As much as I am a huge reader of YA, one of my other big reading loves is adult books with teen characters at the center. Having read so much of both, finding those sorts of markers which separate YA from adult has become a little easier through the years. Where YA has an immediacy to it and a specific type of voice and perspective, adult fiction with teen characters comes with a little bit greater sense of self-awareness, reflection, and slight removal from immediacy. It tends toward being less about emotions in the moment and more about consideration of those emotions and what it is they might mean. That isn’t to say YA doesn’t have that, but it’s done so differently.

 

 

But one of the things I really dig about adult books with teen main characters is that often, they have tremendous appeal for teen readers. I think about how I read as a teen, and I read a lot of literary fiction. YA was around, of course, but I didn’t gravitate it in the same way I did adult fiction. The happy medium came with adult books but with characters who were around my age.

Here are three books that hit shelves so far in 2018 and feature both teen protagonists, as well as solid appeal for readers — teen and adult — of YA. Interestingly, all three are also debut novels. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see one or more of these books pop up somewhere on the Alex Awards list or its associated vetted nominations list next winter. As a bonus, for readers seeking more inclusive books, all three of these fit the bill.

 

Brass by Xhenet Aliu

In many ways, this book rang like the kind of book readers who loved the film Lady Bird would want to pick up. Told through two points of view eighteen years apart, Brass is the story of a mother and a daughter during that pivotal year.

Elise is a waitress at a local diner and hopes the job will add up to enough money to get her out of her small industrial town. But when she meets Bashkim, a line cook at the restaurant, the course of her life is changed because she’s fallen hopelessly in love. The problem is Bashkim is married. Well, that’s one of the problems. The other is, during the course of their relationship — whatever it is — Elise finds herself pregnant.

Luljeta is the daughter borne of that relationship. Her grandparents are Lithuanian immigrants and her missing father, Albanian, so she struggles to find a place in the community and with herself being a relative outsider. She’s been rejected from her dream college and now suspended from high school for the first time, Luljeta decides she needs to unravel a bit more about her own heritage and the mysterious man her mother had a relationship with that eventually lead to her existence.

This is an emotionally-gripping story that doesn’t necessarily traverse new territory. It’s a character study of two fascinating female characters growing up in a stark, impoverished, hurting small town in Connecticut. The way Aliu weaves in what it’s like to be the child of an Albanian immigrant and the way that feeds into identity is well-rendered. It’s not a speedy read, but it’s one that’s worth savoring. The sometimes tumultuous relationship between Luljeta and Elise is center stage, and given the choice Aliu made to tell their story in interweaving ways at the same time frame in their lives is smart and makes their current situation even more powerful.

 

 

Girls Burn Brighter by Shobha Rao

Rao’s debut novel begins in India, following two girls who develop a fast, tight friendship. Poornima feels something special when she first meets Savitha; after Poornima’s mother had died, things became lonely for her, but Savitha quickly fills that hole with her vivacity, her attitude, and her unwavering dedication to being herself. This, despite how it sounds, isn’t a given. Savitha comes from one of the poorest areas of a poor community, and she is able to show to Poornima how to fall deeply in love with the littlest pieces of day-to-day life. For once, Poornima feels a sense of hope she’s not yet felt. She is able to see something more than the upcoming arranged marriage her father is trying to find for her.

Finding a partner for Poornima isn’t easy. She’s not desirable to the wealthier-by-comparison families for a number of reasons, including the color of her skin. And when a match is finally made, it’s a marriage of abuse, of lies, of deceit.

But before that even comes to fruition, Savitha disappears. Now locked in this marriage, Poornima would do anything to get out and more, do anything to find the girl who she so desperately loved. And when Poornima gets out from the watchful eye of her husband and mother-in-law, she begins to travel into a dark, painful underworld in India, hoping to find her best friend.

The book ends in Seattle, and it’s that interim space between that marriage and Seattle where so much unravels. This is a book about the way men abuse women, both on the domestic front and on the larger, external front. It’s about human trafficking, too, and about the lengths that women seeking a way out will go to find that hope.

And in the end, this is a book about how fiery, how fierce, and how loyal girls can be to one another. Savitha and Poornima only spend a small portion of the book together, but it’s the spark between them that keeps them connected through tragic event after tragic event.

What I loved most is what they carried of one another inside them. Poornima saw Savitha as the brave, self-assured girl, but in the end, Poornima pulls that same energy to find Savitha again, who has found herself in a situation not unlike the one Poornima was in during her marriage. Lost. Adrift. Alone.

Great writing and great voices really make this one sing.

 

 

Speak No Evil by Uzodinma Iweala

Clocking in at just over 200 pages, Speak No Evil packs in two exceptionally powerful plot lines: that of Niru, a privileged son of Nigerian parents in the US who is gay but is being forced to lose this part of his identity due to his parents’ expectations and that of Meredith, the white girl who had befriended Niru and found herself angry that he didn’t lust for her in the way she felt he should. The first three-quarters of the book are his story; the last quarter, hers, though arguable, it is her side which really impacts his in the end.

There are a lot of loose ends here and a lot of pieces, but this is a story about a first-generation African American boy coming to terms with his sexuality, which defies his parents’ beliefs. It IS a tragic queer story, but it’s also one that we don’t hear enough.

Note that this paragraph is a significant spoiler, so jump down if need be (though, honestly, the read alikes will tell you many things here, too). Speak No Evil is, ultimately, about how a white girl’s lies lead to the death of Niru in the hands of police. It’s about how much she allows herself to dwell in this, how she blames herself, and ultimately, Iweala does a tremendous job at looking at the ways white people can exploit that pain in ways that benefit them and give their lives an arc they’d otherwise not have. So, naturally, the queer black character dies, but she gets no redemption arc. She has no real sympathy or empathy. She’s exceptionally typical, and it really works here.

Pass this book along to readers who love The Hate U Give, How It Went Down, Dear Martin, or Tyler Johnson Was Here. This is about the intersection of race, privilege, and social power.