3 Books About Asexuality to Close Out the Summer
By: Marisa Manuel
Tags: LGBTQ, Books, Ace, Review, Asexuality

August is well underway, and much of the world is still quarantined. Our usual summer break has given us little time to rest or recharge — vacations were cancelled, beach days were put off, and stress about jobs and health is at an all-time high. But books have the ability to take us away, if only for a moment, and to allow us to step outside ourselves. They have the power to change our perspective and influence our beliefs even while we’re cooped up at home.

These books in my latest roundup explore a wide range of topics, from sisterhood to polyamory and body positivity. But each has two things in common: a focus on asexuality and greater understanding.

Sea Foam & Silence by Lynn E. O’Connacht

Sea Foam & Silence, by Lynn E. O’Connacht. Kraken Collective Books, 2018.

Lynn E. O’Connacht’s Sea Foam & Silence is a retelling of The Little Mermaid. Certain aspects of the tale harken back to the original, but this version adds depth and a modern spin. Written as a poem-prose hybrid, the book uses line breaks, nonstandard capitalization, and several emojis. It also grapples with questions of love, home, and identity, all of which are informed by the protagonist’s asexuality and non-specified romantic orientation.

O’Connacht’s story begins with Maris, a curious, red-headed mermaid who wants nothing more than to swim with her sisters and hunt tall-crabs. Quickly, we learn that tall-crabs are actually humans, and their species is viewed as violent and non-sentient. However, as the narrative unfolds, Maris begins to question her understanding of tall-crabs and her part in hunting them. She also reflects upon her loneliness, which refuses to go away, no matter where she is or what she’s doing.

If I can catch a tall-crab on my own,

Just me, me alone,

My sisters will have to let me join them. I won’t be too small then. I won’t be lonely then (p. 23)

Ultimately, Maris’s quest to understand tall-crabs leads her to seek out “The Witch,” a magical being who grants Maris the ability to become a tall-crab herself. In exchange, Maris gives up her voice, her sisters, and most of her mermaid identity. She’s also warned that she’ll turn into sea foam if she can’t find love within a year. Originally unphased, Maris soon realizes that she doesn’t understand what it means to love — and if she can’t understand the nature of love, how can she possibly obtain it?

Maris’s asexuality becomes a focal point for her confusion. She explains that she has never had the desire to mate, and that among her sisters, this lack of desire wasn’t uncommon. In fact, asexuality was built into their family structure, and those who didn’t desire sex were primarily tasked with caring for and teaching the group’s youngest members (121–122). But while living among the tall-crabs, Maris is taught that love and sex are one and the same. Furthermore, she develops a close relationship with Prince Bernhard, who expresses no desire for marriage or sex himself. This relationship with the prince, coupled with their shared lack of desire, causes Maris to feel even less certain about love, and ever finding it.

Love is when two people marry.

I remember that from the stories.

Tall-crabs are always telling stories about love.

But love cannot be so easy to find.

I think if love was only people together

Then I would have had it already. I have always lived with my sisters.

I have laughed with my sisters,

Shared meals with them, been taught by them. But they say this is not love.

This is family and, true, it is a kind of love,

But it is not love. I do not understand >< (135).

Sea Foam & Silence is part of a series, and I’m excited to see where Maris’s journey takes her next. Between the book’s exploration of queerness and polyamory, cultural differences, able-bodiedness and sign language, and conceptual handling of love and relationships, there are so many reasons to pick up this book. Sea Foam and Silence has a loud, important message about being true to yourself; while that truth may not always be easy to understand, embracing it is perhaps the best way to confront our loneliness and avoid becoming sea foam ourselves.

Summer Bird Blue by Akemi Dawn Bowman

Summer Bird Blue, by Akemi Dawn Bowman. Simon Pulse, 2020.

Akemi Dawn Bowman’s Summer Bird Blue is a tale of loss, healing, and above all else, friends and family. The story begins with Rumi, a teenaged musician who loves nothing more than her piano, her mom, and her sister, Lea. But when Lea is killed in a car crash, Rumi’s mother is overcome by grief, and Rumi is sent to live with her aunt in Hawaii. Rumi tries to make amends with her sister by finishing their song, “Summer Bird Blue.” But she is repeatedly overcome by anger toward her mother’s abandonment and guilt toward her sister’s death. Simultaneously, she struggles with emerging aspects of her identity — as a sister without a sister, a daughter without a mother, and a girl without the right label to express what she wants and feels.

While trying to work on her song and come to terms with her grief, Rumi meets Mr. Watanabe, a man who loves music as much as she does, and Kai, a boy her age with a friendly disposition and difficult home life. Slowly, she bonds with them and begins to work past her sadness. But each time she finds herself smiling, she feels even guiltier, retreats internally, and misses Lea. As the book continues, Rumi realizes that she’s not just mourning — she’s jealous. And lonely.

