The CBC Diversity initiative was founded in 2012, as part of the Children’s Book Council’s commitment to promoting diverse voices in literature for young people. We believe that all children deserve to see their world reflected in the books they read. We recognize that diversity takes on many forms, including differences in race, religion, gender, geography, sexual orientation, class, and ability.
In addition to championing diverse authors and illustrators, CBC Diversity strives to open up the publishing industry to a wider range of employees. We’ve taken an active role in recruiting diverse candidates, participating in school career fairs and partnering with We Need Diverse Books on its summer internship program.
New York, NY – September 28, 2018 – The CBC Diversity Committee is proud to announce
the winners of the inaugural CBC Diversity Outstanding Achievement Awards.These
awards will be given annually to professionals or organizations in the
children’s publishing industry who have made a significant impact on the publishing
and marketing of diverse books, diversity in hiring and mentoring, and efforts
that create greater awareness with the public about the importance of diverse
The winners were announced at the CBC Annual Meeting in New York City
on September 27, and an official ceremony and conversation with the winners
will take place on October 24 at a CBC Forum event. The winners will each
select an organization to receive one thousand dollars’ worth of children’s
books in their name.
Kapadwala, the CBC Diversity Committee’s moderator, said: “The committee had
the great joy and responsibility of reviewing nominations from across the
children’s publishing community. In making their selections, the committee has
summarized the accomplishments of these inspiring people and organizations.”
Pride season is
upon us, and I have never been more proud to be a part of children’s publishing
as a queer person. Whether you’re celebrating your own identity or supporting
those you love, it’s important for us to reflect on why Pride is such a vital
time for LGBT and Queer youth and how we can best reach LGBTQ readers.
around the world have evolved since Christopher Street Liberation Day, which
most people in our community consider to be the “first” Pride celebration. It’s
important to remember that Pride was born out of necessity; LGBTQ people have
been and continue to be targeted because of who we are, both on a personal
level and a systemic level. Until true equity and liberation is achieved, Pride
holds a meaningful place for many people in our community! We get to be out,
loud, and proud during this time of year, and that kind of affirmation often
fuels us for months to come, long after the season is over.
Why LGBTQ Children’s Literature?
Growing up, I had
virtually no positive role models who were out. I still remember when Ellen
came out; I felt seen and validated by Rickie Vasquez from My So-Called Life. But I didn’t have the sort of queer and
LGBT-themed literature that is now available to readers today. Anything I found
as a closeted teenager was usually: a) geared towards adults and pretty much inappropriate
to me OR b) featured gay or queer characters who died, were villains, or only
existed as a witty sidekick without their own stories. It wasn’t until I got to
college that I discovered books
geared at teens that contained meaningful depictions of LGBTQ characters. It
made for a lonely experience in the library. I read voraciously, but I often
had to force myself to identify with stories that were not my own.
We know that books
have the power to change lives, and it’s important that children’s literature
reflect the world around us. I think of books as exercises in empathy, as a
chance to view the world through someone else’s eyes. The books that meant the
most to me as a teenager weren’t just those that reflected my own experiences;
they were also those that allowed me to expand my understanding of what it
meant to be human.
What does LGBTQ YA look like today?
I set out to write
an openly queer YA novel nearly six years ago, but at that time, I still
worried about getting published. I had come to love the work of Malinda Lo, of
David Levithan, of Benjamin Alire Sáenz; I had read Annie On My Mind perhaps a hundred times; the same fate awaited Ruby by Rosa Guy, which I was lucky to
be handed after escaping to college after being outed. So, I knew young adult
literature could have openly gay or
queer characters within it. But I had also heard and seen so many horror stories.
Would it be too much to write multiple
queer characters in the same book?
