of her life planned out and is not willing to compromise it for love. When the two meet through a dating app, Sutton and Charlotte know they aren’t meant to be—or are they? I picked up this audiobook because of the cute cover and stayed for the slow-burn, friends-with-benefits romance. Don’t let the length of the book (21ish hours) intimidate you: Those Who Wait is a fast-paced epic romance sure to make your top ten books of 2024.

Sing Anyways by Anita Kelly

the cover of Sing Anyway

Nonbinary history professor Sam Bell is committed to a new (non)romantic strategy after numerous failed relationships: Thirst Only. However, having no emotional ties to relationships can be hard, especially when they are left by themselves at The Moonlight Café, otherwise known as Moonie’s to its largely queer regulars, and on karaoke night of all nights. But then Sam’s karaoke crush, Lily Fischer, steps up with a mic, and the two work together to weather the outside world and to keep singing through it all. I read this back during the summer and I remember being actively disappointed that there was no audiobook that I could listen to through my library—never again!

Mimosa by Archie Bongiovanni

the cover of Mimosa

Best friends and chosen family Chris, Elise, Jo, and Alex work hard to keep themselves afloat. In an effort to avoid being the oldest gays at the party, the crew decides to put on a new queer event called Grind—specifically for homos in their dirty 30s. Grind is a welcome distraction from their real lives while navigating exes at work, physical and mental exhaustion, and drinking way, way too much on weekdays. This chosen family proves that being messy doesn’t always go away with age. I love Bongiovanni’s art style and can’t wait to sink my teeth into this story about older queer people (which I am swiftly approaching with mild disbelief).

Mouths of Rain: An Anthology of Black Lesbian Thought edited by Briona Simone Jones

the cover of Mouths of Rain

Mouths of Rain traces the long history of intellectual thought produced by Black Lesbian writers, spanning the nineteenth century through the twenty-first century.

This anthology features a mix of literature (nonfiction, poetry, and fiction) about a variety of topics from a variety of Black sapphic authors like Audre Lorde and Alice Dunbar-Nelson. 

Mouths of Rain first caught my attention because of the gorgeous cover, but kept me enthralled by the sheer intersectionality of the work. 

Lesbian Love Story by Amelia Possanza

the cover of Lesbian Love Story

This is the story of Possanza’s journey into the archives to recover the stories of lesbians in the 20th Century: who they were, how they loved, why their stories were destroyed, and where their memories echo and live on. Centered around seven love stories for the ages, Possanza’s hunt takes readers from a Drag King show in Bushwick to the home of activists in Harlem and then across the ocean to Hadrian’s Library, where she searches for traces of Sappho in the ruins. Along the way, she discovers her own love—for swimming, for community, for New York City—and adds her own record to the archive. I am not the biggest fan of nonfiction (regardless of how many nonfiction titles are on this list), but loved how Possanza would switch genres and use the histories to discuss questions of gender, love, and self. 

Bonus: Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H

the cover of Hijab Butch Blues

Bonus pick because I got very attached to all of these choices: Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H! When fourteen-year-old Lamya H realizes she has a crush on her teacher—her female teacher—she covers up her attraction, an attraction she can’t yet name, by playing up her roles as overachiever and class clown. However, Lamya eventually begins to make sense of her own life by comparing her experiences to the stories of the Quran, and expands on those thoughts in this searing memoir in essays. This is a title that so many of my friends have been reading lately and I am excited to join them once my audiobook hold comes in!

Happy reading!

Chloe (they/he) is a public librarian in Baltimore, who identifies as Indigenous, autistic, and panromantic demisexual. They enjoy reading queer literature for any age group, as well as fantasy, contemporary, and romance. In his spare time, he acts in his local community theaters and plays role-playing games. You can find them on Goodreads, Twitter, or Instagram.

A Blood-Drenched Queer Space Opera for the Ages: Redsight by Meredith Mooring

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the cover of Redsight by Meredith Moore

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Better buckle up your buttered biscuits, because you’re in for one hell of a ride. 

Meredith Mooring’s debut novel Redsight, freshly published February 27, 2024, arrived studded with blurbs. The two that ultimately pulled me were: “The heretical, genre-defying daughter of Killing Eve and Dune,” (Kemi Ashing-Giwa) and “A stellar debut, born from a collision between epic space opera and bewitching cosmic space horror” (Ren Hutchings). Sign me up. 

Fresh from having devoured all 394 pages in a single sitting, I have to agree with the comparisons. 

Our chosen one, Korinna, is a red witch thrust into the heart of an intergalactic conflict she doesn’t understand, haunted by the bloody memory of a massacre and her own complicity. Like all Redseer clerics, she relies on tactus—the tactile energy of all things—to sense her world, rather than sight. She’s raised with the knowledge drilled into her that she is the weakest of her cohort, fit only for duty in the ship’s gardens. Certainly not strong enough to navigate a ship, let alone a massive Imperium warship.

When Korinna’s path intersects with the buff and mysterious pirate captain Aster Haran, Korinna can’t deny her attraction to the other woman. As the stakes grow ever higher, Korinna has a choice to make: loyalty to her Order and the only life she’s ever known… or cutting a destructive swathe of vengeance across the universe beside a gorgeous outlaw with an ever-expanding array of secrets. 

Redsight is action-packed, occasionally to the detriment of its characters, who have a slightly unfinished quality. They easily accommodate belief-shattering concepts, reconciling multifaceted issues within the space of a single conversation. Maybe I’m a sadist, but I wanted to witness their internal struggles play out longer.

There is so much to love about this book and the sweeping universe Mooring created. There were passages that left me breathless, ravenous to know the outcome. Mooring has a talent for channeling visceral physical trauma, so there were other passages that had me gritting my teeth and begging for my favorites to just please, please make it through. 

Redsight also has one of the more unique magic systems I’ve read in awhile—and I do so love an epic mythos. You can never give me enough goddesses in locked tombs, and you can never give me enough queer space pirates and acolytes. Bring on the apostasy, baby.

However: a word of warning for my queasy friends re: Mooring’s gift for transcribing bodily harm. The blood, y’all. There’s so much blood, all the time. It is immensely disconcerting and I’m used to gore. Honestly, it’s impressive. 

Redsight might be one of my new favorites. Not because it’s perfect, but because it gets so much right.  Mooring offers truth and a way forward. She offers a sense of hope and belonging for perpetual outsiders. Despite the heavy content, there are glittering threads of optimism woven throughout. I wouldn’t call it a feel-good, but… the novel is a deliciously weird and delightful treat, and I’m going to be thinking about it for a long time. If you’re a fan of powerful queers in space, you’re going to enjoy Redsight.

Content warnings: blood, violence, gore, low self esteem, dubious consent (taking power)