Julie Buxbaum’s new YA novel balances a story of first love with a look at the ripple effects of 9/11 for today’s teens.

Hope and Other Punchlines is a sweet and funny romance set at a summer camp. But its main characters—unlikely camp counselors Abbi and Noah—happen to live in a New Jersey town that lost dozens of its residents on September 11, 2001.

And even though that tragedy happened nearly 16 years before the events in Buxbaum’s novel, their community still lives in its shadow. Seventeen-year-old Abbi definitely feels like she can’t move past it. Although she can’t remember it, she became a symbol of hope after a photo of her as a baby being rescued from the World Trade Center day care became famous around the world. Abbi’s fellow camp counselor, Noah, is an aspiring journalist and political comedian, and he wants to interview all of the survivors captured in the iconic picture of Abbi—but he may have his own personal reasons linked to the tragedy for doing so.

We caught up with Buxbaum by phone from her home in California to ask her what it was like to write a 9/11 novel for a generation that wasn’t even born when it happened.

OK, I have to ask: Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I was in Boston in law school. And my husband—who was my boyfriend at the time—was in London, and he’s the one who called me and told me to turn on the television. And it was this moment when the world suddenly shifted: We were in one world that morning and a completely different world when we went to bed that night.

These memories are so vivid for those of us who were old enough. Was it strange to realize that by writing a novel about 9/11, even one that’s essentially set in the present, you were writing about something that today’s kids learn about from history books? 
That was the entire purpose of writing this book. It was born out of a tweet written by a teen I really admire. She always has really smart things to say, but in this tweet, she was basically complaining about having to learn about 9/11 every year on the anniversary. When I saw her tweet, I burst into tears, and it occurred to me that although those events seem to me like they happened yesterday, my readers were babies or not yet even born. It’s ancient history to them. So I wanted to find a way to make 9/11 accessible and digestible to this generation, for whom 9/11 feels like what Pearl Harbor feels like to me.

Writing a character like Noah, who’s an aspiring comedian, is a good way to inject some
humor into what could otherwise be a bleak story. Was it hard for you to balance the funny and tragic parts of your novel?
It was hard, but one of my goals for the book was to make people laugh, not just to make them cry—and sometimes both in the same paragraph. I find that in real life, people can be funniest in their darkest moments. It’s a way that we can cope with those difficult times. So I wanted to explore that in the book. And more importantly, I wanted to make a statement about how we use comedy to endure pain.

What were you trying to explore about memory and what we remember, and why?
I lost my mom quite young, which is something I return to again and again in my fiction. But one of the things that I think about constantly is about how a big loss can feel so traumatic, but over time we lose our memories of the small moments that make up our days. Memory—what we lose and what we retain—haunts me and is a theme I return to repeatedly in my writing and in my life, especially my life as a parent.

I had heard about the pretty terrible rate of sickness and death that persists among people who were at the World Trade Center site, but I really hadn’t understood the extent of it. Why did you decide to work this health issue into the novel?
I think it’s really important for people to remember, especially since it’s not consistently covered in the media. This is one of those tragedies that has reverberated around the globe in countless political ways, but the actual explosion and its aftermath continues to perpetuate sickness and death among survivors—there are thousands of types of cancers directly linked to 9/11 exposure. And I worry that because we don’t talk about it, people just don’t know. There’s this feeling that we have moved on, but those who are still coping with the physical or emotional effects can’t move on.

Your characters model different ways of coping with trauma and grief. What do you want readers to take away from their resilience?
I think everyone processes loss and trauma differently, but it’s all hugely damaging. And it’s interesting to think how lives change course as a result of those defining moments. In some cases, they propel us forward, and in other cases, they propel us backward. Losing my mom was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but I also think it changed who I am as a person—partly in some wonderful, miraculous ways. I would trade anything to go back and have it be different, of course, but I can’t discount that I am who I am because of those experiences. 

Brittney Morris’ Slay is a bold, timely and hard-hitting young adult novel about 17-year-old Kiera Johnson, the creator and developer of SLAY, an online video game for black individuals. Slay follows Kiera’s journey toward self-discovery and acceptance as she struggles to keep the SLAY universe alive amid violence, criticism and hatred from the outside world. We reached out to Morris to discuss her inspiration for Slay, the importance of representation and the role Black Panther played in the creation of her debut novel.

What inspired you to create the world of SLAY, an online video game wherein black players are able to duel, communicate and connect?
I was inspired to write Slay after seeing Black Panther on opening night. The minute I left the theater, I was wishing someone would create a Wakanda Simulator video game. Since I’ve never programmed a video game before, I thought writing a book about one would be the next best thing!

Can you tell us more about why Black Panther was so inspiring?
Sure! Walking into that theater was my first experience walking into a room full of Black people and feeling total unconditional acceptance, regardless of the music I’d heard, how I was dressed, how I spoke or whatever other impossible criteria I’d inflicted on myself before allowing myself to feel “Black enough.” I knew the minute I left Wakanda that I had to go back. So I came up with the idea of a girl who gets to go to “Wakanda” whenever she wants, and thus, Slay was born!

What advice would you give to readers who, like Kiera, are struggling to balance their identity and societal expectations?
Question anyone who tries to tell you what your identity should mean, whatever it is. Black, gay, transgender, disabled, whatever. You are in the driver’s seat. You decide what to include in your identity and what not to. If you’re Black but you’ve never seen Coming to America, don’t feel like you have to (but consider it, because it’s objectively hilarious). Societal expectations often stem from stereotypes. Don’t be afraid to not fit them. And surround yourself (online or in real life) with people who support your existence, however you present it.

How is representation important in YA lit, and how do you tackle the issue of representation as a writer?
Representation is important for all ages, but it’s especially important for kids and teens as they absorb the world’s expectations. The majority of my childhood heroes were cishet, white, neurotypical, able-bodied men, so that’s what I thought a “hero” looked like. I knew I wanted Slay to be about Black experiences worldwide, and how we’re all heroes of our own stories, and I couldn’t do that without intersectionality. Slay includes people of several genders, skin tones, languages, family structures and socioeconomic circumstances, because all of those things impact one’s own definition of Blackness.

Kiera also has problems connecting with her parents and her younger sister, Steph. Why did you choose to focus so heavily on the development of Kiera’s relationship with her family?
As a Black woman, I come from a lineage of wisdom and resilience. The political climate in which American Black people operate has changed each and every decade, so every generation has a vastly different frame of reference for what it means to be Black. I wanted to capture those intergenerational differences between Kiera and her parents. Charles and Lorette come from a generation in which code-switching was not only the norm in professional spaces but also expected of them, lest they miss out on employment opportunities, etc. They want Kiera to have the best chance at success, so logically that means encouraging her to bury any trace of slang, wear new and clean clothes and not be too loud. But Kiera defines success differently, and she believes there’s room in her honors-student way of life for a little AAVE [African American Vernacular English]. Kiera’s sister, Steph, on the other hand, sees their parents’ conservative outlook and high-tails it in the opposite direction, asserting that it’s high time Black people demanded equality and respect and operated unafraid to take up space. It’s possible for Kiera, Steph and her parents to exist in the same loving household, even with such fundamental differences between them, and I wanted to show how such a balance could be functional and healthy.
 

In the world of SLAY, players are able to connect with other Black individuals from all around the world. What do you think Kiera and other SLAY players are able to gain from this global connection?
As an American kid, I used to think all Black people lived in either Africa or America, depending on whether our ancestors had been kidnapped by slavers or not. (How fascinating an echo chamber the American education system is.) I think if SLAY existed when I was a kid, someplace where I could’ve been in chat rooms or MMOs with Black people worldwide, I would’ve realized how prolific we are, how varied our experiences and how there’s a place for me among them.

"Societal expectations often stem from stereotypes. Don’t be afraid to not fit them."

How do current events affect or inspire your writing, if at all?
Every time #SayTheirName trends and every time there’s another “Barbecue Becky,” I get inspired to write about our experiences all over again. If people can’t understand when we say that police presence is terrifying, or that shows like “When They See Us” need to come with trigger warnings or that white people who call the police unnecessarily are as dangerous to us as murderers, maybe they’ll understand if they see a story like that playing out in a virtual landscape, or in a speculative contemporary world with superpowers and access to the ancestral plane. Maybe they’ll believe fiction. And maybe Black people will enjoy the relief of having our stories and history told through a different lens than pain and unrequited patience every Black History Month.

In SLAY, players are able to create and customize their own video game characters with names, unique clothing and physical characteristics. If you were a SLAY player, what would your character look like?
First, I’d be 5’8”, because my real-life self is 5’2” and I’m still not over it. Second, I’d have a twist-out down to my waist, because who doesn’t want waist-length natural hair that NEVER requires detangling? A mermaid tail would be tempting, but I’d also want to wear a huge ball gown, and those aren’t really compatible. But then I’d also want to be a Black samurai with white body paint. I don’t know, I’d be that person with an inventory that’s 90% clothing, 5% weapons and 5% crafting materials. I’d be someone different every day.

In many ways, this book is the story of Kiera’s personal growth and journey toward self-discovery. In what ways did your personal story and teenage years affect your writing?
I’ve always loved video games, and I’ve always felt overwhelmed by the weight of what the world expects me to be as a Black woman. Kiera’s journey to figuring out what Blackness means for her closely resembles my own. I think as teens, it’s already tough figuring out what the world expects from you, and if you’re Black, there’s a whole new world of expectations, with centuries of arguments behind every one. So I thought, why not explore what it means to be Black, what it means to weigh the expectations of family, friends, “woke” people that you trust and your own beliefs about it, via something fun? Like video games!

What are you working on next?
Being a Black teen in America today means living with the threat of future violence in police brutality and the school-to-prison pipeline, and living in the shadow of a past full of oppression and pain, while somehow navigating the present. My next project explores the life of just one teen living under these circumstances and how he handles the societal pressures placed on Black men, especially teenage Black men. I’m very excited about it!

This interview was conducted by BookPage and sponsored by Simon Pulse. All editorial views are those of BookPage alone and reflect our policy of editorial independence and impartiality.

Young adult author Rafi Mittlefehldt’s sophomore novel, What Makes Us, is a thoughtful portrayal of a teen grappling with a terrible family secret: His father might have been a terrorist. Exploring themes of identity, justice and forgiveness, the book isn’t afraid to ask difficult questions without easy answers. BookPage asked Mittlefehldt to reveal his real-life inspirations, explore some of the choices he made while writing such a weighty story and share the hopes he has for his new book.

Did any recent events affect What Makes Us as you wrote it?
I started plotting and writing What Makes Us in 2015. The election of Donald Trump affected everything, this book included. Some of that is pretty unambiguous—the people in the book wearing MAGA hats who want Eran and his mother to leave town—but some of the effect was more indirect.

