Leaping forward a couple of centuries, comes Laurie Halse Anderson’s newest book. Set during the American Revolution, we meet Elsbeth Culpepper, a smallpox survivor who has relocated to Boston with her father after the rest of their family died from the disease. She is employed as a live-in maid for a Loyalist while her father lives in a boarding house and works as a sailmaker. As the Siege of Boston drives the Loyalists out and creates havoc in the city, her father goes missing, and another smallpox epidemic arrives. Like Anderson’s previous historical fiction work, Rebellion 1776  is steeped in well-researched information and dialogue that fully draws the reader into the timeframe. Even though we may not be in the middle of a war, many of the themes and conflicts she shares remind us that history repeats itself in both wartime and peace. The concept of vaccines, relatively new at the time, was a source of conflict between detractors and proponents. The misogyny Elsbeth faces throughout the book may have been more pronounced in 1776, but the fight for women’s rights and autonomy continues today. How the wealthy are treated as opposed to the poor, working class mirrors much of the same injustices in healthcare and opportunities that exist generations later.      
What is most powerful about this book is that it doesn’t sugarcoat the harshness of the time and critically examines the issues without being didactic. Even though Elsbeth is just 13, she has to navigate a complicated world without much support, so she must be clever and sometimes break her own moral codes to survive. Anderson has created beautifully nuanced characters who must examine what freedom means, what they are willing to do to survive, and decide who they can trust—questions many people face today.​

The next book takes us to the late 1930s/early 1940s in Jackson, Mississippi to witness the beauty and pain of a family living in the South under Jim Crow laws. Through alternating perspectives, we meet Marion, a closeted lesbian working to raise her vocal son, Simeon, and Lamb a shy, quiet girl whose naivete and friendship with a white girl sets off a series of events that endangers the family.  Ransome’s writing is brutally honest with some strong language, a sexual assualt, and lynchings, while simultaneously honoring the experiences of the characters. Her sensitivity in writing assures that the brutality is never exploitive or graphic. She deftly balances the ugly truth with the resilience of the people who face such hatred.  The strong, multidimensional characters demonstrate the reality of identities and the various motivations that drive people to act as they do. As we continue to deal with systemic racism today, Lamb’s story is a stark reminder of the intergenerational trauma and the work we must continue to do if we are ever going to heal and repair the wounds from our history. ​

There are many, many great Holocaust books, but this one stands out as it is set in Czernowitz, Romania—an area that was considered a safe haven for Jewish people. This setting adds another layer to the other Holocaust stories as a reminder about how far the hatred and antisemitism extended and how those deep wounds still impact people today. Based on her grandmother’s stories of growing up in war-torn Romania, Arnold shares the story of Rieke, her older sister Astra, their mother still reeling after the girls’ father left, and a very religious grandfather. As antisemitism spreads across Europe, their family faces increased threats and injustice as their grandfather’s business is vandalized and they are kicked out of public school. As war breaks out, the country is invaded first by the Russians and then by the Germans. Although there were no concentration camps, the experiences in Romania were equally as unjust. The girls lose their home and sent to a ghetto where Rieke faces health issues, a sexual assault, and her grandfather’s murder.
​Throughout these horrors, she continues to carry on, but how much can she take before they break her? Once again, readers witness the greatest depravities of humans, but yet are able to hold onto hope through the strength of the characters. ​

We are living in precarious times as LGBTQ+ people in 2025. Earlier this year, the Stonewall National Monument website removed two crucial letters representing our community. It now states that, “Before the 1960s, almost everything about living openly as a lesbian, gay, bisexual (LGB) person was illegal, but the events at the Stonewall Inn sparked fresh momentum for the LGB civil rights movement!” Despite the fact that queer and transgender individuals were central activists in the Stonewall uprising, their identities have been erased from this official governmental narrative. This erasure extends beyond symbolic language. Just this month, Harvey Milk’s name was stripped from the U.S. Navy ship USNS Harvey Milk — a move that disregards his legacy as both a Navy veteran and a pioneering LGBTQ+ civil rights leader. Meanwhile, the military’s transgender ban remains firmly in place, further marginalizing trans service members and reinforcing a pattern of exclusion. These actions reveal a troubling trend of erasing and undermining the full scope of the LGBTQ+ community’s history and contributions. In the face of these setbacks, it is more important than ever to resist, remember, and reclaim our rightful place in history and society. One way to do that is through books and education. I agree with the criticism that African American history is often confined to just February, when it should be fully integrated throughout all history education. Similarly, because Pride Month in June frequently falls outside the school year, LGBTQ+ history is often overlooked or excluded from educational settings. The following books, aimed at young readers, provide a valuable starting point to begin addressing this gap.

