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Weekend Picks for February 27th

2/27/2026

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Roy Jackson

​The end of February is here, and contributor Roy Jackson concludes the month with another great recommendation: This Is My America by Kim Johnson.

To remind our readers, Roy Jackson is a writer and educator whose scholarship and prose have appeared in various outlets. He holds degrees in English and Education, including an MFA from Youngstown State University. He is currently an assistant professor of education at Goshen College. 

​Our many thanks to professor Jackson for his important contribution to the blog this month and reminding us that "History has a way of latching on to you." 
​

This Is My America by Kim Johnson

“History has a way of latching on to you. Like touching a hot stove – you only need to do it once before you know better” (p. 269).
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Kim Johnson’s (2020) novel, This Is My America, confronts the hot stove. And as a reader, I couldn’t look away. Positioning my racial and gender privilege as a reader required careful attention while engaging with this novel, and it is a practice I look forward to modeling for my students. At my college, we take pride in our commitment to social justice and restorative practices, and for those of us who benefit from white American privilege, reading novels like this demands intentional reflection and deliberate steps.

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This Is My America opens with seventeen-year-old Tracy Beaumont writing a letter to Innocence X, a legal advocacy organization, on behalf of her father, who is on death row in Texas for the double homicide of a white couple. Tracy’s father maintains his innocence, and she hopes the organization can investigate his case to prevent an unjust execution.
Tracy’s efforts draw public attention, and she and her brother Jamal are interviewed on television, bringing her family’s story into the spotlight. The media coverage adds pressure. Throughout the novel, Tracy navigates threats and intimidation from those invested in keeping the official narrative intact.
Jamal is a talented track star who plans to attend college nearby to stay near the family. When he is accused of murdering a white woman in a case that mirrors their father’s conviction, Tracy becomes determined to protect him from a similar fate. She continues writing detailed letters to Innocence X, highlighting inconsistencies, racial bias, and misconduct in the investigation of her father’s case, while also preparing to fight for Jamal.
Her persistence, careful documentation, and courage eventually attract the attention of Innocence X, who begin formally investigating the family’s cases. The organization uncovers evidence that exposes flaws in the justice system and racial bias, working toward justice for her father and protection for her brother.
Throughout the story, Tracy confronts systemic racism, personal danger, and the emotional toll of advocating for her family, while also highlighting the broader reality that Black men and women are disproportionately incarcerated in the United States. Her resilience and determination shine as she faces overwhelming obstacles within a system stacked against her family.
The book concludes with a robust Author’s Note that provides both essential historical context and insight into the artistic choices Johnson made in crafting the novel. This serves as a starting point for me as a reader and educator, particularly for those who are witnesses to the harms of mass incarceration in the United States but are not directly affected by it. Johnson shares her personal testimony from when she was twelve, recalling the beating of Rodney King by the LAPD and the officers’ subsequent acquittal: “I felt their rage. Their pain was my pain” (p. 391). From Jonny Gammage and Eric Garner to the so-called War on Drugs and the Crime Bill of 1994, Johnson frames historical narratives and legislative practices as systemic injustices disproportionately targeting Black Americans—both then and today.
Johnson points out that “as of April 1, 2019, there were 2,637 inmates in prison who are sentenced to death, across thirty-two states. African Americans make up 13 percent of the US population but are 42 percent of the people on death row. It’s important to acknowledge that, nationally, 95 percent of prosecutors are white” (p. 397). This Author’s Note at the end of the book makes for an incredible pre-reading activity for readers of racial privilege to examine how systemic bias is pervasive in the US legal system, not only among death row inmates but in incarceration rates overall. An examination of these stories and facts sets the stage for all readers to understand how this impacts them as they provide their own testimony or witness the injustice of this system.
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Kim Johnson
And while these statistics and mentions in the Author’s Note matter as a manner of foregrounding necessary information for all readers, the YA novel’s human story matters just as much, if not more. It is the human toll and costs that this system of injustice enforces on the citizens of this country that resonate with me as a reader. This toll is expertly depicted in the novel.
There are many poignant entry points for young readers in this novel, but I think the idea of compounded trauma, the weight and burden placed on marginalized individuals within systems of injustice, is particularly important. The protagonist, Tracy, cannot be a typical American teen; her burdens are immense. She is systematically persecuted by white supremacy, both literally and figuratively. These binaries are powerful points for examination and invite deep, meaningful discussion. Additionally, while she is ostensibly tasked with excelling at school, she must expend the precious currency of her time and cognitive energy writing endless letters to Innocence X and witnessing the framing of her brother by a biased justice system. These themes of compounded trauma come from experience and testimony, not just from witnessing, and for readers with privilege, this underscores the importance of positionality.
Published in 2020, Johnson wrote in the Author’s Note, “Some declared the United States a post-racial society upon the election of Barack Obama, the forty-fourth president. This declaration is refuted by the rise of white supremacists since the election of the forty-fifth president. The stain of racism also rears its ugly head each time a viral video reveals police brutality or racial disparities in arrests and convictions” (p. 395). Reading this in 2026, with the rise of white Christian Nationalism, eradication of DEI by the government, and the assault on higher education academic freedoms, makes this novel and Author’s Note all the more poignant.
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Weekend Picks for February 20th

