The most recommended LGBTQ+ books

This book, on the younger range of YA, features twelve-year-old King in Louisiana bayou country. Not only is King Black, but he thinks he might be gay. He has a special friendship with Sandy, who is white and whose father is a known KKK member. The story opens with the sudden and unexpected death of King’s big brother Khalid, a soccer star. Khalid had told King not to hang with Sandy because he would appear to be gay and be shunned by his classmates. While suffering deep grief, King complies for a time, but without Khalid, without Sandy, he has no one to help him sort out his uncertainty and loneliness. He retreats to the bayou and the many dragonflies in this poetic winner of the National Book Award for Young Readers 2020.

Doug Orlando is a conflicted New York City detective with a past, and that gives him a lot of psychological depth. Originally published in 1992, this was one of the best of the wave of gay mysteries. I loved it because the police procedures seemed so authentic and Doug seemed like a guy I’d want to know, and want on my side in case of trouble. 

Blue Flag features an intense love rectangle between four unlikely friends and explores everything from cliques, crushes, self-hatred, projecting your insecurities onto others, and figuring out how to grow as a person. The relationships in Blue Flag are very complex, and almost uncomfortably real in their strengths and shortcomings. This is a series I wish I could have read as a teen; I would have loved it to be my companion in navigating the unnavigable maze of school social life.

I bought this book several years ago, but it was 700 pages long, so it stayed on my shelf until I got tickets for the play in London and decided to read the book first. I was spellbound. The book is disturbing (child abuse, self-harm, suicide attempts) but superbly written.

The author's style reminds me of Donna Tartt. Four young American men of different ethnicities, backgrounds, and sexual orientations meet at high school. The novel starts as a coming-of-age story but follows the characters into middle age and beyond. The author brings New York vibrantly to life. Readers get insights into their friendship and how unintended cruelty almost breaks their bond. All four men struggle with burdens from childhood, but the central character, Jude, who was abandoned as a baby and brought up by monks, has suffered unspeakable horrors.

The darkness is only hinted at in the opening chapters, giving… show more.

As an ex-competitive athlete, I’m a sucker for sports romances, and this one was an absolute winner for me.

The characters are all enjoyable, not just the two main characters but the entire supporting cast. I wanted to be a part of the team Tommaso played for and I wanted to join Carter in decorating homes.

For me, this was such a comfort read, and one I’ll go back to when I need something familiar that I can just melt into and enjoy the world these two lovebirds live in. 

Who is Vera Kelly isn’t your typical 1960s Cold War spy novel.

Although Vera’s sexuality is unresolved and she’s had a rocky road to adulthood, the CIA recruits her. She goes to work as an undercover agent in Buenos Aires. Her day job is to infiltrate a campus Marxist group with ties to the KGB. At night, she transcribes wiretaps taken from the presidential palace. When her handler goes dark, Vera is caught in the middle of a coup.

Who is Vera Kelly takes us into the mindset of lovely Vera. She’s fresh, funny, quirky, and comes off as a (relatively) regular gal, albeit one who is scrambling to stay alive in South America.

I've always loved a steamy MM romance, so the bogus boyfriend premise was an easy sell for me. However, as a foster mom turned adoptive mother, I'll forever have a special place in my heart for BIPOC navigating child protective services. Whether the narrative focused on Carlton's traumatized niece and the therapy she so desperately needed or the number of hoops that the LGBTQ+ community jumps through to even be considered for adoption, this story hit home on multiple fronts.

It was inspiring to watch Carlton and Deion navigate the many facets of queer culture, including their newfound fatherhood. Mainly because while stories like theirs happen every day, we don't see them nearly enough. Faux couple or not, Carlton and Deion were the safe space that Olivia needed and the mainstream representation that readers like myself consistently crave.

Written in the fifties, perhaps the author’s gender helped excuse her brave assumption that the intimate thoughts and feelings of a group of young gay men attempting to come to terms with their sexual identity was a valid topic. Renaud writes of stunted lives: the invented girlfriends, the cautious hints to probe another man’s preferences, the desperate need to belong, provoking the retreat into society’s stereotyping even amongst themselves. The novel is dated; one character has to explain to another what drag is! But it was one more step towards gay men’s forming their identity and self-acceptance. 

Having gone through trauma in my life, I’d never normally read a book about the coping and grief that survivors of a loved one’s suicide go through. But I wanted to read something by award-winning KG MacGregor. And I’m glad I did.

Her writing is graceful and the story flows so nicely that I didn’t want the chapters to end. While reading it, I felt I was in a boat floating on a gentle stream in warm sunshine. The beat balance was perfect between the characters’ pain, their complicated work life, and their relationships. I loved how Bennie, a therapy dog, was featured and learned much about this special type of comforting companionship.

Bringing Me Dreams is an example of superb writing and a beautiful story. 

Somewhere in their fourteen-page digression on the 18th-century non-binary American prophet Universal Publick Friend did I realize—once again—that I was nearly done with T Fleischmann’s enchanting book-length essay on transness, time, and art. I have read it three times! As a trans person, I love this book for its meditations on the transitioning body and its sexy tales of intimate encounters. It also offers a critical engagement with the artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s work, as well as a memoir of discovery that, like Fleischmann themself, bounces from New York City to rural Tennessee and back again, charting a geography of queer friendship and memory.