STACKED

books

Black Girls Matter: A YA Reading List

|

I have thought a lot recently about black girls.

Earlier this year, a piece on NPR highlighted how black girls are pushed out of schools at higher rates than their white counterparts. Discipline toward black girls is harsher and handed out in ways that aren’t equitable to white girls. We have seen this front and center, too, thanks to the horrific and heart-shattering video of a school police officer assaulting a black girl in school. We saw it front and center this summer as a police officer in McKinney, Texas, manhandled a black teen girl.

There’s no excuse at all for any of these situations. Black lives matter, and that mattering extends to those teen black girls who deserve to be listened to, acknowledged, boosted, and treated as human beings with immense potential, perspective, and possibility ahead of them.

Because they absolutely, positively do.

I’m not sure I can say much more except that when I start feeling powerless, creating a resource list feels like a small step toward not only acknowledging the issue, but it feels like something that could, I hope, get a book into the hands of a person who desperately needs it. In this case, I hope a teacher or librarian or reader finds one of these books featuring great black female leads and understands that their story — their life — matters hugely.

All descriptions are from WorldCat, and I’m absolutely eager to hear more titles. All are YA books featuring black girls front and center and they include fiction and some non-fiction. A couple of these titles also fall into that crossover category, so while they may technically be “adult” reads, they have great appeal to teens. Several of these authors have written more than one title featuring a black girl at the center, so it’s worth checking their other titles, too. Many of these are also on-going series titles. I’ve limited to one per author.

 

black girls reading 1

 

brown girl dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson: Raised in South Carolina and New York, Woodson always felt halfway home in each place. In vivid poems, she shares what it was like to grow up as an African American in the 1960s and 1970s, living with the remnants of Jim Crow and her growing awareness of the Civil Rights movement. Touching and powerful, each poem is both accessible and emotionally charged, each line a glimpse into a child’s soul as she searches for her place in the world. Woodson’s poetry also reflects the joy of finding her voice through writing stories, despite the fact that she struggled with reading as a child. Her love of stories inspired her and stayed with her, creating the first sparks of the gifted writer she was to become.

Chains by Laurie Halse Anderson: When their owner dies at the start of the Revolution, Isabel and her younger sister are sold to Loyalists in New York, where Isabel is offered the chance to spy for the Patriots.

Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice by Phillip Hoose: Based on extensive interviews with Claudette Colvin and many others, Phillip Hoose presents the first in-depth account of an important yet largely unknown civil rights figure, skillfully weaving her dramatic story into the fabric of the historic Montgomery bus boycott and court case that would change the course of American history.

Disgruntled by Asali Solomon: Kenya Curtis is only eight years old, but she knows that she’s different, even if she can’t put her finger on how or why. It’s not because she’s Black–most of the other students in the fourth-grade class at her West Philadelphia elementary school are too. Maybe it’s because she celebrates Kwanzaa, or because she’s forbidden from reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Maybe it’s because she calls her father–a housepainter-slash-philosopher–“Baba” instead of “Daddy,” or because her parents’ friends gather to pour out libations “from the Creator, for the Martyrs” and discuss “the community.” Kenya does know that it’s connected to what her Baba calls “the shame of being alive”–a shame that only grows deeper and more complex over the course of Asali Solomon’s long-awaited debut novel. Disgruntled, effortlessly funny and achingly poignant, follows Kenya from West Philadelphia to the suburbs, from public school to private, from childhood through adolescence, as she grows increasingly disgruntled by her inability to find any place or thing or person that feels like home. A coming-of-age tale, a portrait of Philadelphia in the late eighties and early nineties, an examination of the impossible double-binds of race, Disgruntled is a novel about the desire to rise above the limitations of the narratives we’re given and the painful struggle to craft fresh ones we can call our own

Don’t Fail Me Now by Una LaMarche: Interracial half-siblings come together for the first time and embark on a cross-country road trip to confront their absentee father before he dies.

