How do you talk about a story so shrouded in secrecy, its own heroine doesn’t know what’s going on? Here’s what we do know: The characters in E. Lockhart’s 10th novel are members of a privileged American family. We know that a private island is involved, on which both intense friendship and romance bloom. But anything else we think we know could be a lie.

Fortunately, Lockhart, author of the 2009 Printz Honor-winning The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, is willing to tiptoe through some of the details.

We Were Liars is told from the point of view of 17-year-old Cadence Sinclair Eastman, when she returns to the island off the coast of Cape Cod where she and her fam­ily—and one special friend—spend every summer. But “summer seventeen” is marred by questions surrounding a mysterious accident that occurred two years ago, leaving Cady with unexplained injuries, including chronic migraines and selective amnesia. Why did she go swimming by herself the night of the accident? Why are her aunts and cousins acting so strangely? And what dark secrets lie beneath her family’s proud exterior?

It’s no surprise that Lockhart is good at keeping secrets, as her real name is Emily Jenkins. (“Lockhart” was her grandmother’s maiden name.) She has written several children’s books and two adult books using her real name, but has found something special writing for teens.

“I really like being a member of the young adult fiction community,” Lockhart tells BookPage from her home in the New York City area. “There are issues around which the community galvanizes: literacy issues and freedom of speech issues. I never found that kind of public-minded dialogue and enterprise in my short time in the adult fiction world. As a maker of literature, or a writer or artist . . . as a person, it was a much better fit than anything I had done before.”

In her latest YA novel, We Were Liars, the suspense-laden narrative is interrupted by flashbacks and snippets of fairy tales such as “Beauty and the Beast,” elements that gradually become more connected to the main story.

“All of the fairy tales begin, ‘Once upon a time there was a king who had three beautiful daughters,’ ” Lockhart says. “I took a lot of those fairy tales and used them, and variations of them, to tell the story of this family.”

Although no actual royalty lives on Beechwood Island, the Sinclair family patriarch, Cady’s grandfather, fills a parallel role. His three beautiful daughters compete for his affection—and for the best parts of his inheritance. As the fairy-tale daughters profess their love and ask for gifts, the Sinclair daughters turn to increasingly desperate tactics to claim the island’s choicest sections for themselves. And as unsuitable suitors find their way into the fairy tales, Cady also finds herself in love with a boy of whom her grandfather intensely disapproves.

"You’re seeing more YA books that are influenced by postmodernism, in a playful, fun way. Young people love it—they’re ready to go forward with a new narrative device.”

As her mother and aunts squabble for their share, Cady struggles to fill in the missing pieces of summer fifteen. Flashbacks provided a challenge to Lockhart, both in terms of their content and their placement within the primary narrative. “Those could be moved and then reworked depending on where they settled. Those were rearranged many, many, many times,” Lockhart says. Readers will undoubtedly want to revisit Cady’s reminiscences, looking for clues as to what really happened that fateful summer.

Cady’s debilitating migraines echo the real-life experiences of people Lockhart knows, forming an important aspect of her storytelling. “I was interested both in the way that chronic pain affects one’s sense of oneself, and the way it would feel to live a life where you’re often taken out of your own life story for days at a time—and then have to reinsert yourself into it.” Similarly, Cady’s pain forces her to periodically retreat from her own storyline.

Ever since Robert Cormier, an early pioneer of YA literature, penned I Am the Cheese in 1977, unusual narrative forms and unreliable narrators have found a welcome home in YA fiction. Cady’s narration both echoes and elaborates on this tradition.

“I think we’re seeing a lot of formal experimentation and play,” Lockhart says. “There are lots of hybrid novels, mixing graphic and traditional storytelling. . . . You’re seeing more YA books that are influenced by postmodernism, in a playful, fun way. Young people love it—they’re ready to go forward with a new narrative device.”

These shifting formats involve “asking a lot of the reader,” but that works fine with Lockhart’s conception of teens: “Readers [of YA lit] might be reading about, learning about or experiencing certain things for the first time. But that doesn’t mean disrespecting or devaluing their intellectual or emotional capabilities.”