In some of her books, Ms. Jackson writes characters who take us through a plot with twists and turns, but all along, we can count on the protagonist to tell us what we need to know. In some of her books, the protagonist takes us for a ride. All of her books are clever and worth reading. That's one of the many reasons why I have read every published book written by Tiffany, and it is why I look forward to her next books coming out soon. Yes, I said books—plural. Tiffany D. Jackson is  a prolific writer and was recently the recipient of the 2025 Margaret A. Edwards Award, which celebrates a lifetime of achievement in writing for young adults. That’s a prestigious award that she earned with every truth, lie, questions in between that she weaves into her crafty storytelling. ​

Overall, it is a testament to a tough topic that we would all do well to face. This is a book that many of our high school students may choose to read independently. If however, we want to use it as a class novel or a book club selection, students can track the character, participate in fishbowl discussions about the plot(s), and pursue research about the tough topic (I’m not telling) that undergirds the story. The research can lead to student-made Public Service Announcements or White Papers about the topic. They can also do “Signature Colors” for themselves or others, based on how the protagonist Claudia did for herself and her loved ones.
​

​While Tiffany D. Jackson writes books that delude and dismay us, she also writes historical fiction like The Awakening of Malcolm X: A Novel by Ilyasah Shabazz with Tiffany D. Jackson (January 2021). This novel takes us through Malcolm Little’s days in the Charlestown prison, where he discovers Islam and becomes Malcolm X. Though this is a work of fiction, Tiffany D. Jackson and Ilyasah Shabazz use quotations from Malcolm X in every chapter, and keep the timeline accurate. 
​
This book, like all of Tiffany’s books, can be read as a self-selected text. If it is read in a book club, or as a class novel, students can create an historical timeline, researching the events in the United States at the time. This can also be a powerful text to generate conversations about education, self-education, literacy, and how power, privilege, justice, and liberation play a role in each. 

I haven’t gotten to read The Scammer yet, and I anxiously await for my pre-ordered copy to arrive. It will be perfectly timed, a few weeks into fall and right before Halloween. I already know that I will be turning pages and experiencing another thrill. I am counting on Tiffany D. Jackson to continue her lifetime of writing young adult books that taunt us, trick us, and tantalize us. I intend to continue sliding right into the shoes of each protagonist, not knowing if I am about to lead or mislead through the next ride. I might not be able to trust all of her characters, but I can definitely trust the brilliant storytelling of Tiffany D. Jackson. ​

Meet our Contributor:
​Christian George Gregory is an Assistant Professor of Education at Saint Anselm College and was formerly a Lecturer at Teachers College, Columbia University, where he received his Ph.D. in English Education. He holds two degrees in literature from the Bread Loaf School of English at Middlebury College, was the recipient two fellowships from the NEH, a semi-finalist for the Bechtal Award, and garnered the JSTOR Lesson Plan award. He has written for multiple edited collections, as well as English Journal, English Education, QED: A Journal in GLBTQ Worldmaking, the International Journal of Dialogic Pedagogy, and International Journal of LGBTQ Youth, where he serves on the Editorial Board. He is the former Program Chair for the AERA’s Queer SIG and currently serves on the judging committees for ALAN’s Walden and NCTE’s REALM Awards. He is a published poet and was a semi-finalist for the Writers Retreat for Emerging LGBTQ Voices through Lamda Literary for his young adult novel, Two Davids. His research interests include the migration of queer theory to queer pedagogy, classroom discourse, and expanding the canon in English Education.

Ursula K. Le Guin is known for her philosophically complex works of literature that defy simple categories of genre (Cadden, 2005). She argues in her essay “The Child and the Shadow” that fiction, especially fantasy fiction, can provide the young reader a “guide of the journey to self-knowledge, to adulthood, to the light” (Le Guin, 2024, p. 879). Reading allows adolescents to confront who they are and might become, making Le Guin’s YA novels open-ended stories of self-discovery and growth (Cadden, 2006). The overarching themes across the texts I discuss here include how in adolescence we must learn to use our abilities for good, build trust with others, and accept the dynamic nature of life.

Earthsea Series
The first three books of this series each feature its own adolescent protagonist. A Wizard of Earthsea introduces readers to Ged, a boy whose magical talents lead him to attend a renowned school for wizards on the island of Roke. As Ged learns to use his abilities, he must undertake a journey that mirrors his psychological development. The Tombs of Atuan is about a teenager named Tenar, who was taken from her home when she was a young child to serve as priestess to deities known as the Nameless Ones. When the wizard Ged shows up searching for something hidden in the underground Tombs that Tenar oversees, Tenar has to decide whether or not to break free of the isolated and bleak life she has known. The Farthest Shore is the coming of age journey of an adolescent prince named Arren as he accompanies Ged, who is now middle-aged and the powerful archmage, on a journey to discover why magic is failing across Earthsea. Something has upset the balance of the world, and Arren and Ged set out to restore it.