Nothing But Drama by ReShonda Tate Billingsley: Four teenaged girls from different backgrounds find faith and friendship after joining Good Girlz, an afterschool church youth group.

 

black girl reading 2

 

Endangered by Lamar Giles: When Lauren (Panda), a teen photoblogger, gets involved in a deadly game, she has to protect the classmates she despises.

Flygirl by Sherri L Smith: During World War II, a light-skinned African American girl “passes” for white in order to join the Women Airforce Service Pilots.

The Game of Love and Death by Martha Brockenbrough: Antony and Cleopatra. Helen of Troy and Paris. Romeo and Juliet. And now… Henry and Flora. For centuries Love and Death have chosen their players. They have set the rules, rolled the dice, and kept close, ready to influence, angling for supremacy. And Death has always won. Always. Could there ever be one time, one place, one pair whose love would truly tip the balance? Meet Flora Saudade, an African-American girlwho dreams of becoming the next Amelia Earhart by day and sings in the smoky jazz clubs of Seattle by night. Meet Henry Bishop, born a few blocks and a million worlds away, a white boy with his future assured — a wealthy adoptive family in the midst of the Great Depression, a college scholarship, and all the opportunities in the world seemingly available to him. The players have been chosen. The dice have been rolled. But when human beings make moves of their own, what happens next is anyone’s guess.

The Good Braider by Terry Farish: Told in spare free verse, the book follows Viola as she survives brutality in war-torn Sudan, makes a perilous journey, lives as a refugee in Egypt, and finally reaches Portland, Maine, where her quest for freedom and security is hampered by memories of past horrors and the traditions her mother and other Sudanese adults hold dear. With unforgettable images, the author’s voice sings out the story of her family’s journey, and tells the universal tale of a young immigrant’s struggle to build a life on the cusp of two cultures. Includes historical facts and a map of Sudan.

Heaven by Angela Johnson: At fourteen, Marley knows she has Momma’s hands and Pops’s love for ice cream, that her brother doesn’t get on her nerves too much, and that Uncle Jack is a big mystery. But Marley doesn’t know all she thinks she does, because she doesn’t know the truth. And when the truth comes down with the rain one stormy summer afternoon, it changes everything. It turns Momma and Pops into liars. It makes her brother a stranger and Uncle Jack an even bigger mystery. All of a sudden, Marley doesn’t know who she is anymore and can only turn to the family she no longer trusts to find out.

High School High by Shannon Freeman:  Brandi, Marissa, and Shane are excited to begin their freshman year at Port City High, but find their friendship tested by Shane’s drug addiction and Marissa’s relationship with Brandi’s ex.

 

black girls reading 3

 

The Hot Girl by Dream Jordan: Kate, a fourteen-year-old Brooklyn girl and former gang member, risks losing her first good foster family when she adopts the risqué ways of her flirtatious new friend, Naleejah.

The Kayla Chronicles by Sherri Winston: At the urging of her pushy best friend, Kayla overcomes her reticence and tries out for the school dance team in order to expose their suspected discrimination, but when she unexpectedly makes the team–and even begins to enjoy performing–she finds her assumptions, and her sense of herself, challenged.

Kendra by Coe Booth: High schooler Kendra longs to live with her mother who, unprepared for motherhood at age fourteen, left Kendra in the care of her grandmother.

Love is the Drug by Alaya Dawn Johnson: Emily Bird is an African American high school senior in Washington D.C., member of a privileged medical family, on the verge of college and the edge of the drug culture, and not really sure which way she will go–then one day she wakes up in the hospital with no memory of what happened.

Mare’s War by Tanita S Davis: Teens Octavia and Tali learn about strength, independence, and courage when they are forced to take a car trip with their grandmother, who tells about growing up Black in 1940s Alabama and serving in Europe during World War II as a member of the Women’s Army Corps.