For many teens, including Cady, summers constitute entire separate worlds, distinct from regular school-year life but every bit as meaningful. In fact, readers see so little of Cady’s school year that it almost seems not to exist. Only her summers, peppered with intense architectural and culinary detail, seem real.

Lockhart has an abiding interest in these sorts of immersive environments, ranging from her love of the eccentric, iconic NYC restaurant Jekyll & Hyde Club to wax museums. “They are creepy,” she admits. “But I like artificial environments and any kind of fictional spaces. There’s a story in every waxwork. I like the dioramas the best, where there’s a narrative being created. I like that mix of reality and unreality.”

Lockhart holds a doctorate in English literature and loves the connections between her academic work and writing for teens. She argues that both academia and fandom are valid ways to connect with literature. Reinterpretations of contemporary works, such as fan fiction, fan art, board games and video games, “are interpretations of popular texts that might say something different [from what] a classic college reading of those same texts would generate.”

In the end, Lockhart says, writing for teens is about “just trying to write the story and tell the story truthfully.” Truthfully? Well, maybe with a few lies thrown in here and there.

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey. She learned most of what she knows about YA literature from her terrific graduate students.

This article was originally published in the May 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In the final book in Julie Kagawa’s popular dystopian vampire Blood of Eden trilogy, kick-butt heroine Allie Sekemoto finally gives in to her monster side following the death of her love, Zeke. She’s on a mission to hunt down psychopathic vampire Sarren, and her journey takes her to the last vampire-free zone remaining—Eden.

Without spoiling anything for fans, what are you most excited about in The Forever Song?
This is the finale. The end of Allie’s story. I guess what I’m most excited about is the final battle, watching everything that has been building since book one come to a head. There’s a desperate race against time, lots of fighting, that moment when everything seems lost and, of course, sacrifice, heartache and death. Who will come out of it alive? You’ll have to read the book to find out.

There are so many great vampire books. What drew you to share your own vision of the vampire myth?
Funny story: Back at the beginning of my writing career, I told myself I wasn’t going to write a vampire story. I felt there were already so many great ones out there, and I didn’t have anything new to add. I was actually discussing the idea of a post-apocalyptic world with my agent when she asked me what I thought about writing a vampire book. That’s when I got the idea of combining the post-apocalyptic world with the vampire mythos, and from there the Immortal Rules was born.

“And while it’s difficult and bittersweet for me to say goodbye to Allie and co., I’m satisfied with how their story came to a close. I know I left them in the best place I could.”

What’s the hardest part about finishing a trilogy? Is it difficult to say goodbye to these characters?
The hardest part of finishing a trilogy—any series really—is giving the readers an ending that is satisfying but still stays true to the book and the characters. They’ve been through a lot with your heroes; you don’t want to leave them feeling cheated or that there were too many things left unanswered. You want them to close the book with the knowledge that, even though there were some unexpected twists, turns, heartbreak and losses, the story couldn’t have ended any other way. And while it’s difficult and bittersweet for me to say goodbye to Allie and co., I’m satisfied with how their story came to a close. I know I left them in the best place I could.

Of all the many books you’ve written, who is your favorite character and why?
Oh goodness, I don’t think I can answer that. I love them all in different ways; I honestly couldn’t choose a favorite. Though the most entertaining character, from the Blood of Eden series anyway, would have to be Jackal. I love his snark and his sarcasm, and the way he says exactly what’s on his mind, regardless if you want to hear it or not. He’s ruthless and selfish and violent, and makes no excuses for it. He knows he’s a monster, and he’s perfectly fine with that, but he’ll occasionally have moments of wisdom and nobility that shock everyone. He was one of the most interesting and surprising characters I’ve written about, and I love the arrogant bloodsucker to pieces.

If you could take one of Allie’s traits for yourself, what would it be?
Her mad katana skills? I don’t think I need to be more stubborn, lol.

What’s next?
My next series is one I’m super excited about. It’s called Talon, out in November 2014, and it’s about modern-day dragons and their secret war with the Order of St. George.

The last thing Emma saw before going blind was the bright, spinning colors of fireworks—and then it all went dark. In the sensitively rendered and beautifully written Blind, Emma shares her story of courage and resilience as she comes to terms with a world that is forever changed. And when her insular hometown is shaken by a local teen’s suicide, Emma’s own tragedy is placed in sharp relief.