Early in the book, Eran, a social justice advocate, leads a small protest in his community over a local policy that would allow police to hand out more speeding tickets. I wrote it to be a minor issue because the protest itself isn’t central to the plot, and I didn’t want it to overshadow what happens next. But the context around protests and social justice has changed dramatically in the last few years, along with people’s appetites for reading about them, and in a very specific light. A protest about something that small feels quaint now, and it won’t surprise me if that affects how people read this book.

"Seeing yourself in stories confirms your own reality—that there are other people like you, and that people like you matter."

More personal to me are the changes I made to subsequent drafts to make What Makes Us more Jewish. I’m both gay and Jewish, but for me at least, my Jewish identity has always been clearly secondary to my gay identity. Post-Trump, that’s shifted a bit. There’s been an enormous increase in anti-Semitism—primarily violence from the far-right but also casual anti-Semitism among progressives—which has made me more focused on and vocal about Jewish issues. That found its way into the story.

The aftermaths of violent attacks have many aspects to think about and examine. Why did you choose to focus on the family of the perpetrator?
There was an article shortly after the Boston Marathon bombing of 2013 that mentioned in passing the toddler daughter of one of the perpetrators. It was a little disquieting to consider that she was too young to understand what had happened, which then begged the question: When would she find out? And how would she process being connected to a tragedy she had nothing to do with and wouldn’t even know about for years? People rarely think about violent criminals’ family members, who have no involvement in such attacks, whose names are a constant link to and reminder of horrible acts someone else permanently connected to them.

You often describe Eran’s relationships with his friends and peers throughout the novel. How are those relationships important as Eran struggles to understand himself and his family legacy?

As the story goes on, Eran becomes more and more isolated. Most of that comes from external forces, but some is self-inflicted. The people close to him, especially Jade and Declan but also his mother, are really his only means to interface with the world and still feel a part of it. They’re a way for him to be connected when he feels most cut off.

More importantly, they ground him during his increasingly frantic worries about who he actually is. They’re a link to the identity he always thought he had—something tangible to grasp onto when he questions his own sense of self.

What Makes Us features a highly diverse cast of characters of different races, religions and sexual orientations. Is representation a priority for you in writing?
Halfway through drafting my first book, It Looks Like This, I realized I was writing all my characters as white and all my main characters as white men. Even though I’ve always cared about representation and believed in its importance, I was still unthinkingly defaulting to white men. It was pretty humbling but also instructional—a moment that made me understand that writing representation is not a passive activity, but something I have to actively think about each time. Even when you know this, it’s embarrassingly easy to mess it up.

I didn’t see a lot of Jews in books when I was a teen. The two gay characters I can remember encountering were written to be punchlines. As I grew older and more gay characters started popping up, I got my first glimpse at what I’d been missing out on. Seeing yourself in stories confirms your own reality—that there are other people like you, and that people like you matter. Why wouldn’t that also be important to people who don’t share your identity?

Eran and Jade are teenagers passionately fighting for social justice and equality, while simultaneously wrestling with their own identities. Did you borrow any inspiration for their characters from your own teenage years?
I wish I could say a lot. Eran and Jade both embody qualities that I wish I had more of. I wish I had Eran’s self-confidence and drive and daring and maybe even a little of his manic energy. I wish I had more of Jade’s remarkable self-control and problem-solving nature and durability and intelligence.

Maybe I do now, but I especially wish I had, in high school, their awareness of the world around them and what really matters. That didn’t really start to hit me until college, and it was a fairly slow burn from there.

A large part of What Makes Us is told from the point of view of Jade, a friend of Eran’s, as she grapples with her own family’s history. Why did you decide to focus on Jade as a character? What does her story bring to the novel?
Part of that is logistical: Since Eran is sequestered in his house for a good chunk of the story, Jade is a way to see what’s happening on the outside—but through a voice that provides a calming break from Eran’s frenzied internal dialogue.

But Jade also has her own story that in many ways parallels Eran’s. The similarities between them help her better process her struggles with identity and cope with a long-withheld family secret coming to light, and they give her a frame of reference to help Eran.

Another significant character in the novel is Mr. Riskin, one of Eran’s teachers, who comes under fire after the protest for his willingness to facilitate controversial conversations. What is the importance of education in the novel, specifically as it pertains to social justice and equality?
I love Mr. Riskin because he’s able to play devil’s advocate to Eran so well. The points he brings up in class discussions aren’t necessarily his own views; he just believes strongly in exploring every corner of an issue thoughtfully but dispassionately. Eran is all about jumping headfirst into action, but Mr. Riskin always wants to stop and talk about nuance. It’s an annoying but important lesson to learn, particularly in the context of social justice, and especially as social media becomes a more dominant form of expression and protest.

Eran begins to understand this—even if he doesn’t articulate it or connect it to Mr. Riskin’s discussions—when he confides in Jade about the performative side of Twitter. On some level, he’s starting to understand that lots of people use activism as a way to increase their social status. Even though what they say sounds right and ticks all the boxes, it’s not social justice, it’s self-serving.

You include frequent interludes from Eran’s mother’s perspective. What do you hope readers take away from her side of the story?
I’m very interested to see what readers make of her. I see her as someone who makes a major sacrifice, but in a frankly stupid way. I find stories about parents’ hidden sacrifices fascinating—things that, to the child, look selfish or thoughtless but in reality were done in the child’s best interest. Sometimes the sacrifice parents make is that their actions, even if they do what’s best for their children, destroy the relationship between them.

Then again, sometimes parents think what they’re doing is right, but they’re way off. Maybe their intent was good, but all they ended up doing was harming their children, and they sacrificed that relationship for nothing. And in that case, how much does intent matter? Does it make a terrible impact forgivable?

Eema’s interludes are meant to show what happened through her eyes, so the reader can, at the very least, fully understand her intent. Then the reader can decide what her impact was, and how wrong or right she was.

Though often not as drastic as Eran’s situation, many young people struggle to accept their parents’ actions and beliefs when they differ from their own. What message do you hope What Makes Us sends to readers in these situations?
This ties in to the question above. Parents often do things that seem wrong to their kids but are actually right. Since parents are also human, they’re also constantly making their own mistakes. It can be extremely difficult for a teen to differentiate between the two, especially when they’re emotionally invested, and especially because of the deferential relationships most kids have with their parents.

A good rule of thumb is to think about harm versus good. When a parent’s actions hurt, it’s easy to be preoccupied with that harm. But at least give them the courtesy of considering their reasons and why they think it’s good for you. Does the good outweigh the bad?

If it doesn’t, consider their intent, too. If their reasoning is flawed or even totally wrong, is it at least coming from a good place? Are they genuinely trying to do the right thing but messing up? How would you want someone else judging your actions, especially when you make a mistake—by your intent or by your impact?

That doesn’t mean what they’ve done is forgivable, necessarily. For some people and in some circumstances, the distinction between impact and intent is meaningless. But it might make a parent’s actions more understandable, as long as they are actually putting their child first.

This interview was conducted by BookPage and sponsored by Candlewick. All editorial views are those of BookPage alone and reflect our policy of editorial independence and impartiality.

Debut YA novelist and boxing champion Sarah Deming on writing, fighting and the will to win

The acknowledgments at the end of Sarah Deming’s new YA novel, Gravity, are six pages long. The author thanks boxers—women she fought on her road to becoming a New York Golden Gloves champion—as well as trainers, students, gym owners, fellow boxing journalists, editors, her agent and publisher, family, friends and her husband. It’s a lovely testament to the veritable village that underlies Deming’s experience of boxing, writing, publishing and living a life. 

“I’m really grateful,” she tells BookPage in a call to her Brooklyn home. “If you’re telling a story not just for your own ego’s sake but for a lot of people . . . people will help you along, and it’s not as lonely, not as hard.”

The value of such encouragement is an ever-present theme in Gravity, a thrilling, moving story about a Dominican Jewish girl who boxes her way to a better life. It’s the culmination of Deming’s 20-some years in the world of boxing as a competitor, reporter and coach.

Gravity Delgado began training at 12 years old at a boxing gym in a rough area of Brooklyn. By 16, she’s a Golden Gloves champion angling for a spot on the 2016 Summer Olympics team. Her desire burns brightly as she runs miles in a plastic suit, protects her little brother from their abusive, alcoholic mother and wonders if her father (who abandoned the family when she was 8) thinks about her, too.

The gym that’s long been Deming’s boxing home inspired Gravity’s gym, but the author says she doesn’t miss competing. “Oh God, no. It was so hard! It’s for young people. I’m happy to be around it, but it’s a grueling sport.” 

She now channels her energy into coaching and writing. Deming says, “I’ve always had a lot of drive and been really competitive, really hard on myself. The years when I was boxing, it gave me an external focus for that. . . . I was really living in my aggression.”

Deming felt strongly about capturing how, in order to succeed, boxers must be comfortable with (enjoy, even) competition and full contact. In writing Gravity, she says, “I wanted to give kids, especially girls, permission to be hungry and driven. . . . I wanted to give a portrait that would be aspirational for young women, and I really hoped it would be accessible for people who don’t know anything about boxing.” 

Gravity is indeed those things. Gravity is talented and determined, and while she must be intensely focused if she wants to make it to the Olympics, she also works to balance friendship and sport, being a sister and being a boxer. She makes mistakes, of course, and readers who’ve faced similar tensions will empathize with her lessons learned.

When it comes to the boxing elements of the book, Gravity is exciting and suspenseful. The road to Rio for the young boxers at Gravity’s gym is artfully described via intermittent news dispatches from a boxing journalist, compelling blow-by-blow descriptions of various bouts and vignettes that amp up the suspense, such as a will-they-make-weight-or-not scene that will leave readers chuckling and a bit grossed out. (“Spitting was my favorite way to make weight,” Deming says.) 

The author says she’s experienced the same inner conflict Gravity does when fighting against her friends, or when playfully chatting with an opponent one minute and whaling on them the next. “A rival is a very powerful thing,” she says. “I wanted to show that relationship, and that [Gravity and her friends] could strive against each other. You can see things in your friends that you don’t like and want to react against that and do better than them, but at the end of the day still care about each other.”

That’s a battle fought within, something each boxer must come to terms with in their own way. “The real message,” Deming says, “is that your true competition is with yourself. As a writer, I always try to remember that. I should feel abundant, that there’s enough success in the world for everyone. I’m in competition with myself, and nobody else can write the book I want to write.” 

Ultimately, she says, “Gravity is everything I had to say about boxing.  It’s my love song to boxing, warts and all.” 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Gravity.

Author photo by Gordon Erikson.

