I recently attended the QSLA conference at the beautiful State Library of Queensland. It was a fantastic day for school informational professionals to gather, share emerging news, identify new trends and trade in good old fashioned work chit chat.
Andy Griffiths – author of the famous Treehouse series, was our keynote speaker. I have known of Andy’s work for almost a decade. Whilst I have admired his works, I hadn’t fully appreciated his philosophy until now. His words, much like his books, were playful on the surface but deeply subversive underneath. They invited us to reconsider not just how children read, but why they need stories that break the rules.
Griffiths and his co-creator, illustrator Terry Denton have created the inventive, imaginative chaos that is the Treehouse series. I found it amusing that they named the main characters after themselves. Their fictional versions live in an ever expanding treehouse that defies logic and gravity, expanding with each book to include ludicrous additions like a marshmallow machine, a tank of man-eating sharks, and even a volcano. Their adventures are reckless, absurd, and often dangerous. But that danger is never real. It’s theatrical. It’s safe. It’s fiction.
… and that is the point. It is fiction as Andy pointed out last week to a large group of educators and informational professionals.
This was so true. In a world increasingly obsessed with safety, structure, and supervision, Griffiths’ books offer a counterbalance. They don’t just entertain their readers… they liberate them! They allow children to imagine running across six lanes of traffic or jumping into a volcano, not because they should, but because they can. In fiction, the consequences are exaggerated, the outcomes are ridiculous, and the lessons are embedded in laughter. Griffiths uses humour to engage the reader and builds into that playful sense that children have. As Griffiths said last week, “Reading is a game between the reader and the author. Authors make black marks on pages. Readers use these marks to make an image in their heads.”
I then thought about all the other books that ‘helped me break rules’. Darryl and Sally hosting midnight feasts at Mallory Towers, Matilda using her brain to solve problems, Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew resolving mysterious events. Each of these characters and books gave me option I may not have thought of previously.
Leaving the conference, I felt a renewed appreciation for the role of literature in childhood. Not just as a tool for literacy, but as a sanctuary for wild thought. Griffiths reminded us that imagination isn’t just fun. It’s vital. It’s how children rehearse life, test boundaries, and build resilience.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s how they learn to be free.
There are books I return to not because I’ve forgotten the plot, but because I remember how they made me feel. Like Serena Bourke’s thoughtful reflection on why students reread the same book, I too find comfort in the familiar pages of my favourite titles. These books have become more than stories. They are companions. They are constants. They are friends.
When I’m happy, I reach for books that mirror my joy. Stories that sparkle with wit and warmth. They amplify the moment like music that makes you dance even harder. But when sadness creeps in, I turn to different titles. Not necessarily ones that cheer me up but ones that understand. Books that sit quietly with me, offering solace without demanding anything in return. They don’t fix the sadness inside, but they make it feel seen.
And when I feel unsettled, adrift in the chaos of life, I go back to books that anchor me. Their words are familiar. Their rhythms soothing. I know what’s coming next and that predictability is a balm. It’s like rewatching a movie you’ve seen a dozen times. You’re not watching it for the plot. You’re watching it to relive the feeling you had the first time. The laughter, the tears, the quiet awe. But some books have become emotional landmarks. I remember where I was when I first read them. The scent of the room. The season outside. The version of myself that turned each page. Rereading them is like visiting an old friend. You pick up right where you left off. No explanations needed.
There are specific titles I reach for depending on how I feel. I reach for something like Anne of Green Gables when I’m happy. It’s full of whimsy, imagination, and the kind of joy that makes you want to skip down a pathway and play hopscotch. When I’m sad, maybe The Little Prince or The Secret Garden. There’s something quietly profound about their simplicity, gentle wisdom, and a strong reminder that what’s essential is invisible to the eye. I read Jane Eyre when I’m feeling overwhelmed. Brontë’s classic coming-of-age novel inspires me to have faith, to persevere with hope and most of all, to believe in myself. I reread Harry Potter when I feel mischievous or want to relive some childhood nostalgia. It’s like slipping into a world that once felt limitless and magical. And when I’m ready to disappear into bygone days, I turn to The Sunne in Splendour or When Christ and His Saints Slept. These historical epics transport me to another time, another rhythm of life, where the stakes are grand and the stories rich with legacy.
