No 14-year-old girl should worry about passing her maths exam while at the same time knowing that “a virgin fetches a higher price from clients”, but this is the case for Heera, the memorable protagonist of journalist and activist Ruchira Gupta’s debut novel, I Kick and I Fly (Rock The Boat, £8.99). Gupta is the founder of an NGO that fights against sex trafficking in India, and her intention with this book is to empower young readers in the same way she works to empower young people through education. “I wrote this story because I wanted to share with you that someone somewhere of your age fought back and won,” she explains in an author’s letter at the end. “I wanted you to know that change is possible. I have witnessed it in my own lifetime.”
There is certainly a kind of activist tone that makes itself felt at certain places during the narrative. When Heera is explaining her story to a group of at-risk girls, it hovers between being authentic and being a little too neatly packaged: “My brother and I are the first people in our family to ever go to school, and I have grown up believing that being sold for prostitution is my destiny. That there are few doors open to me as a child of an oppressed-caste family ... though people say that times have changed, they must not have changed everywhere, because I have been told since I was a little girl that selling my body was what I had to do to support myself and my family. And I believed it.”
Heera learns, through participation in kung fu classes, that girls like her do have other options, and that her body is her own. She moves from believing school to be “an avoidable luxury, filling our heads with impractical dreams” to someone who takes action and fights bravely for her dreams – as well as the freedom of her best friend. But this is far from a feel-good story, and it takes its toll on the reader. Gupta immerses us in Heera’s world so thoroughly that we, like Heera, do not see just how small and limited it is – and how deprived it is – until it opens up a little bit. There are horrors, as well as small indignities, that she simply has to live with.
This is a grim read, though it is difficult to imagine how any title exploring the trafficking of teenage girls could not be (at least, not without sacrificing authenticity). Its hopeful elements are grounded in reality, never veering into wish-fulfilment; one of the smaller details that stays with me is the assistance with accessing supports that are in place but may be unknown or seem irrelevant to families worn down by discrimination and poverty. There are gentle reminders of the complexity of these situations, without it becoming overly preachy. It works as a story first and foremost, making the message and the hope all the more powerful. Expect this book to win many prizes, and to leave readers with a lot of feelings.
I went to the cinema to see Small Things Like These. By the time I emerged I had concluded the film was crap
Jack Reynor: ‘We were in two minds between eloping or going the whole hog but we got married in Wicklow with about 220 people’
Forêt restaurant review: A masterclass in French classic cooking in Dublin 4
Charlene McKenna: ‘Within three weeks, I turned 40, had my first baby and lost my father’
For nightmarish scenarios less grounded in reality, there’s a return to Vanessa Len’s “monster” world in Never a Hero (Hodderscape, £16.99), which will appeal to fans of multiverses and time travel. Joan is haunted by the choice she made to use her family power, and so too are many of the monster families of London. “Humans had a protector. A hero. And you unmade him. You did every action he’d ever done; would ever have done. Did you think there’d be no consequences?”
Moving through time to escape those determined to capture her, Joan is reunited with alternate versions of people she has known and fought alongside. There are thought-provoking questions here about how much we are shaped by events versus any kind of innate goodness – or evil – and the plot slides smoothly along. I gobbled this up.
Karen M McManus allows a wry nod in the final instalment of her murderous Bayview High trilogy, One of Us Is Back (Penguin, £14.99), as Addy reflects, “Sometimes, I deeply question why any of us continue to live in Bayview.” A legal challenge sees a former villain – and Addy’s ex-boyfriend – out of jail, with new mysteries arising even as the existing ones deepen. While readers may have some initial scepticism upon seeing these popular and Netflix-adapted characters undergo yet more drama, this is a very satisfying read.
“All we want to do is make anxiety manageable when it’s there and allow you to relax and have fun when it’s not. We want to train your guard dog to growl at the right things”
As the new school year approaches, non-fiction for teenagers appears on the shelves. Nicola Morgan’s No Worries: How to Deal With Teenage Anxiety (Walker, £7.99) feels particularly necessary in today’s world, and as with her other non-fiction about how young people’s brains work (or sometimes don’t), she incorporates a good deal of research into her explanations. She is clear to distinguish between anxiety and an anxiety disorder, which makes statements like “Your anxiety is your superpower!” less grating than they might otherwise be. Morgan reassures readers that being anxious is not in itself a problem and is often your brain working as it should. “All we want to do is make anxiety manageable when it’s there and allow you to relax and have fun when it’s not. We want to train your guard dog to growl at the right things.”
Much of the book involves a variety of strategies, divided into sometimes overlapping categories – instant action, prevention, intervention, relaxation, and distraction – that can be used to manage this “guard dog”. Most useful is this advice: “Remember to practice these strategies before you need them urgently.” It’s important context for what might seem like overly simplified approaches to mental health, and a reminder that books have space for context in a way that pop psychology disseminated via social media tends not to.
A similar reminder occurs with How to Say No (Puffin, £12.99), a guide to setting – buzzword alert – boundaries by life coach Michelle Elman and illustrated by Sara Tomate. Elman explains, “I’m going to teach you how to take the vibes of a toddler, mix in the language of an adult and set your own boundaries.” But she also informs readers that “boundaries always work both ways”, and that using your own “no” means respecting when others use theirs – a part of the equation often neglected when this topic appears online in quirky videos or pastel images. This friendly, cheerful book ends up endorsing an awful lot of good old-fashioned mutual respect – with an appropriate nod to how much more conscious we should be when it comes to young people’s bodily autonomy.
Finally, Laura Dockrill’s You Are A Story (Hot Key Books, £7.99) draws on the writer’s own experience as both artist and survivor of mental illness, emphasising the therapeutic benefits of creative writing rather than the craft elements. She is realistic about its limitations: “As much as I love words and believe in the healing power of shared stories, I get it: no writing journal is going to be a full-blown bonfire torching up your soul into the blissful heights of a pain-free existence.” Instead she offers “a little lantern”, with enthusiastic prompts and vivid examples – beautifully “showing” rather than “telling” how useful writing can be, you might say.