Jennieke Cohen’s debut YA novel, Dangerous Alliance, is a delightful Austen-inspired Regency romp. When Lady Victoria Aston finds herself in swift need of a husband, she enters the London social season armed only with her wits and the examples set by Austen’s heroines. We asked Cohen to dish about Austenalia, Regency research and whether she thinks dating has changed all that much since the ball at Netherfield.

Your heroine, Victoria, has a deep affection for the work of Jane Austen. She turns to Austen’s novels in pivotal moments of the story for inspiration and advice about what she should do or how she should approach a situation. I have to make a confession: I’ve never read a Jane Austen novel (though I’ve seen a number of film and TV adaptations). Which Austen novel would you recommend to someone who finishes Dangerous Alliance and wants to pick one up, and why?
I personally think Pride and Prejudice is a perfect first foray into Austen. Elizabeth Bennet, her family, Mr. Darcy and all the antagonists jump off the page; the plot is entertaining and doesn’t meander; and the language feels slightly easier to get a handle on. I also really find Northanger Abbey enormously entertaining—Dangerous Alliance is the antithesis of Northanger’s plot in many ways—and it’s a much quicker read than many of Austen’s novels, but I’m not sure if it’s the best to start readers on unless they have some knowledge of the time period. Of course, if people have read Dangerous Alliance first, I hope they’ll come away with enough of an understanding that Northanger will end up being something they can appreciate, too!

I was struck by how well you captured the strict rules of decorum for social interactions between men and women during this period—the need for escorts, the way every glance and phrase could be so loaded with significance and so on. Do you think “courtship” has changed in the two centuries since Dangerous Alliance, or have old rules just been exchanged for new ones?
In many respects, dating has changed significantly in many Western cultures—though, of course, there are still many societies throughout the world today where the type of courtship that existed in England 200 years ago is still essentially in effect. But even in the secular, mainstream world I live in and grew up in, dating in high school can be very much like what I’ve detailed in the book. As a teenager, though you may have more freedom than you did as a child, you generally can’t go wherever you want, whenever you want. You often have a chaperone present (e.g., parents, siblings, teachers, friends), whether you want one or not. When you’re that age, you can certainly feel like every look or tiny thing a person says to you is imbued with meaning (whether the other person meant anything or not). So in many ways, things haven’t changed all that much!

I personally think Pride and Prejudice is a perfect first foray into Austen.

This book seems like it required quite a bit of research. You capture and incorporate not only large, important elements from the time (the legality of divorce, issues of class and economics) but also details of daily life (the food! the clothes! the music! the horses!). Will you geek out on your research process for a bit?
Luckily, there are abundant sources about Georgian England and the Regency period (when King George III went mad and the government named his son, Prince George, the regent or acting king). Oddly though, the generally accepted view about life in the Regency era and a lot of the information on the internet stem from novels written in the 20th century. For example, the myth exists that a woman was permanently stuck in an awful marriage, and this makes up a good many plots of Regency-set novels. When I first started writing Dangerous Alliance, I was told by many Regency writers in no uncertain terms that divorce was virtually unheard of and I should rework my concept. So I went looking for ways I could accurately make it happen. I started with secondary sources written by well-respected historians and found one who had catalogued numerous extant court documents about real divorce cases in the 18th and 19th centuries.

It felt a bit like kismet when I found it! Not only did divorce happen in many different ways, it happened far more often than I’d expected. I set about trying to portray the process accurately but not with so much detail that it slowed down the narrative. I also traveled to England to visit the places I’ve described in the book (those that still exist anyway!) because I do think it’s nearly impossible to portray a place’s unique atmosphere unless you’ve experienced it. Generally, I consulted primary sources whenever I wanted a detail to enhance the world, and yes, I’ve cooked some Regency recipes, played and sung some of Jane Austen’s favorite musical pieces, strolled through Solothurn’s oldest hotel and cantered on a horse through the New Forest. Sometimes I honestly think research is the best part of writing a book!

The book contains two very rich sibling relationships, between Victoria and her sister, Althea, and between Victoria’s childhood friend Tom and his brother, Charles. What roles do Althea and Charles play in their siblings’ lives, and how do they influence the journeys Victoria and Tom take in this story?
I firmly believe that siblings play huge roles in any person’s life—whether for better or worse, or even somewhere in between. Althea is very much Vicky’s role model. When Althea returns home as the victim of domestic violence, the fact that she can’t discuss what she went through or how she got there is something Vicky can’t understand. All Vicky knows is that she wants justice for Althea, but to get Althea a divorce and protect their home, the family realizes that Vicky has to get married and somehow avoid an equal cad in the process. Since Althea is scared and resentful, Vicky must make decisions without her older sister’s input, which, to a large degree, factors into Vicky growing up and coming into her own.

Tom’s brother, Charles, is also bitter about having been left to handle his parents alone when their father sent Tom away. As a result, when Tom returns after their father’s death, Charles feels he has little incentive to help Tom. This also means that Tom has to learn how to operate on his own in a society he doesn’t completely understand, which in turn leads him to rely on his old friendship with Vicky more than he would have.

Parents play important (though very different) roles in both Victoria’s and Tom’s lives, which stands somewhat in contrast to many YA novels. I was especially intrigued by the frank relationship between Victoria and her parents. Would this relationship have been typical for the period? Can you talk about the choices you made in crafting the relationship?
I don’t know if I can speak to how typical Vicky’s relationship with her parents would have been back then, as these types of familial details aren’t always recorded. From the primary sources I’ve read, I think Vicky’s family would probably have been unique. I do believe there were plenty of instances in which parents gave their daughters as much free reign to act as they liked, just as some parents do today. The Dashwood sisters in Sense and Sensibility and the Bertram girls in Mansfield Park are more or less indulged and left to their own devices. Do any of them talk to their parents as frankly as Vicky does? I would argue that Marianne Dashwood is similarly communicative. For me, it was important for Vicky to have a healthy relationship with her parents because, although there are plenty of bad teenager/parent relationships in this world, there are also so many good ones, and these are less typically portrayed in YA fiction.

I’ve cooked some Regency recipes, played and sung some of Jane Austen’s favorite musical pieces, strolled through Solothurn’s oldest hotel and cantered on a horse through the New Forest. Sometimes I honestly think research is the best part of writing a book!

The specter of abuse haunts this book. Your tone stays light, but the emotional and physical abuse committed by characters in Victoria’s and Tom’s lives shape their circumstances at the novel’s beginning and their paths over the course of the book. Was this something you set out to include as you began writing? What kind of work did you do to incorporate it into the story?
It was something I wanted to include because it happened a lot then, and it happens a lot now. I have both friends and relatives who have lived through domestic violence and come out the other side. I’m heartened that in this post-#MeToo time, some of the stigma around talking about assault of all types has broken down to a degree. The truth is that abuse can derail people’s lives in so many ways, and like any societal disease, people need to be educated at a young age about the warning signs and what to do if you find yourself in a bad situation.

At the beginning of the novel, Victoria is tasked with finding a suitable husband by the end of the London social season. Over the course of the story, she considers quite a few options, some with considerable appeal to her and to readers. Without giving away any spoilers, did Victoria’s story always end the way it does now?
Though some of the details about certain characters have changed from draft to draft, I have to admit that Vicky’s story (in regards to her “options”) did always end the way it does now. For me, it was always the most satisfying way to go.

As Victoria accepts a number of social invitations in the interest of getting to know her potential suitors better, she goes on what we might now characterize as some astonishingly bad dates. They are, frankly, cringe-inducing to read—but all in such unique ways! Talk about your inspirations for those dates. Are any of them drawn from personal experience or borrowed from the experiences of friends?
Ha! I’m so glad they read as cringe-inducing as I’d hoped. I spent a good amount of time brainstorming ideas for blind dates that I would find awful. I tried to pick the ones that would translate well to the 1800s and not be so innately serious that I couldn’t inject some humor into the interactions. I think everyone has encountered someone with habits they find revolting, which is never great—but it’s got to be worse when it’s someone they’re set up with!

Victoria and Jane Austen are, briefly, contemporaries. If Victoria could have met Miss Austen and asked her a question about her work, what do you think she’d ask? What would you ask?
Vicky would probably ask why Fanny Price, the protagonist of Mansfield Park, rarely takes any action in her own story. The historian and fan in me would like to ask Jane Austen which of her characters were based on real people she knew, and if she had a soft spot for the charming, faithless Henry Crawford. Based on how she wrote him, that’s something I’ve always wondered about.

Armed with all the knowledge you gained while writing Dangerous Alliance (and, let’s say, a comfortable socioeconomic standing for the period), how do you think you would fare during a London Regency Season?
I think I’d do pretty well, actually. I might be somewhat shy at first, but I’d get better once I made some acquaintances. Plus, under the right circumstances, I can dance a mean minuet!

Author photo by Elizabeth Adams.

From Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Red Shoes” to a journey of historical and personal discovery. 

When asked to briefly describe Dark and Deepest Red, Anna-Marie McLemore is more than ready to reel off three snappy summaries. “The very short description is ‘Red Shoes’ plus medieval queers,” McLemore says. “[A different] way to describe it would be a reimagining of the fairy tale ‘The Red Shoes’ through the lens of the 1518 dancing plague. And another way I like to talk about it is sort of the secret history of a fairy tale.” 

The original Hans Christian Andersen tale is about a girl named Karen (after his own half-sister, whom he despised) who refuses to take off her bright red shoes in church and so is cursed to never be able to take off the shoes while dancing ceaselessly—even after she successfully begs an executioner to chop off her feet. It’s a story so unsubtle that its subtext is essentially its text. It’s also ripe territory for McLemore’s queer, feminist reimagining.

Deftly plotted in sharply evocative prose, Dark and Deepest Red follows two parallel and sometimes intersecting narratives, the first of which takes place in medieval Strasbourg and involves a young Romani named Lavinia and the trans boy she loves, Alifair. The pair are caught up in the mysterious 1518 dancing plague, an actual historical event in which about 400 Strasbourgeois danced uncontrollably, some to the point of collapse and death.

Deftly plotted in sharply evocative prose, Dark and Deepest Red follows two parallel and sometimes intersecting narratives in medieval Strasbourg and the modern-day USA.

The second narrative follows modern-day Mexican American Rosella Oliva and her Romani American friend Emil, who keeps his heritage secret, fearing prejudice. During their small town’s annual “Glimmer,” a week each autumn in which surreal and magical things happen, a pair of red slippers attach themselves to Rosella’s feet, making her dance wildly while heightening her passion for Emil—and she can’t remove them.

“There’s something so powerful about the motif of shoes, and in fairy tales, they come up all the time,” McLemore says. “I also love what color can signify in stories, how it can become its own language.” 