Rachel DeWoskin’s first young adult novel draws from her experiences while working with the Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind, where she learned braille and was inspired by the determination and warmth of her visually impaired and blind friends. DeWoskin’s ability to draw readers into her blind character’s mind seems effortless, and the story is full of details—such as comparing voices and words to smells and colors—that reveal Emma’s mind to be far from the lonely, dark place she initially fears it will be.

What was your greatest challenge in writing a story narrated by a blind character?
I wanted Emma to be a resilient warrior, but not a saint. To find herself in an impossible context, but not to become that context—or to become a victim or symbol. For me, Blind isn’t a book meant to be about blindness, or even a blind girl—it’s a book about being a girl in the world in general, about figuring out how to make meaning in (and of) your life, no matter how difficult the hand you’re dealt. How to survive and live in a way that’s meaningful and joyful.

What was the most surprising thing you learned about blind and visually impaired teens while working with the Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind?
I learned a lesson that I kept finding fascinating even as I learn it again and again in my grown-up life, which is that kids are unbelievably resilient. And, at their centers, so similar to one another, no matter what differences appear to define or set them apart from each other. I think part of what gives them what to my mind is amazing bravery and grit is actually a childish and useful ability to juxtapose (and experience) life’s most profound difficulties and joys with its most daily matters. To go from the zero of a social interaction at school to the infinity of our socially unjust world, or of a life-changing accident, of a death even—in mere seconds. And, importantly, to come back. In the visually impaired kids I met and talked to, this quality is particularly inspiring, because they’ve had to recalibrate how to live in a world designed for people who are sighted. And many of them have done so with quite incredible creativity, grace and humor. They play baseball with a ball that beeps; they read in the dark after bedtime; they wrap rubber bands around their eyeliners so they can tell black from blue. They are creative and funny and imaginative about ways to be their most engaged and best selves.

“For me, Blind isn’t a book meant to be about blindness, or even a blind girl—it’s a book about being a girl in the world in general, about figuring out how to make meaning in (and of) your life, no matter how difficult the hand you’re dealt.”

When the novel opens, there’s a romantic element to some of Emma’s descriptions of blindness (“Words have vivid edges and colors now, and listening to Leah is like being inside a book with glistening pages . . .”). But as the story progresses, the reality and the fear becomes palpable as Emma recounts what it’s like to lose her sight. Was this an important shift to you?
Why? I think when we make progress in our lives, it usually happens in a backwards and forwards motion, becomes a liquid process, even. When Blind opens, Emma has moved past the worst, most shrieking moments of her accident and its aftermath, partly because I didn’t want the novel to capitalize on the shocking value built into a scene like that. I didn’t put that first, and I didn’t want to build up to it and make her disaster the climax of the book. But as she’s not in the first moment of it, she has to remember it and figure out how to live with it. And sometimes remembering, which I think is work we all have to do if we’re going to create palatable narratives from the substance of our lives, can drag you back under the water of your own most difficult moments. Emma lives on a wide spectrum, and she’s trying to figure out how to think of / understand what happened to her, how to be truthful about it with herself. And both versions—the one that features her heightened ability to feel a world she used to be able to see and the one that features her gutting loss—are true stories for her. She figures out a way to live between (and with) them.

Stories of teens with mental and physical disabilities seem to be flooding the young adult industry, and Blind stands out for its tenderness and realism. Why do you think novels like this are important for teen readers? And why do you think they’re gaining in popularity?
Thank you. I don’t know about popularity, but all my books, both the adult ones and this one, are about sameness and difference. About girls and women on the peripheries of their societies or social groups or worlds. I’m interested in how we communicate with (and betray and forgive) each other, across whatever chasms divide us. Sometimes those are cultural and linguistic; sometimes they’re political and generational.

