100 books like Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up with Me

To put this on a list of gay coming-of-age graphic novels feels potentially like a spoiler, but in the hopes that I’ll convince at least one other person to read this near-perfect book, I’ll take the risk!

A decade after its publication, few, if any, graphic novelists have managed to match the quality of this brilliantly written, elegantly drawn, subtly rendered, and wonderfully atmospheric book about two girls whose sexualities start to manifest during a summer vacation with their families.

Mariko and Jillian Tamaki are always brilliant, but this book remains, in my opinion, their best work.

Very few books have affected me more than this autobiographical Japanese manga. The book's author, artist, and protagonist is a young woman navigating her family relationships, mental health, and sexuality. In the grips of depression, desperate to be touched, the protagonist goes to an escort agency—but the plot is not the point.

Nagata’s willingness to “go there” feels so fresh, and is so vulnerable and heartfelt. As a queer person there was a lot to identify with, as a writer I took away a determination to try and be even half as vulnerable in my writing, and as a young woman I felt seen in a new way. 

This is the spark that lit me on fire and showed me that all the features of queer adolescence I thought were impossible to write about in “books for teens” are totally possible to write about.

Juliet, Puerto Rican teen from the Bronx, feels the weight of her community’s and family’s homophobia, and attempts to build her resume and find a wider world by interning for her favorite feminist writer—a thirtysomething eccentric, woo-woo white Oregonian, who despite having friends and exes of color and apparently genuinely hoping to offer Juliet wisdom, care, and research opportunities, is lackadaisical, irresponsible, and more than capable of shrewdly using Juliet to market herself and her books.

Juliet’s encounters with racist microagressions, feminist approaches to menstruation, weed, heartbreak, and the problem of regionally-specific queer buzzwords pull no punches. Rivera asks us to look at what responsibilities might be involved in “community”, including the responsibility to… show more.

I don’t usually love coming-out stories, since the coming-out narrative tends to replace anything else that happens for trans people, but this one shines—in part because Sasha Masha’s emergence precedes her contact with queer community, but only starts to actually makes sense in the context of knowing other gay and trans people.

It’s one of the only trans girl YA novels I know of, and it feels like it’s written for someone who is, like Sasha, half-out and tripping down the final steps. This is a fantastic book about how we may find our most real selves alone, but it might take a one-sided romantic friendship, a community showing of Querelle, or a couple old drag queens showing you their hallway of photos of Queer Icons to feel like you aren’t going crazy. 

I don’t know if most librarians would understand or shelve this as YA, but Lowrey’s cast of eighteen-year-old trans punks and squatters have more in common with most trans kids, in 2006 or the present day, than many YA-marketed idyllic stories about teens with accepting families and limited substance use issues.

From nonprofits where suburban children pick fights with homeless teens to squats where young punks pressure each other into conforming to their own specific dysfunctional microculture in Portland, Oregon, this book resonates for me as tracking a moment in history—the youth of all the trans people who were in their twenties when I came out in my early teens, and were trying to devote themselves to the same community projects they had benefited from when they were runaways and train-hoppers.

This graphic novel fits into one of my favorite categories, hopeful science fiction. It’s got fantastic world-building, gorgeous art, and very interesting things to say about power dynamics and perpetuating harmful cycles. It also has complex and interesting young trans characters as the two leads.

My favorite thing about it is how it defies the reader's expectations for a love story, and instead features two characters blossoming and growing through their friendship. 

I’ve been a longtime fan of Tillie Walden, and love everything she creates, but Are You Listening? has a special place in my heart. It follows Bea and Lou, both running from their own grief, as they drive through West Texas together after a chance encounter.

It’s a strange, surreal, and emotionally complex story about the blossoming of an intergenerational queer friendship, and finding what you need on the road.

Walden’s a true master of cartooning, her lines are fluid, both sparse and incredibly impactful. I also can’t help but love that it takes place in my home state of Texas. 

Friendship and navigating school social hierarchy is hard enough, but throw in a secret queer relationship and a bootleg anime dvd business? Yikes!

What I love about Forest Hills Bootleg Society is how messy it is; these girls have PROBLEMS. Of course they do, they’re teens. This graphic novel is so funny and relatable at times, while at other points, it’s heartbreaking. This especially speaks to me as a former anime-teen! 

Elle’s had a crush on her elusive classmate Madeline for ages, and when she runs into her at the party she and her bestie crash, she’s ecstatic to finally get the chance to chat Madeline up. Unfortunately, she drinks too much and ends up back at her apartment the next morning with a bad hangover and a bag full of stolen expensive trinkets.

Somehow this accidental theft ends up bringing her and Madeline, who has quite a few secrets of her own, closer together. Reverse heist hijinks, going to too many parties, smooching, and self-discovery ensue.

Lucie Bryon’s art is expressive and lively, and the characters feel like real teens—big crushes, bad decisions, and all. 

This book was recommended to me by my mentor, so it was one of the first queer graphic novels I ever got to experience. I love this book because it goes through so many of the hardships of being openly yourself. It’s nostalgic, it’s relatable, and it’s incredibly heartfelt.

While the main focus of Kiss Number 8 is exploring queer identity in young adulthood, my favorite part of this book is the relationship the main character has with her father and how that relationship struggles, changes, and grows over the course of the book.