SLAY is a terrific example of the communities we create versus the ones we are given and can be used as a recommendation for gamers and tik-tokers alike year-round. Seasonally, I would use it as part of a display during National Coding week (September 14-20) alongside other books that feature female coders, like Amie Kaufman’s unique Illuminae, to promote digital literacy and STEM engagement.

Students can also access the truncated version of SLAY the game online.   

 

One of the panels illustrates how Alison Bechdel’s groundbreaking graphic memoir Fun Home helped her find the word for masturbation (p.135). In that same tradition, Kobabe puts language to experience, defining terms like “a.f.a.b” or “autoandrophilia,” allowing readers to identify with a new term or simply learn something new. As a school librarian, I realize not every site will have this in their inventory; however, I would try to make this book available for my students. Kobabe is a wonderful writer who highlights the many strong relationships that helped em discover eir identity and deserves to be a role model for readers.  

 

This book can be used with teens who have an interest in LGBTQ topics. It is also a terrific example of the ways we can create community outside of our households – in every environment Cam’s friends contribute to the way she sees herself and ultimately builds herself up. The nineties backdrop, with its many cassette tapes and VHS references, also serves as a point of interest for some readers as nineties fashions and music are currently experiencing a resurgence. However, the film by the same name does little to convey the mood of the book. 

 

Today’s teens often live on the edge of violence facing school shooter drills, lockdowns, and the regular presence of violence on campuses across the country – reading about school shooters may activate trauma, so a librarian needs to understand the reader or provide a trigger warning prior to a recommendation. In this book, vengeance often leads to violence. For example, Jake stabs Chad with a pencil after relentless racist bullying and then later kills Sawyer’s Uncle Rod while under the dead boy’s possession. Both characters contribute to Jake and Sawyer’s trauma, and it seems like a reader should accept that Chad and Uncle Rod deserved it. Yet, doesn’t violence breed more violence?  

 

In terms of representation, this book is awesome, with its queer Black protagonist that sees ghosts. However, when using this book with teens it may be helpful to have a safe space to decompress and discuss the content, like in a book club setting.  

 

Mary may be young, but she is an astute observer of the world around her, and she questions injustices against the Wampanoag tribe long before she realizes that her own Deaf community can also be ostracized on the mainland – her observations make for an accessible conversation for students. Author Ann Clare LeZotte’s inclusion of further research information, as well as biographical details about her own life as a Deaf writer/librarian, will greatly enrich a much larger unit on history and ability.  

 

Additional opportunities exist to collaborate with a science classroom – chapters 14 and 17 both include descriptions of the development of a hypothesis and the scientific method and can bring science to life.  

 

This book shows the effects of depression and could be helpful for teens – both Marin and her grandfather suffer in secret (her grandfather hides his depression behind smiles and life hacks, while Marin hides from the world).  

 

One thing I think readers will be able to connect with is the resilience of the friendship between Marin and Mabel. Throughout the “present” chapters in the book there is a discomfort between the two characters, despite their palpable connection – everyone needs a friend who loves us deeply and tries to bring us back when we are at our lowest.  

  

Nina LaCour’s picture books normalize LGBTQ families, and We Are Okay is no different. While Marin and Mabel are two girls with a romantic history, this book is not about Marin coming to grips with her sexuality. Instead, it’s simply one facet of a much more complicated story.  

 

I would absolutely recommend it to any mature teen who enjoys graphic novels, LGBTQ themes, or romantic struggles. There are some mature (but necessary) conversations approached in this book. For example, Dood and Freddy discuss the age of consent and why it exists (and because Freddy's being a bad friend, she does not question why Dood friend brought it up) – eventually it is revealed that Dood had an affair with a married man and needs an abortion. These issues underscore the toxicity of the relationships surrounding the characters and are absolutely relevant to teens’ lives. 

