Gary D. Schmidt’s new novel, Orbiting Jupiter, is a moving story about love, family and loyalty. Readers likely will cry here and there; they’ll also laugh from time to time and revel in the book’s pulses of beauty—whether it’s flashes of a striking winter landscape, touching moments of kinship or grace felt after wrenching grief.

The central characters are two boys, brought together when 12-year-old Jack’s parents agree to foster 14-year-old Joseph, who was recently released from a juvenile facility.

Schmidt is a two-time Newbery Honor winner, an English professor, author of 30-plus books and a father of six. When he began writing Orbiting Jupiter, he could hear Jack’s narration quite clearly. “Every book is different,” Schmidt says during a call from his Michigan home, a farm where he lives with his family. “The big thing is, I have to have the voice of the narrator and have to hear how the book is going to sound. Sometimes it takes so dang long! But with this book, it just came.” 

As Schmidt explains, Orbiting Jupiter is “a 12-year-old kiddo telling a very adult story about finding love, having a child and losing both of them—but being desperate to get one of them back.” 

Joseph became a father at 13, after he and a girl named Madeleine fell in love. Joseph’s abusive father was the plumber for her wealthy lawyer-parents, but despite their disparate backgrounds, they found solace in one another. From this love came a baby named Jupiter, plus a series of events that culminated in Joseph joining Jack’s family on their small Maine farm.

Jack is curious and a little wary, but when Rosie the cow lets Joseph milk her on the first try, Jack figures they’ll be fine: “You can tell all you need to know about someone from the way cows are around him.”

Schmidt says, “[Jack]’s a young, naive 12-year-old. Farms are wonderful, but they can be insular. And Joseph’s a kid a couple of years older who’s lived so much more, who’s very worldly-wise because of what he’s gone through.”

The boys become friends bit by bit, smile by smile, as the weather grows ever colder. Jerk students and a judgmental vice principal -aren’t welcoming, but a few teachers bond with Joseph, including Coach Swieteck, whom fans may recognize from Schmidt’s 2011 National Book Award finalist, Okay for Now.

It’s a hopeful thing, this warmth amid the gloom of Joseph’s life. The bleakness is a bit of a departure for Schmidt, as is the book’s trim length. “I wanted it to be stark, to be close to Ethan Frome or Bleak House. It’s pretty narrow, pretty focused, like a New England winter.”

In fact, he says, “It’s the most New England of all of my books.” (Maine serves as the backdrop for both the 2005 Newbery Honor book Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy and 2010’s Trouble.) “Saying so much with so little, things that can be inferred—shared culture allows you to do that. It’s also harder for outsiders, because that laconic starkness can seem unfriendly.”

The world of Orbiting Jupiter can seem unkind at times, if not downright cruel. Not all parents are kind, attentive or loving, and kids are too often unfairly judged by those around them. 

“I talked to a pediatrician who told me, ‘You can’t believe how many kids come in who have kids,’ ” Schmidt says. “Also, years ago, I read about a kid in Arkansas who at age 13 had two children. It obviously stayed with me.”

That processing of an idea over time embodies Schmidt’s considered approach to his writing. He composes his work on a 1953 gray steel Royal typewriter that lives in a small building on his property. There’s also a wood stove that keeps the author warm as he works—and allows him to start anew as many times as he likes.

“I write 500 words a day,” Schmidt says, and he revises any previous work as he goes. The process might seem painstaking, but that’s what he likes about it. “I use scrap paper, the backs of old galleys . . . and as I write, I burn the previous copy in the wood stove. It’s so cathartic to see it going up in flames. By the end, I’ve retyped [the book I’m working on] six, eight, 10 times.”

One result of that process is the careful layering of significant elements. For example, Thoreau’s A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers and M.T. Anderson’s The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing are mentioned in Orbiting Jupiter—but not in a way that requires readers to have read or heard of either book.

However, for Schmidt, “Everything has to be connected.” Thoreau’s book is “a tremendous bonding story about two brothers who loved each other a great deal. It’s not necessarily something the reader will get, but for me it makes a lot of difference. . . . That detail reverberates through the story.” And in Octavian Nothing, “A kid is imprisoned and defined by others. . . . When Joseph reads it, he connects with it.”

As a writer, Schmidt says, “[I have] a lot of stuff going on that never appears in the book, but the book is different for my having thought of it. It’s an emotional kind of connection that starts early.”

Thanks to the deftly drawn characters that inhabit Orbiting Jupiter, that emotional connection continues until the very end, when signs of new beginnings appear like the approaching spring. 

“You’d have to be an idiot to deny the pain so often around us,” Schmidt says, “but I also want to say it’s a beautiful and glorious world. Joseph does find love, Maddie as well. . . . It’s not tragic that a broken world is one that’s also good and glorious. It’s worthy of our lives to try and make it better.”

This article was originally published in the October 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Power couple Toni and Gretchen have been together for nearly two years when they leave for separate colleges. Toni, who identifies as genderqueer, finds a place at Harvard with a group of transgender upperclassmen who offer a new sense of belonging and an expanded language for discussing gender and nonbinary identities. Meanwhile at NYU, Gretchen struggles to understand their evolving long-distance relationship.

What inspired you to write this book?
What We Left Behind actually started out as a completely different story. Originally, it was set during Toni and Gretchen’s high school days, and it focused on a different couple, with Toni and Gretchen as secondary characters. As I was writing it, though, I realized Toni’s story was the one I really wanted to tell—and that meant telling Gretchen’s story, too. As soon as I put them at the center of their own manuscript, I realized What We Left Behind was the book I’d wanted to write all along.

The characters here are searching for a lot of answers—about self-identity, labels, their relationships and so much more. But there aren’t solid answers to pretty much any of the questions being asked here. Was that your intent when you first began writing this book, to present a story that thoughtfully pursues questions that can only be answered on an individual level?
I didn’t set out with that specific intention in mind—it just sort of evolved that way as I got to know the characters and their journeys. When it comes to identity and relationships, though, I definitely think these are questions that everyone has to answer for themselves. I think YA books can be a great place to address that, since a lot of teenagers (and I know I was like this) have a tendency to assume that life is all about finding the right answers to a pre-defined set of questions. I wish that were true—it would make everything a lot simpler!

It’s wonderful to see LGBTQIA+ YA books begin to move away from the typical bully stories (though of course we still have and need those) and present teens growing up surrounded by a bit more acceptance. But perhaps what’s most exciting about this work is its voice for trans and genderqueer teens. What do you consider to be the biggest gaps in LGBTQIA+ fiction, and in what ways do you think the genre needs to evolve?
There are so many amazing books now starring LGBTQIA+ teens, ranging from contemporary romance stories to dystopian epics to way-out-there sci-fi tales. We could definitely still use more representation across the board, though. The number of YA books starring LGBTQIA+ characters still represents a much smaller percentage out of all YA books overall than actual teen demographics would reflect. And there’s a great need for more representation of intersectional identities—characters who are members of more than one marginalized community (for example, disabled gay kids, Latinx trans teens, etc.). We’re also starting to see more and more LGBTQIA+ characters represented in middle grade books, which is fantastic.