2/20/2026

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Roy Jackson
Welcome to the third weekend of February with our contributor Roy Jackson. He once again brings us a fantastic historical fiction recommendation: The Rock and the River by Kekla Magoon. 

To remind our readers, 
Roy Jackson is a writer and educator whose scholarship and prose have appeared in various outlets. He holds degrees in English and Education, including an MFA from Youngstown State University. He is currently an assistant professor of education at Goshen College. 

​Our many thanks to professor Jackson for his contributions to the blog this month! 

The Rock and the River by Kekla Magoon

Kekla Magoon’s 2009 historical fiction novel for young readers is strikingly timely, resonating with both recent events and ongoing societal issues. The Rock and the River is a carefully crafted novel that depicts a specific period and place in American history while remaining fully relatable, allowing readers across generations to engage, connect, and reflect. For this reader, that reflection is bittersweet, highlighting how little has changed over time.
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The Rock and the River is a historical novel set in 1968 Chicago during the Civil Rights Movement. It follows 13-year-old Sam Childs, whose father is a respected, nonviolent civil rights activist modeled after Martin Luther King Jr. Sam admires his father but is also drawn to the ideas of his older brother, Stick, who secretly joins the Black Panther Party and believes more direct, forceful action is necessary. Early in the story, Sam’s friend Bucky is arrested and beaten by police, revealing the dangers young activists face, and these tensions escalate when Stick is shot and killed by police during a protest, an event that follows Bucky’s beating. Sam’s father is also stabbed during activism, a violent event that shakes the family and underscores the risks of standing up for justice. As protests, police violence, and racial tensions intensify, Sam struggles to understand both nonviolent and militant approaches and begins to question what justice and courage truly mean. The novel explores family loyalty, political awakening, and the difficulty of finding a path in a divided movement, showing how young people navigate danger, morality, and their own voices during times of social upheaval.
For the privileged in America who often fail to see how events like the L.A. residents’ response to the Rodney King verdict, or the coast-to-coast protests during the summer of 2020 after the murder of George Floyd, unfolded, this novel is a wonderful launching and landing point to show that the juxtaposition between the pacifist and proactivist approach to protest can exist in the gray area in between instead of as a binary either/or. Magoon humanizes not just the Dr. King and Black Panther Party approaches in the home in which the protagonist Sam resides, but also the intergenerational trauma and evolution that may ebb and flow within many homes. Sam is faced with trauma daily at the hands of the police and mobs who brutalize his community, physically harm his friends and family, and continually raise their nightsticks at the marginalized residents of the city of Chicago. Unfortunately, as we all know too well, nightsticks have been replaced with guns, and bodily harm has been replaced by police killing citizens.
The novel is set against the backdrop of the 1968 protests and the assassination of Dr. King, an event that plays a pivotal role both historically and within the story, particularly when Sam’s father, a follower of Dr. King and a leader in the Chicago pacifist movement, is stabbed and aired on television while Sam and his family watch. Magoon draws readers closer to this moment by showing it through Sam’s perspective, allowing us to experience both the trauma of witnessing the loss of a pivotal figure in the movement and the personal fear and anguish of seeing his own father, who knows Dr. King and strives to follow his teachings, confronted with violence while upholding the principles of peaceful, nonviolent protest.

