Peace before the storm, that’s the saying right? But no matter how many times you hear it, you never know quite how bad the storm can be. Sometimes it’s subtle, hurting over time; sometimes it’s fierce, bringing wave upon wave of pain and misfortune upon you; and sometimes, sometimes it’s deadly. Sometimes, it kills. They can come in many different forms: tornado, hurricane, typhoon, earthquake. Call it what you may but the result is quite often the same. People getting pushed from each other, people crying, people dying. People teach you how to avoid them or what to do when one strikes but do they know what it really feels like? Do they know how hard it is to follow what they say when you’re in the middle of one? You panic, you lose control, you start shaking and you can’t breathe. Help me, you might say, or you might be too scared to even speak. What happens when you are the storm? When you are doing the hurting, the pushing away or the killing? They teach you that too, but usually you may not realise it. Your brain works against you, feeding you lies. Or there might be a tipping point and you know you are the storm but you believe there is nothing to do about it. What happens when you go too far? What do you do when you can’t go back? Who do you go to when you’ve already cracked?
‘In the Midst of the Storm’ by Rowan Beddows was originally published in Issue 4, when Rowan was 15.
I have to be perfect. I have to be okay, Because that’s what I am. Perfect. Hide the cracks, hide the scars Fractures are for the weak. And I am strong. Cover it up, Keep it inside, It can’t possibly be real. Because I am perfect. And perfect people don’t cry. I’m happy. I’m fine. I can’t complain. I’m great, I’m perfect. Amn’t I?
‘Perfect’ by Sinéad Farrell was originally published in Issue 4, when Sinéad was 15.
The powerful words, written by a woman before. A woman who shaped little girls’ views. The voice that put my pen on the page. A woman who made use of her voice. For one life gone, my ink will run. Still in our hearts and minds. For every sentence we shall write. Still, she now lies. Eventually we all go away. Granted that one soul is now gone. Eventually one will come again; but Granted, it was taken. Hero of my world and heart. You got me to share what I couldn’t say. Hero, the woman who took the pain away. You being gone now brings it back. The reason I write these poems. A woman I dreamed of meeting. The writer I wanted to tell my story. A woman who knew what she wanted to do. For her, I write this goodbye, my send off. Still to grieve the loss of one I held so high. For my muse, the person I want to grow up to be. Still. Eventually I will move on and feel better. Granted, that could be untrue the loss could stay; forever Eventually it might go, and I won’t cry when I read. Granted, her work was taken. Hero, with her own superhero story. You are my reason, my inspiration. Hero, like me one day. You were my reason.
‘Boland’ by Aoife Walsh was originally published in Issue 4, when Aoife was 17.
by Jenny Duffy, originally published in Issue 3 of Paper Lanterns, in 2020
This year, on the fifth anniversary of the legalisation of Marriage Equality in Ireland, we have seen a boom in Irish YA literature with LGBTQIA+ (Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Queer Intersex and Asexual) representation. The plus represents possibilities beyond the acronym such as non-binary, pansexual, demisexual, aromantic and biromantic. Young adult literature often focuses on coming-of-age stories, offering an excellent opportunity to represent young people learning about themselves and their sexual orientation. This article will be focusing on books with protagonists who identify as part of the LGBTQIA+ community. As part of the research for this article, Paper Lanterns hosted a survey about LGBTQIA+ Representation in Irish Literature. One of the respondents, Kirsty Kinsella stated: “Reading is a hugely important way to learn more about yourself and about other perspectives. This is doubly true for reading LGBTQIA+ perspectives, whether you’re in that group or not. It fosters better understanding and empathy.”
1969 is considered to be the starting point for LGBTQIA+ YA literature internationally, with the publication of John Donovan’s I’ll Get There. In Irish YA literature, LGBTQIA+ representation is a more recent phenomenon, but this is hardly surprising when we consider that homosexuality was only decriminalised in Ireland in 1993. 2015 was a landmark year for the community, with same-sex marriage legalised and the Gender Recognition Act introduced. This legislation allows transgender people to achieve full legal recognition of their preferred gender and allows them acquire a new birth certificate to reflect this. Historically, depictions of homosexuality in Irish fiction led to censorship. For example, Kate O’Brien’s adult novel The Land of Spices (1941) was banned for one sentence which implied a sexual encounter between two men.