Lately, I’ve been writing some about physical difference; my most recent novel, Big Girl Small, is about a teenage little person who wants to be Judy Garland but feels forced to identify with the “munchkins” of our cultural media world. Blind is the furthest reach of that question for me, an exploration of ways we see the world, no matter who we are. I wrote it in a fit of wonder about what it would feel like to have to change, to have your perspective and identity made irrevocably different both from what it was and from those around you. And how a tough heroine (I always write with my daughters and mama and mama-in-law and an army of my best girlfriends in mind, thinking, how would we keep each other afloat, no matter what the circumstances?) can get through almost anything.

What do you admire most about Emma? If you could give her any advice, what would it be?
I love Emma, because she is a kind of forward-imagined version of my two little girls, who are 9 and 6. My favorite thing about Emma is her thoughtful ability to hold contradiction in her mind, to know that there’s a worst version and a best version, and to find her way to an angle of repose between them. I like that she’s going to be okay. That’s what I want for my girls, the fiery core that allows for navigating the world in a feisty, inspired, courageous way.

Do you know if Blind will be translated into braille?
It will be! And the audio version comes out this month.

What’s next for you?
My next YA book is a novel set in Shanghai in the 1940s, about a Jewish girl and her father who escape from Poland to China and live out the war in Japanese-occupied Shanghai, where by 1940 there were 20,000 Jewish refugees! Needless to say, it’s another look at some of the central themes that always drive and inspire me: foreignness, bravery, feminism and difficulty. Like Blind, it’s about learning to let go, even as we hang on.

Broadcast journalist and foreign correspondent Atia Abawi has spent years on the front lines of war and historical events, covering stories for outlets such as CNN and NBC. During her five-year residency in Afghanistan, Abawi became attuned to the stories of the people, their cultural traditions and the deeply rooted tensions and resulting violence that has plagued the country for so long. Her experiences inspired her first novel, The Secret Sky, which follows the budding romance of two teens from two very different tribes, who must struggle against opposition from both their families and the Taliban in order to forge a life together.

Abawi took some time to answer a few questions about this deeply moving debut, her writing process and the traditions and complexities of modern Afghanistan.

Your first trip to Afghanistan was in 2005 to work on a documentary film. How did the country you arrived in compare to the country you imagined?
It was completely different. I always figured the country would be unlike the country my parents knew because of the three decades of war that had passed. But the reality was jarring.

Landing at Kabul International Airport in 2005, you still saw Soviet-era tanks lining the side of the runway—the country looked like a junkyard of old relics. And although I had seen women in burqas (the all-covering blue fabric) on television, seeing it in person rattled me a little because I was hit with the realization that this isn’t the same city, culture and people my parents told me about. It’s not that burqas were uncommon in the past, they just weren’t as prevalent. And in the 1970s it was normal to see a woman in a burqa and a woman in a miniskirt walking down the same street.

Thirty years of fighting and bloody rivalries changed the whole dynamic of existence in Kabul and the rest of the country. My parents would be considered foreigners in this new Afghanistan, even though it was the country they were born and raised in. It honestly seemed that time had stopped in 1978 and that the country just reversed course with every passing year. I had to acquaint myself with this new country, just as I did with other countries I would travel to—ones I didn’t have a cultural connection to.

"I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about the reactions—particularly from Afghans."

As a longtime journalist for CNN and NBC, what inspired you to write fiction, specifically a novel aimed at teens?
It was always a dream of mine to write a novel. But the longer I worked in news and reported on the grim everyday realities of war, I felt that dream fading away. I noticed I was losing the imagination and color I once had.

In news, you can’t use your imagination; you have to report on the facts—share the truth, not fantasy. And you are not often given the opportunity to share the hopeful stories—and there are hopeful stories, even in wartime—but tragedy always triumphs.

Because of a 2009 New York Times article my editor Jill Santopolo and publisher Michael Green had read on teenagers who fell in love in Afghanistan, they were looking for an author to write a YA novel about Afghan teens in a similar situation and had reached out to a friend of mine, who’d reached out to a group of us living in the country. During my time in Afghanistan, I’d met young Afghans who’d fallen in love and had tried to fight to stay together, so was able to bring my own experiences to the initial idea. But truly, this dream came true because of Michael and Jill—and I’ll forever be grateful to them for letting me bring some color back into my writing.

What were some of your favorite books during your own teenage years?
When I was in school I loved going to the school library and finding old books and checking them out. At one point I was reading a lot of books written a century before or based in other parts of the world. I loved how it would take me to another place I had never been before.

