“Ten years from now is a lifetime away, and that’s not enough,” Gino says, emphatic about the gap between childhood and adulthood. But George is also smart enough to convey that it isn’t enough to know something better is out there, waiting-that it is difficult to be a child and even more difficult to be a child living in secret, and the need for support and acceptance from the parents, teachers, and peers one already has relationships with is more immediate and crucial. As a child of the digital age and fortunate enough to grow up during a time when transness is visible in the media, Melissa has the tools and language she needs to recognize that she isn’t alone and is part of a larger community. The book’s main source of tension, rather, is how Melissa, known throughout the book as George (her given name at birth), will prompt others to view and understand her the way she understands herself. George diverges from the narratives we’ve come to expect by placing its reader alongside a protagonist who already, at the novel’s beginning, knows she’s a girl. Written for ages nine to 12, George was born from this absence: a lack of published stories about young children questioning their assigned gender identities, figuring out safe ways to reveal internalized truths to those around them, and, often, taking steps toward transition. We are now witnessing a welcome sea change in the landscape of children’s literature-not only in the young adult category, but for early and middle readers, as well-and it is both exciting and a relief to see a remarkable book like Alex Gino’s George riding this current, much-needed wave. They were virtually nonexistent, and for the same readers who went on oft-disappointing quests to seek these books out, it’s nothing short of heartening and profound to observe the difference a decade can make. Ten years ago, if you’d walked into a bookstore or library, you’d have been hard-pressed to find transgender narratives written for and about youth.

Melissa book alex gino