​In the same vein, Magoon offers a rounded and meaningful portrayal of the Black Panther Party movement, which is often mischaracterized in historical contexts presented to students. Through Charlie’s sibling Stick, the novel humanizes the party’s emphasis on education and community care. He is seen helping provide food for children and participating in local outreach efforts, gestures that complicate the narrow narratives many readers inherit. Rather than presenting the Panthers only through images of confrontation, Magoon frames them through relationships and everyday acts of responsibility, allowing young readers to understand the movement as rooted not just in protest, but also in service, dignity, and community presence.
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Kekla Magoon
What is key in this depiction is that the novel resists framing the era as a simple binary of King’s movement as peaceful and the Black Panthers as violent. Instead, it reveals areas of shared purpose and overlapping concerns between the movements. The Panthers’ central tenet is not portrayed as aggression for its own sake, but as self-defense in response to persistent police brutality and systemic injustice. Through this lens, readers see that both movements sought dignity, safety, and civil rights for Black communities, even if their strategies and public images differed. Viewed from a contemporary perspective, the novel invites a more nuanced understanding that moves beyond “peace versus violence” and toward a recognition of parallel goals, internal debates, and the complexity of social change.
As students enter our classrooms with questions about the world today, Kekla Magoon’s The Rock and the Riverprovide a strong starting and ending point for meaningful conversations. Through the characters, readers experience the weight of inherited activism and the personal costs of standing up for justice. What makes the protagonist’s story especially compelling is that Magoon presents the 1968 movements without suggesting one was better than the other. The novel encourages discussion about who is harmed by police, who is allowed to respond, and how society determines whose rights, whether the First or the Second Amendment Rights, are protected or restricted. It also raises important questions about inequality, media bias, and the ways public narratives shape our understanding of protest, resistance, and justice. The novel helps readers understand why, historically, activism in response to systemic injustices shifted from King’s philosophy to the principles of the Black Panther Party without tipping the scale in favor of either approach. The careful balance Magoon achieves is a rare feat and one that invites thoughtful discussion in classrooms and beyond.
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Weekend Picks for February 13th

2/13/2026

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Welcome to the second weekend of February, a unique collision of Friday-the-13th and Valentine's Day! 
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Roy Jackson

Our February contributor, Roy Jackson, once again brings us a timely recommendation on protest, civil disobedience, and the eternal question of humanity: 
shouldn't being human be enough? ​

To remind our readers, Roy Jackson is a writer and educator whose scholarship and prose have appeared in various outlets. He holds degrees in English and Education, including an MFA from Youngstown State University. He is currently an assistant professor of education at Goshen College.  

Our many thanks to professor Jackson for his ongoing commitment to our YA Literature community! 

