It is this bridge between Irby the Author and Irby the Character that makes the book more than a comedy monologue as it is reading between the lines that tells you the whole story.
What is groundbreaking in Kundalkar’s novel is that having written in Marathi, in 2006 for a regional audience, Cobalt Blue not only begins with the narrative of a queer person but also explores his sexuality without any hesitation.
Burbidge’s personal, sexual-exploration accounts were published in an Australian magazine in 1987 without his knowledge. But, later, he took upon himself and told his story of coming to India and embracing himself as is.
In creating Nila, Sowmya Rajendran has succeeded in engaging multiple realities beyond what is being primarily sold: femme agency; they have brought to us a fierce, restless, and brimming child, who is extremely competitive, has a unibrow and muscular arms, and is very conscious of her interpersonal relationships.
Reading through the poems, the readers might feel like reading a personal diary or journal, and that personal, private quality of the poems add to their relevance and relatable quality.
The thing about Mira Nair’s A Suitable Boy is that you turn to it to have an immersive experience but from the first minute itself it seems a little off. …
The story adds a more explanatory note as an epilogue, describing what depression is and can feel like, and gives the reader advice on what to do if they see someone who looks like they might have it.
Vicky is adored and loved by the narrator to the extent that whenever Vicky leaves him after a meetup or date, his eyes would tear up with the thought of being departed from the person he loves. His love for Vicky is something mentioned vividly throughout the story at every possible instant.
Remember that being bisexual does not necessarily mean your character is only attracted to two genders. In fact, it definitely does not have to mean that they are attracted to each gender equally.
Children who come from homes that don't fit traditional social stereotypes (i.e. nuclear families) can find their families in these stories, and children who don't fit traditional stereotypes of gender or self-expression can find an example for themselves.
The title ‘Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know’ makes no attempt to conceal it’s YA (Young Adult) genre, and also leaves a few clues in the text just to make sure (for eg: the use of ‘deadpan’ as a verb). As Khayyam sleuths her way through the book to uncover Leila’s story and amplify her voice, it is ironic that the book title ‘Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know’, is a reference to Lord Byron’s reputation amongst women.
Naming one book after the other Saikat’s celebratory tone about the fact that much gay fiction and nonfiction is getting published he misses one more point: diversity. How many fictions, nonfictions by trans writer, Saikat? Or for that matter by any gender nonconforming person? Or anyone under the sun except gay man or woman?
The hope through education is to consistently allow each child the opportunity to be free to learn about and make space for identity markers that speak to one’s authentic truth. This is where I really appreciate how simply these two books with Ms Kuriyan’s playful illustrations drive home the need to see and accept oneself and other children (and everyone!) as unique individuals.
‘When I Grow Up’ shows us how we may challenge gender-related stereotypes in books that we make and choose for young readers. In listing different kinds of engineers that Papori wants to be, the book mindfully challenges the stereotypical associations between gender and occupation.
I had read a lot of Urdu poetry and prose from this time for my 2012 book Gender, Sex and the City, and had discovered that several major writers from Lucknow, Agra and Delhi (but also one from Hyderabad) wrote in the same range of tones and with equal ease about female-female, female-male, and male-male erotic relationships, as well as about all kinds of friendships, including female-male non-sexual friendships.
Lovely is a hijra who works at traffic signals for a living. She lives in a slum in Kolkata and dreams of becoming an actor. Not only that she dreams it, but is working toward it. The setting is a breath of fresh air as most of the novels, when describing the movie world, are obsessed with the tinseltown, Mumbai.
McQuiston unfolds the love story remarkably well, giving us time to get to know and love the two young men, along with the supporting characters, their irresistible friends and families.
Based in the sixties, in the small town of Pipalnagar where nothing ever happens, the story is told from the point of view of Arun, an aspiring writer, who aims to one day live in Delhi. While the town of Pipalnagar is almost a character of the story in itself, Arun is only living there because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
I always wished there could be as many books by queer authors or books on subjects concerning queer lives, but after reading The Other Guy (Leadstart Publishing, 2017) by Aakash Mehrotra I don’t know if this book, and its likes, help us achieve the function of literature.
While the trans community is the one she is actively discriminating against, other LGBTQ+ individuals, Trans allies, and members of the Harry Potter fandom are also speaking up about the disappointing and dangerous way that the author is deciding to use the influence that she has because of the global community that has loved her work.