One of the earliest examples of Irish YA with LGBTQIA+ representation is Tom Lennon’s When Love Comes to Town published in 1993 – the year when homosexuality was decriminalised in Ireland. Published by The O’Brien Press, it was initially part of their adult list but subsequently re-categorised as YA. Like earlier YA texts published in the US and UK, the focus is predominantly on homophobia. It offers a bleak account of a teenage boy struggling to accept his sexuality and to deal with his family’s negative response to his coming out. It is also an example of internalised homophobia, as we see the protagonist’s hatred of his own sexuality and, subsequently, himself. Another early example is Emma Donoghue’s Stir-fry (1994) which was described by the Irish Times as “a marker for the so-called New Ireland.” Given the age of the protagonist and the fact it is a coming-of-age story, this book straddles adult and YA literature. Donoghue’s debut, this book depicts seventeen-year-old Maria questioning her sexuality after she relocates to Dublin for college, and accidentally moves in with a lesbian couple.
Along with societal change, the success of LGBTQIA+ books on the international market has contributed to the recent boom of queer YA in Ireland. Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda (2015) was a huge success, being adapted for the big screen in 2018 as Love, Simon. The popularity of this book paved the way for the recent rise of books in the genre. David Levithan’s contribution has been immense, beginning with Boy Meets Boy (2003) and continuing through a vast array of titles including his collaboration with John Green on Will Grayson, Will Grayson (2013). Patrick Ness also has a strong record of gay representation in YA, such as Release (2018).
One of my first encounters with Irish LGBTQIA+ YA was Flick (2011) by Geraldine Meade, which I read in dribs and drabs in the library, too nervous to take it home. This is quite a gritty novel as the titular character struggles to accept her sexuality. Hope is offered by the love interest who is confident about her own queer identity. In Claire Hennessy’s Good Girls Don’t (2004) I came across a bisexual character for the first time. I am envious of the vast array of titles available now exploring all facets of LGBTQIA+ experiences – coming out, love stories, exploration of gender identity and expression, and nuanced explorations of navigating discrimination and homophobia. Seeing yourself reflected in the media you consume is vital to feeling like you belong, like you’re not alone. One of the survey’s respondents said: “If I had been able to see more LGBTQIA+ inclusion in books as a teen I’d have accepted myself way sooner.” Research from BeLonGTo in 2018 shows that 90% of LGBTQIA+ youth struggle with their mental health and 77% of respondents said being out or fear of being outed at school was a source of major anxiety. These statistics show is it crucial to raise awareness as there is still much progress to be made in Irish society. Stories help readers grow empathy and find common ground with others, as well as showing readers they are not alone.
Now that I have been out for a few years, I enjoy reading books about LGBTQIA+ characters navigating relationships and society. I adored Ciara Smyth’s novel TheFalling in Love Montage (2020) which is full of heart. It plays with the tropes of romantic movies and novels that I never got to see between two girls when I was growing up. It also describes having a crush on another girl so well. The more books we have about LGBTQIA+ relationships, the more they are normalised. A lovely gay love story is featured in Kelly McCaughrain’s Flying Tips for Flightless Birds (2018) which features the dizzying highs of both tightropes and first loves. Just like heterosexual relationships, there is a wide variety of experiences and emotions to be explored.
It is heartening to see stories for younger readers reflecting LGBTQIA+ experiences. Many people will know their sexual orientation from a young age, but may not know how to express it or how to come out. In Meg Grehan’s middle-grade book The Deepest Breath (2019) Stevie is confused when a girl in school makes her feel all fizzy inside, but a librarian helps her find a book about girls who like girls which helps her make sense of it all. I think this is meaningful to younger bookish members of the community who may have found solace in library books. When this book was shortlisted for the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize in 2020 it became the first LGBTQIA+ book to be featured in the younger readers section. Meg Grehan’s début The Space Between (2017) is a beautiful lesbian love story written in verse which received a warm reception from readers and critics.