Annals of the Western Shore trilogy
Set in a world of city-states, villages, and rural lands along the western shore of a fictional continent, each novel in the series is its own story, following a different adolescent who must come to terms with growing up in a world that can be brutal and oppressive. Each of the series’s protagonists must figure out how to build a life, even under difficult circumstances. Taken together, this trilogy examines how stories can bridge divides and connect people.
 
Gifts takes place in the sparse Uplands where teenaged Orrec’s family eeks out a living raising cattle. Orrec awaits the day he will show the power passed down in his father’s family called the unmaking, the ability to destroy someone or something with just a look. Gry, Orrec’s best friend, has inherited her mother’s gift of calling animals, an ability highly prized for hunting. When Orrec fears that his power to unmake might be out of his control, he blindfolds himself, while Gry refuses to use her gift to call animals to waiting hunters. Orrec and Gry must decide how they want to use their abilities.
 
Voices is set in the coastal town of Ansul, which has been under occupation by the army of a neighboring land for the past seventeen years. The novel’s protagonist, Memer, lives in the house that the people of Ansul have smuggled their books to for safekeeping, as the occupiers have banned all books under penalty of death. Memer’s experience living under occupation and the arrival in Ansul of a famous storyteller leaves the reader pondering the meaning of freedom beyond just the absence of constraints as well as different ways to resist oppression.
 
Powers is the story of a young slave in the city-state of Etra. Gavir is content as a slave for a wealthy family until a devastating tragedy leads Gavir to wander away from Etra, question the life he has known, and come to grips with the dehumanizing, corrosive effects of cruel social systems.

References
Attebery, B. (1982) The Beginning Place: Le Guin’s metafantasy. Children’s Literature, 10, 113-123. https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/chl.0.0196.
Cadden, M. (2005). Ursula K. Le Guin Beyond Genre: Fiction for Children and Adults. Routledge.
Cadden, M. (2006). Taking different roads to the city: The development of Ursula K. Le Guin’s young adult novels. Extrapolation, 47(3), 427-444. https://doi.org/10.3828/extr.2006.47.3.7
Le Guin, U. K. (2024). The child and the shadow. In B. Attebery (Ed.) Le Guin: Five novels. (pp. 873-884). The Library of America.
​

It’s no secret that I have a deep and abiding love for verse novels. There is something magical in the way a story gets constructed across a series of poems.  I am struck by the interplay of language, literary elements, and visual space.  I appreciate the lyrical and visual punch of Kwame Alexander’s The Crossover and the melodic flow and character development of Ann E. Burg’s Flooded.  I like the history built into Chris Crowe’s Death Coming Up the Hill and Melanie Crowder’s Audacity. I adore how Sharon Creech’s Love that Dog and Hate that Cat play with our expectations of poems we were taught and how Caroline Brooks DuBois’s Ode to a Nobody is a love letter to English class and writing. I am lost in magic that is Joy McCollough’s Enter the Body—that book, those characters pulled from Shakespeare, those poems.  Ahh, I could lose myself in other people’s lines and happily while away hours.

​However, I am working with these books for a reason; I am  in my office pulling verse novels from my shelves for a project that I am doing with my students.  I’ve just pulled Who Killed Mr. Chippendale? by Mel Glenn from my shelves and I am struck by the journey this book and I have taken.  This verse novel, published in 1996, was one of the first verse novels I ever used with students. I still remember conversations with students about how poems didn’t have to rhyme and how they could be linked together to tell a story.   I still use poems from Who Killed Mr. Chippendale? as mentor texts for writers. My English major students sometimes overlook this book; it isn’t as lyrical or as visually stunning as other verse novels. It is deceptively simple—a murder mystery told in verse.  If we set aside how it manipulates the mystery genre, building up and releasing tension differently than a prose text would.  If we ignore how the plot builds over poems from individual students who knew or interacted with the murdered teacher, if we ignore how the clues are hidden and not hidden in the poems, if we ignore all of that, we still have a book that engages readers with a story that seems oddly current.  The language is dated (it is nearly 30 years old) and simple, but it still grabs readers.  Contemporary verse novels are more complex, often more poetic, and perhaps more stylistic but there is still something compelling about this text and these poems.

