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Stranger by Keren David is just 99p in ebook on Amazon today!

NEW #AMYREED OUT NOW!!! 

ORDER A COPY NOW

Amy Reed’s upcoming novel #TheBoyandGirlWhoBroketheWorld is on NetGalley NOW! Don’t miss out on the opportunity to nab an early read. 

Sound the YALC announcement klaxon (and yes, there is a klaxon for that)!!!

Our much loved author Alex Wheatle will be speaking on the topic of ‘Master your own journey’ at YALC this summer. 

He’ll be speaking alongside Lisa Heathfield, Patrice Lawrence and Sarah Ann Juckes at the Sunday YALC panel. We can’t wait to hear all about how YA narratives help us find our place in the world.

Sound the YALC announcement klaxon (and yes, there is a klaxon for that)!!! 

Our wonderful author David Owen will be speaking on an all male ‘New Masculinity’ panel on what the term masculinity means in today’s society & how it it’s portrayed in YA books.

He’ll be speaking alongside Nikesh Shukla and Samuel Pollen at the Sunday YALC panel.

Sound the cover reveal klaxon!

We’re BEYOND thrilled to share the cover for The Boy and Girl Who Broke the World by Amy Reed, author of #TheNowhereGirls! HANDS UP IF YOU’RE EXCITED.

#Amy Reed

#The Boy and the Girl Who Broke the World

#The Nowhere Girls

#Atom Books

#Atom Bookshelf

When fascism comes to America, it will come draped in the flag.

You don’t need to be a student of history to see how nationalism, disguised as patriotism, can take hold of a country, justifying terrible and cruel acts. You only need to turn on the news.

The American government’s “zero tolerance” border pol-icy has literally torn children from their parents’ arms as they attempt to cross into America for a better life, many seeking asylum and running from danger. As I write this, nearly 13,000 children, including infants and toddlers, many forcibly separated from their parents, have been detained by the government, often caged, before being transferred to shelters. In September 2018, under the cover of darkness, around 1,600 migrant children were taken from those shelters and relocated to a tent city in Tornillo, Texas—where they sleep in bunks, twenty to a tent, with no access to school. This camp is neither licensed nor monitored by child-welfare authorities. Further, there are orders for the Navy to erect austere detention centers in abandoned airfields in California, Arizona, and Alabama to hold nearly 120,000 migrants.

Make no mistake. These are internment camps. This is internment.

Pay attention to the racist demagoguery and scapegoating that aligns with that policy: immigrants and migrants are “animals” who “pour into and infest our country.” They are “rapists” and “criminals” who put a strain on our economy. Then turn to our history books to understand the rhetoric of extermination that has been used again and again by authoritarians the world over.

Consider, too, that half of all Latinx characters in popular TV shows are depicted as criminals. Representation matters. Racist stereotypes spread through our culture and politics too easily and give cover for racist politicians, who first dehumanize groups and then enact policies that take away their livelihoods and, often, their lives.

No moment in American history exists in a vacuum. Nationalism and fascism are not new; indeed, they are a part of American soil. This fact gave birth to this novel. The events in Internment—though they take place “fifteen minutes” into America’s future—are deeply rooted in our history. You are bearing witness to them now, in our present.

In 1924, riding a wave of anti-Asian sentiment, the US government halted almost all immigration from Asia. Within a few years, California, along with several other states, banned marriages between white people and those of Asian descent.

With the onset of World War II, the FBI began the Custodial Detention Index—a list of “enemy aliens,” based on demographic data, who might prove a threat to national security, but also included American citizens—second- and third-generation Japanese Americans. This list was later used to facilitate the internment of Japanese Americans.

In 1940, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the Alien Registration Act, which compelled Japanese immigrants over the age of fourteen to be registered and fingerprinted, and to take a loyalty oath to our government. Japanese Americans were subject to curfews, their bank accounts often frozen and insurance policies canceled.

On December 7, 1941, the Japanese attacked a US military base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. More than 2,400 Ameri-cans were killed. The following day, America declared war on Japan.

On February 19, 1942, FDR signed Executive Order 9066, permitting the US secretary of war and military commanders to “prescribe military areas” on American soil that allowed the exclusion of any and all persons. This paved the way for the forced internment of nearly 120,000 Japanese Ameri-cans, without trial or cause. The ten “relocation centers” were all in remote, virtually uninhabitable desert areas. Internees lived in horrible, unsanitary conditions that included forced labor.