Serena Bourke writes about how students reread books because they offer safety, familiarity and emotional resonance. I think that’s true for all of us. In a world that changes too fast, books stay. They wait patiently on shelves, ready to welcome us back. And each time we return, we bring a new version of ourselves to the story. The book hasn’t changed but we have. And somehow it still fits.
So yes, I reread. Not because I’ve run out of new titles but because some books are more than books. They’re friends. They’re mirrors. They’re memory keepers. And in their pages, I find pieces of myself again and again.
I’ve just returned from a wedding overseas. It was a beautiful celebration, and between the flights and lounges, I had time to catch up on some reading. Normally, I’d pack a couple of paperbacks, but this time, I decided to travel light and for the first time, go digital only.
This was not a lightly made decision! Before I left, I logged into eWheelers through my school account and downloaded a few titles I’d been meaning to read and others for my children. I also used BorrowBox via my Brisbane City Council library membership. I accessed both platforms on my phone, which made it incredibly easy to dip in and out of books whenever I had a spare moment. One of the great things about eWheelers is that it works across multiple devices, so whether you’re on a tablet, laptop, or mobile, your library is always within reach. It can also be read offline, as can books on Borrowbox which makes it perfect for when WiFi is not available.
Pool side reads
Ebooks are brilliant for travel. They offer the flexibility to read whatever you fancy without the bulk. It’s quick, convenient, and surprisingly satisfying to flick through pages with just a tap. For students, ebooks and or audiobooks, are becoming an increasingly valuable library resource. Many prefer them because they’re easy to access, allow for tech engagement, and offer features that physical books simply can’t.
Digital reading platforms often include options to change font sizes, switch to dyslexia-friendly fonts, or even translate texts into different languages. This makes eBooks especially helpful for students with vision impairments, learning differences, or those studying in multilingual environments. It’s a more inclusive way to read, and it’s reshaping how libraries support diverse learning needs.
And let’s be honest, eBooks also preserve a bit of anonymity. I’ll admit, I indulged in a cheeky bit of romantasy and adult fiction on the plane, the kind of titles that might raise eyebrows if I were carrying the physical copy around in public or completely mortify my children next to me! For young people, this privacy is gold. It allows them to explore genres they might be embarrassed to share with peers, especially when it comes to romance or identity-focused narratives.
This ties into a broader issue: many teens feel pressure to conform to social norms, especially around gender expectations. Ebooks offer teens a quiet refuge—a way to read without the gaze of others. For students navigating the delicate terrain of romance, identity, or emotionally expressive stories, this privacy matters. These genres, often unfairly stigmatised among peers, can feel too vulnerable to carry in plain sight. Smith and Wilhelm (2002) observed that boys, in particular, are more inclined to engage with emotionally rich narratives when the fear of judgement is lifted. In this way, digital reading becomes more than convenience, it becomes a gentle permission to explore, reflect, and connect with stories that might otherwise remain untouched.
eBooks also allow for customisation, changing fonts, adjusting layouts, and even switching languages, which makes reading more accessible and less intimidating for students with dyslexia, vision impairments, or those learning English as an additional language. For teens navigating identity, peer pressure, and personal growth, digital reading can be a quiet revolution, one page at a time.
That said, I do miss the tactile joy of a real book. The smell of the pages, the feel of the spine, and the quiet ritual of turning each leaf offer a kind of bibliotherapy that digital formats can’t replicate. There’s something grounding about physically interacting with a book that screens just don’t deliver. This feeling is evident from what the research tells us and what my experience has been as a teacher librarian in high schools because teenagers still express a strong preference for physical books despite the popularity of digital reading platforms. This inclination is often tied to the sensory and emotional experience that printed books provide such as the feel of the pages, the smell of the paper, and the visual satisfaction of seeing progress through a tangible object. Young readers, in particular, report screen fatigue and eye strain from prolonged digital use, making physical books a welcome reprieve from their tech-saturated lives (World Economic Forum, 2023). Additionally, cultural trends like #BookTok have reignited enthusiasm for printed books, with teens embracing the aesthetic and social aspects of owning and sharing physical copies (Literary Hub, 2023). Research also shows that teens retain information better and concentrate more effectively when reading print, especially in academic settings (ResearchGate, 2024). These findings suggest that while ebooks offer convenience and accessibility, physical books continue to hold a meaningful place in teen reading habits.