 

Combining physics, history, and story, Bomb presents an opportunity for cross-classroom collaboration. For example, a school librarian can partner with a history teacher for a “and the world was never the same” research project. At the close of Bomb, the characters are left grappling with the way their actions changed the course of human history and Sheinkin underscores the effects those actions still have on us today – teachers can use this as a bridge to other times our world underwent drastic change and what that means in the present.     

 

Bonus: Sheinkin includes a citation list, as well as a walk-through of the ways his many resources supported this story – this serves as inspiration for the ways students can use a variety of sources for research.  

 

Using newspaper headings, photographs from the early 1900s, illustrations, and public health propaganda, this book is an excellent example of the ways primary sources can be used to enhance a story. American Murderer holds cross-disciplinary interest and can be used in partnership with history, language arts, and science classrooms. For example, students can explore the effects of the “dirt-eater" label and the ways language and bias counteracted scientific fact.  

 

This story is not limited to the past. Today’s students have firsthand experience with life during a pandemic and can draw parallels to our own public health crisis.  

 

The Honeys is a great pick for teens in search of a character-driven summer scare. While there are a variety of plot points (camping trips, apiology side bars, a trip to Applebees, bee-driven ceremonial sacrifice), the novel is primary driven by Mars’ running monologue, and the pacing will be slow for some readers. Nevertheless, his internal conflicts offer important discussion topics relevant to our real world, posing issues of bullying, acceptance, gender, jealousy, and grief.  It definitely belongs on the library shelf (or in your Libby app). 

 

One critique – despite the strong character development of Mars, the other characters are mostly underdeveloped, falling heavily in the binary with the girls flitting around like ethereal beauties while the boys play sports and spew sexist commentary.  

 

Something that stood out about Fruits Baskets was that it had very little violence. There are a few fights between the Sohma clan members, but it is primarily punching, and no one gets killed. It would be a nice pick for a school library manga collection. The Collector’s Edition also includes helpful translation notes – this coupled with the Fruits Basket anime series could make for an exciting multimedia display.

 

This novel in verse can be used in place of (or alongside) lyrical works like Shakespeare and can be used in partnership with a language arts classroom. Acevedo’s controlled word choice activates the senses, and the school library offers the opportunity to pull in a range of multidisciplinary resources (the music of J. Cole, videos of teen slam poets, images of Harlem) to engulf students in this world and illustrate the relevance of poetry and the power words can hold.  

 

Ms. Galiano tells Xiomara, “words give people permission to be their fullest self/ And aren’t these the poems/ I’ve most needed to hear?” (p. 345). Acevedo’s words give a voice to issues that many teens can connect with today, including sexuality, body image, familial expectations, and new relationships.   

 

This is a great example of the use of atmosphere. From the disjointed ghouls to the shadow world, to the recurrence of the little gray mouse imagery, this horror seeps into your bones. A perfect recommendation to accompany the chill of autumn or for a year-round horror fan who enjoyed the likes of Neil Gaimon’s The Graveyard Book. This book is heavy with mystery, and themes of identity and home are revealed slowly to the reader, as Olivia Prior learns more about where she came from.

 

This novel also offers representation of a person with disabilities as Olivia uses sign language to communicate with those around her. Not everyone understands her, and she must break things to express her emotions and finally be heard.  

 

King explains that this book is uncomfortable, and in our current climate integrating a book like this into curriculum could receive challenges; however, this book is hard, and I think teens would love to be challenged by it in a classroom setting. Dig employs metaphor, tangled character relationships, and heavy themes – giving this to students shows them that you think they are smart. It shows them that you believe in them as much as A.S. King does.

 

At its heart, this story celebrates identity, and includes parts that I think will resonate with today’s teens. As Jules explains, “you don’t get to decide what’s important for us. You can choose for yourself, but no one else...something that’s trivial to you could mean so much more to someone else?” (pp. 286-287). The crew (Mia, Jules, Alma, Char, and El) build a community of support and trust, willing to travel into The Staircase for their own. 

And teens do not have to be limited by collection quantities - every chapter of On a Sunbeam is available online.