Unlike many YA novels, What We Left Behind is set in college. What keeps this book from being considered “new adult,” and why do you think the college setting works so well for this story?
It’s fine with me if readers classify What We Left Behind as new adult, but I don’t usually describe it that way myself. I know a lot of new adult readers are also romance readers, and I wouldn’t want folks to go into What We Left Behind expecting a traditional romance novel—I’d worry they’d be disappointed. (I know how annoyed I get when I’m looking forward to watching what I think will be a funny movie and wind up sitting through a bunch of deadly serious action scenes.)

As for the college setting, What We Left Behind is very much a story about being in a new environment and having the opportunity to reinvent yourself. It’s also about the challenges placed on a relationship when a couple is separated by distance for the first time. And it’s also about the late teen years, when you’re past the initial throes of adolescence and are ready to start really examining yourself and making decisions that will affect your long-term future. So college was definitely the perfect place to put this story.

What would your 18-year-old self have taken away from this book? What do you hope today’s teen readers will take away?
When I was 18, I was so sheltered that I was totally unfamiliar with the concept of gender identity, so I would’ve been blown away by the discussions the characters have throughout What We Left Behind about gender and sexuality. But many of today’s teen readers are much savvier than I was, thanks to the growth of social justice movements as well as the internet and social media. The message I hope readers of all ages take from the book is about the importance of developing independence—of getting to know yourself as an individual and learning what you want, what you need and how that relates to the people around you.

What was your favorite part about writing this book? What was the hardest?
My favorite part was getting to spend time with these characters. Toni and Gretchen are my two favorite characters I’ve ever written. I feel like I know them so well that sometimes I forget I made them up!

The hardest part was getting the language right. The characters in What We Left Behind place a lot of value on language, and rightly so, especially when it comes to things like pronouns and identity labels. I wanted to make sure I weighed decisions about language just as heavily as they did.

What’s one thing most people would be surprised to know about you?
People are always surprised to learn that writing isn’t my only job! I also work full-time at a women’s rights nonprofit organization in Washington, D.C., doing online marketing. Between that and writing, my free time is, shall we say, limited.

What are you working on next?
My next book, As I Descended, is a totally new genre for me. It’s a lesbian retelling of Macbeth set at a haunted Virginia boarding school. It has ghosts, mean girls and a lot of really poor teen decision-making.

Picking up immediately where Red Queen left off, Victoria Aveyard’s Glass Sword throws us right back into the blood-feuding world of Norta, with the Reds and Silvers teetering upon the edge of civil war. With the help of Captain Farley and her Scarlet Guard militia, “little lightning girl” Mare Barrow and the fire-brandishing former prince Cal make a near-death escape from the Silver capital’s Bowl of Bones arena and the manipulative King Maven’s clutches. But they don’t get much rest or respite. The secret list of “newbloods” that Mare holds is the key to tipping the scales of war in their favor, and she must do everything in her power to track them down and save them—before Maven slaughters them all.

As we jet across the world Mare thought she knew so well, we discover a host of newblood characters and their unbelievable new powers that are “neither Red nor Silver, yet stronger than both.” And with each new person she saves, Mare can’t help but remember what she’s sacrificing to save them, and how that weight—and the darkness inside her—is slowly tearing her apart.

We caught up with Aveyard to ask about the success of the Red Queen series, Mare’s struggle to maintain her humanity and the possibility of seeing it all on the silver screen.

You’ve mentioned before that you first drafted Red Queen in the lean year immediately following your graduation from the University of Southern California. What was that year like—both in terms of writing and in making ends meet otherwise? How did it differ from the time you’d spent writing Glass Sword, knowing you’d already signed a deal with HarperTeen?
That was definitely one of the scariest times in my life, and I really hope I never have to repeat it. Of course, moving back home to write a novel turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life, so it’s working out so far. I spent the six months after the move (July to January) writing the first draft of Red Queen. At least, some days I wrote, and some days (OK, weeks), I was totally stuck. I definitely had a moment where I realized I am either going to give up on this book and throw away everything I worked for, or I’m at least going to finish the goddamn thing. Having my dad and my best friend read along while I wrote was actually a great choice. They bugged me for more of the story when I got slow, and helped motivate me to get to the end. After I finished the draft, my parents were still supportive but obviously wanted me to get a job, so I ended up driving kids home from my mom’s middle school for cash during the spring semester. I got both the calls that RQ had been sold to Harper and then the option picked up at Universal when I was returning from carpool.

It’s an odd time to compare to the time spent writing Glass Sword, and now Book 3, especially because RQ was written with no expectation, but also with my back completely against the wall. It’s a bit like a fox and a rabbit: The fox is just running for his dinner, but the rabbit is running for his life. But now I have the added benefit of security, not to mention the knowledge that I’m living and breathing my dream life. It’s a good motivator, but I do have to put the blinders on sometimes. Both times had their separate difficulties, I guess.

Your vivid writing in both books has such a wonderfully cinematic scope. How did your screenwriting background come into play here, and how do you think it distinguishes your story from those of other writers also working in this genre?
I’ve always been a visual storyteller, from my Barbies to my screenplays. Movies were my first love (since I couldn’t exactly read at 2 years old), so the moving image is always in my head when I write, whether the project is a book or a script. Of course, I have the added benefit of a pretty phenomenal screenwriting education from USC. Four years of workshopping has helped me internalize storytelling, so it’s a bit easier to feel where to go. Personally, I work from the classic three act, eight sequence structure, which really helps me craft. I also think the most important skill I picked up in college is the ability to take criticism. Film is a really collaborative industry, so you have to be able to not only take criticism well, but know the difference between good and bad criticism, and also maintain distance enough to critique yourself properly. It makes things a lot easier when an edit letter comes around. It’s not personal, it’s help. It’s a damn cheat sheet on how to make your story better!

From what I’ve found online, you haven’t spoken much about the movie adaptation of your series, either because nothing is concrete yet or the studios are requiring you to remain hush-hush. Nonetheless, rumors have been swirling about a powerhouse lead production team, including actress Elizabeth Banks (Effie Trinket from The Hunger Games), producer Pouya Shahbazian (Divergent film), screenwriter Gennifer Hutchison (Breaking Bad) and studio executive Sara Scott (Universal Pictures). How much does this possibility alone excite you about what else your words may bring to life?
First of all, I am so cautiously excited about this project. I say cautious because I am naturally superstitious and I won’t believe RQ is being adapted until I physically see the credits roll after I watch the film in its entirety. I’m especially pleased that real efforts are being made to include women in key creative positions. It’s no secret Hollywood has a serious problem with gender equality, and I’m honestly so proud that we’re pushing back against it. I’m intrigued to see where things go, and that’s pretty much all I can say on that matter.

