Literature — Culture — Books
the library is open
While conservative lobbyists, both at home and around the world, seek to censor LGBTQ+ books, Sarah Fitz reflects on the solace, hope and comfort queer literature offers its readers.
When I turned 16, I already had a shelf full of queer books in my room, being the ally that I was. I think my local bookshop knew I was a lesbian before I did. With my organised-by-colour bookshelf and Webtoon account for Heartstopper updates, I was far from subtle. But that was, and is, the beauty of sharing queer stories. For young people still understanding their identity and their experiences, being able to turn to literature and popular culture is crucial. When depictions of queerness in media are often scarce or problematic, genuine representation is a lifeline for young people.
Queer literature can also become a way of communicating when you can’t do so directly. When our Pride month window went up in the bookshop where I work, a mother approached me to say how grateful she was that we had an LGBTQ+ display for young people. She had bought the novel Love, Simon for her son a few years prior, and the book helped him come out to his family.
There has been a surge in the publication of queer texts for teens over the past decade, but there are still huge gaps in representation, and, of late, a dramatic increase in book bans in the US specifically. With the attacks on libraries across Ireland in the past few years targeting queer literature, I’ve been reminded of the importance of uplifting LGBTQ+ stories wherever possible, particularly those aimed at children and teens. Whether it be supporting new writers, seeking out niche queer texts, or increasing representation at all levels of publication, each part of the industry has a role to play.
Throughout secondary school, I turned to books wherever and whenever I could. When I was struggling with mental health, being able to connect to fictional worlds and new characters opened up a space for understanding myself that I desperately needed. Delving into queer fictions offers opportunities for connection, clarity, and authenticity. As a young person unable to put feelings into words, seeing my experiences reflected in literature gave me a sense of community even before I was able to build a real-life one for myself. It also became a place where I learned about the vastness of identity and equipped myself with the empathy needed to enter adulthood.
It’s no wonder that queer people find such solace in the literary and creative spheres. Constructing new imaginative worlds offers hope and comfort, as well as outlets for expression and social commentary. Whether it be a 1,000page Emily Dickinson collection or translated fragments of Sappho (side-by-side on my bookshelf), queer people have worked to create a literary canon and excavate creative output from the silences and erasures of history. As the publication of new queer texts increases, I sincerely hope that these stories will now become impossible to suppress and can reach as many readers as possible.
From fanfiction forums to literary fiction, there are so many spaces to engage with queer stories, a testament to the creativity of queer writers and the perennial need for literature to reflect real life. As a kid raised on the novels of Jacqueline Wilson, I am in debt to queer writers for the creative spark I’ve cultivated. Going from inhaling Alice Oseman novels as a teen to writing my undergrad dissertation on queer young adult fantasy, queer literature has remained a central part of my identity. And at work, when an older woman asks me to wrap a David Bowie picture book as a Christmas present for her wife, I’m reminded of how universal and important LGBTQ+ books can be.