“It’s not fair for people to grieve alone. The people who are left behind should stick together. They should want to stick together. I try to think about lyrics for ‘Summer Bird Blue,’ but it feels unnatural, the same way losing Lea and being in Hawaii feel unnatural” (91).

Additionally, she begins to develop confusing feelings toward Kai, and she can’t tell if those feelings are friendship, romance, or something else. As she says:

“Lea was always the romantic one, not me. Mom says I might be a late bloomer, but I’m not so sure. Late implies there’s something that’s still going to happen — something I don’t fully understand yet… I don’t know what I’m looking for in love. I don’t even think I’m looking for love at all. I don’t see people and feel that rush of excitement Lea always described when she had a crush — the kind of excitement that leads to touching and kissing and whatever else. I just see people that might make good friends, and I’ve always been okay with that. Which is why Kai’s ridiculous jawline is bugging the crap out of me. I don’t know what it means” (210–211)

The book is broken into three parts — Summer, Bird, and Blue — with smaller sections labeled “A Memory.” Each of these sections explores Rumi’s relationship with her mom, sister, and at one point, father. Through these memories, we also realize that Rumi is asexual and possibly aromantic, though she’s not sure how she feels about these labels. With her sister’s help, she was trying to better understand herself. But now that Lea isn’t here, she’s even less certain about who she is. As she puts it, “Knowing myself should be the easiest thing I do in life, but somehow it feels like the hardest” (p. 107).

Summer Bird Blue delivers a laudable exploration of love in all its forms, grief in all its shades, and identity in all its complexities. It also examines Hawaiian culture, the healing power of music, and the people who come into our lives, if only for a moment, who change us for the better. Summer Bird Blue shows that the journey toward healing and self-acceptance isn’t easy, but it is possible — and with help from our loved ones, both here and gone, that journey becomes a little more doable.

Water Runs Red by Jenna Clare

Water Runs Red, by Jenna Clare. 2019.

Friendship can be just as meaningful — or more meaningful than — sex or romance. And when a close friendship ends, it’s just as devasting as any other breakup. This sentiment informs the heart of Jenna Clare’s Water Runs Red, which blends poetry, photos, and illustrations to examine the author’s changing relationships with both herself and former friends. While friendship makes up the bulk of this collection, Clare also explores topics related to oppression, body positivity, and asexuality — creating a poetry book that is part-memoir and part rally-cry for systemic and long-term change.

Clare’s book primarily examines her relationship with two former “fairy tale friends.” This designation imbues them with power (over the speaker), hopes (for the friends’ happily ever after), and a sense of unrealness or instability (concerning who they are and what their friendships morph into). Of course, that part of the fairy tale comes later. At first, the friendships are “fairy tale” in a more magical sense. They seem unstoppable, unquantifiable, and fully real in a way that winds up being illusory.

i cemented myself to you

and your make-believe games

and your childhood dreams,

and your smile became

my second home i counted you as my first

- friendships mean just as much as romance (28)

Along with trying to unpack her former friendships, the speaker turns to poetry to work through her sexuality. As she says, “just because/i treat you like/ a partner,/ it doesn’t mean/ i want to kiss you./- i fall in love all the time,/ just not like that” (125). But at the same time, she acknowledges the difficulties with ever fully accepting yourself, especially in terms of body image:

the war against myself

began without fanfare,

without declaration.

one day all was peace

and the next day i was fighting for nothing.

- me vs. myself vs. i (135)

The book balances these discussions within a more general framework of oppression. Several times, the author reclaims the word “witches,” using it to symbolize the power and mistreatment of women, non-binary people, and other marginalized groups. She also expresses the need for all “witches,” including herself, to come together and support one another:

i became so caught up

in the happenings of my own head

that i didn’t notice

my fellow colonists burning all the witches even though I could avoid the stake,

I did not stop to think

of all the others who begged for my help

and watched me push them aside

- white feminism (170)

The desire to be included and loved is central to Clare’s collection. However, the book suggests that it is ultimately self-love that will help us weather the loneliness (“i have been learning/ how to love/ myself// even as i try/ to devour/ myself/- single (224)”), and true friends certainly make a difference in that battle. Toward the middle of the book, Clare introduces us to a third fairy-tale friend, who proves herself loyal, loving, and true. Thus, the speaker’s newfound relationship with herself and her third friend propel her activism forward:

and so the witches have become soldiers,

fighting the beasts within themselves

while also battling the hatred

that pollutes their world (232)

As summer comes to a close, it’s important that we continue practicing self-love, activism, and friendship. Any one of these books about asexuality would be a wonderful choice for your next summer read. Of course, they’d also be a great choice for fall, winter, or spring, because their messages ring true throughout the year. It is not enough to simply live our truths; we must also strive to love them.