Still, for this trip, convenience won. And who knows, maybe next time I’ll sneak a paperback in for old time’s sake.
Smith, M. W., & Wilhelm, J. D. (2002). Reading don’t fix no Chevys: Literacy in the lives of young men. Heinemann.
University of Edinburgh. (2024). Supporting teenagers’ reading enjoyment and engagement: A guide for teachers and librarians. https://blogs.ed.ac.uk/literacylab
Each year, Banned Books Week invites us to reflect on the importance of intellectual freedom and the dangers of censorship. Around the world, books are challenged or removed from shelves due to content deemed offensive or ideologically inappropriate by local authorities. These decisions often reflect broader societal tensions around race, gender, sexuality, and political beliefs.
In Australia, the free flow of information is protected by legislation such as the Freedom of Information Act, and championed by organisations like the Australian Library and Information Association (ALIA). ALIA upholds core values of open access to knowledge and ideas, ensuring that libraries remain spaces where diverse perspectives can be explored without fear or restriction. Public libraries, in particular, play a vital role in this mission by offering equitable access to information and digital resources for all citizens. Platforms like Trove, hosted by the National Library of Australia, further support this by providing access to a vast and growing collection of digitised newspapers, books, images, and more.
However, the conversation around banned books takes on a different tone in school libraries. Here, the issue is not so much about banning books, but about what to include. School libraries operate within a framework of collection development and management policies, which guide decisions about which resources best support the needs of the school community. The point of a school library is to support student success by providing access to resources that meets the curriculum whilst also fostering skills in reading, research and informational literacy. Therefore, any policies regarding the breadth and depth of a collection will factor in curriculum relevance, age appropriateness, and the diversity of student experiences.
So when I look at the list of most commonly banned books worldwide… I realise we have most of them on the shelves.
Most Commonly Banned Books Worldwide (All-Time)
The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger Banned for profanity, sexual content, and themes of rebellion.
We have this title as it is considered a classic as is in our senior collection aimed for sophisticated readers in Grade 10 and above.
To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee Challenged for racial themes and language
We have this title as it is considered a classic. It currently sits in our Classics collection and is available for students to borrow. It is also a class text and is frequently used as part of novel studies.
1984 – George Orwell Banned for political themes and criticism of totalitarianism
We have this title as it is considered a classic. It currently sits in our Classics collection and is available for students to borrow. It is also a class text and is frequently used as part of novel studies.
Harry Potter series – J.K. Rowling Challenged for promoting witchcraft and occultism
We have numerous copies of this!
The Satanic Verses – Salman Rushdie Banned in several countries for blasphemy
We don’t have this text as it does address the curriculum.
The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood Banned for sexual content and perceived anti-religious themes
We have this title as it is considered a classic. We do have this novel in our senior collection aimed for sophisticated readers in Grade 10 and above. It is also a class text and has been used as part of novel studies.
Beloved – Toni Morrison Challenged for graphic depictions of slavery and violence.
We don’t have this text as part of our collection. We do have 12 years a slave, The Colour Purple and Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov Banned for being “obscene” in several countries
We do not have this novel because it does not meet any curriculum requirements.
Fifty Shades of Grey – E.L. James Banned for erotic content and BDSM themes
We do not have this novel because it does not meet any curriculum requirements.
The Grapes of Wrath – John Steinbeck Banned for political reasons and profanity.
We do have this novel in our senior collection aimed for sophisticated readers in Grade 10 and above.
I will point out that one of the challenges of being in a school with students from Grade 5-12 is that what may be appropriate for a senior student to read may not me developmentally appropriate for a younger boy. To manage this, we have further classified the fiction texts into general (all years), middle fiction (Grades 7-9) and senior fiction (Grades 10-12). Students are able to freely access resources within their ‘age range’. However, they require parental permission to access more sophisticated readers. This ‘limiting’ of access is our way of supporting the free movement of information whilst acknowledging that some novel themes could cause distress to an immature brain.