For your central character, you’ve crafted the complex and strong female protagonist Mare Barrow. And as we get to know her better, we increasingly see her internal struggle to become herself—whomever that may be—as opposed to what this world is trying to turn her into. In your opinion, what is it about Mare that enables her to maintain her humanity, and what makes her something more?
Mare’s humanity is firmly rooted in her family and the few people she loves. If they didn’t exist, I guarantee she would become a raging monster warlord. And I think that’s true of a lot of people. We are our best selves not for our own sake, but the sake of the people we hold most dear. And what gives Mare her little bit extra? I think her survival instinct and selfish streak definitely helps. It’s a joy to write those pieces where she knows she’s not making the “right” choice but she does it anyway because it makes her feel better or it saves her skin.

Blood relations—and all their awesome and dark implications—reappear throughout as the central theme of the story. How do these echo America’s own (and perhaps the world’s) history with these same and similar race and class divisions? Why were these important to address in your work?
I think it's impossible for anyone who is mildly aware in this day and age to write anything that isn't shadowed by America’s past/present. Personally, I came of age in the post-9/11 world. I moved from a very sheltered town in New England to a vibrant, diverse university in Los Angeles. I’m currently watching Donald Trump lead national polls for president. It’s very strange to live in a nation that is so diverse, and yet so clearly delineated in most communities.

And I’m very much a student of history. That, more than anything, plays into what I write. Red Queen is defined by its divisions, as America, the so-called Great Melting Pot, is and has been since the Virginia Company landed in Jamestown and met the soon-to-be-massacred Powhatan tribe. The blood divisions in Red Queen draw obviously from American divisions of class, race, religion, orientation—but obviously are most paralleled by the horror and genocide that was American slavery, as well as modern-day prejudices against non-heteronormative people and prejudices against Muslims. (Book 3 is drawing a lot from the current conflict with ISIS.)

"The blood divisions in Red Queen draw obviously from American divisions of class, race, religion, orientation—but obviously are most paralleled by the horror and genocide that was American slavery, as well as modern-day prejudices against non-heteronormative people and prejudices against Muslims."

Your series is a beautiful blend of the sci-fi, fantasy and dystopian genres. How did all of these come into play when you were crafting the books’ other main theme—the brewing civil war, and the comingling of trust, betrayal and espionage?
I’m a kitchen-sink writer. I write what I like, and I like lots of stuff, hence lots of stuff goes into the mix. Something that really inspired the fantasy/dystopian mix are all the theories about Middle Earth being pre-modern Earth (subsequently making us a Tolkien dystopia) or that Westeros is a society reforming thousands of years after nuclear apocalypse. That’s rad. So I spun into that a bit myself. As far as sci-fi goes, if I were to identify the technology time period that mirrors Red Queen’s best, I’d probably say 1950s/’60s America. Video cameras exist, planes exist, but not personal computers, etc. And the trust and betrayal stuff just comes from normal human instinct. 

In your Twitter bio, you describe yourself as a “map person,” and as we journey with Mare throughout Glass Sword, we get more and more glimpses of this world beyond Norta, which she never knew existed before. How did you come up with all these lands, and just how big is this world they’re all a part of?
Norta is based on the Northeastern United States. It goes from Washington, D.C., up to Maine and the St. Lawrence River in the north. The world they’re part of is the remnants of North America. There are many other countries currently occupying the continent.

Both of your books introduce us to new casts of characters, each with phenomenal superhuman abilities more amazing than the next. How did you dream up with all the Silvers’ and the newbloods’ powers?
While writing Red Queen, I did a big excel sheet of different superhuman abilities I either found or came up with. Many of them I held back to be used later in “superior” supers. I definitely spent a lot of time on Wikipedia and TV Tropes wrapping my brain around exactly how many variations of superpowers there are.

Of all the new characters we meet in Glass Sword, I think Nanny is my favorite. Who was/were the inspiration(s) that helped to form this loving, joking, shape-shifting character?
Obviously Mystique comes to mind, since they can both change their physical appearance. Although Nanny is not so skilled, and isn’t a nimble warrior. I also love sassy old ladies and feature them whenever I can.

There are countless tales and takes on mutants, further-evolved peoples and superhumans out there. Where does yours fit in the mix, and how does it differ?
I definitely owe most of the credit to X-Men. I guess my spin is putting the superhumans on top instead of the bottom?

What’s next?
Book 3 is currently being written, soon to be followed by Book 4 in the Red Queen series. Those are my first priorities. Afterward, I’m going to the next world I want to jump into!

Author photo credit Stephanie Girard.

Justin Barisich is a freelancer, satirist, poet and performer living in Atlanta. More of his writing can be found at littlewritingman.com.

Becky Albertalli’s debut novel, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, wonderfully captures the nuances of the teenage experience, from seeking identity to finding first love. It’s full of endearing, fully formed characters and trendy pop-culture references, and it scores high for topical relevance. But most importantly, the story of 16-year-old Simon Spier rings so true. Simon has been corresponding with an anonymous gay classmate who calls himself Blue, but these covert conversations may be exposed after Simon forgets to log out of his personal Gmail at the school library. There’s romance here, a mysterious identity, blackmail and Simon’s own confrontation with coming out to friends and family, plus so much more.

What was the first thing that went through your head when you found out you had won the Morris?
I was completely shocked! I think my actual thoughts in that moment were just a bunch of heart-eye emoji. I found out the Saturday before the award ceremony via a call from the (beautiful, wonderful, world’s best) committee, and I burst into tears on the phone. I was—and am—so incredibly grateful.

Who was the one person you couldn’t wait to tell about the award?
Definitely my husband! He’s an engineer and totally removed from the writing committee, but when I was listed as a finalist, he read all about the Morris Award. He knew exactly how special it was to me. We managed not to tell our families, though we sent them the link for the award announcement live stream, and hinted that they should check it out.

Do you have a favorite past Morris winner?
I’m a huge fan of John Corey Whaley, both as an author and a person. He recently interviewed me, and I might have lost my cool just a little when his name appeared in my email inbox.

What’s the best part of writing books for a younger audience?
I love everything about writing YA. I’ve found teens to be so smart, honest, funny and passionate, and I learn so much from my readers daily.