At the time of Dark and Deepest Red’s genesis, McLemore, a Californian whose award-winning novels include The Weight of Feathers and When the Moon Was Ours, identified as a queer Latinx Christian. Unexpectedly, however, creating the story turned out to be a journey of further personal discovery.

“I wrote this book not realizing that I was nonbinary,” says McLemore, who now uses the personal pronouns they/them and whose husband is trans. “So it’s very strange having this story come out with Alifair as a main character, whom I had something in common with without realizing it. Obviously our gender identities are different. I’m much more gender fluid, but I wrote him not knowing that. My identity is evolving alongside my books. . . . Our identities and our history are constantly evolving. We all have histories that we’re writing every day.”

As a ballet lover who grew up competing in traditional Irish dancing, McLemore has personally experienced “this sort of spell of the dance when your body takes over” and has always been “enthralled” and “horrified” by Andersen’s “The Red Shoes.” After deciding to pair that fairy tale with Strasbourg’s dancing plague, McLemore was delighted to discover scholarly evidence that Andersen may have also had that plague in mind while writing his story. “I just had that sense of history kind of whispering secrets to you,” McLemore says.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Dark and Deepest Red.

Research for the book involved a trip to Strasbourg, where McLemore reveled in walking cobblestone streets and soaking up the past. While generally welcomed with kindness and generosity, the author and their husband had one unfortunate experience of being “shamed” out of a church by another visitor. “It was a bad moment of paralleling the story,” they recall. “You’re going to run into people who have a problem with who you are wherever you go. So I’m just grateful for the people who want to be in community with us.”

McLemore’s own community includes a big Mexican American family. “When I talk about community, my family was my first,” they say. Although dyslexia caused them to struggle with reading, McLemore loved stories from the start, and both parents helped to instill a love of books. (Dark and Deepest Red is dedicated to McLemore’s father.) 

In high school, McLemore started writing in secret, worried that their reading issues precluded a writing career. Two teachers, however, encouraged and challenged the budding author. One pivotal reading experience was Ash by Malinda Lo, which McLemore loves for “this idea that there are spaces for queer characters in fairy tales.”

As McLemore adds more of their own work to the YA and queer canon, readers reach out to the author, either on Twitter or via email. “Reader responses are part of what makes me keep writing the stories I write,” they say. “It’s a moment of tremendous magic when you realize you not only needed to tell it, but somebody needed to read it.”

Author Betty Culley drew on personal experience to create her debut YA novel, Three Things I Know Are True. It’s the moving story of Liv, whose daredevil brother, Jonah, requires round-the-clock care after a terrible accident with a loaded gun found in their neighbor’s attic. Writing in free verse, Culley tells Liv’s story from a place of courage and authenticity. She spoke to BookPage about how her own background as a home health nurse informed the book, her choice to employ verse rather than prose and what she hopes readers will take away from Liv’s story.

You’ve worked as a pediatric home hospice nurse. Your descriptions of Jonah’s medical situation are extremely detailed and seem drawn directly from your experience. How did working in pediatric home hospice influence the way you wrote about Jonah?
Great question! In my work I saw that, however limited a child was in what they could physically do, they still had a great capacity for joy, humor and connection to other people. Jonah has a lot of machines that help him get through the day, but they aren’t what defines him as a person.

Jonah’s medical needs determine everything about Liv’s family’s home and schedule: They rarely eat hot meals, their kitchen is taken over by nurses and middle-of-the-night caretaking tasks interfere with their sleep. How did working in pediatric home hospice influence the way you wrote about Jonah’s family?
I came to home nursing after hospital nursing, and it was so different to be right there with the child’s whole family in their own environment. Like the nurses in the novel, I was often present for birthdays, meals, family outings and doctor visits. I didn’t only get to know the “patient”; I got to know the siblings and the parents and often the grandparents and other extended family and friends. I saw the effect of the child’s illness on everyone around them, and how the families worked to make the most of the time they had. The dedication of my book says “For those who find the beauty in a life they didn’t choose or expect,” because that’s what I saw those families do.

Liv has amusing names for Jonah’s medical equipment, including Food Truck, Suck-It-Up and Zombie Vest. Did you make up these names or have you heard others use them? What’s the funniest, strangest or most fitting name you’ve heard for a piece of medical equipment?
These are all made up! Probably the most fitting name I’ve heard for a piece of medical equipment is something called “No-no’s.” They are pediatric arm immobilizers used for short periods of time to keep children from reaching up and touching areas on their face, etc., that may be healing from surgery. But I didn’t make that one up!

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Three Things I Know Are True.

Caretaking is often an adult responsibility, but your novel has a teen protagonist. How did you decide to tell this story for teens and through the voice of a teenager?
The devotion of the siblings I saw in my home health work inspired this novel. Like the scene where Liv lifts Jonah into his wheelchair, I saw children younger (and smaller) than their sick sibling do that as part of their care for them. I saw them, by necessity and default, take on adult responsibilities. I was touched by the strength of these siblings and knew from the start that it would be Liv’s voice telling the story.

Three Things I Know Are True is written in free verse. What inspired you to choose this form?
The novel started as prose. Then one of my writing friends (shout-out to Sally Stanton) read the beginning pages and suggested I try it in free verse, as my prose tends to be pretty spare anyway. Once I switched, I just loved how the form worked for the story and couldn’t imagine writing it any other way.

Cases like Jonah’s are constantly in the news. Is Three Things I Know Are True based on any particular case, or a conglomeration of cases?
Though I’ve cared for children with severe brain injuries, Jonah’s story is not based on any particular case. Sadly, there are so many similar incidents that sometimes I’m asked if the novel is based on a certain one, including tragedies that have happened here in Maine.

Gun control is a running issue throughout your novel, but characters themselves never take a stand—the only direct comments come through bumper stickers and letters to the editor. Why did you choose to address this issue in this way?
Another great question! I didn’t want this book to be a polemic. I wanted it to be about the soul of a girl dealing with an unthinkable tragedy and to simply let the reader see Liv’s world through her eyes. I hope that story, in all its elements, speaks for itself.

Your novel takes place in a small town in Maine where an abandoned paper mill sits on the banks of a river. Is this setting similar to your own home?
I live in a very small town about ten miles from the Kennebec River. My husband logged with a draft horse for many years, selling the wood to the local paper mills. The setting in the novel is something you see in many of the towns near me—shuttered brick buildings with tall smokestacks standing empty on the banks of the river. There’s also an absolutely stunning eddy in the Kennebec, where the river turns, like the place where Liv and Clay meet in secret. I got a lot of inspiration from visiting the eddy during the writing of the book.

Liv and her neighbor Clay play a game called “Tell Me Three Things” in which there’s only one rule: You have to tell the truth. Have you played this game? What three things were your favorite to hear, or to tell?
I haven’t played this game, so I’m grateful for the next question to have my turn!

What three things do you know are true?

1. I am so happy Liv’s voice will be heard.
2. I appreciate everyone who has helped me achieve a lifelong dream.
3. I really hope you love this book.

Author photo by Sarah J. Truman.

Abigail Hing Wen’s debut novel, Loveboat, Taipei, is an effervescent blend of self-discovery and romance, set over the course of one unforgettable summer. It’s the story of Ever Wong, whose parents send her to Taiwan for a cultural immersion program nicknamed “Loveboat” by attendees because of its notoriety for matchmaking. We spoke to the author about how her own teenage experiences with a Loveboat-esque program informed the book, developing characters, battling stereotypes and her hopes for her first novel.

How did your own personal experiences influence the writing and storytelling process of Loveboat, Taipei?
The Loveboat experience was such a unique and iconic one in the Asian American community. I knew I wanted to write a story about it. But it took me a while to figure out who needed to go on this trip. I discussed it at length with my husband, who also attended Loveboat a few years before I did, trying to get to the heart of the experience. We came to the conclusion that it was about discovering identity in all its facets—cultural heritage, certainly, but also a coming-of-age in such important formative years.

I’d grown up in Ohio, not always proud of my Asian American heritage. I was even less familiar with all the wonderful parts that came with it. On Loveboat, I was amazed to meet Asian Americans my age who were as enthusiastic about scallion pancakes and Dragon’s beard candy as my Ohio friends were about pizza and donuts. Instead of feeling ashamed of non-English speaking relations, Loveboaters were excited to visit families in the traditional Hutong.

I met all sorts of personalities: funny, quiet, timid, outrageous, gentle, angry, bitter, even snobby and exclusive, a surprise to me. It was both shocking and refreshing to witness rebellious Asian American teens getting demerits and getting drunk. They broke every model minority stereotype in the book.

“It was both shocking and refreshing to witness rebellious Asian American teens getting demerits and getting drunk. They broke every model minority stereotype in the book.”

Most magical of all in this experience: I felt included for the first time. The sweetest thing someone said was, “That’s so Abby!” I had never felt so seen before, which was exactly what Jane Lee on my HarperCollins team said about my book when I first met her. She’d read Loveboat, Taipei three times. I hadn’t put it into words until that moment, but that was what I wanted for this novel. To make others feel seen. To share with others a bit of that magical transformation I’d experienced myself.

Even now, as people begin to respond to the novel, I’m growing in my appreciation of what it meant to have this grounding experience. I’m realizing I’m so much stronger for it.

What kind of research or preparation did you do in addition to your own personal experiences?
After I wrote a draft of the book, I visited Taipei and took a bus tour of the island, similar to the one I took as a student on the program. This immersive reminder helped me get into the heads of my main characters as I connected with things they would connect with. For example, while there, I ran into foods I associated with my childhood and parents, like a huge platter of fried eggs. I knew that Ever would also have such moments on her trip.

In addition, two Taiwanese American friends read and commented on the novel: Judy Hung Liang and Chienlan Hsu-Hoffman. I later interviewed a number of Loveboat alumni.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our review of Loveboat, Taipei.

Much of Ever’s internal conflict is motivated by the tension between her personal passions and her desire to meet expectations placed on her by others or to follow the rules. When you were a teen, where did you fall on the rule-following/rule-breaking, what-I-want/what-others-want spectrum? Do you have any advice for teens who find themselves sharing Ever’s internal conflict?
Great question! My dad came to the United States when he was 13, so he was a little more Americanized than my Asian American friends’ parents. He wasn’t a typical dad—we would often negotiate rules, and he would let me win if I was convincing. It taught me an important lesson early on—that I could disagree and prevail if I had a sensible idea. I think that freedom made me a little less rebellious than some of my peers.

But I really felt a weight of expectation from others in the community. Some of that was supportive, but some of that felt like a cage.

