100 Books Like Gay & Lesbian History for Kids, 60

Little Heather has two eyes, two ears, two legs, two pets, and two mommies. Doesn’t everybody? Maybe not, Heather discovers on her first day at school. She also finds out that families may come in all different shapes and sizes, but what they all have in common is love. This is the book I found when there weren’t any others. Originally published—bravely—in 1989 and republished most recently in 2015 with a new illustrator, this groundbreaking, very first LGBT picture book is a must-read.

Sunny is a 12-year-old with a new heart and new plans for the summer—have amazing experiences, find a new best friend, and kiss a boy. Sunny takes readers on one heart-racing adventure after another as she navigates difficult family situations, goes on a first-kiss quest, and learns to surf. When she makes a new best friend, she discovers that maybe it’s not a boy she wants to kiss after all. Three words to describe this book: humor, heart, and hope.

This book was a joy to read. A fantasy story in a cemetery that’s both heartfelt and full of life. I loved how it wove Latinx culture and Día de los Muertos traditions into a story about identity, family, and magic.

Yadriel’s journey to prove himself as a brujo felt so personal and empowering. Then there’s Julian, the ghost he accidentally summons and starts to fall for. Their banter, their bond, the way they grow together—it just made my heart ache in a good way. It’s a love story, a ghost story, and a celebration of being seen.

This book is almost 400 pages long, but it absolutely does not feel like it. It’s one of the most riveting and absorbing books I’ve ever read, in part because of its relatively simple art style and small number of words per page.

It stars Aiden, a teenager who struggles with homophobia and suicidal thoughts as he comes to realize that he’s gay. So much of the dialogue and behavior in this book resonated with my own teenage experiences dealing with toxic “bros,” who made me feel like coming out would be an unsafe thing to do.

Curato creates an incredibly sympathetic character in Aiden, and his two-color artwork—grayscale with well-placed pops of orange and red—deftly supports the book’s thematic and emotional content. 

Cervini’s biography of Frank Kameny shows that gay militancy began years before the iconic riots at the Stonewall Inn. In 1965, Kameny led pickets for gay civil rights in front of the White House and the State Department. He was soon teaching people who lost their jobs because they were “homosexual” how to fight and win in the courts. Understanding that as long as homosexuals were considered sick, gay people would never be granted civil rights, Kameny organized the first protests against the American Psychiatric Association that led to the declassification of “homosexuality” as a mental disorder. Cervini situates Frank Kameny in his rightful place as the father of America’s first militant gay movement. 

Are any of the books I’ve selected International Studies texts? Let’s debate that later! This one was published in a Feminist Media Studies list. 

This book illuminates and humanizes the connections between activists working for LGBTQ rights and activists working for immigrant rights. Chávez foregrounds insights from women of color. It was one of the first academic books I read during my doctoral work that helped me understand how to bridge movement insights with political theory while staying committed to the activists I write about.

Chávez takes care in her work, always taking the continuing urgency of the coalitional queer and migrant politics seriously.

While I was getting my PhD at the University of Massachusetts – Boston, Chávez came to our campus and gave a talk. I was inspired by how connected her work is to the movements she writes about, and I aim to do the same.

This book taught me about the necessity of doing queer research that not only challenges cisheteronormativity, but also colonialism and coloniality as well.

Rao’s book is a masterclass in transnational and transtemporal storytelling, narrating plural stories of the (post)colonial politics of queerness, gender, and sexuality. I was especially gripped by his chapter tracing the colonial spectres of atonement that underpin the British government’s apologies for anti-sodomy laws, which resonates with a broader homocolonial discourse Western countries have used to denounce former colonised countries as backward and queerphobic. 

Queer IR can and should attend to these imperial histories and afterlives, and how they are underpinned by and uphold particular gendered and sexual norms. This book shows how global politics is a story about (post)coloniality and queerness.

You get exactly what’s on the tin with this one, and from an insider’s vantage point.

Thoreson uses an ethnographic approach to look at how Outright (formerly the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission) works in both the United States, where the group is headquartered, and through regional offices.

Thoreson shows us how movements behave, and with a critical eye to the role of Global North actors in these relationships. I was especially interested to hear about this idea that certain actors can behave as "brokers" to promote and translate certain human rights ideas. I see this practice among those who queer peace and security by building coalitions across gender justice movements.

Working for human rights of any kind is messy work. Long-term activism depends on very specific people and personalities to make meaningful change. This book's ethnographic research illuminates these transnational relationships.

This book is a feminist memoir about being in a groundbreaking organization that proclaimed to the world that lesbians exist, refusing to be erased.

They used street theatre to draw attention (the "fire eating" to which the book title refers). The participants faced a lot of litmus testing, such as being targeted as racially offensive for using the phrase "freedom ride" for non-race centric activity; and the author testifies to both misogyny and homophobia in the left in the US,  Paris, and Cuba. 

So, I know I promised you a list of books that offer tips for allies, and this one isn’t that. But before you get annoyed with me, let me explain. I’ve worked in the field of LGBTQ+ inclusion and allyship for over 20 years, and I rarely read books on the topic that wow me anymore. This one did.

Kenji Yoshino is brilliant. He brings an entirely new perspective to civil rights and what being your true self at work actually means, whether you’re part of the LGBTQ+ community, someone with a disability, a person living with chronic pain, or a straight, white, cisgender dude. Yoshino helped me understand that covering some part of ourselves that is different or considered less desirable by our society is a universal experience.