Not Otherwise Specified by Hannah Moskowitz: Auditioning for a New York City performing arts high school could help Etta escape from her Nebraska all-girl school, where she is not gay enough for her former friends, not sick enough for her eating disorders group, and not thin enough for ballet, but it may also mean real friendships.

 

black girls reading 4

 

On The Come Up by Hannah Weyer: AnnMarie comes across a flyer advertising movie auditions in Manhattan. Four months before she’s due to give birth; she lands a lead role. For a time, AnnMarie soars, acting for the camera, flying to the Sundance Film Festival, seeing her face on-screen. But when the film fades from view and the realities of her life set in, AnnMarie’s grit and determination are the only tools left to keep her moving forward. Told with remarkable compassion and based on the real-life story of Anna Simpson.

Pinned by Sharon Flake: Adonis is smart, intellectually gifted and born without legs; Autumn is strong, a great wrestler, and barely able to read in ninth grade–but Autumn is attracted to Adonis and determined to make him a part of her life whatever he or her best friend thinks.

Pointe by Brandy Colbert: Four years after Theo’s best friend, Donovan, disappeared at age thirteen, he is found and brought home and Theo puts her health at risk as she decides whether to tell the truth about the abductor, knowing her revelation could end her life-long dream of becoming a professional ballet dancer.

Camo Girl by Kekla Magoon: Ella, a biracial girl with a patchy and uneven skin tone, and her friend Z, a boy who is very different, have been on the bottom of the social order at Caldera Junior High School in Las Vegas, but when the only other African-American student enters their sixth grade class, Ella longs to be friends with him and join the popular group, but does not want to leave Z all alone.

See No Color by Shannon Gibney: Alex has always identified herself as a baseball player, the daughter of a winning coach, but when she realizes that is not enough she begins to come to terms with her adoption and her race.

Copper Sun by Sharon Draper: Two fifteen-year-old girls–one a slave and the other an indentured servant–escape their Carolina plantation and try to make their way to Fort Moses, Florida, a Spanish colony that gives sanctuary to slaves.

 

black girls reading 5

 

So Not The Drama by Paula Chase: Mina’s plans to carry her middle school popularity over into high school do not work out just as she had imagined when her best friend Lizzie gets invited to a party with the social elite, and a class project on prejudice exposes the truth about school cliques.

Something Like Hope by Shawn Goodman: Shavonne, a fierce, desperate seventeen year-old in juvenile lockup, wants to turn her life around before her eighteenth birthday, but corrupt guards, out-of-control girls, and shadows from her past make her task seem impossible.

Sound by Alexandra Duncan: Ava’s adopted sister Miyole is finally living her dream as a research assistant on her very first space voyage. But when her ship saves a rover that has been viciously attacked by looters and kidnappers, Miyole–along with a rescued rover girl named Cassia–embarks on a mission to rescue Cassia’s abducted brother, and that changes the course of Miyole’s life forever

Step To This by Nikki Carter: Gia doesn’t have the hair or the clothes, but she’s got the moves and the attitude to make her sophomore year at Longfellow High unforgettable. But not everyone agrees, so Gia decides it’s time for a makeover. With her stylish new look, she scores a date with hottie football player, Romeo, snags a spot on the Hi-Steppers dance squad, and makes a ton of new friends.

Taking Flight by Michaela DePrince: The memoir of Michaela DePrince, who lived the first few years of her live in war-torn Sierra Leone until being adopted by an American family. Now seventeen, she is one of the premiere ballerinas in the United States.

Tankborn by Karen Sandler: Kayla and Mishalla, two genetically engineered non-human slaves (GENs), fall in love with higher-status boys, discover deep secrets about the creation of GENs, and find out what it means to be human.

 

black girls reading 6

 

This Side of Home by Renée Watson: Twins Nikki and Maya Younger always agreed on most things, but as they head into their senior year they react differently to the gentrification of their Portland, Oregon, neighborhood and the new–white–family that moves in after their best friend and her mother are evicted.