Each poem provides a character’s thoughts and ideas.  The poem “Kesha Templeton” shows the readers Kesha’s view of the school day.  She does not focus on the death of the teacher, but rather the aftermath. One of my former 7th grade students said, “Kesha doesn’t talk about the teacher. She talks about the murder. I don’t know if she knew him but I know she is scared.”  This student connected with this poem and was able to talk about what he thought and provide evidence from the poem to back up his ideas.  

Around here, it’s been murder,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, guys.
How many words do we know?
       Period 1: manslaughter
       Period 2: homicide
       Period 3: slaying
       Period 4: assassination
       Period 5: massacre
       Period 6: ethnic cleansing
       Period 7: annihilation
       Period 8: genocide
Hey, this school is scary.
At the end of the year I’m transferrin’.
I’m just dying to get out (p. 21).

As a poem, Keesha Templeton, plays with the definitions of literally and figuratively.  She opens with “Around here, it’s been murder,/Literally.”  She uses the word murder to both talk about the actual murder that happened and to describe how hard it has been at the school.  She then finishes the poem with a return to the figurative use of the word dying to describe how anxious she is about being a student in the school. This interaction with literal and figurative meanings of words may seem simple but, as readers, we are aware of how these concepts are introduced as part of high school English classes.  This push/pull on literal and figurative language emphasizes Keesha’s role as student and introduces her as a student who has paid attention and has internalized this learning.  Opening and closing with murder and dying show that she has also internalized the alarm that comes from being in a location where violence has happened.

Keesha’s word play continues with a description of her classes. She names each class after a form of murder rather than the name of the actual class. Her description ends with Period 8: genocide.  This list shows Keesha’s fear and uncertainty.  She uses the naming of different forms of murder as a tool to separate herself from the fear she feels while also using the increasing severity of the words to explore the rising anxiety she feels.  She also implies that school does not feel safe for her. As readers, we see the increasing violence embedded in the words and realize the depth of her anxiety.  The seeming simplicity of the list emphasizes the increasing apprehension the student has in the aftermath of her teacher’s murder.  This poem, in its simplicity, identifies the stark reality of violence in schools and the aftermath of that violence.

​The poem provides a strong template for students to think deeply about issues. I first used this poem with seventh graders in the mid-nineties. There were a series of new rules that had been implemented after a fight in the lunchroom, and the students were upset. They felt the rules were being enforced harshly with a zero tolerance policy for kids being kids. Three students wrote:

Around here, it’s been strict,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, Rams.
How many words do we know?
     Period 1: stern
     Period 2: firm
     Period 3: harsh
     Period 4: rigid
     Period 5: severe
     Period 6: uncompromising
     Period 7: austere
     Period 8: authoritarian
Hey, big fights are scary.
At the end of the day, you are being too controlling.
We have to have room to grow.

​This poems structure allowed them to map their feelings. In choosing the order for the vocabulary words, they had to argue for the meaning and focus on nuance.  During Covid, a student explored how she felt during a writing exercise, explaining,

​Around here, it’s been sick,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, Patriots.
How many words do we know?
     Period 1: illness
     Period 2: sickness
     Period 3: flu
     Period 4: respiratory disease
     Period 5: contagion
     Period 6: virus
Period 7: epidemic
Period 8: pandemic
Hey, this Covid-19 is scary.
At the end of the year I’m getting vaccinated.
I’m just too young to get sick.

What these lines show is a student exploring the worries and concerns about an illness that we knew little about.  What she did know from what was on the news and social media was scary to her.  The pattern let her build vocabulary from the term “illness” to “pandemic” with each iteration of the vocabulary increasing the level of complexity and fear. This seemingly simple format allowed her to explore concerns she had in a form that felt more comfortable to her.  Laney explained in her author’s statement, “I made a picture with words to show how what I meant.”  Avery, a high school student, expressed his feelings about the protests and counterprotests he was seeing around him.

Around here, it’s been killer,
Literally.
Vocabulary exercise of the day, Racism.
How many words do we know?
     Period 1: Tamir Rice, 14
     Period 2: Michael Brown, 15
     Period 3: Jordan Edwards, 26
     Period 4: Stephon Clark, 22
     Period 5: Botham Jean, 26
     Period 6: Breonna Taylor, 26
     Period 7: Dante Wright, 20
     Period 8: George Floyd, 46
Hey, this being black is scary.
At the end of the day, I’m choked up and
I’m just trying to keep breathing.

Like Kesha, Avery focused on loss and death. Rather than rename his vocabulary word—racism—he chose to list the names and ages of black people who had been killed. Some of the names were names that were in the news and others were not.  Students in the class with Avery looked up the names; the poem became a lesson in the results of racism. In giving the names, it personalized the term in ways that renaming would not.