I also loved the Fear Street collection by R.L. Stine when I was younger, and of course the Harry Potter series.

Fatima and Samiullah are met with shocking amounts of violence, often from their own family members, for professing their love for one another. Why did you feel it was important not to censor or shy away from this common reality?
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about the reactions—particularly from Afghans.

I never wanted to censor out the darkness, but Afghans are very proud people and to share the flaws of the country and society is sometimes seen as shaming them.

But I figured the truth and realities on the ground needed to be shared. As a journalist, I have covered heartbreaking story after heartbreaking story in Afghanistan. I never wanted to sweep these realities under the rug. It would have been a disservice to those suffering and also to those working hard to make a change.

What do you hope American readers take away from this story?
I hope the reader will understand the humanity that lives amongst the horror in Afghanistan. The majority of the Afghan people want to live peaceful and happy lives; they don’t want war, they don’t want rivalries, they want change for the betterment of their families and society. But it is hard for them because of the everyday challenges they face in their lives—obstacles that we can’t even imagine having to deal with.

What was the most important lesson you learned during your time in Afghanistan?
Even in the worst of times, there is still hope. And sometimes that all you need.

You lived in Afghanistan for nearly five years. What were some of the things you loved the most about the land and the culture that are often overshadowed by war and unrest?
The beauty. The undeniable monstrosities of war have overshadowed the unimaginable beauty that remains there—the beauty of the land and the beauty of the people.

It is true that many people have been hardened by decades of brutality and war, but so many more still have these warm and inviting hearts, and they are proud of the little that they may have—and no matter how little they have, they will always share it with you. I’ve met some of the most generous and kind people there.

And the land . . . wow . . . I’ve seen landscapes that leave you in awe of the beauty the world offers.

What are you working on next?
I kind of want to step outside of the box for a short while and work on an Afghan cookbook with my mother. She’s honestly the best cook I know, and I have noticed I keep eating but never learning. I want to spend some time with her just logging her recipes, whether it is just for our family or to share with the world. I truly believe it is something that needs to be remembered. It especially hit me after years of living in modern-day Afghanistan that the cuisine has also been affected by the wars and poverty, and I’m afraid the generation of food that I grew up with will slowly fade.

Author photo by Conor Powell.

From the brilliantly bizarre mind of A.S. King comes a haunting look at a bleak future—not only for teenager Glory O’Brien, but for all women.

Glory is having a rough senior year. High school graduation is nigh and, unlike her self-assured, college-bound peers, she’s uncertain about what’s next. Actually, she wonders if there will even be a next, because the sad legacy of her mother’s suicide 13 years ago still weighs so heavily upon her.

Then there’s her longtime friend Ellie, whose frenemy tendencies have been tolerable—but lately, Glory’s been thinking their relationship is no longer worthwhile.

Even more ominous are the visions Glory and Ellie begin having after a strange, fateful night. After ingesting the remains of a dead bat, the girls start to receive “transmissions” from other people’s past or future across infinite generations. Glory’s visions are harbingers of a second Civil War that brings with it violence, misogyny, boundless danger and sorrow.

So, yeah . . . the teen protagonist of Glory O’Brien’s History of the Future has a lot going on. King tells Glory’s complicated story with skill and grace, via her trademark method of melding reality with the otherworldly—a sort of matter-of-fact magical realism. For example, when the transmissions begin, the characters are stunned and confused, but accepting. Their jarring visual interludes are woven right into the narrative. (No reason to slow down for marveling and wondering; there’s a story to be told!)

That mix of magic and mundane, intellectual and fantastical, has long worked for King. Her first novel, The Dust of 100 Dogs, was a 2009 ALA Best Book for Young Adults; Please Ignore Vera Dietz was a 2011 Printz Honor book; and Ask the Passengers won the 2013 L.A. Times Book Prize and was a Lambda Award finalist.

Glory O’Brien’s History of the Future is King’s sixth YA novel, and it’s a story that’s close to her not-one-for-following-the-traditional-life-path heart. “We put so much pressure on 16-year-olds—What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?” King says. “That goes with Glory, who feels like she’s not allowed to be lost anymore.”