Tiny Pretty Things by Sona Charaipotra and Dhonielle Clayton: Gigi, Bette, and June, three top students at an exclusive Manhattan ballet school, have seen their fair share of drama. Free-spirited new girl Gigi just wants to dance — but the very act might kill her. Privileged New Yorker Bette’s desire to escape the shadow of her ballet star sister brings out a dangerous edge in her. And perfectionist June needs to land a lead role this year or her controlling mother will put an end to her dancing dreams forever. When every dancer is both friend and foe, the girls will sacrifice, manipulate, and backstab to be the best of the best.

Maya’s Choice by Earl Sewell: Maya’s summer is shaping up to be unforgettable– in both good and bad ways. First she’s sent to stay with her grandmother for a month. Living in the city, Maya is too far from her friend Keysha and her boyfriend, Misalo– and too near her rebellious cousin Viviana. When Maya finally comes home, her parents drop a bombshell– Viviana is moving in with them. Her cousin has barely unpacked before she’s creating chaos. Truth is, Maya kind of likes the way life is a whole lot less predictable with Viviana around. But her motives are up for debate– especially when it comes to Misalo. And as Maya’s little sister, Anna, grows more fascinated with her cool older cousin, Maya begins to see that following where Viviana leads has its price. And it could cost Maya her reputation, her relationship– and maybe even her future. 

 

When The Black Girl Sings by Bil Wright: Adopted by white parents and sent to an exclusive Connecticut girls’ school where she is the only black student, fourteen-year-old Lahni Schuler feels like an outcast, particularly when her parents separate, but after attending a local church where she hears gospel music for the first time, she finds her voice.

On Expectations of Female Characters: Guest Post by Trish Doller, Author of THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

|

Today we have a guest post from Trish Doller, with a piece about why she decided to write her latest release, The Devil You Know. It’s a post about expectations we put on female characters, and why Cadie, the main character in Devil, came from those expectations. 


Bonus: a giveaway, including a signed copy of The Devil You Know and a paperback of Where The Stars Still Shine to one US/Canadian resident. 

I have a confession: I haven’t read any goodreads reviews of The Devil You Know. Because having already written two books, I can probably guess what the bad reviews might say. Cadie is a slut. She is a horrible daughter for not obeying her father. She is selfish. She is too stupid to live. She makes bad decisions. She deserves every terrible thing that happens to her. (You can go look to see if I’m right. I’ll wait here.)

I expect some readers to not like Cadie because the inspiration for her character was all the similar, terrible things readers said about Callie in Where the Stars Still Shine. Those reviews…I read them and it was so painful to see how unsympathetic people can be. Here was a broken, abused girl who was called a slut for the way she coped with her abuse. She was called a bitch for not always being nice to someone who was trying to be a friend. She was accused of being an ungrateful brat for not immediately embracing the good life her father gave her. 

Let me be clear, though…I’m not angry at those reviewers. They brought their own experiences and belief systems to their readings and they’re allowed to have their opinions. But I am pretty sad that we live in a society that makes it okay to call a girl “slut” for having sex or “bitch” for not being nice. I’m sad at how much we pass judgement on things that rub up against our beliefs, rather than practicing empathy.

Arcadia Wells was born from that sadness, a direct reflection of how it made me feel to see the hate heaped on Callie. If readers couldn’t muster sympathy for a brave, broken girl, I was going to give them a character who isn’t asking for their sympathy. If they had no difficulty labeling a girl who had been sexually abused a slut, I was going to give them a character who was unapologetic about her desires.

So I know there are going to be readers who hate Cadie. That’s fine. Because the readers who love her are going to see the girl I see. One who is brave and stupid. Strong and weak. A girl who wants to love and be loved in return. A girl who isn’t seeking permission or forgiveness from anyone but herself. 