Mel Glenn’s verse novel is dated, and the poetic structures don’t have the complexity of some of the poem structures we teach (sonnets, villanelles, haiku, etc.) but there is still opportunity in these structures.  Part of their strength is their approachability.  That is part of the magic of young adult verse novels—their amazing storytelling that pulls the reader in and makes the poems and poetic structures more approachable. Contemporary verse novels are dynamic and so poetic complex.  I am astounded by the narrative complexity of the heroic crown cycle in Marilyn Nelson’s A Wreath for Emmett Till and amazed by the different poetic structures used in Lesleah Newman’s October Mourning. I can get lost in the incredible beauty of Jacqueline Woodson’s Locomotion or Brown Girl Dreaming or slide into the textures of the poems in Elizabeth Acevedo’s Clap When You Land or The Poet X. I still remember the first verse novels I read.  The early novels of Mel Glenn that I read as a high school student and then early career teacher inspired me to write but, more importantly, they inspired my students to write.  So when I pick up Jasmine Warga’s beautiful Other Words for Home or the touching Chlorine Sky by Mahogany Brown or the painful We Are the Ashes, We Are the Fire by Joy McCollough, I know that I am picking up texts that are more than stories that will reach my students, I am picking up texts that will inspire my students to think and to write. 

Meet Our Contributor:

Roy Edward Jackson is an assistant professor of education at Goshen College in Indiana with a focus on literacy. He holds degrees in English, Education and School Library Science. 

When confronted with accusations of indoctrination regarding BIPOC and LGBTQ+ books, I often respond with clarity: no book has ever "made" a student gay or changed their racial or cultural identity. However, for many of us raised within Christian households and other faith traditions, the inclusion of religious content in classrooms can feel more precarious—particularly when concerns of proselytizing arise. Consider the coach who kneels to pray aloud with players before a game. While the Supreme Court has affirmed the coach's right to pray and students’ right to opt out, the inherent power imbalance cannot be ignored. The coach is likely not reciting prayers from multiple religious traditions, but instead from their own, placing unspoken pressure on players to conform for fear of social or athletic repercussions. The act, though legal, lacks inclusivity. I seek not to engage in power, but to be inclusive of all students. 

A brief summary of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe follows four siblings (Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy) who are evacuated during the bombings of London at the height of WWII to an old professor’s house in the countryside. Lucy discovers a passage to another world, Narnia, through a wardrobe. Narnia is under the rule of the White Witch who makes it always winter in Narnia, but no Christmas. The great lion, Aslan, returns to free Narnia while Edmund has betrayed his siblings only to redeem himself with the help of Aslan who sacrifices himself in Edmund’s place. Aslan dies, is resurrected and ultimately defeats the White Witch and crowns the four children the kings and queens of Narnia.

Early in the story, characters in Narnia refer to the children as "sons of Adam" and "daughters of Eve," giving readers a clear biblical reference. In the Bible, Jesus calls himself the "door" to salvation, and the wardrobe that leads to Narnia can be seen as a symbol of that spiritual passage. Aslan’s death on the Stone Table reflects the Crucifixion, and his return to life mirrors Christ’s resurrection. Edmund’s betrayal closely parallels the story of Judas, which many readers will recognize. With the defeat of the White Witch—who represents evil—Christmas returns, symbolizing the arrival of hope and redemption. 

After rereading the stories, I wondered about the insertion of religious allegory into the classroom and brainstormed how to approach this. I began where I often do, with student centered discussion and personal writing first. By placing myself out of the center of the discussion and responses I can ascertain students’ understanding of religious symbolism and, their personal identity with various faiths. The groundwork of acceptance and respect would be paramount to this. 

Armed with this knowledge of the individual and laying the groundwork of respect, I can intentionally group students of various faith backgrounds and religious symbolism understanding and begin activities. This could include activities like mapping Narnia, but through the religious allegory aspects to the action of the story. Students could work in groups to create clipart or memes of symbols and meanings as related to the story pivotal moments. Another activity is a structured debate on the moral choices of characters from both books. Students would be assigned roles to explore perspectives different from their own. This approach encourages empathy and critical thinking by requiring students to defend actions they may not personally agree with. For instance, what motivates the White Witch's cruelty? What in her backstory or worldview might explain her behavior? While the easy place to start, I would offer the best beginning is the intersection of morality and religion and spirituality. Students can identify and compare shared themes—such as temptation, redemption, good vs. evil, and free will—across both of Lewis’ texts that I presented here. As a fan of epistolary form, students could examine the format in The Screwtape Letters and apply that to The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and write letters in the voice of the children from the story that showcases their learned knowledge of religious allegory to their loved ones in London about Narnia. 