What kind of reaction have you gotten from your readers about this book?
The reaction to Simon has blown me away! I hear from readers often, and it absolutely makes my day every time. A lot of my emails are from LGBTQIAP+ teens who feel connected to Simon. A few people have told me they came out to friends and family after reading the book (which is the greatest honor imaginable). I also get lots of Oreo recipes, fanart, fanfiction and exclamation points. It means the world to me.

What’s next for you?
Right now, I’m working on revisions for my second book, which is expected to release from HarperCollins/Balzer + Bray in 2017. It’s a loose companion book to Simon—same universe but different characters. In the meantime, I’m looking forward to Simon’s fast-approaching release dates in the Netherlands, Germany and a few other countries—and I’m excited for the American paperback edition to come out in June!

Author photo by Decisive Moment Events

Small-town America is no simple thing in Laura Ruby’s novel Bone Gap, winner of the 2016 Printz Award. The author brings the titular town to vivid life through the subtly mystical story of high-school senior Finn O’Sullivan, nicknamed “Moonface” by the townies for his inability to look people in the eye. Finn lives with his older brother, Sean, and the two have become entangled in the life of Roza, the beautiful Polish girl who suddenly appeared in their barn. Delicate myth and magic are sewn through the narrative as cleverly as the best magical realism. We contacted Ruby immediately after she heard the news about her Printz win.

What was the first thing that went through your head when you found out you had won the Printz?
I kept thinking, “I won? I won?” I believe I even said that to the committee when they called. 2015 was a particularly strong year for YA, with so many amazing books published. To have Bone Gap honored in such a year is mind-blowing. Especially since Bone Gap is such an odd book, a book I wasn’t sure would resonate with anyone else.

Who was the one person you couldn’t wait to tell about the award?
I got the call on Sunday afternoon, which meant I had to keep the news to myself till Monday morning. But I’m weird about (good) secrets in that I enjoy keeping them, at least for a little while. I like to turn the news over in head and try to wrap my brain around it before sharing. So, though keeping my mouth shut for nearly 24 hours was a challenge, it was also sort of fun, if that makes any sense.

That said, Bone Gap is dedicated to two people: Anne Ursu, who had faith in my abilities as a writer when I lost all of my own, and my husband, Steve, who knows me like no one else. These were the people I wanted to tell, the people I wanted to celebrate with. After that, it was my editor, Jordan Brown, and my agent, Tina Wexler, who both took a big chance on me and on this book.

“To have Bone Gap honored in such a year is mind-blowing. Especially since Bone Gap is such an odd book, a book I wasn’t sure would resonate with anyone else.”

Do you have a favorite past Printz winner?
Do I have to pick just one?! I adore Gene Luen Yang’s American Born Chinese. The White Darkness by Geraldine McCaughrean is original and spectacular. Jandy Nelson is a brilliant writer, and I love the powerful voices she created in I’ll Give You the Sun. (Just to name a few.)

What’s the best part of writing books for a younger audience?
Kids and teens don’t have the same genre expectations that adults have. That is, you can use elements of many genres in one book, you can write a literary sci-fi thriller ghost story romance if you want, and teens are not necessarily confused or daunted by that the way adults might be. It’s so freeing.

What kind of reaction have you gotten from your readers about this book?
The best part of reader reactions is how different they all are, as different as the readers themselves. Some readers seem to like the dual love stories or the references to myth, some people respond to the magic in the book, other people like the rural setting, and some people just like horses and bees and kittens. I’ve found the positive responses to the feminist themes in Roza’s and Petey’s storylines particularly gratifying.

Have you read or listened to past Printz acceptance speeches? Are you excited (or worried!) about your own speech?
I had the privilege of hearing Jandy Nelson speak in person last year, and she was smart and inspiring. And of course, Libba Bray’s speech was absolutely hilarious as well as full of wisdom. It will be hard to equal either of them, but I’m excited to try.

What’s next for you?
I just got home from a long residency in Minnesota—I’m on the faculty at Hamline University’s MFAC—so the first order of business is getting some sleep and chasing around my new kitten, Fergus. Then, I want to read a stack of books that I haven’t had the chance read before now. But I handed in a new middle-grade novel a couple of months ago, and I’ve got a number of new YA projects cooking, so it won’t be long before I’m itching to write again.

Author photo by Stephen Metro.

Clare Macleod has always paid a bit more attention to the magic around her, “the Strange,” those dreamlike moments that feel as spooky as Halloween. Living with her father in Texas, she did her best to keep this to herself—never mentioning fairy-makings, closing up her creativity so it almost didn’t exist, except for a bit of poetry. But when Clare and her father return to her former home in Ireland, she finds it impossible to ignore the Strange around her. Her house in Skye is part of a fairy road which draws her into a spirit world that only she can protect.

Much of The Radiant Road is about addressing your “true” self, recognizing truth as beauty and seeing that beauty in yourself. What do you think Clare does well in this pursuit? What do you wish you could be better at in your own search for truth?
Thank you for pulling out that thread. I think I mean that in your actions, you’re not just finding but also building your true self—you might call it your soul, the way Jung talks about soul. The place where you’re deep and authentic. And you are building and re-building—making and remaking—all the time. The way in a dream you are choosing and making at every moment.

One thing I love about Clare is how when she makes a terrible mistake, she owns it and then does everything she can to fix it. That’s the harder, better, cooler choice.

Clare is a lot better than I am at learning about to be brave. I still have trouble with that. I do share her stubbornness, which turns out to be a useful substitute for courage sometimes (though of course sometimes it’s the opposite of useful).

You’ve mentioned that the art of Andy Goldsworthy inspired the fairy makings of The Radiant Road. What is it about his art that spoke to you?
Andy Goldsworthy, for anyone who doesn’t know—and if you don’t, go Google him right now and get your mind blown—works with nature. That is, he builds his pieces out of what he finds at natural sites, and then he leaves them there to transform, decay and die with the seasons, just like we do. That helped me think through what might be attractive about Time to the artists of Timeless.

I also like how he works in collaboration with nature, doesn’t bring in a lot of machines and tools to force and bend the world to his will. His way of making is similar to the one the yew is teaching Clare, a kind of focused play with what’s at hand.

Also, though . . . I mean if you ran into a Goldsworthy piece deep in a forest, how would you not think of fairies right away?

Did you find yourself noticing potential “fairy-makings” while writing this book? Did you make your own?
Well I’ve seen a murmuration or two, and they’re extraordinary.

And while otherwise nothing I’ve seen is in the class of Clare’s sightings, there have been many little moments of Strange. Here’s one example. When I was in Ireland, standing at the edge of the lake (the one that became the lake Clare runs across), a swan swam straight up to me, until we were facing each other. She tapped the water with her beak three times, stared at me for a moment, then swam away—leaving behind one lovely, long white feather, which I still have. A swan is big part of my previous book, Summer and Bird, so it felt like a sort of blessing or baton pass from my first book to this new one.