The author can relate: “High school wasn’t for me. Traditional college was also not for me. Art school I excelled at, and that was great.” Also, the Pennsylvania native and her Irish husband lived for a decade in Tipperary, Ireland, renovating a decrepit farmhouse, living self-sufficiently and raising chickens. She also taught adult literacy and wrote, wrote, wrote.

“When we moved back [to Pennsylvania in 2005], I had seven or eight novels under my belt,” King says. “I didn’t know anything about publishing, which was fine. It meant I got to grow as a writer without caring about getting published.”

Her growth as a writer began long before, though. King kept journals as a child, and in college at the Art Institute of Philadelphia, where she studied photography and archival printing, “I secretly wrote little essays about the pictures I took. . . . No one ever saw them. I was always a closet writer.”

Just as King emerged from her writerly cocoon (though she still favors “an office where I can close the door and do whatever I want with my brain”), Glory’s growing awareness—of her parents’ past, her own talents, the near and far future—is a transformation that begins in her late mother’s closet-like darkroom, where she sifts through photos, journals and other flotsam and jetsam of a creative, troubled mind.

Glory’s nerve grows, too, and she faces the transmissions head-on by creating a History of the Future that warns others about the coming war. The catalyst? A loophole in the future Fair Pay Act: If states make it illegal for women to work, they can forgo equal pay. The subsequent Family Protection Act sparks ever-worsening misogyny. Women and girls suffer immensely, and citizens start fighting back.

While extreme, it’s a future that doesn’t sound entirely preposterous, with current social media campaigns of young women proclaiming “We don’t need feminism” and the proliferation of so-called men’s rights groups. King says, “Being on the farm and out of touch for so long in Ireland, I wasn’t here [in the U.S.] for the whole reversal of what a feminist was. I was confused to come back and hear the word being used for other things . . . like someone changed the word while I was gone.”

She goes on, “It’s also just the culture: I have two girls, and it’s hard to navigate anything from Internet to TV to ads without constantly seeing women being objectified.”

Thanks to her parents, King grew up in a household where gender stereotypes were not promoted nor enforced. “Chores had to get done, so I might be the one up in a tree sawing off a mimosa limb, and I collected the trash . . . whereas in a lot of houses those were only boys’ jobs. That was strange to me, because the only boy around was my dad, and he had other stuff to do.”

Young people must be fearless in standing up for themselves, whether against a frenemy or a discriminatory social norm. 

Those values are integral to Glory O’Brien’s History of the Future, as is the notion that asking questions, while sometimes scary, is worthwhile. Young people must be fearless in standing up for themselves, whether against a frenemy or a discriminatory social norm. “The bottom line is, equal rights are important,” King says. “I don’t think it’s politics, I just think everybody’s equal.”

She adds, “When it comes to feminism, there’s still a simple definition. . . . I’ll look in my old high school dictionary. . . . ‘The advocacy of political, social and economic equivalency of men and women.’ I don’t see a problem with that, and I don’t see why anyone else would.”

Put simply, she says with a laugh, “The world is full of assholes. What are you doing to make sure you’re not one of them? In a way, that’s what every book [I’ve written] is about. It’s a call to arms!”

This article was originally published in the October 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In the dusty, crowded streets of Kolkata, two monkey species struggle for dominance and power. It’s rhesus versus langur in Richard Kurti’s Planet of the Apes-eque debut novel, Monkey Wars. Political stakes are high, blood is spilled, morality becomes hazy and a forbidden romance ignites in this smart, fast-paced story. BookPage contacted Kurti to talk about the inspiration behind his debut, his career as a screenwriter, the darker side of teen lit and more.

What was the inspiration for this unique story?
No one can choose their parents or which community they’re born into, but what if you happen to be born into evil? What if accident of birth puts you in the heart of a society built on the oppression of others, but one which also gives you huge privileges, so there is no incentive to question or rebel?

Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve wanted to write about this dramatic problem, but when I thought about placing the story in a particular society, the specific issues of that situation always seemed to overshadow the bigger philosophical problem. By complete accident I heard about a real war that broke out on the streets of Indian cities between rival monkey troops. Immediately I realized that by going back up the evolutionary tree I could write about all human societies by writing about none.