It might seem
presumptuous to say so, but there are days where I feel like we are in the
midst of an LGBTQ renaissance within children’s literature. In 2018 alone, I’ve
devoured so many books in which characters across the broad spectrum of our
community were center stage. I started 2018 with the powerful and hopeful Let’s Talk About Love (Claire Kann), the
first novel I had ever read with a main character who is biromantic asexual. I
wept over Kheryn Callendar’s Hurricane
Child, and I recommended They Both
Die At The End (Adam Silvera) to every person who would listen to my
shrieking. (Surprisingly, a large number of people.) I’ve recently finished
books by Caleb Roehrig (Last Seen Leaving
& White Rabbit), who writes incredibly gay murder mysteries, and Amy
Spalding, whose The Summer of Jordi Perez
(And The Best Burger In Los Angeles) is the exact sort of romantic book I
desperately needed when I was living in Los Angeles myself.
Of course, it
certainly helps that we’re living in the age where Simon vs. the Homosapiens Agenda became the cinematic sensation
that was Love, Simon. And while Becky
Albertalli’s moving and touching writing is part of the reason for its success,
it’s also clear that readers want
more stories with LGBTQ characters. There is a whole generation of kids that
are learning to come out, to wrestle with their identities, to discover the
right word for what they feel. We should be there for them. We should be able
to provide stories that help them explore a confusing but ultimately rewarding
part of their lives. This Pride month is the perfect time to reflect on this!
Mark Oshiro is the
Hugo finalist (in the Fan Writer category) creator of the online Mark Does
Stuff universe (Mark Reads and Mark Watches), where he analyzes book and
television series unspoiled. He was the nonfiction editor of Queers Destroy Science Fiction! and the
co-editor of Speculative Fiction 2015
with Foz Meadows. He is the President of the Con or Bust Board of Directors.
His first novel, Anger is a Gift, is
a YA contemporary about queer friendship, love, and fighting police brutality. It
will be released on 5/22/2018 with Tor Teen. When he is not writing, crying on
camera about fictional characters, or ruining lives at conventions, he is busy
trying to fulfill his lifelong goal: to pet every dog in the world.
Mike Mullin, author of Surface Tension, shares his book list “Books for Teens Featuring African-American Protagonists.” Check out the preview below and the full list & 5 book giveaway on the Multicultural Children’s Book Day website.
1. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor
I first read this novel the same year I first saw Star Wars, when I was ten or eleven. Both experiences linger in my memory nearly 40 years later. It wasn’t the first time I’d read books with Black protagonists (that would be Ezra Jack Keats’ brilliant picture books), but it was the first time I’d read about the brutality of racism. Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry is set in 1930’s Mississippi—Taylor sets the scene so well that by the time you’re done reading you’ll be able to taste the rust-colored dust of the dirt roads.
Cassie is an indomitable heroine. Every time I read her story, I alternate between feeling terror and elation as she confronts everything from racist insults to horrific threats against her person. But the true brilliance of the novel is the theme of fire running throughout it, beginning with the horribly burnt body of Mr. Berry and ending with a forest fire—it serves as a stark metaphor for the all-consuming nature of racism. [chapter book, ages 11 and up]
2. M.C. Higgins the Great by Virginia Hamilton
I think I loved this book because I identified so strongly with the protagonist: Mayo Cornelius Higgins, a brainy, disaffected young man who watches the world from atop a 40’ steel pole. Like M.C., I climbed everything in sight. (Trees, buildings… I never had a 40’ pole, but I have no doubt I would have tried to climb it. My favorite place was a tree covered in vines—I could climb up, stick my head out the top, and gaze over what looked like a leafy meadow suspended 60’ above the ground.) I also identified with the alliance M.C. builds with his neighbors, the light-skinned, red-headed Killburns. I never tried to build a wall with the Black kids who lived next door to me—Mark, Todd, and Glen—but we did build some wicked BMX ramps together! Years after I first read M.C. Higgins the Great, I met Virginia Hamilton and she signed a copy for me. I wish I’d bought a hardcover, but at that point I was in college and nearly broke. I also wish my handwriting were half as lovely as hers:
If you enjoy M.C. Higgins the Great, don’t miss The Planet of Junior Brown and The House of Dies Drear, my other favorite Hamilton novels. [chapter book, ages 11 and up]
3. Monster by Walter Dean Myers
I could have put lots of Myers books on this list, but this is the one that haunted my dreams for months after I read it. The protagonist, Steve, is facing 25-years to life for a crime he didn’t commit. Myers tells the story entirely through diary entries and a screenplay Steve is writing. But the real story here is Steve’s inner battle, as he struggles to reject the label society has already branded him with: Monster. [young adult, ages 13 and up]
Melissa Keil, author of The Secret Science of Magic, shares her book list “8 Australian Multicultural YA Books.” Check out the preview below and the full list on the Multicultural Children’s Book Day website.