Clare is drawn to the image of a girl running across the sea, “on a path made by moonlight.” This moonlit path was inspired by a book you loved as a child, Maida’s Little Shop. What other books have most influenced this book, and your writing in general? What part of The Radiant Road do you hope will become a part of young readers?
In terms of influences on my writing, Philip Pullman inspired me not only with the beauty and brilliance of his books, but also with the idea that you can (and probably must) write about complex subjects for young people.

I wouldn’t presume to hope bits of my book would stick with readers! And I don’t know how to guess what would. Probably the writer of Maida’s Little Shop would never have guessed that one tiny fragment would stick in someone’s mind so hard and turn up transformed in another book. I love the unpredictability of that.

Many of the descriptions of nature and making were so dreamlike, I felt like I was reading a bedtime story, something to read aloud before falling asleep. Was that your intention?
Not exactly, but that’s extremely lovely! As both a writer and a reader, I am especially drawn to narrative voice, so for good or ill my books usually have a strong voice, I think—something you can hear in your head, if you listen.

When Clare is away from Ireland, she makes an effort to protect the strangeness in herself and not let it be changed too much by the judgment of the world. What childhood strangenesses did you protect in yourself?
I am sure most everyone has that feeling—“I’m the weirdo here”—and I did, too. Like when you’re super excited to tell someone about your new passion, and they look at you blankly—or with a little, baffled laugh: “You are so funny.” (I got that one a lot.) Or worse.

I think that’s why so many teenagers absolutely shut down their creative impulse—it’s just so painful when you hand someone your heart on the page (or in a song or painting or whatever) and they drop it on the floor and walk on. No wonder we protect ourselves. It’s not worth it, though. You honestly get used to the people who don’t like your stuff or the many (MANY) more who just have zero interest. It doesn’t matter. You’re making your self as you make. Keep making.

As Clare ventures further into the fairy world, one of the greatest and most terrifying tasks she must accomplish is to meet her beast, a type of fantastical soul mate. What would your beast be? (You don’t have to tell us—that’s a very personal question!)
It’s a great question, though. I thought about it while writing, and the one thing I felt is that it would come out of the ocean. Wild oceans are always crashing around the outskirts of my dreams. When I was quite small, I had a terrible fear of whales—I think early traumatization by Monstro in Pinocchio. So maybe my beast is a whale. I do think we fear our beasts. I am fascinated with whales now, but if I met one I’m sure I’d be scared breathless.

In her adventure to preserve the connection between human and fairy worlds, Clare ends up carrying a moon in her mouth. In your acknowledgments, you thank your yoga teacher for teaching the practice of having “the moon in your mouth.” What does it mean to have “the moon in your mouth”?
I stole that from a yoga practice sometimes taught by a teacher here in Austin, Steve Ross (whose Scottish accent I also borrowed for Clare’s father—hi Steve! thanks). I was really caught by the image. Part of the practice is that during the asanas, you’re holding this cool moon in your mouth, very gently, your teeth parted to make room for it, your lips closed. And the moon’s cold floods your bones (which doesn’t sound nice here in January, but in August in Austin, it is GREAT). I am not sure what the practice officially intends, but for me it’s that sense of reverently, carefully, holding something sacred, tucked inside you like a nesting egg.

What do you love most about writing for young readers?
You know what, it’s really things like that story above. I can be caught by an image like “hold the moon in your mouth” and follow it through to see what that would actually be like, and why you might do it, and young people will stick with me, whereas many adults would be, “But how could you actually hold the moon in your mouth? That really doesn’t make sense: Are you very large? Or has the moon shrunk? Is the moon no longer in the sky, isn’t there a worldwide uproar about that?” IT’S A STORY Y’ALL, JUST ROLL. Kids will roll.

When you’re not writing novels for young readers, what do you like to do?
Lots of things, but one is acting! I’ve been a stage actor in Austin for decades. It’s terrifying and tremendously liberating. Talk about throwing yourself on the wind and letting it bear you up—yes, every time you step out on stage. I also write plays sometimes. And I love to read, of course. Cook a little. Hike in the woods. I also have a weird talent for and attraction to long, lonely road trips.

What are you working on next?
I’m only partway into a draft, so who knows what may happen. But right now it’s about wilderness. It starts in a little town on the edge of a big Wild, and there’s a girl who is herself a kind of edge between human and Wild.

Dillard Early and his misfit friends, Lydia and Travis, have mixed feelings about their upcoming senior year. Dill grapples with a past that he can’t shake while feeling nervous about what the future holds; Lydia’s excitement and future prospects often lead her to forget what she has in the moment; and Travis is content to escape into the world of his favorite book series. But when loss turns their lives upside down, they must learn to deal with endings they may not be ready for.

With his debut YA novel, The Serpent King, Nashville singer/songwriter Jeff Zentner captures coming of age in the South with understated authenticity. This novel is a personal look at what it means to grow up—and whether or not we choose to let where we come from define us. We spoke with Zentner about hometown roots, music, the importance of literature and much more.

Most of the characters in the novel have something they use as a form of escape. For Dill, it’s music and friends. Lydia has her fashion blog. Travis disappears into a book series called Bloodfall. Was escapism (particularly for teenagers) something you wanted to thematically explore in this book? Why?
Absolutely. I think escapism is very much part of growing up in a small town for anyone who has big dreams and wants to see more of the world.

You use the perspectives of Dill, Lydia and Travis to tell the story. Why did you choose to use multiple perspectives in this particular story? 
Because I wanted to write a book about each of those characters. And being an impatient person, I crammed them all into one story. But I couldn’t let go of each of their points of view. So I gave them each a point of view and got into their heads.

The book deals a lot with family ties, particularly with parents, as well as hometown roots. How important are these things in shaping who we become and who we choose not to be? 
I think place and blood have a huge influence on who we are, if only as an opposing force, like when you try to push two magnets together the wrong way. If there’s one idea I hope The Serpent King conveys, it’s that we are not predestined by virtue of geography or genes.

What was it about your experience with the Tennessee Teen Rock Camp that inspired you to write for young adults? To write The Serpent King?
Working with the amazing teens at Tennessee Teen Rock Camp and Southern Girls Rock Camp showed me how young people cling to the art they love and are willing to wear their hearts on their sleeves and be vulnerable for it. The art you love as a young person is so formative. I wanted to create art for that audience. As for influencing The Serpent King specifically, I would say that volunteering at Rock Camp made me want to write about kids who are creators—musicians, specifically. 

Along with being a writer, you are also a musician. How has that background influenced your writing? Do your creative processes have any similarities? Differences?
I think being a musician taught me to trust my process and my instincts. I know how I work, I know what inspires me, I know the things I’m interested in speaking about through art—all because of music. My creative process for music differs in that I don’t think in longterm narratives. My songs aren’t character-driven. My writing, by contrast, is completely character-driven.

