The most recommended books about teenage boys

This is my favorite novel of all time, bar none.

The sweeping saga of two seemingly socially disparate boys caught up in the volatile world of early 1900s Ireland from which springs forth the Easter Uprising. As a writer and a reader, I am amazed at the historical details and language that are completely immersive, as well as by the structure and control O’Neill wields over the book. Yet he never overwhelms with the “history,” nor does he ever lose sight of the true story, the true heart of his stunning novel.

The love story between the boys is timeless and beautiful and, of course, tragic, as is so often the case with gay love stories from our history. It has haunted me since I first read the novel some twenty-two years ago. It is yet another book I often come back to reread, and I am astounded all over… show more.

So Long, See You Tomorrow is another autofiction, recounting the life of its writer back when he befriended a young classmate when he was a schoolboy. Tragedy ensues and the writer never encounters the classmate again despite sharing a meaningful moment of connection when they were young. This meaningful moment is so memorable to the writer (and audience) that it transforms into the book's thematic understanding of connection.

This book is beautifully human. Again, it's not largeness of plot that brings out the life of these characters. The way they connect and speak about one another, the way they react to one another is so incredibly vivid. I got to know these people, I fell in love with these people. What's especially interesting about this novel is that it knows its own conceit very well: it is using fiction to supplant a faulty memory or to make sense of a… show more.

Having grown up gay in a small town in the South, this resonated with me as an out gay man in a big city in my twenties, because it got everything about being gay in a small Southern town right: the tone, the emotion, the terror, and most of all, it got how there are more of us in those small Southern towns than we realize at the time, and how leaving for bigger, “better” places isn’t always the answer. 

I knew Ted Weesner. We taught creative writing at Emerson College. This is Ted’s first book which still gives me chills because of how filmic the prose is—as in stepping into a film—only it is not only visual, it is visceral. You feel every part of this book and feel it deeply, sympathetically, and even though the main character is making mistakes his mistakes are your mistakes, his disappointments are your disappointments, his hopes are your hopes and thus his tragedy is yours to keep.

The Gold-Son is about a teen boy, Tommin, cursed with the need to steal. When the leprechaun, Lorcan Reilly arrives, he tricks Tommin and takes him to the realm of the Leprechauns. The thing I marveled over the most was the description of Tommin’s urge to steal—it was so well written. The author’s writing is lyrical and beautifully atmospheric, and she melds the legends and folklore of leprechauns to craft a tale of a terrible curse, a young love that lasts, and second chances.

This book is categorized as a young adult novel, but I read it as a fully grown adult and was able to snap right into my angsty teenage years. 

This book gives the protagonist, Ephraim, a good amount of agency, as it’s the flip of a coin that fulfills his desires–basically, it’s a wishing well. But the different versions of his life that spring forth are what makes this story intriguing and often quite moving.

For my money, Stern is the South’s premiere literary comic writer. In this one, he is a Southern Philip Roth with an I.B. Singer twist. A teenage boy discovers a frozen rabbi in the Kelvinator inside his parent’s Memphis basement. The rabbi’s been frozen for one hundred years. Bernie thaws him and what ensues covers a universe of incident: teenage hope and angst, Talmudic wisdom, kabbalistic film-flammery, the seduction of all of Memphis, from lowlifes to elite, by a rabbi (who can fly) selling himself as the font of all magic and knowledge. Stern obviously loves his Memphis and his Jews. At the same time he skewers them with the sleekest wit. Even Israel gets a gratuitous knock. It was the only thing I did not like in the book but it was fleeting, so I got over it. Such is the power of genius.

Death in Spring is a tiny book containing a bigger, more intricate world than many a doorstopper, for all that the whole story set in a small, nameless hamlet.

Life there too is made of strange, violent rituals, only not the ones we know. We follow a boy growing up and learning them, and being scarred by these mysteries—what do they fill the mouths of the dead with, before they are killed and put into a tree forever? (It’s cement.)

Rodoreda wrote in Catalan, and Tennent’s translation is fluid and beautiful.

Perfection is a rare thing; if you want to see what that looks like, here you go.   

This book is set in the scorching hot summer of 1900, often noted by young people of the time as a moment of hope, peace, and infinite possibility. They didn’t know what was coming for them. Neither does Hartley’s narrator, a fatherless 12-year-old boy spending his summer holiday with the wealthy family of a school friend.

I loved the imagery in the book: a stolen afternoon of coed swimming in a sky-blue river; a village cricket game that exposes both class tension and a forbidden romance; a green summer suit with smoked-pearl buttons that makes a boy suddenly conscious of how he is seen in the world.

When the boy becomes an unknowing accomplice in the affair between his friend’s debutante older sister and a tenant farmer, the course of his life is permanently distorted. Fans of Atonement and Lady Chatterley’s Lover will adore this book.

Alex Rider is the series that first introduced me to YA spy novels. They are a defining part of my childhood and adolescence… I don’t have a favorite

After thinking the series was over, Never Say Die was the unexpected sequel I needed. I didn’t need to reread the books to be re-immersed in Alex Rider’s world—it was almost as if I’d never left.

But why choose this one? For a character that could be defined as a reluctant spy, I enjoyed seeing him use the skills that had been forced upon him for something he wanted to do for once. It taught me that we might not always have control over what skills and talents we acquire, but we do have a choice in how we use them.