Moïra Fowley addresses the YesEquality campaign for the legalisation of marriage equality in her story “Love Poems to the City” in the anthology Proud: Stories, Poetry and Art on the Theme of Pride (2019) edited by Juno Dawson. She captures the hope and anxiety of the lead up to the referendum through the eyes of queer teens. It is a tribute to everyone who campaigned, leafletted and advocated for marriage equality. Throughout her books, Fowley has had strong LGBTQIA+ representation with bi, gay and lesbian characters. She has spoken openly about her identity as a lesbian, and her artwork adorned the cover of the 2020 Dublin Pride programme. Her most recent novel All the Bad Apples (2019) is a powerful book about the prejudice and violence suffered by women throughout Irish history.
It is important to see the range of LGBTQIA+ stories expanding, showing different aspects of LGBTQIA+ experience and moving beyond “issue” books. There has been a shift away from novels that focus almost exclusively on queer trauma and pain. In earlier LGBTQIA+ YA homophobia was presented as the norm and the LGBTQIA+ characters tended to have unhappy or unfulfilled endings. Newer books challenge this idea, and show homophobia as the problem, not being gay. Aside from this, it is essential to provide hopeful and positive stories – for young readers these books offer a sense of belonging and a vision of a better, more inclusive future.
Seeing queer characters having adventures, solving mysteries and going on quests is exciting. I loved Helen Corcoran’s Queen of Coin and Whispers (2020), a fantasy novel with a sapphic romance at its heart. In this world, LGBTQIA+ couples are not just normal, but commonplace too. The barriers her central couple face are to do with class and providing an heir, not about sexual orientation. This book also has strong bisexual representation. Other examples of queer love and emerging sexuality featuring as part of genre fiction are Sarah Maria Griffin’s atmospheric gothic novel Other Words for Smoke (2019) full of owls in wallpaper and tarot prophecies, Deirdre Sullivan’s Perfectly Preventable Deaths (2019) brimming with horror and potions, and Katherine Farmer’s Wormwood Gate (2013) an urban fantasy which uses the enemies-to-lovers trope brilliantly.
A striking new voice is that of Adiba Jaigirdar, born in Bangladesh and living in Dublin since the age of ten. Her first novel The Henna Wars (2020) celebrates intersectional experiences, and offers a nuanced look at racism, homophobia and the conflict between personal and cultural identity. It tells the story of two teenage girls running rival henna businesses while also falling for each other. It is important to have books representing how coming out differs across different communities, and books that reflect our multicultural society.
Debates around the #OwnVoices have been to the fore recently on Book Twitter. The hashtag originated with author Corinne Duyvis “to recommend kidlit about diverse characters written by authors from that same diverse group.” This can include (but is not limited to) identities such as LGBTQIA+, people of colour, people with disabilities, ethnic and religious minorities. This is very pertinent, as often marginalised characters have been written by privileged authors with a lesser understanding of the lived experiences of that minority. The results of our survey showed that authenticity in LGBTQIA+ YA is very important to readers. However, in parts of the online YA community there a toxic callout and cancel culture has developed. Authors have been asked invasive questions and are expected to share more and more of themselves with their publishers and readers. In August, YA author Becky Albertalli was forced to come out publicly as bisexual via an essay on Medium. Albertalli wrote about her journey to understanding her identity and the questioning she faced being in a straight-presenting relationship. This led to many conversations on Twitter about the pressure on authors to “prove” themselves as being “queer enough.” As Albertalli wrote in her essay: “It’s okay if you’re not out. It’s okay if you’re not ready. It’s okay if you don’t fully understand your identity yet. There’s no time limit, no age limit, no one right way to be queer.” While representation is important, no person should be forced to disclose personal information in order to be allowed express the subject in whatever form they choose. For some authors it may not be safe or comfortable to come out, and this should be respected.
For transgender representation, we must look overseas. Trans author and activist Juno Dawson’s Wonderland (2020) is a strong example. For gender identity, there is Dean Atta’s Black Flamingo (2019) about a gay, mixed-race drag queen growing up in London. Asexual characters can be found UKYA titles including Alice Oseman’s Loveless (2020), Non Pratt’s Truth or Dare (2017) and Juno Dawson’s All of the Above (2015).