I have another confession: I will probably never read any goodreads reviews of The Devil You Know. Because I wrote the girl I wanted the world to meet. She’s here for the sluts and the bitches and the selfish girls who dare to live.

About The Girls Around The Web

|

Here’s a round-up of some of the posts I’ve read over the last couple of weeks that fit into the question of “what about the girls?” Some have been sent to me and others came up in my own daily reading. I’ve also included a post I cowrote with Preeti Chhibber at Book Riot at the end, which gives practical things you can do to promote female writers you love, be they published authors or budding creators.

If you’ve written something that fits recently, feel free to link to it in the comments. I’m staying away from linking to reviews, but any thoughtful commentary, round-up, or responses are totally worth a share here. I’ll let these do the talking for themselves:

  • Girls Behind Bars Tell Their Stories (I just finished Ross’s book and it’s so, so good. Get this for your collections. It’s worth the price. Ross does this all on his own.)

Where Do We Go From Here? Wrapping Up “About The Girls”

|

Throughout the course of this series, as well as the on-going discussions of sexism in the YA — and larger — world, I’ve struggled with what it is I wanted to end “About the Girls” talking about. For a while, I thought doing a piece on mentoring would be worthwhile. How often are we seeing depictions of mentorships in YA fiction, where a teen girl has a solid grown-up female in her corner? There are some, but there certainly aren’t a whole lot of them.

Then I wondered about how worthwhile it would be to talk about how we build those sorts of relationships with the teens in our lives. How can librarians, educators, and those who are advocates for teenagers arm girls with the knowledge and power to become strong, independent, vocal, and ready for what lies ahead? We can model, we can teach, and we can empower them by talking about our own experiences with adversity and how we stood up and kept fighting.

But what happens when we as adult females, those who have the ability to help mold and shape future girl leaders, are ourselves struggling with these very questions? If we ourselves are fighting with feeling inadequate, with feeling as though the battle is not worth continuing, with hitting wall after wall after wall, what sort of encouragement remains to share?

In the last month, I’ve received numerous threats. I’ve had incredible feminist friends and colleagues share with me similar stories, that they’ve received threats. In the midst of it, I’ve wondered about my role in all of this. Whether speaking up and using my voice is even worth it when I know there will be consequences for doing just that. For doing the thing I encourage other people to do in order to make any strides toward change. Just this week, a man took it upon himself to write a lengthy blog post talking about my choices, my decisions, my words, and my actions, calling for me to be fired from my job for simply … doing my job.

I’ve struggled with a lot of fear over the last few weeks. Not just for myself. Not just for those friends and colleagues who’ve been supportive of me and who’ve told me what they’re experiencing. I’m fearful that, no matter how many steps forward we do make, that the change we want to see won’t happen. That, even when we are able to point to instances of sexism, our voices will still be summarily dismissed. Because we’re female. But also because those we most want to change, the ones we point to as illuminating the problems, aren’t going to be convinced to do so no matter how loud we shout and no matter how hard we fight. Those who are benefiting from the system don’t want to step back and assess the privileges that allow them that power.

Yet, in dismantling that fear bit by bit, I’ve come to discover what’s worth talking about and what’s worth wrapping up this series with, and that’s this: things can, do, and will change loudly and quietly, on the daily, in ways we see, and ways we won’t. 

This is how: for every one person who makes a sexist comment and is called out for it, more than one person is seeing that discussion and reassessing how they’re talking. They’re rethinking each word they’re using when they type a comment on a blog post or they’re reassessing what voices they’re amplifying in their social spaces. They’re stepping back and listening much more closely to women, to people of color, to those with disabilities, and anyone from a disadvantaged class of people.

The root of change, big and small, comes from people willing to listen, whether they’re loud or not. 

Those who are making changes, who are reconsidering their words and actions, aren’t immediately quantifiable. Being a good ally comes in many forms. 