This distinction of inclusion versus exclusion of texts is crucial. While public libraries are bound by principles of universal access, school libraries must balance educational goals with community values. This is where the role of a teacher librarian is imperative because school libraries need staff that are fully trained and qualified. They need someone who is an informational professional and an educator to be able to craft a collection development policy that helps ensure that resource selection is transparent, consistent, and inclusive, rather than reactive or restrictive. It is this combined capacity that empowers teacher librarians to advocate for collections that reflect the richness of student identities and the complexity of the world they inhabit. Unfortunately, here in Queensland, many schools lack a qualified informational professional in their school library, that is if they have a library at all! This an absolute travesty for the children and their wider communities.
Ultimately, Banned Books Week reminds us all why intellectual freedom matters. This week serves as a poignant reminder of the fragile nature of intellectual freedom as it honours the fundamental right to read, to explore ideas from all perspectives, and to seek truth without interference. Each year, the spotlight falls on books that have been challenged or removed because they represent discomfort or dissent for a select few individuals. However, in doing so, we need to think about the deeper cost of censorship: the narrowing of thought, the silencing of voices, and the erosion of a society built on open inquiry and democratic exchange. Whether in public or school libraries, our responsibility is to foster environments where curiosity is encouraged, critical thinking is nurtured, and all voices have the opportunity to be heard.
If you’ve ever heard the term “weeding” in the context of school libraries and pictured yourself in gumboots pulling dandelions from the fiction section—don’t worry, you’re not alone. But while it might sound like a gardening chore, weeding in libraries is a vital part of collection development. Think of it as removing the junk so the flowers can stand out—because every great library deserves to blossom.
Weeding, or deselection, is the process of removing outdated, damaged, irrelevant, or unused resources from the collection. It’s not about discarding books for the sake of it; it’s about curating a vibrant, purposeful collection that supports student learning, teacher needs, and curriculum goals. A well-weeded collection is easier to navigate, more appealing to browse, and more likely to be used. It’s the difference between a cluttered storeroom and a well-organised learning hub.
Here in our library, we’re about to begin a weeding process ahead of our fiction stocktake. From a logistical perspective, it gives us a chance to winnow what is not being effectively utilised and what is not supporting the ethos of our library. It also gives us the perfect opportunity to refresh the shelves and make space for stories that truly resonate with our readers. We’ll be using our Collection Development and Management Policy to guide our decisions, focusing on books that are outdated, physically unattractive (yes, those yellowed pages and cracked spines count!), or simply no longer meeting the needs of our school community. If it hasn’t been borrowed in years, doesn’t reflect current values, or makes students wrinkle their noses, it’s probably time to say goodbye.
However, I will add that I have an inner Book Dragon and that one is loathe to get rid of books. Therefore, just to make sure, we are going to give these books one last hurrah, we’re setting up a “Last Chance Borrow” display. This is a fun and engaging way to spotlight forgotten titles that might still have a spark of interest left in them. Students and staff will have the chance to browse and borrow these books before they’re officially retired. Who knows—maybe a hidden gem will find a new fan! It’s also a great opportunity to start conversations about what makes a book worth keeping and how our reading tastes evolve over time.
Our process of weeding is made easier by having a very clear policy and process. Our LMS, Oliver, provides us with a list of titles that have not been borrowed in recent times. This list, combined with our policy, helps us set clear parameters and ensures that our choices are thoughtful and consistent. We’re not just tossing out books—we’re making room for new voices, fresh ideas, and engaging reads that support literacy and learning. Weeding also helps us maintain a collection that’s inclusive, relevant, and aligned with our school’s educational goals.
Of course, weeding can be emotional. Saying goodbye to old favourites isn’t easy. But remember: a library isn’t a museum. It’s a living, breathing space for discovery and growth. And just like a garden, it needs regular tending. So grab your metaphorical secateurs, consult your policy, and let those literary flowers bloom. Your students—and your shelves—will thank you.