Dill is also a musician. Do you have anything in common with Lydia or Travis? Did you draw from your own personality in the creation of your characters?
I have a lot in common with Lydia and Travis. Lydia’s sense of humor is very much mine. I wrote Lydia as the sort of sassy, spirited daughter I’d hope to have if I ever had a daughter. I’m a huge nerd like Travis; I love the things I love to an insane degree like him. I live in my own imagination a lot, like he does.

Travis is obsessed with a series of books in the novel. Were there any books that heavily affected you as a teenager?
I was pretty into Stephen King as a teenager. I couldn’t get enough of his books. I loved It in particular. Also, Different Seasons really made an impression on me. In my later teen years I started reading Cormac McCarthy and Jim Harrison. If George R.R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire series had existed when I was a teen, I would have been obsessed on a level similar to Travis.

What do you think the importance of literature is to young adults?
I think literature in general teaches empathy, because it requires you to inhabit the consciousness and point of view of someone else. I think empathy is one of the most valuable qualities a person can have.

What’s next for you?
I have a new book coming out in spring 2017. It takes place in Nashville. It’s about a young man coping with grief, guilt and redemption in the wake of the deaths of his three best friends—which he might have caused. And there might even be a cameo appearance from one of the Serpent King crew.

Author photo credit J Hernandez.

Markus Zusak's international bestseller The Book Thief marks its 10th anniversary this year. The milestone is celebrated with a new special edition, containing 32 pages of bonus content including manuscript pages, original sketches, pages from Zusak’s writing notebook and a letter from the author.

Originally published in March 2006, The Book Thief is narrated by the voice of Death, who introduces Liesel Meminger, a foster girl living outside of Munich in 1939. With the help of her foster father, she learns to read and shares her stolen books with her neighbors during bombing raids, as well as with the Jewish man hidden in her basement.

This remarkable book has sold more than 10 million copies worldwide and has received numerous awards, including a Michael L. Printz Honor and the Sydney Taylor Book Award from the Association of Jewish Libraries, which recognizes the best in Jewish children’s literature. It was also released as a major motion picture in 2013 starring Geoffrey Rush and Emily Watson.

We interviewed Zusak in 2006 for the original publication of The Book Thief (read it here), and it's a pleasure to look back with him on the novel's tremendous success.

What has surprised you most about the reaction to The Book Thief?
It’s never changed—it’s that The Book Thief was ever successful at all. I remember when I finished writing it, I thought no one would read it. I then imagined that if someone did read it, and tried to recommend it to someone else, and was asked what it’s about, they’d have to say: “Well, it’s set in Nazi Germany, it’s narrated by Death, nearly everyone dies—oh, and it’s 560 pages long. You’ll love it.” To think that 10 years later it’s still alive is quite amazing to me. I knew it was the best I could write at that time, but I thought it would be my least successful book.

How did having a huge bestseller change the course of your career as a writer?
I think it’s just given me more time, and that’s a great thing in some ways but detrimental in others. I still haven’t finished the next book after The Book Thief, but that might have been the case even if it wasn’t as successful. Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe having a bestselling book changes everything around the writing, but not so much the writing itself. It’s still just you and the open page.

One big difference is that people do know the book a little more—and that’s usually really nice. That said, the better known a book is, the more people you find who don’t like it. One of my favorite Book Thief memories is being baled up at a wedding by a woman who’d had a few drinks. She kept congratulating me on the book’s success but then confessed (several times) that she’d tried to read it and just couldn’t get into it. “And it wasn’t like I didn’t try,” she confided. “I tried several times!” I can’t help laughing even as I tell that story now.

Ten years later, is a character like Liesel still fresh to you? Do you still think about her?
I’m not really a believer in the whimsy of fictional characters talking to writers and that kind of thing. When I finished writing the book I was a complete mess—I loved Liesel and the characters around her so much, but I was relieved that the job was done. I still think about Liesel and Rudy, but I don’t miss them or anything. They’re just these beautiful happy memories of feeling really alive while I was writing them. And they’ll be in those pages always.

Ruta Sepetys often says that she doesn’t know what her books are about until her readers tell her. Are you still getting feedback from readers that changes or challenges your own perception of the book, even after so much time?
For me it’s more the case that you learn about the book as you write it. You learn what needs to stay, what needs to go, and you learn what it’s about thematically. In the case of The Book Thief, it was by chance that Liesel would steal books; I’d started writing a book about a girl stealing books in modern-day Sydney and thought, what if I just put that idea into that book I’m setting in Nazi Germany? The same went for the idea of using Death as narrator. The significance of those things grew in the writing—and more meaning does come through the more you talk about it. These days I’ve realized that The Book Thief is about the stories we read and write, but especially the stories we make.

Often writers (and artists of all types) share the opinion of Paul Valéry that “A poem is never finished; it is only abandoned.” Even J.K. Rowling has looked back and shared regrets about plot points in the Harry Potter series. In your mind, was The Book Thief finished when you completed it?
I feel like writers regret almost everything. If I read an image or a line from that book, I only see what’s wrong with it. It’s like a photo of yourself. At the same time, we start to understand that if we keep working on a book beyond a certain threshold, we’ll begin to damage it. We might make it more perfect, but never more right. I also like the idea of a book ending, and then imagining the characters beyond the pages we’ve just read. That, and it’s the imperfections that drive us toward the next book. Maybe we can right the wrongs of all our past projects in this next one.

Along with the new anniversary edition, how else are you celebrating the 10th anniversary of The Book Thief?
On one hand it’s important to stop and enjoy these moments, because they might never come again. On the other, I won’t be celebrating anything until I’ve finished the book I’ve been working on since The Book Thief came out. Then I can celebrate, which will probably be a lot more family time, and surfing. And starting another book.

Author photo credit Michael Lionstar.

As with her debut YA novel, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, April Genevieve Tucholke once again leaves readers spellbound with Wink Poppy Midnight. The three characters of the book’s title are far from what they seem: Wink, the odd, naive neighbor girl; Poppy, the perfect blonde bully; and Midnight, the sweet boy caught between them. Midnight has long been under Poppy’s spell, until he moves next door to Wink, who whispers fairy tales into his ear and promises him that he’s a hero. But Poppy won’t let Midnight go so easily. Each character reveals their place in this story—but perhaps not in the ways readers expect.

At first, the three main characters seem like they’re from a fairy tale: They’re either very bad or very pure. And yet they’re not so flat as that, and eventually they each reveal more. It can be so easy to put people in boxes. How did you flesh out what could’ve been stock characters?
I’ve never been interested in one-dimensional characters—I always knew Wink, Poppy and Midnight would expand beyond their initial roles as good or bad. I knew they would grow and change as I kept writing, as they became more and more substantial and vivid in my head.