I’m always seeking ways to foster inclusion in my classrooms. As a professor at a Christian liberal arts college, and recently reflecting on the season of Easter, I’ve been thinking about how my approach to inclusion has evolved. I’m privileged at my current institution to openly make connections between faith and learning, but I also find myself reflecting on my two decades in public education. While I created space for students' faith knowledge and celebrations, I now wonder how I might have more intentionally incorporated religious allegory and symbolism—especially through texts like those of C.S. Lewis. This reflection has led me to consider how I can now help pre- and in-service teachers thoughtfully engage with these literary experiences in ways that are both inclusive and appropriate for their future classrooms.

​I would bet a lot of money that if you asked people what they would consider as a  “taboo” topic in books for adolescents, responses would be along the lines of politics, sex, or violence. I would guess that very few people would say the topic that Patricia Campbell stated as “the last taboo” in the world of young adult literature: religion. 

​Think of five of your favorite young adult novels. Are there any religious elements in these texts? If so, how is religion being portrayed? Is religion affecting the character and story in a positive or negative way?
 
When I think about the books I read growing up, I do not remember religion being discussed in any book–or at least being an important part of the story (for example, The Baby-Sitters Club or the Goosebumps series). Some of the most popular books growing up had little to no mention of religion, such as Harry Potter, Twilight, or Hunger Games. Why is that? Why have so many been willing to talk about the most controversial of topics but rarely about religion? 

YA scholar, Patricia Campbell, when writing about religion in young adult texts stated that “The majority of realistic YA fiction projects a world in which both the personal practice and the corporate practice of religion are absent, except for the worst aspects of cults or fundamentalist sects” (Mickelson 2). However, there have been recent calls for writers to include religion in their texts, specifically utilizing religion in more realistic ways instead of through purely negative depictions (Mickelson 5). It seems that authors may have heard these recent calls and have responded with some great stories depicting religion more realistically. 

​I was lucky enough in my graduate program to take two classes focused on young adult novels. The first, taught by Chris Crowe, went through a history of young adult novels starting from the 1960s to the early 2000s, in which I noticed mostly negative depictions, if any, of religion, such as in books like Send Me Down a Miracle by Han Nolan.
 
In my second section on YA literature the following semester, modern, award-winning novels were the focus. As I read through recent modern contemporary young adult novels, it seemed to me that there has been a shift in how religion is depicted. In these newer texts, the nuances of being part of a religion in today’s world are shown, rather than the religious binaries of the past, where the text was either didactic or representing religion negatively. 

​In thinking about saints and their role in his religion, Simon says “it’s a little messed up that we make saints of girls who didn’t want to get married and got killed, and boys who didn’t want to make public sacrifices and got killed…It’s like, somehow, they’re holy because awful stuff happened to them” (289). Simon continues his internal dialogue, wondering, “Maybe one of them was super good at soccer, or really liked stargazing…We only know the one part of their life, and it’s the most awful part” (289). Simon does not want to be defined by his most awful moments in life, and does not understand why his religion must be so focused on the past traumas of others; Simon wants to believe that there is more to people than their trials, that there is more to his life than the horrible things he has gone through. Simon wonders why his religion focuses so much on the suffering of people in the past when he wants to focus on healing and the other things that make him who he is. In his case, the point of the saints in his religion focuses on the things that Simon is trying to not dwell on. Can he still be a part of this religion despite this focus and move forward in healing? Does this mean he must abandon his faith altogether?

​Belle’s relationship with her mom is complicated, as are many teenager’s. Belle’s mother, Gina, cannot be described without mention of her religious beliefs. Gina is an Italian Catholic, and Belle describes it as being not “ just about religion–it’s about superstition and safekeeping and tradition” (5). Gina “rarely goes to mass, but she’s got the required crucifix over the kitchen doorway, the rosary in the dresser drawer, and the stack of dead relatives’ funeral cards, held together with a rubber band” (5). Belle’s use of the word “required” in this quote demonstrates her view of religion being something that is forced, where people seem to just go through the traditional motions. Belle’s relationship with her mother is complicated in the beginning of the novel in part due to Gina’s religious beliefs since Belle does not hold the same reverence for the traditions. Belle has a difficult time believing “people are still Catholic,” and draws a comparison between the Catholic church and Hostess Twinkies, since they both have been around “for a zillion years, in spite of the bad press and rumors of vanishing” (5). When examining Belle’s own beliefs, the narrator asks “How can Annabelle believe in anything anymore, though? It’d be nice to have a belief, but it’s likely gone for good” as a result of what she has suffered (5).  