Richard Osman’s fifth novel in the Thursday Murder Club series, The Impossible Fortune, kicks off with a wedding—Joyce’s daughter Joanna is finally getting married. But the celebration takes a sharp turn when best man Nick announces that someone is trying to kill him. From that moment, the familiar crew of pensioners is drawn into yet another mystery, this time involving a hidden Bitcoin fortune, a car bombing, and a tangled web of suspects. It is nice to read a novel where the main characters are not in their flush of youth. Gives someone who is quite frankly set in their middle age, some hope for age appropriate literature.
One of the first things that stood out to me was the large print. Compared to other novels I’ve read recently, this one is an absolute breeze to get through. It’s easy on the eyes and makes for a more relaxed reading experience, especially if you’re dipping in and out over a few days. The chapters are also cleverly titled by days of the week, which helps anchor the plot and gives a sense of progression—especially useful given the shifting perspectives between characters.
The emotional tone of the book is a little more poignant than previous instalments. Elizabeth is still reeling from the loss of her husband Stephen, and Osman handles her grief with sensitivity and depth. It adds a layer of introspection to the story without slowing down the pace. Ibrahim continues to be the group’s voice of reason, offering advice to friends and foes alike, including the ever-scheming Connie Johnson, who ironically saves Ron’s bacon eventually.
Joyce remains a delight, and her relationship with Joanna is given more attention here, adding warmth and humour to the narrative. The mystery itself is well-paced, with enough twists to keep you guessing but not so many that it becomes convoluted. Osman’s trademark wit is present throughout, and the characters continue to evolve in ways that feel authentic and earned.
I particularly enjoyed the plot line of Suzi, Jason, and Ron trying to evade the evil machinations of horrid wife beating Danny. The perspective of Kendrick reminded me once again that the biggest victims of domestic violence are children and their lost childhoods. Osman manages rather cleverly to use Kendrick’s internal monologue to reveal his childhood trauma to the reader.
Overall, The Impossible Fortune is a satisfying continuation of the series—accessible, emotionally resonant, and full of charm. It’s not literature by any means but rather a pleasant holiday read as it requires very little cognitive processing. However, it is a story about friendship, ageing, and the thrill of solving a good puzzle, all wrapped up in Osman’s signature style.
Annie Garthwaite’s The King’s Mother is her second book about an incredible woman, and this sequel is a masterful and emotionally resonant portrait of Cecily Neville, a woman whose strength, ambition, and heartbreak shaped the course of English history. Set against the backdrop of the Wars of the Roses, this novel brings to life a matriarch who was far more than the mother of kings; she was a strategist, a survivor, and a power in her own right.
I was first introduced to Cecily in Sharon Penman’s The Sunne in Splendour, where she stood as a dignified and commanding presence amid the chaos of civil war. Garthwaite’s novel deepens that impression, giving Cecily center stage and allowing her voice to ring out with clarity, courage and conviction. As a daughter of the royal House of Neville, cousin to the Kingmaker and wife to highest ranking Lord of York, Cecily was indeed a lady of influence—but she earned her place in history through grit, determination and sacrifice.
Garthwaite’s storytelling is rich and immersive, capturing the political intrigue and emotional toll of a woman who saw her husband, cousin, and sons die in pursuit of their house’s claim to the throne. Cecily’s love for her children is both her greatest strength and her most painful vulnerability. Her devotion to George, Duke of Clarence, is especially poignant, as his betrayal and eventual death (drowning in a butt of malmsey wine, no less) is rendered with tragic inevitability. Garthwaite doesn’t flinch from the irony or the heartbreak, and neither does Cecily.
What sets The King’s Mother apart is its portrayal of female agency in a world dominated by men. Cecily is no passive observer; she is a political operator, a negotiator, and a woman who understands power and how to wield it. Garthwaite’s prose is elegant and sharp, balancing historical detail with emotional depth. The novel doesn’t just recount events—it explores the cost of ambition, the weight of legacy, and the quiet resilience of a woman who endured more than most.
Cecily Neville emerges as a complex and unforgettable figure, proud, calculating, loyal, and deeply human. Garthwaite gives her the voice she deserves, and in doing so, reclaims a vital piece of history too often overshadowed by the men around her.
Cecily is a bold and brilliant reimagining of one of the most overlooked power players of the Wars of the Roses, Cecily Neville, Duchess of York. In this incredible novel, Garthwaite resurrects a woman who was relegated to the margins of history and gave her a voice as commanding and complex as the times she lived through.