On December 17, 1944, FDR announced the end of Japanese American internment. But many internees had no home to return to, having lost their livelihoods and property. Each internee was given twenty-five dollars and a train ticket to the place they used to live.

Not one Japanese American was found guilty of treason or acts of sedition during World War II. The 442nd Infantry Regiment of the United States Army, comprised almost solely of second-generation Japanese American soldiers, remains the most decorated unit in American history.

In war propaganda, Japanese Americans were depicted as enemies of America, animalistic, murderous, unable to assimilate to American culture.

And now here we are again. Refugees forced into internment camps. Muslim bans. Border walls. Police brutality. The rights of gun owners being valued more than the lives of our children. Racism. Islamophobia. Ableism. Homophobia. Anti-Semitism. Scapegoating immigrants. The politics of exclusion. The rise of nationalism and white supremacy, unmasked and waving our flag.

I feel a lot of anger.

But I believe in hope. I believe that the things that are wrong with America can be fixed by Americans. I believe that being good is what can make us great. I believe in you.

And when I see young people, tens of thousands strong, marching in the street for their lives; when I see my fellow Americans taking to the streets to protest family separation at the border; when I see football players kneeling on sidelines; when I see that beautiful, eloquent image of Iesha Evans quietly taking a stand in Baton Rouge; and when I see a poster of a Muslim woman wearing an American flag hijab held high at a rally, I feel my patriotism stirring. I am compelled to act. And I remember why I believe so much in this nation—of the people, by the people, and for the people.

Fascism isn’t going to simply appear in America one day. It’s here. But so are we.

There’s no room for moral equivalency—certainly not the kind that hears the cries of a toddler being ripped away from her parents and justifies it by quoting the Bible, and definitely not the kind that looks at neo-Nazis and declares that some are “very fine people.”

There are sides.

Make a choice.

It’s not a simple ask, I know. It takes courage to use your voice. To stand up.

But all around you there are others who will help lift you up, who will take your hand, and who will march—shoulder to shoulder—with you. Speaking your truth and voicing your resistance can happen in quiet ways, too. I hope you find the way that works for you.

America is a nation, yes, but it is also an idea, based on a creed. I hold these truths to be self-evident. That the concept of our nation is neither musty nor static. That it is malleable. That every day we can shape it and stretch it to form a more perfect, inclusive union. America is us. America is ours. It is worth fighting for.

The people united will never be defeated. Resist.

Studded with Wheatle's characteristic slang, Naomi's story is both heartbreaking and hilarious, offering no easy happy endings, but a flickering sense of hope. - the Guardian

Don’t forget to cop a copy of Alex Wheatle’s Home Girl.

Home Girl

1

Trading Places

‘He’s a perv!’ I yelled. I fixed my seat belt while switching the car radio to a grime station. I knew she hated that. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’

Louise looked at me like she wanted to give me a koof. But she couldn’t. She was my social wanker. She had issues start-ing the car. Her hands shook. ‘He says he was only standing outside the bathroom with your towel,’ she said.

‘Every time I step into the bathroom he’s paedophiling around,’ I spat. ‘Have I got my shampoo? Have I got my bubble bath? Have I got my soap? Does he think I’m dumb enough to step into the bathroom without my tings? I’m telling you he’s a perv with a big prick P!’

Louise finally started the engine. She sucked in a nervous breath. She always did that when I dropped curses on her bony behind. ‘He . . . he says he was only trying to help,’ she stuttered.

‘Jack up your ears, Louise! He’s not helping me. I know the mission he’s on. I can bring my own stuff to the bathroom.’

Winding down her window, Louise blazed a fagarette. She pulled on it like she wanted to kill it with one drag. She looked out to the street. A hood- slug wearing a black hoodie walked a pit- bull. She pulled away. This was the east ends of Ashburton where even the hounds peeped over their shoul-ders and paused before stepping around corners. I watched Louise puff her smoke out of the window. By the angle of her brows I guessed she wanted to be at home sinking red wine and watching a Bridget Jones movie. She screwed up her face.

‘Can I have one?’ I asked.

‘No!’

‘Why not? You know I fire up anyway.’

‘You’re not smoking while you’re with me.’

‘And you’re not supposed to be blazing in the ride with me.’ Louise pulled on her cancer stick once more. She then blew out the window and stubbed it out. She placed the remaining half in her glove compartment.

At my feet was my banged- up cuddly meerkat toy. Its mouth was lengthened by a tear, one claw was missing on the left paw and one eye was looser than the other. I picked it up and placed it on my lap. I stroked it twice and smiled at it. Memories.

