(Originally published as my Mombian newspaper column.) I know we’ve made progress towards increasing the number of LGBTQ-inclusive middle grade books when three come out within weeks of each other that are not just new books, but sequels or sophomore efforts. The authors are also all queer themselves!
At the risk of spoilers, however, I should add: The couple claiming to be Leila’s birth parents want to take her away from her dads. They don’t succeed and are in fact imposters—her real birth mother is revealed later and is a much more sympathetic character. Still, the mere idea that a birth parent (or fake one) might try to take a child from adoptive parents could be concerning for some young readers. Harris does clearly show, though, that Leila can be both understandably curious about her birth parents and committed to her dads—and they to her. That’s a good message. Many children may even delight and find strength in how Leila and her friends eventually foil the imposters.
There’s an echo of Lemony Snicket here (unsurprising, since Harris starred in the television adaptation of that series), in the bumbling bad guys and clever wordplay, but without Snicket’s pall of gloom and dismay. Like the first Misfits book, this one is also embedded with puzzles, ciphers, and how-to pages of magic tricks, adding to the overall fun of the story. With an underlying theme of knowing one can rely on friends and family, it’s sure to find lots of fans.
Their second story is again told through the eyes of their nine-year-old middle child, Sumac, who feels responsible for making sure their family’s winter holiday celebrations go according to plan. But an ice storm traps one dad and a brother out of the country; their visitor from Brazil gets injured and needs care; and then the city loses power. Can Sumac make sure their holiday is still a success?
The story unfolds as a slice of the Lotterys’ variegated and chaotic life, complete with sibling rivalry (and cooperation), parental exhaustion (and love), and an interweaving of the many traditions—old and new—reflecting the family members and their neighbors. The parents are of Jamaican, Mohawk, Scottish, and Indian ancestry; neighbors include a Muslim and a Jewish family. Sumac is of Filipina and German descent. And while the parents’ queerness is never a focus, there are queer-positive tidbits woven in, like a reference to Pride and the mention of a family friend who uses “they” pronouns. Additionally, Sumac’s sibling Brian is gender creative.
Donoghue doesn’t make this feel like a checklist of diversity categories, though, but rather an image of what life is actually like for many families and communities today, celebrating differences even while helping each other and coming together to create something more than the sum of its parts. And if real life contains more friction between such groups than in this book, readers should be inspired by Donoghue’s vision of what could be, and thoroughly enjoy spending more time with the Lotterys.
In an Author’s Note, Gino identifies their own privilege in being White and hearing, and says, “This book is consciously written for white people as a catalyst to talk about modern racism and police violence in the United States.” The most important lesson of the story, I believe, is that topics such as racism and ableism can be uncomfortable, but that is no excuse for White, conventionally abled people to avoid them–Gino, through Jilly, doesn’t, and nor should others.