Kindle edition
History tells us that Cecily must have been a woman of great character. As the wife of a high ranking noble in the English court and a daughter of the house of Neville, Cecily is not merely a noblewoman, she is a strategist, a political operator, and a survivor. In a time where women were relegated to the distaff and the cradle, Cecily held her own among the peers of England and France. I love how Garthwaite has portrayed Cecily. Her use of language and semantics is unapologetically fierce. Cecily is driven, calculating, and deeply loyal to her family’s cause. She is also flawed. Her love for her sons, her only weakness and ultimately will cost her dearly.
The novel spans decades of turmoil, from the fall of her husband Richard, Duke of York, to the rise and reign of her sons Edward IV and Richard III. Through it all, Cecily remains at the heart of the action, not as a passive observer, but as a woman who shapes events from behind the scenes. Garthwaite’s prose is taut and evocative, capturing both the grandeur of court politics and the intimate griefs of a mother watching her family unravel.
What sets Cecily apart is its refusal to romanticise the brutality and heartbreak of medieval motherhood. The heartstrings are definitely pulled when youthink about the number of pregnancy losses, stillbirths and infant losses she experienced. In a time where the childbed was a path paved to the graveyard; Cecily used it to wield power. This is not a tale of damsels and chivalry—it’s a story of power, survival, and the brutal cost of ambition. Garthwaite’s Cecily is a woman of her time, but also ahead of it: she understands the game, and she plays it better than most men around her.
For readers who first met Cecily in Sharon Penman’s The Sunne in Splendour, Garthwaite’s novel offers a deeper, more personal exploration. It’s a fantastic story about a strong woman who lived through unimaginable loss—husband, cousin, sons—all sacrificed for the Yorkist cause. And while her greatest weakness may have been her love for her children, it’s also what makes her so achingly human.
Cecily is historical fiction at its finest: vivid, uncompromising, and utterly absorbing. Garthwaite doesn’t just resurrect a forgotten duchess—she reclaims her legacy.
No surprises that after I read this one, I had to read the sequel.
Coming up with this list was horrendously difficult. I probably agonised over it for longer than it took to name my children, and with far more existential dread.
What if I forgot a book that changed my life?
What if I picked something too obvious?
Too obscure? Too emotionally manipulative?
Eventually, after much soul-searching, tea-drinking, and dramatic sighing, I settled on ten. I will preface it and say they may not necessarily the “best” books of the century—but they’re the ten books I think are the ‘my‘ books. My literary lifeboats. And because I clearly enjoy suffering, I’ve explained why each one made the cut.
My Brilliant Friend (2011) by Elena Ferrante
A colleague recommended this one to me back in 2019. Book one of a four-part saga that nails the messy magic of female friendship. Elena and Lila are best mates, worst rivals, and emotional sparring partners. Ferrante helped me realise that friendship isn’t always soft—it’s sharp, complicated, and utterly formative.
A Man Called Ove (2012) by Fredrik Backman
My best read of 2018—and the gateway drug to all things Backman. Grumpy old man meets chaotic neighbours, and somehow it’s a masterclass in love, loss, and chosen family. Proof that sometimes, the best family isn’t the one you’re born into—it’s the one that barges in uninvited.
The Tattooist of Auschwitz (2018) by Heather Morris
Heart-wrenching and unforgettable. Based on interviews with Holocaust survivor Lale Sokolov, this novel brings humanity to horror. It’s a story of love, resilience, and survival in the darkest of places—and it left me absolutely gutted. Furthermore, for the non-readers in my life- there is a TV series.
Wolf Hall (2009) by Hilary Mantel
Book one of Mantel’s Tudor trilogy, starring the ever-scheming Thomas Cromwell. This was another recommendation from a colleague. Wolf Hall is lyrical, slyly funny, and so well written it makes other historical fiction feel like homework. A must for history buffs—and anyone who likes their politics bloody and their prose brilliant. TV series available for the non-readers. Different note – Alison Weir just released a title called “Cardinal” based on the life of Thomas Wolsey … so will need to pop that on my list to read soon.