I threw Louise an evil eye- pass. Lily Allen’s Smile crackled from the car radio. No bass. Louise turned down the volume. I turned it back up even louder. Louise knew she was gonna lose this game. She gave me one of those really glances and shook her head.

‘Where’re you taking me?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Don’t know? The moon’s showing her dimples. Some social worker you are.’

‘Playing little Miss Madam everywhere I take you doesn’t help. I’m fast running out of options.’

‘Not my fault you always place me with freaks and prick fiddlers.’

‘The Holmans have been fostering children in Ashburton for over twenty years. They’re very dependable. No one has ever made a complaint about them before  . . . until this evening.’

‘All the other kids must’ve been too scared to spill some-thing,’ I said. ‘She was always trying to hug me. What’s that about? Always up in my face she was with her welcome- to- The- X-Factor smile.’

An image of my mum bust an entry into my head. I remembered her smile. I tried to erase it but I couldn’t. ‘Is everything all right, Naomi?’ I took the piss. ‘Monkey on mar-bles! I lost count of how many times she asked me that. She made the hairs on my arms wanna leave me. And then him! Kim warned me about bad- minded men like him. Anything you want, Naomi, sweetheart. Just ask. I knew what he wanted. If he got any closer I would’ve clanged him with the biggest no- entry sign I could find.’

‘Are you sure of that, Naomi?’ Louise asked. ‘They were only trying to be friendly. And I’ve told you before, you shouldn’t listen to everything Kim says.’

Even then Louise didn’t believe me. Her casserole didn’t have any dumplings. What did I have to do to make this woman see the pig in the sky?

‘The other day I was watching Titanic,’ I said. ‘I always leak tears when I watch that part when Leo sinks into the sea. She comes over and hugs me like I agreed to be her Surrey Gate mum. I told her if she pollutes my personal space again I’m gonna clong her with a casserole pot when she’s sleeping. When I finish with her she’ll still be seeing tweety birds when she’s having her varicose veins done. I’m telling ya, Louise, they’ve got something of asylum ward twenty- one about ’em.’

Louise kept quiet. Maybe the truth finally slapped her sensible spot.

‘I’m hungry,’ I said. I wasn’t lying. My stomach snorted. ‘Where’re you taking me? And I don’t wanna go no Alabama Chicken Cottage or Mississippi Hen Hut. Their chicken is off- key.’

Louise didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on the road. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the car park of a McDs restau-rant on the Ashburton ring road. She took out a five- pound note from her purse. I liberated it from her, picked up my meerkat and was gone before Louise could say the N of Naomi. I looked back when I reached the McDs entrance. Louise shook her head, took out her mobile phone from her handbag and punched a number. She retrieved her half- smoked cigarette from the glove compartment, sparked it and looked out the window.

I had just sunk the last morsel of a cheese quarter- pounder when Louise parked her slim butt opposite me. She looked like she had joined in on one of those charity fun- runs but her fitness wasn’t up to spec. ‘Your man not coming around tonight?’ I asked.

‘Leave it, Naomi.’

‘He might be cheating on ya, goring someone else.’

‘Naomi!’

‘If that was me I’d churn his balls with one of those food blitzer things when he’s sleeping.’

Through a straw I sucked my chocolate milkshake trying to roadblock a giggle. I couldn’t quite manage it. A spattering of chocolate spewed out over the table and over Louise’s brown leather jacket. A passing black teenage girl carrying a tray of burgers and fries laughed out loud. I put my drink down and wiped my mouth and nose with the back of my hand. Louise’s eyebrows switched forty- five degrees and something funny happened to her lips. She was on the edge of the cliff wearing five- inch- high stilettos. I might’ve gone too far.

‘Sorry,’ I said.

Louise huffed and puffed to the counter. She returned moments later with a handful of napkins and a coffee. I had wiped the table clean. I leant back into my seat with my meer-kat squashed between my arms and stomach.

Louise groped for her phone in her jeans pocket. She closed her eyes and took in two mega breaths. She scoped me hard. ‘Would you mind staying for a week of two with a black family?’ she suggested. ‘I was thinking of this second- generation British, West Indian family. It’s not ideal but it won’t be for long. Just until I can place you somewhere more suitable.’

‘A black family?’

Monkey on ball- bearings. What’s she on?

‘Yes,’ Louise nodded. ‘As I said, only for a short while.

They’re very good. And you’ve got black friends you get on very well with.’