In your opinion, are there any stories (fairy tales, or perhaps just favorite books of yours) where the villain and hero seem to be mismatched or mislabeled?
Well, I’ll use any excuse to bring up a favorite book of mine, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell—it’s filled with mismatched and mislabeled villains and heroes. Jonathan Strange is seemingly the hero, but he’s arrogant and distracted and not a terribly good husband. Norrell, by contrast, seems the villain . . . but his motivations are understandable to any fervent reader—he just wants to be left alone with his books. Susanna Clarke’s novel has what I would call a secret hero, the one nobody suspects, the one who stays in the background until he is needed—the true hero of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is Norrell’s servant, Childermass, though I didn’t fully realize this until I’d read the book the second (or was it the third?) time. Childermass’s heroic qualities are not evident on the first page, or even, necessarily, the last. They hover between the lines, waiting to be discovered by the truly observant.

At one point in the book, Wink says, “Sometimes the only way to fight evil is with evil.” What’s your take on this statement? The book never makes it clear whether she’s right or wrong about this.
My take? I don’t know if Wink is right. But saying this briefly pushes her into the “villain” category, which was my intention.

You know, Woody Allen debates in his movie Match Point whether it’s better to be lucky or good (which in itself was a theme taken from Crime and Punishment, I think). I often struggle with similar philosophical questions . . . and sometimes they pop up in my books.

Poppy could’ve been a very hateful character, but readers will likely end up empathizing with her—or even loving her, as her so-called friends do. Do you always try to search for the deeper cause of a bully?
Most bullies are deeply insecure, or deeply damaged, or both. They deserve the chance to have their story told, and to redeem themselves, just as any other character.

Revenge, justice, love—are these elements present in every story?
Every good story, yes.

Do you often find yourself in the woods? Why do the woods hold such magic for us?
I find myself in the woods on a daily basis—my neighborhood in Bend, Oregon, borders the Deschutes National Forest. For me, the woods are the place where civilization ends . . . a place where magic still exists. I remember reading about the Black Forest in Germany as a teenager, and how its dense trees blotted out the sky and inspired some of the dark fairy tales retold by the Brothers Grimm. Part of me still believes that someday I will wander down a gloomy, unmarked woodland path and stumble upon a cannibalistic witch living in a gingerbread house.

For you, where is the line between magic and reality? Does that change when you’re writing a book?
I think magic and reality are fluid, especially as a child. But we all design our own universes, even as adults. We all decide what we want to believe.

Wink is so strongly influenced by her favorite stories, and one favorite book in particular, that these tales influence her actions in potentially dangerous ways. If you wanted to craft your life story around a novel you loved, what story would you pick?
Great question. Hmm . . . when I was a teenager I would have picked something dramatic like Jane Eyre or Green Mansions or Rebecca or Far from the Madding Crowd. But now? I’d choose an Agatha Christie murder mystery (who wouldn’t want to solve crimes with Miss Marple or Poirot?) or something essentially whimsical and pleasant, like P.G. Wodehouse’s The Inimitable Jeeves or Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat.

As a writer, why do you think you avoid concrete answers? Why do the events in your novels often seem so ambiguous and dreamlike?
My personal experiences have never provided me with concrete answers, so this is reflected in my novels. Life is complicated, with few definitive answers to important questions. I don’t set out to make my books ambiguous or dreamlike, it’s merely an extension of my own reality.

What’s next for you?
I am currently working on a Pan’s Labyrinth-ish middle-grade book, which I am co-writing with a friend. I’m also writing an all-female YA novel set in Scandinavia. And I have, oh, three half-finished other projects as well. I’m a slow writer with more ideas than I could use in four lifetimes—I’m constantly at war with myself.

Sixteen-year-old Maya, daughter of the kingdom’s Raja, has been burdened with a fate foretold in her horoscope, which promises a doomed marriage in her future. Since birth she has faced the terror and contempt of others, but now, due to her father's political tactics, Maya faces a dreaded wedding. She finds herself married to Amar, making her the queen of Akaran—a kingdom full of otherworldly mystery, magic and, when her curiosities consume her, danger.

Roshani Chokshi introduces a world that is culturally diverse and richly dynamic in her debut novel, The Star-Touched Queen. She expertly combines Indian folklore with the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone with stunning ease. Her vivid prose brings to life a high fantasy world that, until now, one could only dream of. We contacted Chokshi to learn more about her debut.

Was it daunting to create such a culturally diverse and complex world? How did you go about piecing it together?
Writing anything is daunting, but constructing TSTQ’s world was actually very fun! Indian mythology hints at multiple worlds, almost as if they’re stacked one atop the other. Like tiers of cake! (Mmm . . . cake.) To piece them together, I drew inspiration from some Western fairy tales about how someone would access the Otherworld (places like Tír na nÓg, Tartarus, etc.) and tried to construct magical rules that would fit with the mythology.  

How has your Filipino and Indian heritage influenced your writing?
My heritage showed me how we’re all telling the same tale. Many Filipino and Indian myths overlap, as do myths and folklore across wide cultural spectrums. My heritage changed how I wrote because I saw, for the first time, that it was natural to explore a familiar tale in a new cultural context. Essentially, I wasn’t doing anything new. It made me feel like I had permission to play around with the fairytales I liked and the heritage I knew.

I was particularly intrigued by the fear of Maya’s shadow in the book. Did that stem from a particular piece of folklore?
Yes! When I was younger I read a story about how the wife of the Sun god (Surya) abandoned him and left her shadow (Chhaya) in her place. I always loved that idea—that somehow your shadow could gain a personality, tear itself from your side and wander off. Or perhaps that trait only belongs to goddesses. Alas.

What is your favorite piece of folklore or myth that went into creating this book?
The tale of Narasimha was my favorite piece of folklore, and also one of my favorite scenes to write in the whole book. I think it’s thematically important because it shows how fate intersects with ambition.

Maya grapples with her foretold fate and destiny. Do these things play a role in your own life? How much control do we think have over our own lives, and can we learn to be the boss of our own fate?
Maya’s name means “illusion,” and I think that’s fitting. How we see things—as beastly or beautiful, painful or painless—pivots on a myriad of intangibles. I couldn’t tell you whether we ever master destiny, or whether we just choose to mold our perspective in a way that sits well with us. There’s something comfortable about the idea of destiny. I grew up with the firm reminder that I couldn’t control the actions of the world, only my reactions. Destiny didn’t factor into that. It was always just what I did with what I had and how I chose to see it. I think Maya is the same way.