1. Looking for Alibrandi by Melina Marchetta
Josie Alibrandi navigates life with her wealthy Catholic school peers and her Italian-Australian family, while dealing with the reappearance of her estranged father, and the complexities of romance. With a wonderfully realized protagonist and heartfelt prose, Alibrandi is a modern Australian YA classic. [young adult, ages 13 and up]
2. Laurinda (published in the US as Lucy and Linh) by Alice Pung
At an exclusive private school for girls, Lucy Lam enrolls as a scholarship student, finding herself tangling with a group of girls known as the Cabinet, who wield extraordinary influence over their peers and teachers. Timely and relevant YA that tackles the thorny issues of power, privilege, class and race. [young adult, ages 14 and up]
3. Does My Head Look Big in This? by Randa Abdel-Fattah
Sixteen-year-old Amal decides to adopt the hijab full time, and deals with the repercussions from her schoolmates, parents and friends. With a great voice in the character of Amal, this book is a funny and moving look at confronting stereotypes and staying true to yourself. [young adult, ages 12 and up]
I discovered the joys of theater in middle school for a sad
but simple reason: I was quitting dance. At the age of twelve, I was told by my
teacher that I couldn’t continue at an advanced level without losing a
significant amount of weight. The issue of body policing in the performing arts
comes up in my YA novel Echo After Echo,
specifically for the main character, Zara, who is not the waifish ingénue
people have come to expect. Fortunately, when I chose to leave dance behind, I
fell into theater, and despite being a different body type than many of my
fellow actresses, I found roles and fell in love with acting.
My new life of green rooms and backstage bonding brought my
first queer friends. It’s no real secret that the theater world, from the
professional stages in NYC to the drama clubs in most schools are havens for
creative and hardworking LGBTQIAP folks. Before I even knew I was queer, I
found my people, and they shared my fervor for story-making, a heady mix of
love and ambition that still drives me. We collected, we rehearsed, we
constructed sets with questionable structural integrity, we held our hearts
outside of our bodies night after night, we threw AMAZING cast parties.
My dad—technically a refugee from East Pakistan (now
Bangladesh)—became a harbor engineer, traveled far and wide, stood in the
presence of Winston Churchill, Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Teresa, and Queen
Elizabeth, and settled his family in California when I was in the seventh grade.
He died this year, and I’m grieving hard, mourning the loss of his humor,
loving company, and joyful spirit. I also miss his stories of Poshora, the
village where seven generations of my family lived on a jute farm. Thanks to
Dad’s deep roots in that particular place, no matter how people saw us, we
didn’t identify ourselves as Asian-Americans, Indian-Americans, or even
Bengali-Americans. I knew as a child that the Bose family was from Poshora in Faridpur, East Bengal.The problem is that now, without Dad’s witty, adept use of
the Bangla language, recitations of Tagore’s poetry, and reminiscences from his
childhood, it feels like the hyphen connecting my identities has taken a blow.
Will it be fatal? My parents’ shift from country to country—something that I
didn’t choose—has already cost me, leaving me to grow up far away from a
supportive network of relatives and grandparents. Dad’s life and stories
provided my particular connection to that faraway village in East Bengal. With
Dad gone, will I tilt even more to the American side?
Contributed by Ashley Woodfolk, Marketing
Manager, Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group
I have been a lover of reading for my entire
life. I started reading before I was five, and I never stopped. And yet, I have
never written a letter to an author besides once, when I was ten, for a school