I shrugged. This is new. It could be interesting. ‘I s’pose. As long as they’re not too hugalicious or prick fiddlers.’

Louise jabbed her mobile. I watched her every move. She picked up her coffee and walked out of the restaurant. She kept an eye on me through the window. What’s the frucking point? She’s gonna give me the lowdown anyway.

I hot- toed outside to join her. Louise turned her back on me. ‘Put it on speaker,’ I urged.

Louise ignored me.

‘It’s about me, right? Put it on speaker.’

Louise did what she was told.

‘Hello? Hello, Colleen, it’s Louise. Thank God you’re in.’ ‘Hi, Louise. Everything good with you?’

‘Not exactly. I’m in a spot.’

‘Oh, what’s up?’

‘Can you do me a big favour? I have tried everybody else and I’m fast running out of options. I know it’s late in the day but I really need your help.’

‘It’s after eight so—’

‘I have an emergency case,’ Louise interrupted. ‘I really need an emergency foster carer for the next two weeks or so until I can find somewhere permanent.’

‘Two weeks is no problem. I’ll just clean up our spare bed-room. I haven’t used it for a while. Anything about the case I need to know? I’m not having you shove any self- harmers our way without you telling us. That last case really scared the kids. Tony had to give the bedroom walls a new coat of paint.’

Louise offered me a worried glance before she replied. I made a face at her.

‘No, nothing like that,’ Louise replied. ‘Well, er, there’s something but we’ll talk about it when I arrive. That last case, I didn’t even know she was a self- harmer. It wasn’t on her file and she didn’t have any scars on her arms.’

‘You should’ve looked at her legs.’

‘I know that now. I’m so sorry, my mistake.’

‘Who’s loving razor blades?’ I wanted to know. ‘Is it Taneka Taylor who used to be at the unit? Her life was always on a detour.’

Louise covered her phone with her hand. ‘Not now, Naomi.’ ‘So how do you know this emergency case isn’t a self- harmer?’ Colleen wanted confirmation.

‘I have known the case for a while.’

‘I’m not a fricking case,’ I raised my voice. ‘I’ve got a name. Naomi Brisset.’

Louise side- eyed me. She was back on the edge of the cliff. ‘How old?’ asked Colleen.

‘Fourteen.’

Louise eye- drilled me.

‘Going on twenty- nine,’ she resumed. ‘There’s something you should know.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘She’s Caucasian. Normally I wouldn’t . . . ’

What the fruck is Caucasian? Why’s Louise talking all foreign all of a sudden?

I gave Louise one of my best what the freak you’re talking about glares. Silence for ten seconds.

‘Can I call you back in a minute, Colleen?’ said Louise. ‘I won’t be long.’

Louise spot- lit me for five seconds without leaking a word. Her eyes were desperate. ‘So, are you really OK staying with a black family? It’s either that or the secure unit. I’d rather you stay with a foster family—’

‘I’m not going back to the secure unit!’ I squeezed my meer-kat close to my stomach. ‘Can’t stand the staff there. Hate ’em.’

‘Do you really hate them, Naomi? You were a bit tearful when you left.’

‘That’s cos I was leaving Kim and Nats. They’re my best friends.’

‘Hmmm,’ Louise mumbled. She was never sweet on Kim and Nats. ‘So what do you think about staying with a black family? It wouldn’t be for long.’

‘They got kids?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they have,’ nodded Louise.

‘How old?’

‘Sharyna’s ten and Pablo’s six. They were adopted. They used to be in the care system.’

‘You were their social worker?’

‘Yes. Please give me an answer, Naomi. I haven’t got all night.’

‘Wanna wheel home before your boyfriend gets pissed on waiting for ya and hits on someone else?’

‘Naomi!’

I thought about it. A black family. They’ll definitely be cooler than the Holmans. They might let me blaze a rocket. The mum might be able to put plaits in my hair like Solange Knowles. They could get my dancing on point. Might learn some top-ranking insults like those black chicks at my last school.

I smiled. ‘Yeah. I’m good to play this game.’

‘Are you sure? I don’t want you accusing me of not listening to your opinion before a placement again.’

She was right on that one.

‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘Unless you wanna give me my own place. I’ll be good on my lonesome. Dunno why you’re always munching your knickers about it when I bring it up. When I’m fifteen I’ll meet a sweet bruv and we can make a life—’

Louise had her really face back on.

‘How many times do I have to tell you, Naomi?’ she said.

‘You’re a minor. The local council are responsible for you until you reach eighteen.’