A Thousand Splendid Suns (2007) by Khaled Hosseini
Heartbreaking and beautiful. Set in Taliban-era Afghanistan, it follows two women whose lives collide in tragedy—and transform through love. Their bond, almost mother-daughter, is a testament to resilience, sacrifice, and the fierce power of chosen family. This was an accidental read, I found this book on a plane, left by a forgetful passenger… I still have it on my bookshelf. It has been well read and is still much loved.
Circe (2018) by Madeline Miller
I’m a sucker for Greek mythology, and this feminist retelling hit all the right notes. Circe steps out of the shadows and into her own power—witch, exile, goddess, woman. Strong female themes, lyrical prose, and a fresh perspective on ancient tales. Loved every spellbinding page. This book is far better than Song of Achilles, also by Madeline Miller. I felt like slapping Achilles more times than I could count in that novel.
Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone (2021) by Diana Gabaldon
Book nine of the Outlander saga, and a rich tapestry of time-travelling drama. Jamie, Claire, Brianna, Roger, Lord John Grey, and William Ransom all get their moment—and it’s beautifully woven together. Such emotion. Jamie and Claire at their best. A love story for the ages. I have included this in the list because it is one of my favourite series, as I couldn’t squeeze in Cross Stitch (wrong century!), but this one carries the torch. BTW – I am waiting desperately for Book 10. Hurry up Diana!!
Burial Rites (2013) by Hannah Kent
A beautifully written fictional take on the life of Agnes Magnúsdóttir, Iceland’s last execution. It forces you to confront 19th-century prejudice, gender roles, and how reputation can be shaped more by rumour than truth. Quietly devastating—and deeply human. This was a senior text when I was teaching in the ACT and I read it as part of my curriculum planning. An absolutely brilliant novel and quite frankly, should be taught more in schools.
Hallmarked Man (2025) by Robert Galbraith (aka J K Rowling)
This one was hard as I nearly shoehorned in Harry Potter, but alas, that was from last century. Then I dithered over Deathly Hallows, but it’s book seven, and I’ve got a “book one” theme going (see Wolf Hall, My Brilliant Friend). Therefore it seemed logical that Cuckoo’s Calling made the list. But in the end, as I selected Book 9 of the Outlander series, I felt that it was OK that Hallmarked Man won out over the other 7 books in the series. Additionally, it is the best book I’ve read this year. .So, it’s in. No regrets. (Okay, maybe a few – I agonised over this one the most).
The Nightingale (2015) by Kristin Hannah
I cried buckets. This heartfelt tale of a woman risking everything to save Jewish children under the Nazi occupation of France. First it was for her best friend’s son… then it was another woman’s son…. and daughter. This book is a gut-punch of love, loss, friendship, and motherhood. It broke me, then stitched me back together.
So there you have it…
Ten books. Ten emotional rollercoasters. And one very frazzled reader. If you’re brave enough to try making your own list, I salute you. Just stock up on tea, tissues, and a sturdy spreadsheet.
Coming-of-age novels have long held a central place in literature, offering rich terrain for both personal reflection and academic exploration. For educators working with adolescents, these texts are more than just stories—they are mirrors and windows into the complex journey of growing up. This post explores why coming-of-age literature resonates so deeply with teenagers, why it matters in the curriculum, and how educators can harness its potential to foster empathy, identity formation, and critical thinking.
Bildungsroman
Adolescence is a period marked by emotional intensity, identity exploration, and social upheaval. Coming-of-age novels, also known as bildungsroman, capture this liminal space with authenticity and nuance. Teen readers often see themselves reflected in protagonists who grapple with similar dilemmas: family conflict, peer pressure, romantic entanglements, and the search for purpose. These narratives validate the adolescent experience, offering reassurance that their struggles are not isolated but part of a universal human journey.
Moreover, the first-person perspective common in young adult fiction allows readers to inhabit the protagonist’s inner world. This immersive quality fosters emotional resonance and encourages teens to reflect on their own values, choices, and aspirations. As Biscontini (2024) noted, coming-of-age literature “provides young people with a relatable experience while offering adults a sense of nostalgia,” and often centres on the loss of innocence, self-discovery, and the struggle to adapt to societal expectations.