As for advice for teens, wow, this is hard. I wish I could say talk it out honestly with your parents, but not everyone is in a position to do that. I would say—take baby steps and pick your battles. Save the gunfire for the big issues that really matter to you, like your choice of college major or who you date.

Also something to keep in mind: While you’re a student living under your parents’ roof, it’s harder to strike out and do what you want. That will come to an end. You’ll become an adult and no one will be responsible for your decisions except yourself.

“While you’re a student living under your parents’ roof, it’s harder to strike out and do what you want. That will come to an end. You’ll become an adult and no one will be responsible for your decisions except yourself.”

Ever’s developing relationship with her family is an important part of her emotional journey over the course of the novel. What role does Ever’s family play in her identity, and how does that role change? Can you talk about some of the choices you made as you crafted that relationship?
Another tough question! Ever’s family’s values deeply influence her identity. There are positive aspects to it. She has a strong moral compass that comes from them. They have high career ambitions for her, in contrast to Sophie’s family, and those ambitions also raised the bar for Ever’s goals in dancing and choreography.

I spent time considering how Ever’s choices might impact her parents as well. And they do—especially her dad. That wasn’t so much a choice I made, but as a matter of craft, needing to really try to follow their characters along their natural arcs.

I loved all of the secondary characters in Loveboat, Taipei; you gave so many of them such engaging and complex stories. Who was your favorite secondary character to create and write, and why?
It’s so hard to choose! I love them all for different reasons. I love Sophie’s generosity and misguided energies, and Xavier’s fight against his personal demons. I have a sequel in the works involving them. I also adore the Gang of Five. I love how they went from angry to taking back their own stereotypes. I envision them in a musical like a bad boy band, popping out at intervals to speak their truths. When I told my agent, Jo about this, she said, “They’re like the Greek chorus.” She was so right! 

As readers might expect from the title, Loveboat, Taipei’s protagonist, Ever, explores not just her identity and questions about her future, but also the possibility of romance. What do you hope readers gain from Ever’s exploration of this side of herself and from the different possibilities she explores?
I want readers to see Asian Americans holistically. We are deeply human, and love and romance is an important part of our lives. Ever is smart and accomplished, but she is also flawed and lonely, and she craves love and connection as much as anyone.

Many of the male-identifying characters in Loveboat, Taipei struggle with expectations of masculinity. Why did you choose to explore this theme?
It always pains me to see anyone questioning their attractiveness because they don’t fit Western norms of beauty. I had to come through my own journey here with all the ways I don’t line up myself.

In many ways, Asian American males have it harder than Asian American females. Author David Yoon has spoken of how struck he and his author wife, Nicola Yoon, were when they found out Asian males and African American females are the least swiped on dating apps. These small social pressures can really shape how a person views and values themselves, especially if they don’t realize it’s not about them, but part of a larger social construct. Just because a guy doesn’t fit the typical masculine mold doesn’t mean he isn’t attractive.

“I want readers to see Asian Americans holistically. We are deeply human, and love and romance is an important part of our lives.”

Loveboat, Taipei breaks down so many stereotypes about Asian Americans and the Asian American community so skillfully. Why was challenging these stereotypes important to you?
Stereotypes have real ramifications. Women who are expected to behave submissively can be mischaracterized as aggressive or out for themselves if they don’t, and that can really get in the way of their effectiveness running projects or taking on other leadership roles. Stereotypes prevent leaders from identifying great talent. They unfairly box people in. I work with many enlightened men and women in Silicon Valley, but as a society striving for true equality, we aren’t there yet.

I am especially passionate about broadening our conception of what leadership looks like. There are so many kinds of strengths. Ever has an eye for talent and calls it out. Sophie loves fashion and clothing and yes, she is boy crazy—and she also gets things done like no one else. Marc brings people together. They are all leaders in their own ways and it pays off when they give themselves permission to exercise those gifts.

For me, I had to make a choice whether to share my novel at work. I’ve always worked in a very male environment and I did make a deliberate choice to begin to share about my novel. One well-meaning woman privately ask me if letting people know I’d written a romance novel undercut my authority. I agreed it was a risk to share, but I also want to broaden what leadership looks like. If male leaders can rave about fantasy football and sports races, then I can talk about my forthcoming novel. And instead of undercutting my authority with men, I think it has done the opposite.

What was the most challenging part of writing Loveboat, Taipei? What was the most enjoyable?
Most challenging:

Early in my process, figuring out who was going on this journey. There were literally thousands of teens who could go on this trip. Who would be the main character? He or she would be changed by the experience—who needed to go on a trip like this?

I wasn’t sure. I wrote from several points of view until four characters began to emerge: Ever Wong from Ohio, who doesn’t know who she is. The Yale-bound prodigy Rick, who needs to blow off steam. Sophie who is looking for love and Xavier who is a player, but in all three cases, not for the obvious reasons.

Most enjoyable:

Stephanie Garber really challenged me to think deeply about the love triangles. It was fascinating for me to dig into what it was that connected Ever to each boy—and when I really understood why a certain connection worked and why another one would lead them in the wrong direction, it felt so incredibly satisfying and fun—was this really part of my job?

What did you learn from the writing and editorial process of Loveboat, Taipei that you’ll carry forward as you work on new books?
That I need to put in the time to develop all my characters. There’s no shortcutting it, at least not for me. Without intending to, I wrote the novel five times, from each of the main characters’ points of view, including Jenna. I eventually rewrote the entire book from Ever’s point of view, but one of the most common comments I’ve gotten is that my secondary characters are really well-rounded. So it paid off!

See my blog post on Cynthia Leitich Smith’s Cynsations for more on this.

Loveboat, Taipei is your debut novel. Although readers will be reading your answers after the book is published, you’re answering these questions before its publication. How do you feel? What are you excited about? Nervous about? What part of publishing a book are you most looking forward to?
I have been overwhelmed and blown away by the support for Loveboat, Taipei. So many people have offered to help. For a while, there were folks from the Asian American arts community emailing me all the ways I was behind in getting the word out. I was really stressed out at first, until it dawned on me they were tiger-momming me! Then I felt very loved.

I’m also a little nervous about reader reactions. I know people from so many different aspects of my life: young and old, American and foreign born, from the tech, legal and writing worlds, literary and commercial fiction lovers. Art and fiction are so taste-based, and I know that no one work will appeal to all people. I hope that people who don’t necessarily resonate with this story themselves understand that’s OK with me. I get it.

I’m most looking forward to the opportunity to speak with readers and to hear about their experiences. And I’m excited to find out where this journey is going!

Author photo by Olga Pichkova of IOPhotoStudio

When Del’s longtime crush, Kiera, joins a teen group at their church and takes a purity pledge, Del joins too. It’ll be a great way for them to spend time together, right? So begins Lamar Giles’ Not So Pure and Simple, a nuanced, engaging and often hilarious exploration of gender politics in the 21st century, all rooted in Del’s authentic and earnest narrative perspective. We spoke to Giles, an award-winning writer best known for his mysteries, about making the leap to a contemporary realistic story, toxic masculinity, teen sex ed classes and his love for ’80s rock ballads. Plus, he reveals the existence of an Easter egg shared by all of his books so far—and it’s something none of his readers have ever noticed!

Conventional wisdom says that authors usually don’t have much say in the cover art of their books, but I loved your book jacket design. What did you think the first time you saw it?
I was blown away. The illustrator is Jor Ros, who’s an amazing artist. His artwork, combined with the efforts of the design team, became something that truly captures the vibe I was going for in Not So Pure and Simple. I’ve been very fortunate when it comes to covers, and this one just continued my lucky streak.   

Not So Pure and Simple is your first contemporary realistic novel after a number of critically acclaimed mysteries for both middle grade readers and teens. Can you talk a little bit about the choice to write outside the mystery genre? What was challenging about it? What was enjoyable? What have you learned from writing mysteries that you found applicable to a non-mystery narrative?
Well, the truth is the first iteration of this book started as a school project. I went back to school to get an MFA in creative writing in 2014. My first YA novel, Fake ID, had just been published, I’d mostly finished a second novel (Endangered), and I’d just been laid off from my day job. I wanted to pursue the degree to sharpen my writing skills since writing had become my primary source of income. But coming into a writing program as one of the students (if not the only student) with published work made me incredibly self-conscious. I felt a need to do something different than the work that was already in bookstores, so I angled toward contemporary. And yes, it was a challenge.

To be frank, when writing the mysteries/thrillers, if I ever felt like things were starting to slog, murder was always an option. Not so much—or at all—in a story like Not So Pure and Simple. That was distressing. Did I enjoy it? Not all the time—because I was still writing other books so I could pay bills and trying to complete school assignments that had nothing to do with the novel and still writing the piece of the novel that would fulfill my thesis requirement and trying to complete a separate version that would meet the requirements of my publisher (because what works for school isn’t necessarily going to work for the finished product). So did I learn anything from my mystery work that pertained to this project? Perhaps how villains are created, because I was not that pleasant to be around when all of that was going on. Now that I’m on the other side of it, I am happy with the result. 

Del, the main character of Not So Pure and Simple, takes a Purity Pledge—a promise to remain sexually abstinent until marriage—in an effort to get closer to his crush, Kiera. What inspiration or discovery prompted you to explore this cultural practice in your book?
There are probably six different things that inspired this exploration, but I’m going to go with the primary story and try to keep it short. Me and my wife attended a church service about 10 years ago where three boys sat behind us prior to the service starting. They were very plain-spoken about recent sexual exploits, and we couldn’t help but overhear. When the service started, someone in church leadership requested all the teens participating in the purity pledge gather in the foyer and go to wherever those lessons were taking place. All three boys got up to join the class. It’s something I never forgot; I’ve since spent a lot of time thinking about the spaces boys/men enter—or invade—and their justifications for such actions. Del Rainey was largely born from those thoughts. 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of Not So Pure and Simple.

The relationship between First Missionary Church’s and Greek Creek High School’s perspectives on teen sexuality is complicated, to say the least. What kind of research did you to in order to represent these perspectives accurately and authentically? Did you learn anything in the course of that search that surprised you or challenged an assumption you had held?
This was a combination of research and memory. I was raised in Virginia by regular churchgoers and also had some form of sex ed in my high school. While the exact memories have gotten fuzzy over time, I clearly recall an awkwardness to all of it that I tried to bring across in the book. For the research part, there have been numerous articles about how much sex ed practices can vary, not only state to state but district to district within the same state. One thing that surprised me was a document I found on the Virginia Department of Education’s website detailing how a “family life” (sex ed) curriculum might be developed and approved. I’m providing a copy of the document with highlights so you know I’m not making this up, but it suggested that a clergyperson be appointed to the board that develops the curriculum, and there can be instances where classes are separated by gender to teach “sensitive” topics (all on page 8 of the document). What that means and looks like in actual practice, I don’t know, but it certainly got me thinking. Those thoughts account for the ways Del’s experiences are structured, which is to say, very awkwardly. 