As of 2020, there is a wide variety of Irish YA showing LGBTQIA+ experiences. However, there is still more to be done. All the responses to our survey indicated that more LGBTQIA+ books are needed; representing diverse identities (especially asexual, bisexual and transgender representation), and spanning different genres. There is a clear lack of transgender and non-binary representation at present. More books like The Henna Wars are necessary to take an intersectional look at LGBTQIA+ stories and reflect the diversity of experiences. Personally, I have found reading about characters like myself helped me come to a place of not just self-acceptance, but also celebration of my own identity as a lesbian. A survey respondent echoed this: “Coming to terms with sexual identities can be scary, and having well-written, rounded characters you can identify with is fundamental to the creation of identity.” Representation of different kinds of families and different types of love would help make our schools and our society more tolerant and accepting.
Out on the Shelf: LGBTQIA+ Representation in Irish YA Literature by Jenny Duffy was originally published in Issue 3 of Paper Lanterns, in 2020.
“You’re so black” and just like that the skin I once cherished becomes my biggest disgrace. Oh repugnant thing! Why must you cover me like this, swallow me whole, leave no room, for light, for pure, for goodness, for holy innocence, why can’t you make me decent, why must you be a constant memory of hardship, of difficulty, why must you make me different? Subject to even more criticism. But perhaps this is most true, this skin so black, acts a shield, protection from the hurt you throw at me. “big lips” a reminder that I did not choose to be a poet but rather was given these lips for a reason. You must ever wonder why such tender beauty prefers the darkness. How can such “black” blood be so mild and mellow and beautiful Such golden sweetness the heavy sun laying itself to rest on our skin. I know your God sits in disposition, this blessing, this “black” magic he graced upon us to wear as skin being called into question. look how they failed you, with their fluttering thumbs and ignorance, failed your marvelous “black” creations.
‘Black’ was originally published in Issue 3 of Paper Lanterns, when Angel Ifyawuchi was 17.
A chilly breath of air pricks my skin, tramping boots munch the ground with rubber jaws. Hedgerows moist with fragrant leaves and blankets of moss reach the air, robed in briars. Goose honks echo in the snapping. Flapping of chicken wings, lively with the wild nature of flying on and off trees. My hens’ cackling ripples the air, their glowing red faces alert and excited, their legs scurrying on strong pattering feet, being cheeky or joyful, in the green haven of fresh, rich grass, while flashing cockerels battle with pounding wingbeats, stirring the sweet, earth-scented air.
This is my life, trickling with birdsong, clear, radiant notes perfuming the air with their songs of spring.
Starlight, my Polish hen, races through some brittle grass, cocking her exuberant black and white crest with intention.
Amethyst, another hen, sways over to me, and chuckling in soft warbles, skips off with Starlight. Her grey and black plumage glimmering blue and purple in the sun.
Rubbing my brother’s cat Milky, I soak my hands through silky hills of fur. She rumbles around me with fierce purring. Starlight paces near, jealous of my attention to the creature she loathes. Milky slinks away from me but bounds back. Starlight watches, waiting to gain me, her sleek black body quivering in the sun, accentuated by the inquisitive cock of her head.
I crouch in the shadows of the pussy willow tree trying to tear away from Milky, but she sucks onto me like a magnet. Starlight’s crest sags and she sees I need help, and for a split second, Milky leaves and her opportunity is opened, but the magnet returns. I leap away from Milky and in her fury, she strikes, lashing her thick paws at Starlight. Starlight clatters the air with screeching and dashes away. Then, standing her ground, begs me to follow and I do.
“Starlight!” I call, and her head shoots up but Milky thrusts herself on me, blocking her with walls of fur.
Oh, I just want to be with Starlight, I can’t express the pleasure of weaving my fingers through her satin-like feathers. Just one lush moment to be at peace with her on my lap.
Starlight, furious, bats Milky away with her wings, a wild, fresh sense of joy builds inside, we are free.
‘Escape from Milky’ was originally published in Issue 2 of Paper Lanterns, when Lucy Hood was 16.