Why They Matter in the Curriculum
From a pedagogical standpoint, coming-of-age novels are invaluable tools for teaching literary analysis, thematic exploration, and cultural literacy. These texts often engage with issues such as race, gender, class, and mental health: topics that are both timely and timeless. By studying these works, students develop empathy and gain insight into diverse lived experiences.
Importantly, coming-of-age literature also supports identity development. For students from marginalised backgrounds, seeing characters who reflect their realities can be empowering. For others, these stories offer a chance to understand perspectives different from their own. As such, these novels contribute to a more inclusive and socially aware classroom environment (Federation of Egalitarian Communities, 2024).
Why Choosing the Right Text Matters—Especially for Boys.
“Puberty is merciless. Regardless of who you are,” Becky Albertalli in Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda
This sentiment that captures the emotional turbulence of adolescence with striking clarity. For boys, this period can be particularly complex, often shaped by conflicting expectations around masculinity, emotional restraint, and identity formation.
Potential reads
Choosing the right coming-of-age texts for boys is not merely about fostering a love of reading. It is about offering them tools for emotional literacy, ethical reasoning, and self-reflection. These stories help boys navigate moral ambiguity, understand the consequences of choices, and appreciate the nuances of human relationships. Crucially, they provide a safe space to explore vulnerability, fear, and belonging, which often occur before boys feel equipped to express these experiences in their own words.
Selecting texts that feature emotionally authentic male protagonists, whether they be sensitive, conflicted, resilient, or flawed; can disrupt narrow stereotypes and expand boys’ understanding of what it means to grow up. When boys see themselves reflected in literature, or encounter perspectives that challenge their assumptions, they are more likely to engage deeply and critically.
Incorporating well-chosen coming-of-age novels into the curriculum also supports literacy outcomes. The relatability of the content increases motivation, while the layered narratives encourage boys to interpret symbolism, character development, and thematic complexity. With the right texts, educators can foster not only stronger readers, but more thoughtful, empathetic young men.
How Students Socially Learn from Narrative Fiction
Recent research by Gasser, Dammert, and Murphy (2022) offers a compelling framework for understanding how children socially learn from narrative fiction. Their integrative review identifies three distinct mechanisms:
Getting the Lesson – where children extract and internalise explicit moral messages from the text.
Simulating Social Worlds – where readers imaginatively engage with fictional characters, enhancing empathy and perspective-taking.
Dialogic Inquiry – where students develop social reasoning through peer dialogue about complex sociomoral issues raised in fiction.
This framework is particularly relevant for educators designing literature programmes that go beyond comprehension and into the realm of ethical inquiry and emotional intelligence. It supports the use of coming-of-age novels as tools for cultivating sociomoral competencies in the classroom.
Key Texts – Australian Coming of Age stories for Boys
Australian literature offers a rich and diverse array of coming-of-age narratives that speak directly to local contexts, landscapes, and cultural tensions. There are wide range of novels that can be utilised effectively in the classroom, however, these texts are particularly valuable for fostering national literary literacy and connecting students with stories that reflect their own communities.
Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey
Boy Swallows Universe by Trent Dalton
I am not really here by Gary Lonesborough
Rowan of Rin by Emily Rodda
Breath by Tim Winton
The first third by Will Kostakis
Scartown by Tristan Bancks
The Sidekicks by Will Kostakis
Ready when you are by Gary Lonesborough
Key Texts: Classic Coming-of-Age Novels
These canonical works have shaped the genre and continue to offer profound insights into the human condition. They are ideal for comparative studies and historical context.
David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton.
Key Texts: Modern Coming-of-Age Novels
Contemporary novels reflect the evolving challenges faced by today’s youth, including cultural identity, mental health, activism, and global conflict. These texts are especially relevant for engaging students in current social discourse.
Gasser, L., Dammert, Y., & Murphy, P. K. (2022). How do children socially learn from narrative fiction: Getting the lesson, simulating social worlds, or dialogic inquiry? Educational Psychology Review, 34(3), 1445–1475. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10648-022-09667-4
Sun, X. (2024). Teaching young adult literature in secondary L2 classrooms: A case study of The Outsiders reading programme. The Language Learning Journal, 52(3), 233–254. https://doi.org/10.1080/09571736.2022.2107694
Learning through the Library 