Mother Dhina and others treat Maya as a scapegoat for all their misfortunes due to their blind belief in her horoscope. What is the danger of people’s inclination to believe in something unquestionably?
Oh, so many dangers. You may sacrifice love without realizing it. Or worse, go blind and never see the world for all that it wants to be.

Maya refers to marriage as a cage and the other women speak of abuses by their husbands, but it is a tradition they uphold. Particularly in regards to the treatment of women and other minority groups, what is the importance of tradition, and what is the value in breaking it? In upholding it?
Tradition links us to our heritage. I’ve always loved watching my grandparents and family members explain certain rites and ceremonies to me. There’s something very powerful in knowing that a gesture, phrase or prayer has been passed down for years. However, sometimes tradition and dreams clash. You have to make compromises in order to stay true to yourself first and an idea later. In my family, I think we still uphold many of our traditions, but we’ve refitted them to fit who we are today. Much like retelling a favorite fairy tale. We update it to reflect ourselves, not the other way around.

Speaking of, what is the importance of representing diversity in books for young adults? How did you approach this issue in writing The Star-Touched Queen? 
The world is diverse. Books should be, too. I wasn’t consciously thinking about diversity when I wrote TSTQ. I wanted to include the tales I knew growing up. I wanted to portray a heroine who looked like the people I love. And I wanted to show how a journey of self-affirmation and first love is a universal tale. No single culture possesses those stories.

Your writing evokes a sense of magic realism due to its poetic and dreamlike qualities. It made me wonder if any of the inspiration for Maya and her world stemmed from your own dreams. Was this a quality you were aiming for in your style and tone?
Thank you! Unfortunately, my dreams are exceedingly boring. In my last memorable one, I missed my flight and was forced to wander an airport lobby that resembled purgatory. However, I think my natural writing style strays toward the purple-ish and atmospheric, since that’s the kind of prose I enjoy reading the most.

Stories were important to us as we’re growing up, and in The Star-Touched Queen, Maya tells stories to her younger sister. How did the stories you heard as a child inspire this book?
I love this question. To me, it was really important that Maya and Gauri love stories. Stories continue to be hugely instructive and inspirational to me, not just in my writing but in my life. The stories I heard when I was younger taught me the different ways we show strength, how we celebrate our differences, how far we will go for love. The stories I heard inspired me because they gave a framework for situations I hadn’t encountered yet. To quote Neil Gaiman (who I believe is paraphrasing G.K. Chesterton): “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”

What’s next for you?
I just finished my second draft of The Star-Touched Queen companion, and I’m working on a YA fantasy heist tale and a MG horror!

Author photo credit Aman Sharma.

Whether on a book tour or in the pages of a novel, John Corey Whaley’s métier is building connections. So when he had a “complete anxiety breakdown” during the tour for his second young adult novel, Noggin (2014), Whaley knew it was time to write about a subject that he’d wanted to address for a long time: mental illness and his own experience with chronic anxiety. 

“I have the opportunity in my writing to explore this thing about myself that I ignored for a decade, to understand my own anxiety more and help people understand it,” says 32-year-old Whaley (who goes by Corey) in a call to his Southern California home. “It’s also about just being ready to tell my readers this isn’t something to be ashamed of, it’s something you can figure out a way to survive with.”

In Whaley’s third novel, Highly Illogical Behavior, 16-year-old Solomon’s world is bounded by the walls of his house. He’s agoraphobic and has been living indoors since middle school, when his anxiety and panic attacks culminated in his submerging himself in a fountain in front of his school. 

Sol doesn’t see his current reality—taking classes online, limiting his exposure to stressors, relying on his supportive and kind parents—as anything negative or even unusual. After all, he reasons, “All he was doing was living instead of dying. Some people get cancer. Some people get crazy. Nobody tries to take the chemo away.”

If you’re Lisa Praytor, though, you try to leverage Sol’s life into material for your college essay. Lisa desperately wants to escape Upland, California, and she views Sol as her ticket out: cure him, write an essay about it, get into college, get out of town. She knows it’s an unethical plan at best, so she doesn’t share the details with her boyfriend, Clark, right away. What could go wrong, anyway?

Of course things go wrong, but in a way that’s nuanced and affecting. For one thing, Sol is aware that he’s not like his peers, but he also accepts himself in a way that’s refreshing and appealing. He’s initially skeptical about Lisa and Clark but is open to beginning a friendship. And he’s kind to and respectful of his grandma and parents, who offer him unstinting support and frank conversations.

“There are lots of bad parents in YA, so it’s important for me to show that there are good parents that exist,” says Whaley, who considers himself lucky for his own parental lot. “Any writer is still going from those original sources of pain or inspiration or even love.”

Whaley’s debut novel, Where Things Come Back, was a 2012 Printz Award winner, and Time magazine named it one of the Best YA Books of All Time. His second book, Noggin, was a National Book Award finalist, and he’s the first YA author named to the National Book Foundation’s “5 Under 35” list. Despite his success, Whaley isn’t quite accustomed to his life as an author.

“It’s so strange and surreal, still,” he says. “My third book’s about to come out, but it still feels like it’s 10 years ago: I’m just out of college in Louisiana, and I’m going to be a schoolteacher for five years. Half my brain is still back there because it’s all happened so fast. It’s overwhelming.”

Although Whaley says he “hated being a teacher,” those five years of teaching sixth- through 12th-graders gave him as much confidence for touring as it did fodder for writing. He immensely enjoys visiting bookstores, industry conventions and schools, where “I get to do my favorite part of being a teacher—talking [to students] about their lives, stories, the world, with no expectations attached. . . . It’s very powerful and meaningful to get to interact with teenagers. Their stories are the way I still try to understand the world.”

That translates nicely to Highly Illogical Behavior: Sol, Lisa and Clark spend lots of time sitting and talking or playing games, but connections grow, issues are gradually faced, and ultimately, motivations and deeper feelings are revealed, from Lisa’s need for escape (and its parallels to Sol’s situation) to what it means—and what it takes—to love someone. These revelations are sometimes explosive, sometimes much quieter, but their discussions always feel true and real, whether it’s some dawning comprehension or the details of a particular “Star Trek: The Next Generation” episode. 

Whaley, a “Star Trek” fan since childhood, notes, “Art inspires art, and things like pop culture references or board games can seem silly on the surface, but they’re things people find solace in, and comfort and connection.”

That’s just one of the many ways that Whaley creates connections—sometimes straightforward, sometimes complex, always worthwhile—in Highly Illogical Behavior. And as we learn from Lisa, Clark and Sol, reaching out is all it takes. 

“We’re all so much alike,” Whaley says. “You can forget that when you start growing up, but [many teenagers] have so much more clarity of thought than a lot of adults I know, if you just have a conversation with them.”

This article was originally published in the May 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.