One of the Good Ones by Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite

Seeking contemporary YA stories relevant to our current times I came across this fantastic read in the shelves of my public library. I must admit that I was using AI with a search prompt of “YA books on protest, civil disobedience, and protest” and chat led me to the stacks where One of the Good Ones by Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite resided. It deserves to be pulled from the line of spines with titles and displaced cover first. With a thematic tagline in the lower right corner of the cover, Shouldn’t being human be enough? the novel centers its narrative on the individual at the center of a movement, but in dire need of separation from a larger movement. To be remembered as an individual; as a human. This book holds power in manners not often utilized in today’s fiction where sainthood or martyr status is almost immediate in a divisive society without much reflection. The authors force us to pause and reflect inward, at least for me, on how I often play into this trope to suit my narrative needs.
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One of the Good Ones centers on teen social activist Kezi Smith, who is killed under mysterious circumstances after attending a social justice rally. Her death quickly becomes national news, and she is held up as “one of the good ones,” a phrase that troubles her family because it implies only certain Black lives are worthy of sympathy. Her younger sister Happi, devastated and angry, struggles with the way Kezi is idealized by the public. Along with their sister Genny, she decides to honor Kezi in a more personal way. Guided by an heirloom copy of The Negro Motorist Green Book, the sisters embark on a road trip that Kezi had planned to take, hoping to understand her more fully and reclaim her humanity beyond the headlines. As they travel, the story weaves between past and present, revealing Kezi’s activism, her relationships, and the pressures she faced. The novel also includes a major twist that reframes the family’s understanding of what happened to her.
Why someone gets remembered, mortalized in our ethos, isn’t new or surprising to me. Rather in our current times, I’m curious about how they are remembered and immortalized. It seems there are two memories in the last ten years of how someone is remembered. Trapped in the American binary where media drives the consumers' thoughts. A person is a martyr or domestic terrorist, a victim or criminal, a child or dangerous criminal. All sides play this game so easily, and concerningly. But Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite do something so incredibly powerful. They challenge readers to see beyond this binary of saint or sinner and instead recognize the humanity of the individual, the human, so real and flawed in our existence. The authors force us to move beyond the media political mechanism and reach for something deeper. A life lived, with flaws and all, and seek for more meaning than the cultural and political divides to drive wedges. More than that, the story seeks this position through a non-linear timeline and historical literal and metaphorical road trip. ​
The novel is told not through the voice of the murdered activist Kezi, but through those who knew and loved her most. Family and close friends try to make sense of her death and the way she is portrayed in the media. What emerges is an afterlife of activism, but even more so, a portrait of a family struggling to understand a loss that feels both intimate and senseless. Through its connection to Black mobility and resistance across American history, the sisters’ road trip creates a natural historical throughline that blends with the fabric of their grief. Their travel becomes an act of preservation, an attempt to hold onto the human being they cherished rather than the martyr the media insists on creating. ​
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Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite
As an adult reading YA, I often find myself considering the pedagogical possibilities each novel offers. This one offers many. Its structural choices, including family trees and non‑linear timelines, create natural opportunities for front‑loading and guided discussion. The historical context, especially the Green Book the sisters rely on during their road trip, provides another entry point for grounding students in the broader history of Black mobility and resistance.
Yet the true power of this novel lies in its intersection of trauma and political division. It raises a difficult question: what responsibility do the keepers of memory have to the actual lived human when the broader public demands a narrative that fits a divided society’s desire to right wrongs. The novel does not offer easy answers, but its climax opens space for rich, nuanced conversations. I would be deeply interested to hear how young and emerging adults respond to these questions, and how they navigate the tension between personal grief and public storytelling. Who is best served in these choices? Where is the voice of the dead in the public domain as it’s altered and manipulated?
While class discussions of this novel, especially when read during turbulent times in America, can be valuable, students may express more pointed or honest responses in private writing. I am interested in hearing a wide range of voices, not a monolithic set of affirmations. I am especially curious about the dissenting perspectives, the students who quietly and reasonably disagree. Journaling and written responses between instructor and student are useful and accessible, but I am drawn to the idea of a moderated, anonymous discussion board. Such a space could allow students to disagree, agree, and consider one another’s positions with a sense of safety and openness that traditional classroom dialogue does not always provide.
Published in 2021, Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite’s novel is perhaps more important as a launching pad today than it was then. In the post‑2020 election and near end of the pandemic, the novel felt almost historical. Today in 2026, it is present, alive, and urgently resonant. The questions it raises about memory, narrative, and the human cost of public storytelling feel less like reflections on a past moment and more like guideposts for navigating the world we inhabit now.
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Weekend Picks for February 6th

2/6/2026

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Welcome to the first Weekend Picks for February! 
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Roy Jackson

​This month, we welcome back contributor Roy Jackson from Goshen College. He once again provides wonderful, timely YA recommendations to keep our TBR lists filled during these winter months. Our many thanks to professor Jackson for his commitment to our YA community! 

Roy Jackson is a writer and educator whose scholarship and prose have appeared in various outlets. He holds degrees in English and Education, including an MFA from Youngstown State University. He is currently an assistant professor of education at Goshen College.  ​

Internment by Samira Ahmed
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I often use Rudine Sims Bishop’s theory of mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors in my teaching and writing about literature for adolescents, young and new adults. Bishop proposed the idea that literature offers readers tools for interpreting experience, recognizing patterns in human behavior, and imagining alternatives to the world as it is (Bishop, 1990). I almost always pivot myself to the imagining of a better world, a better way of living, a peaceful existence. In uncertain times, I crave comfort and resolution. I now realize this is often a naïve thought and one our students may not need. While I can hope for positive outcomes after living through uncertain times, I know all too well, as a queer American, that this is not always the case. No law is ever settled, no progress follows a steady or inevitable upward trajectory, and progress itself is messy and unstable, often marked by backward steps.
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Samira Ahmed
As I searched for books this month, I thought it wise to seek out literature to help our young readers make sense of our current time, particularly a month when we often highlight civil disobedience and the power of protest.