As Belle slowly allows herself to remember her past and to feel the emotions she’s been trying to bury, she realizes that the idea of religion, such as the Saint Christopher, is comforting in moments; however, she recognizes it is not enough to heal her completely. Belle finally is able to sift through the memories of her boyfriend and best friend being killed by her stalker, finally revealing to the reader what exactly happened that night. Before she allows the memory to unravel in her mind, she sees “The Saint Christopher medal” shining “in the moonlight,” and thinks to herself how “even a saint seems small and powerless against what’s coming” (320). This moment shows the complexities of religion in Belle’s life, where she has the two contradicting feelings about religion: it can be comforting and healing, and it can also cause more anxieties and questions. These ideas are so opposite of one another that it would seem somewhat impossible for them to both make up her religious identity; yet she is able to have these back and forth moments that help her to better understand what role religion can play in her life–and that it does not have to have just one purpose. 

While less young adults identify as being religious as ever before, there is still a need to show representation for the many young adults who are trying to find the balance between living in a modern world, with all of its complexities and instant gratifications, and holding onto something that gives them hope–something that may have given their families hope for generations.

While these texts mentioned are great examples of a more realistic depiction of religion, there are several others that do similar things, and they are worth exploring for further insight into religion in young adult literature today. Some of these texts are All My Rage by Sabaa Tahir, The 57 Bus by Dashka Slater, Scythe by Neal Shusterman, and Everything Sad is Untrue by Daniel Nayeri. Even though religion is never the primary focus of these texts, that makes them even more realistic. With so many things begging for a teen's attention–social media, jobs, school, current events, family, friends, relationships, etc.--religion is oftentimes a smaller part of a religious teen’s life, but it is still a part of it. And that part shapes their adolescence, which ultimately shapes how they view themselves and the world around them. Giving examples and presenting the inner dialogue of what one may experience as a teen navigating religion in the modern world can do what literature does best–what we love literature for: showing young adults that they are not alone, providing them new ways to think about their experiences, positions, and questions, and helping them on their path to better understanding who they are.

Cheryl: When I was growing up, being Jewish was something we did at home. School was for the majority religion, which in my suburban elementary school was learning Christmas carols in music class or making Christmas and Easter decorations, but never about my Jewish holidays and traditions. In fact, the Jewish population at my school was so small that I was the only Jewish student in my class. My mom was the “Hanukkah Mom,” the one who came in every year to tell the story of the one Jewish holiday that my teachers had heard of but, sadly, had no familiarity to teach about it themselves. Home was where I could be myself. My family went to synagogue and celebrated the High Holy Days by eating apples and honey; celebrated Passover with the eternally long ritual meal - the Seder - where my siblings and I would count the pages in our haggadah until dinner was served; and home was where we lit the Shabbat candles every Friday night to welcome the Sabbath into our hearts and our home. Home was for being Jewish; public was for fitting in. 

Melanie: In contrast, I grew up in a neighborhood that had a large population of Jewish families. I went to Hebrew school with a lot of my classmates, and my schools recognized and included Jewish holidays in their calendars and celebrations. Granted, we did not get days off for the significant holidays of Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, or Passover, but teachers understood and respected our absences. Hanukkah was included in Winter Holiday performances with a token song or skit, but the holiday was not unfamiliar to my classmates. In junior high, going to bar and bat mitzvahs every weekend was fairly typical, for Jews and non-Jews alike. Being Jewish was a part of who I was, and welcomed in all aspects of my life, both inside and outside of the home.

Although we are both Jewish, our lived experiences were and still are very different. And they are different still from our Jewish friends. Often, Jewish people are lumped together as a monolith, yet there are many different ways of being Jewish in America and the world today. Not all people who identify as Jewish are religious or consider themselves practitioners of Judaism, yet they may feel inherently Jewish as their ethnic and cultural identity.

​May is Jewish American Heritage Month. The Jewish people have an incredibly rich heritage. Jews have been a part of the fabric of every empire, have lived throughout the world, and been a part of the fabric of the American tapestry since the country was established. Yet, there is little representation of Jewish identity in young adult literature, and what little literature there is often focuses on the 3 H’s: The Holocaust, history, or holidays (and often only the holiday of Hanukkah, a holiday that does not hold much importance in Judaism). However, there is so much more to being Jewish outside of the 3 H’s that we would like to highlight today.

​Although few in number, there are young adult titles that celebrate the diverse and intersectional ways of being Jewish in contemporary times. From stories of Orthodox Jews to secular Jews living their most authentic selves; to stories of Jewish subgroups including Ashkenazi (Jews with Eastern European heritage), Mizrahi (Jews with Middle Eastern heritage), and Sephardic (Jews with Spanish and Portuguese heritage), and stories of other intersectional Jewish identities including Jewish people with disabilities, Jews who identify as LGBTQ, and Jews who struggle with their mental health. There are so many contemporary tales that deserve a place on your bookshelves and in your classrooms.