I loved the character of Del’s English teacher and Healthy Living instructor, whom Del and the other students call MJ. Can you talk about the role he plays in their lives and in the story? Was his character inspired by a teacher from your own life?
It was important to me that there be a positive, progressive black male in the mix to offer a gentle guiding hand. There are a couple of reasons for my desire here, and I’ll get into those. But to answer the question about if the character was inspired by a teacher from my own life . . . not exactly. There were at least two great black male teachers in my high school whom I knew and spoke to in passing, but I was never in their classes. They also doubled as sports coaches, and since several of my friends were athletes (I wasn’t), I’d often hear them talk about how cool those teachers/coaches were and what good advice they gave. Because I never had that much direct contact with those two seemingly great role models, I created a fantasy of what someone like that might be like if they taught a subject I gravitated toward, like English. Thus MJ. 

Additionally, he’s there because when the #MeToo movement first came to my attention in 2017, I recalled conversations with women I was close to; a sentiment that came up often was that women have always known how horrible men can be, but because men have been generally resistant to women expressing such thoughts, male allies need to talk to other men about how to be better—in other words, men might listen to other men. I wanted MJ to be that male voice that could speak to those younger guys like, “Hey, I made the same poor decisions you’re making. I’ve been problematic, and I’ve been checked, called out, shamed—as I should have been. Trust me when I tell you almost everything you know is wrong. Let me help you not make the same poor decisions that may end up hurting a woman in some way or another.” 

Now, whether or not the young men listen is another story, but the voice of correction is there.  

Not So Pure and Simple presents a nuanced exploration of the idea of toxic masculinity. I especially appreciated the moment in which Del’s father admitted he still had a lot to learn about it. Tell us about your motivation for wanting to explore this theme—particularly in a YA book. Did your own perspective change at all over the course of writing the book?
One motivator around the toxic masculinity theme is timeliness . . . or, rather, lateness. These are conversations that need to be had because we’ve spent so long not having them. Let’s do the thing.

Also, a good writer friend of mine once said he’d given up on the adults, and young people are the ones who’ll make the world better. I won’t go as far as to say I’ve given up on all people my age, but I’d be lying if I told you it hasn’t been tough trying to express these ideas to some of the grown men I know. I’ve run into a lot of “times are different now” and “people are softer now,” which is super insulting and deflects a simple truth: Being a toxic male was never okay. Men just wielded most of the power and controlled large-scale narratives so when women or less powerful men objected, hardly anyone heard or took action. I’m hoping this book starts some conversations earlier, with younger people, before harmful mindsets cement. As far as my own perspective, I’m very much Del’s dad in that the more I learn, the more I realize I have a lot to learn. I don’t ever want to come off like “I’m so woke” (a term I hate, by the way). I’ve realized some stuff that I’m trying to pass on, and I’m open to continued improvement. I’m hoping to find some readers who feel the same. 

“I’d be lying if I told you it hasn’t been tough trying to express these ideas to some of the grown men I know. I’ve run into a lot of ‘times are different now’ and ‘people are softer now,’ which is super insulting and deflects a simple truth: Being a toxic male was never okay.”

Youtube, Instagram, Snapchat . . . social media is instrumental in the way that Del and his friends share news and gossip. How do you think social media has changed conversations about and among teens? Are we in a brave new world, or are the conversations the same and only the mediums have changed?
The mediums have definitely changed from when I was a teen (I remember getting a landline IN MY ROOM and having three-way phone calls for hours; also I had a beeper . . . lol). I think some conversations are the same in that teens still have crushes, they still claim their music and artists of the time, stuff like that. But I think conversations that have changed a bit from my youth center around acceptance of identity (there’s so much support online for those struggling with sexuality, anxiety, depression, gender conformity and so on—if they’re not getting support at home and have access to the web, that is). Conversely, and sadly, the negative voices also use the same resources to seek like-minded people and amplify harmful messages. The positive stuff (a YouTuber saying what you’re feeling and what your body is going through is normal) would’ve been appreciated in my youth; an eternal digital record of every public misstep I made, not so much. Social media is a blessing and a curse in that regard. 

I loved the small details of Del’s part-time job at a fish-themed fast food restaurant. Some of the menu item names (“Fun Flounder meals,” “Whale-Sized” drinks) really cracked me up. What kinds of jobs have you had on your way to being an author? Did you learn anything at them that you were able to apply to writing or working as an author?
I’ve had all sorts of jobs on the way to being an author, from being a janitor at Disney World to a college academic coach. But in high school, I worked fast food, first at a Subway sandwich shop, then as a McDonald’s employee. So, yes, Del’s time behind the counter at Monte FISHtos is heavily inspired by my time at those five-star eateries, particularly those slow shifts when you’re tasked with all kinds of weird busywork. I recall once having to climb a step ladder and scrub grease off the ceiling tiles.

But there’s another function to Monte FISHtos that I don’t think any of my readers have picked up on yet. I’ve written mysteries/thrillers, middle grade fantasy and now with Not So Pure and Simple, contemporary. Let’s say those are three separate universes, okay? There’s one thing that connects them all: the Monte FISHtos franchise. (Don’t believe me? Go back and read closely.) So, you heard it here first. Stephen King has the Dark Tower, and I’ve got a spot where you can get a Cra-Burger, Fillet Fries and a whale-sized drink for $6.98.  

“Stephen King has the Dark Tower, and I’ve got a spot where you can get a Cra-Burger, Fillet Fries and a whale-sized drink for $6.98.”

Although readers will be reading your answers to these questions after Not So Pure and Simple has been published, you’re answering them before its publication. How do you feel? A year from now, what kinds of thoughts and conversations among readers do you hope the book generates?
Honestly, I feel rather anxious. This book is, by far, my most personal. I mean, I’ve never had to really solve a murder (thank goodness), I’ve never frozen time and fought supernatural villains (thank goodness), but I have felt and thought the things Del feels and thinks. I’ve experienced his awkwardness. I’ve made some of the bad decisions he makes. Not in the exact configuration you’re reading—but none of it amounts to shining moments you necessarily want to the world to see. Which is kind of why the world needs to see it.

I don’t recall a single influential male admitting to me that they didn’t have everything figured out or that they’d made horribly embarrassing mistakes, which is part of the problem. So a year from now, I hope there are more conversations, particularly among men young and old, expressing how a long time ago manhood was presented as this absolute thing—this bravado, this confident, error-free movement through the world—by men we trusted, but now we realize they were wrong about a lot of it. It’s okay to not have the answers, so long as your ignorance doesn’t lead to you disrespecting the people around you—especially women. Let’s discuss and learn how to be better together. 

OK, enough serious talk. Please tell us about your love of eighties rock ballads. (Maybe your top five favorites?)
LOL! Okay, I set myself up for this, didn’t I? Fine, the genie’s out of the bottle. Top five ’80s ballads. (I’m sure that in whatever you heard me say to inspire this question, I said “rock,” but I’m not sure all of these meet the rock standard . . . they’re just my favorites from that decade.)

1. “Waiting for a Girl Like You” by Foreigner
2. “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Crowded House
3. “Purple Rain” by Prince
4. “When I See You Smile” by Bad English
5. “Holding Back the Years” by Simply Red

Jennifer Longo’s What I Carry is the beautifully realized story of Muir, a self-reliant 17-year-old girl who’s about to age out of the foster-care system. But when she’s placed into what will likely be her final foster home, she finds herself making new connections that challenge her well-worn sense of independence. The author of two previous YA novels, Longo holds an MFA in Writing for Theatre from Humboldt State University, and her plays have been staged by California’s Fair Oaks Repertory Theatre.

We spoke to Longo about creating her protagonist, writing about the foster-care system and capturing authentic teen voices.

Muiriel is a wonderfully original protagonist. Contrary to what might be expected of a child in the foster system, she isn’t searching for a permanent home or longing for a family. She’s fiercely independent, with a sense of integrity that belies her 17 years. How did you develop her character?
Well, great. Question one and I’m already crying. Come on! OK but for real, I am thrilled you felt about Muiriel what we tried so hard to convey. I say “we” referring to my editors at Penguin Random (Jenna Lettice, Caroline Abbey and Chelsea Eberly) and my editorial agent, Melissa White (at Folio Literary). No author is an island, and thankfully those women are also authors, and they can write the hell out of a character arc.

We began to create Muiriel with me talking with and listening to kids currently in or who had aged out of foster care. Every single child’s life in foster care is unique, but I heard again and again from the kids I corresponded with about how the narrative of a foster or adoptive parent as “savior” depends on the corresponding narrative of a sad and yearning orphan who just wants a loving family to “rescue” them. And yes, of course, there are kids living in the system who absolutely need and want a family. The thing is, it’s not every single kid, and also most of them want their family—they just want to go home. No matter the reality of the situation, home is home. Parents are parents. Or if they’ve been in the system for years, jacked around (intentionally or not) by nearly every adult they encounter, sometimes those kids learn instead to depend on themselves for themselves—because clearly adults are not the answer.

The problem about the myths surrounding foster kids is that they’re created and told to us by the adults who get to frame reality the way they see it, or how they want it conveniently to be, in order to make themselves look heroic or blameless. All it takes is talking to even one kid to watch that story fall apart.

I have talked with and watched so many interviews with kids aging out in which they express this frustration and justifiable anger that no one is listening to us. These are young people with integrity, bravery, anger and fear just like anyone, except they are blamed and judged for the circumstances of their life that they did not choose, because adults have kept these untruths alive and well. Muiriel’s voice is a culmination of the many kids’ voices who kindly let me listen to the truth.

You have a young daughter whom you adopted. Can you talk about how that experience informed your writing here?
My daughter straight up said to me years ago, “Aren’t there any books about kids in foster care that aren’t so . . . yell-y? And molest-y?” And believe me, I know there are some beautiful fiction books about kids in foster care written by better writers than I could ever hope to be. I just think, and my daughter does, too, that there’s room in the canon for as many stories as there are experiences in foster care.

I was specifically told by a former foster child, “It is possible to live a life in foster care and not get molested.” I mean. That’s a statement.

While meeting, fostering and adopting our daughter, my family’s personal experience with social workers and foster parents is that there are many adults working in the system who sincerely have the best motives—doing the most and best they can for each child. Like kids in foster care, the entire system and every adult involved get a mostly grim portrait painted of them by the media and Hollywood, drawn in broad strokes and without much nuance. Muir’s life is held in sharp relief to consistent love and happiness, like my daughters’, and that’s a story worth telling, too.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of What I Carry.