What kind of research did you do for this novel?
Huge amounts. I read books about monkeys and the politics of tyranny, and watched TV documentaries about India and animal behavior; I spent many hours online doing picture research and studying maps of Kolkata; I even downloaded Pentagon documents about military strategy and guerrilla warfare! I visited Gibraltar to see the wild apes, and of course went to different zoos . . . but the one place I didn’t get to was India (see next question).

Have you ever traveled to Kolkata, India? What is it about India that inspired you to set your novel there?
I fully intended to visit India to complete my research, but that turned out to be more complicated than I’d thought.

My first idea was to write a rough draft and then go to Kolkata, as that way I’d know exactly what I was looking for. By the end of the first draft, though, I realized the big things that needed to be sorted in the manuscript were about plot and character, not location; so I decided to finish the second and third drafts, then do the research trip.

But by the end of draft three, I thought I might as well try and get a publisher interested before I went; no point spending all that money if I couldn’t sell the story. Then as soon as the publisher made an offer, I was plunged straight into a hectic schedule of rewrites, so there was no time to go off to India!

Cut to the present, and now I’m almost scared to go in case the reality is nothing like the story.

You have many years of experience working in television and writing screenplays. How did this influence your writing process for the novel?
Organization. That was the main influence—I mapped out the plot and arcs of the entire story before I began writing chapter one. In screenwriting I have always done this, and it’s usually a contractual stage. The producers want to know the whole story before you write it.

Going for a cinematic feel was also very important. I wanted the key beats to be played out through action sequences rather than pure introspection, and often imagined myself watching the story unfold as a movie.

If you were a character in the world of Monkey Wars, what species of monkey would you be?
A Bonnet Macaque. Even though they’re wiped out early on in the novel, they have such style and seem so at one with the world.

This story is quite brutal and violent. Why was it important to include these darker aspects in a story aimed at teens?
My son is 15, and like a lot of people his age, his life has unfolded against a background of shocking violence in the world. He saw 9/11 happen live on TV; he has seen the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq on news footage and in movies; he knows people who lost family in the terror attacks in London.

Telling a story about tyranny and the struggle to defeat it has to involve the portrayal of violent conflict, and it would have been irresponsible to gloss over the horror of what that actually means. As long as the violence isn’t exploitative, I hope it earns its place in the novel.

Why do you think young readers are especially drawn to animal-based allegory?
Maybe it’s because animals are such a universal access point. You don’t have to cut through layers of cultural difference; you can look into their eyes and immediately relate to them.

What’s next for you?
I’ve just finished the second draft of the next book. It’s a fast-paced thriller set in a cutting edge, modern world. Although on the surface it’s very different to Monkey Wars, the new book is also built around a very tricky moral problem that has no easy solution, with two teenage protagonists caught up in the very heart of the conflict.

Teacher/artist Renée Watson makes her YA debut with This Side of Home, a novel about African-American teenage sisters navigating friendships, relationships, school politics and future plans. The sisters' identities are intertwined with issues of class, race and gender, allowing Watson to explore all of these issues through their eyes.

BookPage spoke with Watson about her new book, the growing pains of gentrification and school reform, and "dealing with reality—sorting through the good and bad—trying to make sense of it all."

Your previous work includes children’s poetry (A Place Where Hurricanes Happen), a picture book (Harlem’s Little Blackbird), a middle grade novel (What Momma Left Me) and articles for educators about multiculturalism and arts education. What inspired you to branch out into YA fiction?
I’ve worked in middle and high schools for several years. The pains and joys of adolescents are moments I witness on a daily basis, so I think their stories are always with me as I write. The lives of my high school students are interesting—they are always changing. Their conflicts are more dramatic, and there’s just so much to sort through. All of this makes for good plots and complex characters so going with YA for this story made the most sense.

But besides those more practical reasons, my motivation to write young adult novels comes from a desire to get teenagers talking. I hope my books are a catalyst for youth and adults to have conversations with one another, for teachers to have a starting point to discuss difficult topics with students. Though my writing is fiction, it is definitely not for escaping reality. It is all about dealing with reality—sorting through the good and bad—trying to make sense of it all.