In a time of increasing antisemitism, it is apparent to us that many people do not know what Judaism is or who Jewish people are, and are only aware of stereotypes. People often fear the other or the unknown. We strongly believe that books that celebrate Judaism and the Jewish people, including their intersectional nature, are a great step in introducing people to the beauty and complexity of Jewish life. By providing students with a varied and rich introduction to the Jewish experience, we can develop empathy, appreciation, and a respect for cultural diversity.

​Here are some contemporary realistic fiction titles we love, with a favorite fantasy thrown in:

Rachel Lynn Solomon writes many authentic and enjoyable novels with Jewish characters. In the sequel to her extremely popular Today Tonight Tomorrow, Past Present Future continues the story of Rowan and Neil, following them as they head off to separate universities in different states. Even though they’ve come together after years of being rivals, can they overcome the distance, both in miles and in emotions, to ensure their relationship continues and thrives? This novel sensitively includes a character struggling with their mental health in a way that is at times hard to read and neccessary.

An additional book that includes Jewish characters with chronic illnesses is Sick Kids in Love by Hannah Moskowitz.

​Other books with great LGBTQ+ representation: Time and Time Again by Chatham Greenfield and Finally Fitz by Marisa Kanter. 

Until recently, my knowledge of the regional literature of Appalachia in the United States had been limited to a few blockbuster hits that, by and large, have been criticized for their portrayal of regional identity and socioeconomic issues. That was until the author Kate Pearsall unexpectedly fell into my lap with her current duet of novels, Bittersweet in the Hollow and Lies on the Serpent's Tongue.

I am currently sitting on my Independent School Districts’ (one of the largest in the state of Texas) Literature List Review Committee. Our charge, led by our Secondary Language Arts Administrator, is to review and recommend teacher submissions for YA titles to be placed on our “Whole-Class Approved Novels” lists for each grade level. Here is where I first learned of Pearsall’s works and fell in love with her portrayal of the Appalachian Region. 

Kate Pearsall’s storytelling weaves her experiences with her mother’s bedtime stories about growing up in West Virginia and the intersection of Scottish-Irish folklore and magic. These tales are truly magical transporters that plant the reader right into the heart of secluded Appalachia- where magic, moonshine, and the power of sisterhood abound. 

When I first picked up her debut book Bittersweet in the Hollow, I was not sure what to expect. The back cover copy (or blurb) promises the reader a magical folk-laced mystery, a genre-mixing tale of a group of female family members possessing unusual talents spanning three generations. All of this is set within an authentic portrayal of a small town in the Appalachian mountains. A town’s complexities that reach far beyond what reader’s know to be stereotypical; a place that transcends the common poverty-stricken, drug-laden, hillbilly-esque picture that many of us associate with the region due to the common texts we know. 

Bittersweet in the Hollow offers a rich narrative landscape for students to consider how identity, power, and voice function within a community. Enveloped within a seemingly who-dun-it mystery, this first novel in the duet follows the protagonist, Linden, as she not only struggles through a sequence of traumatic events, but also walks with her as she discovers the power within herself, the roots of her family, and uncovers power through sisterhood. When viewed through the lens of feminist criticism, Linden’s story becomes a powerful exploration of how women’s voices can often be marginalized and silenced—and how reclaiming those voices, and that power, becomes an act of resistance. Students can use the events in this story to explore deeper questions about individual equity, personal agency, and how traditional views of the patriarchal system further systemic expectations in our society today. 

​I love this debut novel for a buddy read or student book clubs in the classroom. This text naturally invites discussion and connection through its overarching themes and ideas as well as the intrigue built around the folklore of the Moth-Winged Man, naturopathy, and mysticism. Its atmospheric setting and slowly-unraveling mystery around a current murder and a cold case keep readers engaged, while its character-driven focus offers plenty of opportunities to pause, reflect, and explore motivations, choices, and relationships. All of which are perfect for open-ended conversations for students to lead independently with each other. 

In a classroom setting where student voice, choice, and engagement matter more than ever, Kate Pearsall’s works of Bittersweet in the Hollow and Lies on the Serpent's Tongue stand out as compelling texts that bridge traditional literary merit, high-interest texts, and student accessibility. Kate Pearsall’s works not only bring the often-overlooked and often-stereotyped Appalachian region into the spotlight with nuance, reverence, and respect, but it also offers students a chance to examine the multi-layered themes through a lens that is both magical and deeply human. Whether used for independent study, book clubs/literature circles, or buddy reads, this novel has the potential to spark rich, student-driven dialogue that builds empathy, critical thinking, and a broader understanding of inclusive storytelling.