What I Carry presents a very nuanced portrayal of the experience and mindset of a child in the foster care system. What sort of research did you do to create this portrayal?
Thank you so much. The hope I cling to most as What I Carry nears publication is that I did justice in showing at least an approximate reality of some kid’s, one kid, any kid’s life in foster care.

A writer’s job is sometimes described as “professional listener and question asker,” and for this book, that’s what I did for research: I listened. Not to adults—I’ve talked to countless wonderful and not-so-wonderful adults working in the system in every capacity, and I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on that. I am one of them, and we’ve had our say.

For this research, I listened to who this book is trying to give voice to—the kids in or out of foster care. I listened and asked and read and watched what they had to say. I listened to my daughter, my nephew, to kids and adults kind enough to write me emails answering my questions. I watched interviews and documentaries and YouTube channels produced by former foster youth. I read memoirs and books. (There is a bibliography in What I Carry for details.) They talked to me, my daughter talked to me, and their stories became Muir’s story.

I loved Francine, Muir’s final foster mother, as well as Joellen, Muir’s social worker. Can you discuss some of the choices you made as you crafted these adult characters in Muir’s life?
I’m so glad you loved these women! I do, too, and mostly because they are modeled after women who built my family. Francine is modeled after our daughter’s third foster placement (we were her fourth), and Muir’s social worker is modeled after our daughter’s, the real Joellen. Our Joellen worked a razor-thin, nearly impossible deadline, putting her own job at risk to get our daughter into a safe home. No good character is perfect, but these women in real life—and Francine in the book—are the gold standard of when foster care is working the way it should.

Your ability to create authentic teen characters is remarkable. How do you channel teen voices? What are some of the challenges of writing from that perspective, and what are some of the pleasures or rewards?
First of all, good grief, thank you! If I’ve had any success with this, it is only by reading better writers than me and listening to teenage girls and my editors and agent. Also, I have been a lifelong journal keeper. I have a box of 20 spiral notebooks I’ve kept from elementary school until college, and those are full of language and details I depend on.

“A writer’s job is sometimes described as ‘professional listener and question asker,’ and for this book, that’s what I did for research: I listened.”

My main challenge writing about that time of life is that I absolutely struggle with and often resist writing romance plotlines and romantic scenes involving my teenage characters. I always have to add it in later, because as a teen, I had bad experiences with that stuff, so it’s hard for me to know how to write a young woman, a high school-age person, being in love and also staying true to her own humanity. I dread the idea of centering romance over the value of a girl’s own life, her own priorities and conflicts and challenges.

Conversely, my greatest pleasure is writing for myself as a teenager. I write what I wish someone had been able to tell me at that age: that I was worth more than I knew. That I should be spending my teenage years not making sure my boyfriend was happy but instead figuring out who and what I wanted to be, building relationships with girls and mentors, spending time with my friends, having fun and learning and truly feeling like I was smart and had value to the world as a person on my own. Instead, all through high school, I was isolated and trapped by my own lack of self-worth in an absolutely ridiculous and unhealthy relationship with a boy, just this mediocre white kid, to whom I surrendered my whole teenage life and sense of self.

I write my main characters like that lady in “The Twilight Zone,” riding the horse over the hills, screaming at her past self, “Get your shit together and don’t waste your precious youth!” I have learned to write the romantic situations I wish my younger self could have had—maybe a bit unrealistically healthy, a little aspirational, but maybe that’s a good thing to read about and know exists. I wish I had. I love writing YA lit, and I hope I’m contributing some stories of value.

You’ve published two novels prior to this one (2014’s Six Feet Over It and 2016’s Up to This Pointe). What are some of the lessons you’ve learned about the craft of writing over the years or about yourself as a writer? How do you feel you’ve grown as a novelist?
I am so lucky to have the most amazing people guiding me to be a “real” writer, and so many authors I read and writer-friends I learn from. But the women who taught me how to be a novelist are Melissa White of Folio Literary, and my editors Chelsea Eberly, Jenna Lettice and Caroline Abbey. They are all writers and have taught me a million things. My favorites are about being brave, not getting trapped in the story the first way I see it and learning to not insist the story stay cemented the way I began.

Each of these books were torn down and rewritten several times, which at the beginning I was shocked by and thought I would never be able to figure out how to do. (While writing Six Feet Over It, I once opened an editorial letter at a Peet’s Coffee and burst into tears at the impossibility of the changes. The barista came over and handed me a wad of napkins and asked who died, and then I could never go back to that Peets again.)

Melissa, Chelsea, Jenna and Caroline taught me to calm the hell down, that novels are not the plays I was used to writing and that the process of trying a story path, reaching a dead end, and then going back to try another path is a reality a writer has to get good at. It’s a muscle to build and strengthen and not freak out about. Some stories come easier, some need more work, but being scared will not get the work done. I have learned to make my ego STFU and accept the smart, constructive, needed edits and guidance from these women, the professional people who are part of the team making these books. I have learned to trust myself to trust them because they are right pretty much every time.

“The process of trying a story path, reaching a dead end, and then going back to try another path is a reality a writer has to get good at.”

And then I’m still learning to let go of being embarrassed that I need so much hand-holding and help—because again, the lesson is that no writer is an island. No good book is truly written alone. Now I can open an editorial letter in any coffee shop, and I can see where the edits are taking the plot, and I get excited about the challenge of making the story better without sobbing. Mostly now I only cry about my inability to spell, so that’s growth!

What prompted you to start writing YA fiction? What appeals to you about the category?
I wrote my first book thinking it was straight-up literary fiction, but my agent Melissa thought if I aged the character up and revised, it could make a great YA story. I hadn’t read any YA since Judy Blume in the ’80s, so Melissa gave me a list and I began reading some current YA to figure out what was going on there. It was a whole new world.

I started with Sarah Zarr’s Story of a Girl because I was living in the town where that book takes place, and holy cats, I was so jealous that as a teenager my generation didn’t have books like that! (I mean, aside from Queen Judy, of course.) Gorgeous writing, a strong and realistic female protagonist . . . I read it so fast and moved on to more, and I started revising.

What I love most about YA is the reverence so many of these authors and books have for the most powerful people on the planet: teenage girls. Young women whose lives are central to the plots, in so many circumstances and challenges and how important and valued they are. I think YA lit is on its way to the forefront of publishing becoming what it should be, which is a more accurate representation of the human population, no longer just canonizing the lives of white men. We are nowhere near where we should be, but the tide is turning, and my daughter, who is not white, not heterosexual, is able to find more and more books she can see herself in. That makes me proud to be a YA author.

“What I love most about YA is the reverence so many of these authors and books have for the most powerful people on the planet: teenage girls.”

You were an elementary school librarian! What was that experience like? Did it influence your decision to start writing, or your writing itself?
Oh my goodness, that was the greatest job ever! I volunteered at my daughter’s elementary school library, shelving books twice a week, because there’s no place I’d rather be than in a library. When the librarian retired, I applied for and was offered the job.

Now, I have to say here that actual trained librarians are always, always preferable in school libraries or anywhere, but this school district legit had no money. The retiring librarian taught me the most important part of her job, which was repairing books—because they had not been able to order new books in, like, five years. We took donations, and parents bought us books from the book fair once a year, and the librarian and I bought books with our own money, but the situation was bleak. Still, I was a lifelong Dewey Decimal nerd, and I’d volunteered in libraries all my life and worked cheap, so I was the district’s best option at the time.

I loved choosing books to read for each class. That was the highlight of my day, and shelving is very meditative for me. I was querying agents when I got the job and was shelving books when my agent Melissa offered to represent me. Then she subbed my book for a year, and I was checking in books for a line of hilarious and excited first graders when I got the email that Random House was interested. To be in a library, surrounded by books, and getting messages that I could maybe have my own book on a library shelf one day that people might read was surreal and magical.

Do you have a new book in the works, and can you give us any hints about what to expect?
I have been working forever (“Sounds about right,” says my agent) on a literary fiction book about my favorite autumnal holiday. I dream that one day, Oprah will say, “Hey, do you have to go home to visit family this fall? Lock yourself in the guest half-bath with this book and save yourself!”

It’s the book my dad, for decades, begged me to write. He passed away a couple years ago, but he is in my ear every day as I write and rewrite this thing for him. It is my gift to him and myself and readers like me who love a good family drama, and working on it is bittersweet and wonderful and healing. So, you know, just how it’s supposed to feel.

Phil Stamper’s debut YA novel, The Gravity of Us, is the story of two teens, Cal and Leon, who are brought together when their parents are both selected for a new NASA mission to Mars. Stamper magnificently balances the boys’ burgeoning relationship against a backdrop that brings the space race into the 21st century. We spoke to Stamper about his day job in book publishing and writing characters that feel real—and, of course, geeked out about space.

You work in book publishing, so this is a bit of a “chicken or the egg” question: Which came first, working in publishing or writing? Was it ever challenging to balance your knowledge of publishing as an industry with your own creative needs and process?
Writing came first! After college, I really didn’t know what I wanted to do for a job, but I eventually worked my way into nonprofit PR and marketing. I loved writing for a living, but the press releases got old fast, so I started writing fiction to recharge my creative energy. Through the exhaustive process of writing, revising, researching and querying, I really fell in love with book publishing. So much so that I got my M.A. in publishing from a school in London and now I work for one of the Big Five in New York City. (Ed. note: The “Big Five” is a publishing industry term for the five largest American book publishers: Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Macmillan, Simon & Schuster and Hachette.)

I’m in a lucky spot in publishing. I get to help authors every day but not work on specific titles or marketing campaigns, which gives me plenty of energy to work on my own edits/marketing on my downtime. I’m not sure where this career will lead, but I’m happy with the balance I’ve struck. Even if it can be a little stressful when edits are due!

I think it’s important for authors to understand the publishing industry, and especially their role in it. But the more familiar you are with the industry, the more you realize that “what works” is all pretty random. Stories that don’t fit the mold can get book deals and find success, while stories that tick every single box can get lost in the stacks. At the end of the day, it’s taught me that writing things I’m passionate about is the only thing I can do. If you put that energy into your work, readers will feel it. And that’s about all you can control in this process.

Do you see The Gravity of Us as being in conversation with or descended from other YA titles? Which ones, and how?
This is a really interesting question! I think it’s hard to write YA without reading YA and knowing what’s out there. I do see The Gravity of Us as being “in conversation” with plenty of books. I’ve always felt that we need all sorts of queer stories and experiences out there. I built this book in a world where homophobia is just not acknowledged, and I wanted this story to be a safe space for queer teens who always feel like they have to keep their guards up when reading a book.