‘They didn’t call me a minor when I looked after my dad!’ Shaking her head, Louise stepped away. She jabbed the redial button on her phone. ‘Hello, it’s Louise again.’

It was still on speaker.

‘Hi again, Louise.’

‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Colleen, but I have two emergency foster carers on holiday and another who’s about to give birth. It’s not a problem that my case is Caucasian, is it? Her name’s Naomi. Naomi Brisset.’

‘Naomi,’ repeated Colleen. ‘Nice name.’

I curled a grin. Of course it’s a nice name. My mum gave me it.

‘Tell her I was named after Naomi Watts,’ I said. ‘She was in King Kong and a horror movie.’

Louise ignored me. ‘Will Tony be all right with, er, you know?’ she asked.

‘Course,’ Colleen replied. ‘Won’t bother him at all. He’ll  be cool.’

‘You sure?’ Louise pressed again. ‘It’s just that Tony has always made a point about wanting to foster black children.’

‘He wants to help all kids,’ Colleen insisted.

‘OK, Colleen,’ Louise nodded. She breathed out relief. ‘We’ll be around in half an hour or so.’

‘Hold on, hold on,’ Colleen said. ‘Any dietary requirements I should know about? Remember last year? You sent us that kid who wouldn’t eat rice, potatoes, meat or anything with seasoning in it.’

‘Naomi’s not fussy about her food. I have her file with me.’

‘I don’t like mince,’ I called out. ‘Reminds me of worms. No shepherd’s pie either. Oh, and I don’t like macaroni cheese. That reminds me of yellow worms.’

Louise offered me a seal- your- gums glare.

‘Looking forward to meeting her,’ said Colleen after a pause. We returned to McDs. Louise sipped on her coffee and sank into her seat. ‘Seems like Colleen’s looking forward to meeting you,’ she said.

‘Why wouldn’t she?’ I grinned. ‘I’m lovable.’

Rebellions are built on hope. Set in a horrifying 'fifteen minutes in the future' United States, seventeen-year-old Layla Amin is forced into an internment camp for Muslim-Americans along with her parents. With the help of newly-made friends also trapped within the camp, her boyfriend on the outside, and an unexpected alliance, Layla begins a journey to fight for freedom, leading a revolution against the internment camp's Director and his guards. Heart-racing and emotional, Internment questions the imaginary boundaries that separate us and challenges readers to fight the complicit silence that exists in our society today.

Atom publishes Internment by Samira Ahmed on the 7th March.

Rebellions are built on hope.

It's been one year since the census landed seventeen-year-old Layla Amin and her family on the registry. Five months since the attorney general argued that Korematsu v. United States established precedent for relocation of citizens during times of war. And one month since the president declared that 'Muslims are now a threat to America'. Now, Layla and her parents are suddenly taken from their home and forced into an internment camp for Muslim American citizens. With the help of newly made friends also trapped within the internment camp, her boyfriend on the outside, and an unexpected alliance, Layla begins a journey to fight for freedom, leading a revolution against the internment camp's Director and his guards. Set in a horrifying near-future United States, Internment is a heart-racing and emotional novel that challenges readers to fight the complicit silence that exists in our society today.

'Read Internment. Raise a fist' David Arnold, author of Mosquitoland

This brave, bold novel by Samira Ahmed is out this March. Read it to be filled with rage, fear and hope in equal measure.

We asked the wonderful Alyssa Sheinmel FOUR tough questions . . .  

Did you love Faceless? Then you are not going to want to miss Alyssa Sheinmel's new novel: A Danger To Herself and Others.

Four walls. One window. No way to escape.

Seventeen-year-old Hannah Gold has always been treated like a grown up. As the only child of two New York professionals, she's been traveling the world and functioning as a miniature adult since the day she was born. But that was then. Now, Hannah has been checked into a remote treatment facility, stripped of all autonomy and confined to a single room.

Hannah knows there's been a mistake. What happened to her roommate that summer was an accident. As soon as the doctor and judge figure out that she isn't a danger to herself or others, she can get back to her life of promise and start her final year at school. Until then, she's determined to win over the staff and earn some privileges so she doesn't lose her mind to boredom.

But then she's assigned a new roommate. At first, Lucy is the perfect project to keep Hannah's focus off all she is missing at home. But Lucy may be the one person who can make Hannah confront the secrets she's avoiding - and the dangerous games that landed her in confinement in the first place.

Gripping, heart-wrenching and powerful, A Danger to Herself and Others is Girl, Interrupted meets We Were Liars.