As much as it’s not fun to be called every name in the book, and as much as it’s not fun to go into a discussion knowing that you’re not going to change the minds of those arguing with you, perhaps it’s easier to do so going in with the knowledge that change isn’t always immediately visible and those who aren’t actively speaking may still be affecting it in the ways they can. 

Thousands and thousands of people read the “About the Girls” posts these last two weeks. They were shared hundreds of times. But there were only a few comments, comparatively. If a single post has 15 comments in one day, that looks great, especially when the comments are positive, thought-provoking, and encouraging. But when you know the post had over 7,000 hits in that same day, that 15 looks like a tiny number.

So what of those over 6,000 some readers that day?

They’re being changed, too.

Whether they’re capable of speaking up about it, whether they’re capable of putting new thoughts into actions immediately, is something that’s impossible to know. But it’s not impossible to believe it. Perhaps some didn’t speak out because of fear. Perhaps some don’t speak up because they’re sitting back and listening. Perhaps more are doing what it is I hope for when I put this series together: they’re finally asking the question “what about the girls?” and inserting themselves and their experiences, their powers, and their understandings into being the sorts of mentors and role models that the younger girls in their lives so desperately need.

I’m still fearful when I speak up. I always hesitate when I call something out. There’s almost always some sort of repercussion for doing so, most of which comes privately and in ways that aren’t going to be out there for general consumption.

But when I speak up, I do so on behalf of those who don’t, and I do so to show other girls, my contemporaries and those who are still growing, be they younger or older, that speaking up matters. That the act in and of itself is a powerful and empowering one.

Even if change isn’t obvious.

Keep asking about the girls.

Keep wondering how we can do better so that they, too, can do better.

On (Not) Reading Science Fiction as a Teenage Girl

|

About ten years ago, I was at the local Barnes and Noble, browsing the science fiction and fantasy aisle for a good book (or two or three). I was back in Texas, on break from college where I was studying English, and looking forward to diving into a book that was far from my assigned reading at UNC. Even if I didn’t end up buying anything (rare), simply being there next to all those books that promised so many terrific adventures felt like home.

Usually I browsed alone, sometimes camping out on the floor to read the first few pages of a likely candidate. This time, there was a man browsing the same aisle. He was about my age. He had brown hair and a beard. He made eye contact with me and I saw a surprised, but pleased, look overtake his face. I regretted making the eye contact (the absolute worst for a shy person) and wanted to just ignore him, but he must have felt the need for some sort of comment, because he told me he was surprised to see me browsing that aisle.

I was confused by the comment. We didn’t know each other. This was the aisle I always browsed when I shopped for books. I didn’t make any reply, just smiled thinly and continued shopping. I thought about telling him that I was looking for fantasy novels, which may have cleared up his confusion, but opted to just stay silent.

This is a small moment, but it’s one that’s stuck with me (and I have a notoriously sieve-like memory). I don’t remember when I first learned that science fiction was a boys’ arena, but it was something I had internalized from an early age, reinforced by small incidents like the one with the man at the bookstore who was surprised to see me shopping for SF.

This moment, and so many others, is why Alexandra Duncan’s guest post resonated so strongly for me, and it’s why I wanted to write my own piece for our About the Girls series this year.

We all know that representation matters for readers. In my experience, this is especially true for teenagers. When I was a teen, I craved seeing myself in the books I read. I wanted to see girls on the covers, and I wanted them to be the focus. I wanted to put myself in their shoes and imagine that I was saving worlds, falling in love, and finding my power. I wanted to pilot a space ship and meet aliens. I wanted to get away from a life I often hated and pretend I could do incredible things. Furthermore, as someone who dreamed of being a writer when I grew up, I wanted to see books written by women. I wanted to know that there were other women out there writing the kind of stuff that I wanted to write.

With a few exceptions (Anne McCaffrey, basically), I didn’t find books like this in science fiction.