​I found a powerful novel that profoundly impacted me. Samira Ahmed’s (2019) Internment is exactly what Sims Bishop was referring to when offering the thought that literature can offer alternatives to the world as it is. However, Internment’s power comes from not imagining an America where the uncertainty we live in resolves and makes the country a better place. Instead, the novel not only allows students a window and sliding door into the aspects of marginalization based on race and religion in an ever-changing country, but it also presents a cautionary tale of just how much worse it can get when each week seems worse than the one before. Books like Internment complicates the theory of mirrors, windows, and sliding doors by asking what happens when texts function as warnings rather than an aspirational alternative, when literature acts as alarm, not refuge.
Internment is a young adult dystopian novel by Samira Ahmed set in a near future United States where Islamophobia and authoritarian politics have led to the forced internment of Muslim Americans in detention camps. The story follows seventeen-year-old Layla Amin, who is imprisoned with her parents and must navigate a world defined by surveillance, armed guards, and the systematic erosion of civil rights and selected, forced media. While her parents focus on survival through compliance, Layla becomes increasingly aware of the moral and political implications of silence as she witnesses abuse, medical neglect, and collective punishment inside the camp. Through relationships with other detainees, including the outspoken activist Ayesha, and with David, the son of a camp guard who begins to question the system he serves, Layla develops a deeper understanding of power, complicity, and resistance. As conditions worsen, she helps organize acts of protest that grow from symbolic gestures into collective action, drawing public attention to the camps and exposing the fragility of democratic ideals. The novel examines how young people make sense of the world around them under conditions of state-sanctioned injustice and how solidarity and courage can challenge systems built on fear. Most students have multiple experiences with dystopian YA. What is so powerful about this genre is that it resists the myth of democratic inevitability, instead helps us see the civic fragility, rather than hope-driven futurism. Our students understand that the world is not universally democratic and to imagine a US where it is lost brings power to the classroom conversation.
As young readers seek understanding of the uncertain times we live in, literature can offer educators a mode of discussion and exploration. Internment’s initial power lies in the connections to WWII both abroad and domestically. Classroom discussions and studies could easily veer to WWII. Not just on the Holocaust, but also the US Japanese internment camps are clear connections that come to light. But the list of US internment does not begin and end with the Japanese internment camps. Parallels to the mass confinement of Indigenous peoples of this land, the enslavement of Africans as slaves, mass detention of Chinese immigrants at the turn of the 20thcentury, the so-called war on drugs that targeted and led to the mass incarceration of people of color, and the current rise in ICE detainments illustrate that internment and systemic oppression exist in our past and present.
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Internment doesn’t seek to offer a nice solution tied in a bow; instead, Ahmed offers students a cautionary tale that must be addressed in our current times. The students are already thinking about it, fearing it, and wondering about it. Others may be misled into thinking the oppressing forces are right in what they are doing, and Internment gives a window into the world we cannot see in detention facilities. We witness the rounding up of our neighbors, yet we do not see what happens after they are taken, what the loss of freedom and due process does to those who are mass-incarcerated. The book challenges those of us privileged enough not to fear internment to consider how we will respond: will we witness and challenge this injustice, or sit idly on the sidelines? I wonder what this looks like in the classroom. As the educator, the responsibility here may be the facilitator of discomfort, historical connector, or the ethical guide. In the end, most likely all three.
I couldn’t put this book down. It is a page turner for a variety of reasons. The pacing of the writing is exciting, the characters are relatable, and the visceral reaction is gut punching. But more than that, it is the perfect time to read in our current national circumstances. For those living in fear, it offers a mirror of representation; for those seeking a deeper understanding of their own fears and how to act as allies, it provides a window; and for those unfamiliar with the experiences of the marginalized, the sliding door is wide open.
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    Editor/Curator:

    Our current Weekend Picks editor/curator is Dr. Amanda Stearns-Pfeiffer. She is an Associate Professor of English Education at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan where she has taught courses in ELA methods, YA Literature, grammar, and Contemporary Literature since 2013. When she's not teaching, writing, or reading, she loves to spend time with her husband and three kids - especially on the tennis court. Her current research interests include YAL featuring girls in sports and investigating the representation of those female athletes. ​​

    Questions? Comments? Contact Amanda:
    [email protected]

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