Maya and Nikki live in a Portland neighborhood where gentrification is rapidly changing the downtown landscape. They plan to attend a historically black women’s college, a decision that their community activist parents support. How similar are the twins’ circumstances to those of your own teenage years?
I see both Maya and Nikki in myself. I grew up in Portland, Oregon, and like Maya, I was on student council and very involved in my high school. I also had dreams of going to college (in New York) and wanted so badly to make my mother and community proud. Unlike Maya, I wasn’t totally against the changes that came to Portland. I am a lot like Nikki in that way.

I started noticing changes in my neighborhood—the same neighborhood in the book—my junior year in high school. For me, the change was not that rapid. It took about 20 years to see the fullness of gentrification in North East Portland. Gentrification was not a word I knew at 15, but I knew the feeling of not belonging. There was something about the changes that made it seem like they weren’t for the people who already lived there but for the people who were coming. Yet, even with that feeling, I still wanted to go out and enjoy these new places. So for me, I have both of their perspectives—I want the change, appreciate it even, but I don’t appreciate the push out that often comes with it.

Maya wants to pursue a career in journalism, in part because she’s “always liked asking questions, finding deeper reasons and meanings for things.” Why did you choose this particular career interest for your main character?
It seemed like a natural desire for Maya to have. At first, I thought she was a lover of music and that maybe she should pursue a music career, but the more I wrote her character, I realized that what she’s passionate about is history and connecting history to the present. She is full of questions and wonder. Journalism seemed like a good fit.

Richmond High, where Maya and Nikki are seniors, has a new principal this year. His intentions to promote academic success are good, but he’s out of touch with many of the real needs and concerns of the student body. School reform agendas similar to Principal Green’s are in the news a lot these days. What do you think are some of the pluses and minuses that school reform might offer a community like Richmond?
What I love about Principal Green is that he wants the students to be accountable to each other, he promotes unity, and is pushing students to excel outside of the stereotypes they are often rewarded for exceling in. My frustration with him is that he lacks a sincere appreciation and understanding of the community he is working in. He comes in with a savior mentality and imposes his ideas on the student body without ever asking a parent, teacher or student, “What’s working? What’s not? How can we work together?” To me, the most effective school reform agendas include input from the actual people of the community and takes into account their particular needs and traditions. Once the principal understands the community then s/he is ready to think about how different theories and educational practices might work in this particular setting. The action always has to match and be designed for a specific community. Generally programs without those considerations just won't work. 

As student council president, Maya takes a stand against replacing her school’s traditional Black History Month celebration with a diversity assembly intended to be “for everyone, not just the black students.” Why was it important for Maya’s character—or for you as an author creating her voice—for her to advocate for this point of view?
I think one of Principal Green’s mistakes is believing that black history is only relevant to African-American students. By changing the assembly, he once again makes a decision without fully understanding the importance of the tradition and not just that, but the necessity for all students—from all backgrounds—to learn about black history, which is an integral part of American history and therefore relevant for all students.

I know students like Maya who advocate for themselves and at a young age consider themselves activists. I wanted to have a main character be passionate about something other than some of the cliché things some adults think all teenagers care about. It was important for me to have Maya stand up for something she believed in—even if it didn’t get the results she wanted.

OK, this is a minor detail, especially in view of the serious issues raised in your book, but I was thrilled to find that Maya’s student council board includes not only the standard offices of President, Vice President, Secretary and Treasurer, but also the position of Historian. What does a student council historian do?
The historian is responsible for recording the events of the school year, to put on record—through photos and writings—the important things that happened so that future classes can look back and see what was going on at the school in any given year.

Can we expect a follow-up novel chronicling Maya’s next steps? Or are you working on other projects that BookPage readers might find interesting?
Right now, I’m busy traveling for the book tour. Instead of a writing project, I’m telling stories through photography. I’ll be capturing different cities and the places I call home and sharing them on Instagram. I’d love for BookPage readers to join in. All they have to do is take a photo of a place that makes their home special and post it using #ThisSideOfHome. My Instagram handle is @harlemportland, and I’d love to connect with readers and learn about the places they love.