That’s not to say they weren’t there, as Maureen accurately points out. As an adult, this is easy for me to recognize. But the existence of women in SF – both as creators and as subjects – doesn’t necessarily make these books accessible, especially to teens who have limited resources to do research on their own. When I was a teenager, I found my books by browsing my library’s shelves and my bookstore’s shelves (usually a Barnes and Noble or a Half Price Books). I’ve always been interested in stories that are out of this world, that are heavy on the fantastic and the impossible. In both my library and the bookstores, these kinds of stories were found in the combined Science Fiction and Fantasy section. The science fiction authors I found there were overwhelmingly male: Isaac Asimov, Orson Scott Card, Piers Anthony, Ben Bova, Frank Herbert. Their covers and their stories featured men and the synopses on the back had little relevance to my life. When women were on the covers, they were often not wearing much or kneeling at the foot of a man or dead. I found the women in the fantasy novels: Juliet Marillier, J. V. Jones, Anne Bishop, Elizabeth Haydon, Sara Douglass. I began to recognize a science fiction novel by its cover, which usually had a black background and blocky lettering. Those I would quickly bypass in search of something more likely to include someone like myself.

Getting past the easy reach is, well, not easy. For most people, myself included at that age, it’s not even something that would cross their minds. What is on the shelf is what exists. If it’s not there? It functionally does not exist for the reader looking for it. Thus I came to believe that science fiction was not for me. Science fiction was for boys, and they knew it, too. Of course, books by and about men are also for women, and I read a lot of them, but when I realized over and over again that I would never see myself in these books, that the girls and women who were in these books were always portrayed via the male gaze, I mostly gave up on them. I would tell people I preferred fantasy over science fiction. It became my primary love and the genre in which almost all of my own fictional scribblings at this time belonged.

What I came to realize much later is that I preferred fantasy to the science fiction I could find, not necessarily the science fiction that existed. While I don’t absolutely love The Hunger Games, I am so glad for its stratospheric popularity, for much the same reason Duncan mentions. It, and its legions of dystopian and post-apocalyptic readalikes, made science fiction by and about women much more visible to people like teen me, who only saw what the booksellers and the librarians chose to buy. YA science fiction helped bring me to the genre I had always wanted to love, if only it would love me back.

Since reading The Hunger Games, I’ve become much more cognizant of what SF is actually out there, how certain books are marketed, and the inherent biases in people’s reading choices. That’s due to my professional life as a librarian, which has led to an effort on my part to get beyond the easy reach – for the benefit of myself as well as my patrons. It’s easier for me to find both hard and soft SF about girls when I want it because I have the tools to do so. But if my professional life hadn’t given me those tools? It would be a lot harder. I wouldn’t have known that so many great books even existed.

I’m reminded of a conversation I had as a teen with a black girl around my age who was volunteering at the library alongside me. We were talking books and reading and I mentioned that I loved historical fiction. She told me she didn’t really care for it, and I was so surprised. I loved historical fiction so much I just figured its appeal was universal. I told my mom later on that my friend said she didn’t like historical fiction, and my mom’s reply was that it might be due to the fact that there’s not much historical fiction about black girls. I was dumbstruck, having never thought about that before. I have no idea if this is the real reason she didn’t care for it. I’ve since learned that quite a lot of people don’t like historical fiction simply because they think it’s boring (sacrilege!). But I wouldn’t be surprised if it were.

Visibility matters. You can talk about books by women writers and writers of color and LGBTQ writers until you’re blue in the face, but if none of their books make it to library or bookstore shelves, most people – especially teens – aren’t going to read them. The mega success of books like The Hunger Games, their ubiquity, tells girls they belong in science fiction – reading it, writing it, imagining it.

So let’s continue to remind people that women have always been a part of science fiction – all kinds of it. But let’s also remember how privileged it is to know this history and be aware of these books when they’re not on endcaps at bookstores. And let’s continue to work to fix that.