In that way, I feel like my book is descended from books like Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli or You Know Me Well by Nina LaCour and David Levithan. But it’s also out there in conversation with heavier (but still hopeful!) stories like Ziggy, Stardust & Me by James Brandon and Like a Love Story by Abdi Nazemian.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our starred review of The Gravity of Us.

Can we talk about space for a bit? Have you always been into space, or was it an interest you cultivated when you began writing this book? What kind of research did you do to write accurately and convincingly about this aspect of the book?
Oh, yes! We can always talk about space. I’ve been a space nerd for decades now, especially when it comes to the Mercury/Gemini/Apollo missions. I’ve read dozens of astronaut/engineer memoirs, watched documentaries, and I’ve got a growing collection of LIFE magazines from the era.

While reading The Astronaut Wives Club, actually, I realized that one thing in the background of every astronaut story kept calling out to me. The astronaut families essentially became the celebrities of this era, frequently gracing the covers of magazines and giving interviews for national news outlets. This meant the astronauts’ spouses and children had to be immaculately dressed, polished and ready to entertain, all while not knowing if their husbands or fathers would come home alive that night. In The Gravity of Us, I wanted to capture this brilliant tension while also showcasing a contemporary queer love story.

What do you love about the idea of space exploration?
There’s so much to love about space exploration, but for me, that love is tricky and complicated. I often hear that those at NASA were so focused on this exploration that they missed the many important movements of the 60s. But I don’t fully buy that. They saw the world changing around them and refused to change with it. Women and people of color were excluded at every turn, even though NASA had the influence to actually make a change. Too often, I think we focus on that starry-eyed joy and power of the space race and not the realities of it, and I am glad I got to deconstruct that some in my story.

Do you have a favorite constellation, nebula, planet or other celestial body?
Cassiopeia has always been my favorite constellation! It’s easy to pick out, and it’s shaped vaguely like a crown. In high school, my best friend liked it, so we’d always keep an eye out for it. I mention that one in the book, and I also talk about the constellation Lyra, which isn’t one I was very familiar with before researching the book. When naming the Orpheus missions, I was curious to see if there was a constellation representing the myth, and Orpheus’s lyre is represented in the tiny constellation, so that was a fun discovery.

How about a favorite astronaut or other real-life figure from the history of space exploration?
Oh I could go on for days about this, really. I loved learning about all of the astronauts, even the ones that weren’t exactly good people, because they were fascinating. But I guess you’d have to be pretty interesting to willingly take the kind of risks they had to take every day. But to answer your question, my favorite real-life figure from this era is probably Poppy Northcutt. I think she had one of the most interesting experiences of the space race. She was the first female engineer to work in NASA’s control room, and she dealt with a lot of sexism during her time there and because of that experience she later became a lawyer to fight for women’s issues.

She was such an inspiration for her brilliance and tenacity, but she was also incredibly ambitious. She knew exactly how she was being treated and portrayed, and she found a way to turn the media’s sexist coverage of her into her own platform, making space for more women on the team and getting a chance to speak out about these issues on the national stage, in front of a fully captive audience. Her interviews from back then are phenomenal. If you’re interested in learning more about her, this Fast Company piece is a great place to start.

"Too often, I think we focus on that starry-eyed joy and power of the space race and not the realities of it, and I am glad I got to deconstruct that some in my story."

The characters of Cal and Leon feel constructed with a great deal of thoughtful intentionality (which also reads effortlessly and invisibly, making the reading experience an absolute joy). Can you talk about some of the choices you made as you crafted their characters?
Early on, I had sort of figured out the astronaut families. I knew what role I wanted the Tuckers (Leon’s mom, especially) to play in the story, and I also knew how Cal’s family was going to fit into that world. Then I wanted to create characters that really stood out against that. Leon’s mom is at times the voice of NASA, polished and concise and thoughtful. Leon doesn’t have it together, and doesn’t really want to have it together. He’s living in a spotlight he never asked for, and it makes him withdraw a bit. I gave him his own passions, and took a lot of inspiration from my own experience of pursuing things you really care about while depression makes you want to pull back. In this way, he became an earnest, authentic character. When Cal’s thrown into this fake, stressful new environment, he is automatically drawn to the authenticity of Leon and his sister, Kat.

Cal, however, was a foil to everything the media world is inundated with today: clickbait, sensationalism, “fake news.” Cal doesn’t buy any of that, and he will make it his life’s mission to show you that being real is what makes you stand out. I’m a pretty nostalgic person, sitting here with my LIFE magazines and my rose-colored glasses, so I had to put the cynic at the lead of this novel. I wanted this book to be a love letter to NASA in many ways, but I needed it to be relevant. I think there’s a natural urge to romanticize things from the past as well as things that are happening now. And Cal? He’s not having it.

Of course, Cal’s a bit of a hypocrite because he has his own ironic cassette collection. But I liked showing that not all our connections to the past are inherently bad, they just sometimes blind us.

I think readers are going to fall for the romance that unfolds between Cal and Leon in a big way, and I loved the way it was paced and incorporated into the book’s other narrative threads. What part of their relationship was the most fun for you to write? The most difficult?
I’m really happy with how the romance in this book turned out. I think so often in m/m fiction there’s the pressure to write characters who are sweet and devoid of flaws to please a broader audience. In this, I wanted to show two flawed teens who were trying. Cal is a little selfish, Leon’s a little guarded, but I had such a good time bringing these two together and letting them talk it out. From the beginning, they found an ally in each other, and I think they were able to hold onto that feeling of “I’m not alone in this” that got them through the many highs and lows that were thrown at them along the way. It was fun to create that bond from nothing, almost the moment Cal is dropped in on Houston.

The Gravity of Us is populated with a fantastic supporting cast. It’s something of a cliché to say that secondary characters feel as though an entirely new novel could be written about them, but in this case, I think it’s true. From Deb, Cal’s best friend back in Brooklyn, to Kat, Leon’s sister, to Cal’s parents and the other members of the Orpheus team, the crew of StarWatch — you’re balancing a huge cast of characters with lots of conflicting motives and desires that shift realistically over the course of the book. Who was your favorite of these characters to create and write? Who was the most challenging? Who kept trying to steal whatever scene they were in?

I hope that isn’t too cliché, because I love that comment! In all of my stories, I want my secondary characters to be fully fleshed out, have stories of their own and make you feel like you could just as easily be entertained if the book was from their perspective. Though I’m not a rigid plotter, I work off of beat sheets and I put all my characters through the same test. Even if things are happening in the background, their story should progress in a similar way to the main character’s. There are no cardboard cut-outs here, and my editor is great at helping me pull out the emotional arcs for these side characters.

I have a soft spot for Deb, who was certainly the most fun to write. I made sure to give her a full arc, but I also got to talk more broadly about how hard it is to keep a best friend when you move away from them and start to change as a person. Cal and Deb have a messy friendship, but that’s what makes it so real, to me at least. I see the comment “Where’s Deb?” from time to time as people are reading, and though I make sure we check in with her throughout, I want you to miss her. (Sorry!)

As for the others, I really enjoyed building out StarWatch producer Kiara’s story. Without giving spoilers away, she does some great and awful things, and she has her own motivations and frustrations. Leon’s sister, Kat, stole every scene and moment she was in, and I loved how she was so fiercely supportive of her brother the whole time. Cal’s mom, Becca, experiences anxiety, and how she and Cal support each other throughout was really authentic and sweet. And we got to see some of the astronauts’ lives in the interstitial chapters, which were really fun to play with. I just love all of these characters!

“I want my secondary characters to be fully fleshed out, have stories of their own and make you feel like you could just as easily be entertained if the book was from their perspective.”

Since you’ve worked in publishing, you know that authors typically aren’t heavily involved in the process of designing book covers. I’d love to hear a little bit about what (if any) input you had on The Gravity of Us jacket, and how you felt the first time you saw it.

From what I can tell, publishers seem to be involving authors more and more into the process. This isn’t the case for everyone, and many authors don’t want to take part at all, but I think it’s great that authors are at least being consulted or involved in early stages. For The Gravity of Us, I ended up sending over a mood board, had a miniature brainstorm about options with my editor, and they ran one illustrator by me (who was my secret top choice to begin with!) and got him signed up right away.

I will truly never have an easier cover design process. From the very first moment, my editor and I had the same scene in mind for the cover. I wanted the boys to be on the ground, holding hands, watching the satellite launch. Even in the rough sketch, the illustrator, Patrick Leger, captured the perfect emotion and mood of the book, with the warped perspective of the shot and the sunrise gradient, stars and the satellite in the sky. It came together quickly, and Danielle Ceccolini designed the full cover, and everything just clicked perfectly.

I was emotional when I first showed it and when I got to reveal it on Teen Vogue last May, but seeing the finished copy with the embossed text and the full jacket for the first time? There’s nothing like that feeling of seeing your book finished for the first time, especially when that book has such a beautifully queer cover.

What’s something you love about your book? Something you’re really proud of?
I really like that I was able to create a love story between two people who are fully functioning on their own—they have their own stories, struggles, dreams, and they’re both on their own paths when we meet them and when the story ends. I’m also really proud I was able to make this story a love letter to NASA and a nod to the amazing people involved in the 60s space race, while still allowing myself to critique that era and keep the story relevant for a teen audience in 2020.

What’s something you learned from writing this book that you’ve been able to use as you’re writing your next book?
I’ve always been great at plotting and pacing, and I always like my contemporaries to move quickly through beats. My YA origins are in 2010-era dystopian books, and I love action. So no, there are no sword fights in this book, but that urgency and tension can still be built into contemporary stories in a meaningful way. But as for what I learned, while working with my editor, I was able to pull out a lot of emotional moments throughout. She’s great at highlighting points where it’s nice to pause and take a breath, where we can dig into characterization and also just show the aspirational aspects of teens having fun.

I’ve brought that into my next book, a lot, and I think that’ll be the case for the other books I write as well. I will never abandon my beat sheets, but I will fight that urge to push forward and let the readers sit in important emotional moments a bit more.

“I was able to create a love story between two people who are fully functioning on their own—they have their own stories, struggles, dreams, and they’re both on their own paths when we meet them and when the story ends.”

Someone finishes reading The Gravity of Us and they love it. Recommend some things for them to read or watch next (while they wait for your next book).
Ooh, I love giving book recommendations. If you like fast-paced and unique YA contemporary, you’ll love Sadie by Courtney Summers and The Grief Keeper by Alexandra Villasante. If you love unapologetically queer YA, you have to check out Ryan La Sala’s Reverie and Abdi Nazemian’s Like a Love Story. If you love space, but want another book that’s set on the ground, check out The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum and, of course, The Astronaut Wives Club by Lily Koppel. 

And if you liked The Gravity of Us, I hope you’ll come back in early 2021 when my second book is on shelves!