A Thousand Faces: Rick Riordan’s LGBTQ+ Heroes Are Diversifying the Children’s Shelf
A wise woman once said, “I believe the children are our future.” With the queer and nonbinary representation in his books, it seems the creator of Percy Jackson has decided to bet on it.
BY: TANISHA AGARWAL
If you were an adolescent during the early 2010s, you probably know the name Percy Jackson, whether from the paperbacks that acted as currency in a seventh-grade classroom or from the films starring Logan Lerman (which we don’t speak of, ever). Perhaps you have even had the experience of asking a school librarian for the new Heroes of Olympus novel only to be put on a seemingly endless waiting list. Regardless of your opinion on the books or whether you have even read them, there is no doubt that they are among the most popular children’s series of all time.
The premise is simple: a boy discovers he is the son of a Greek god and must save the world from various mythological threats with the help of other demigods. In the 16 years since the first Percy Jackson novel was published, author Rick Riordan has expanded his fantasy universe to include two more series based on Greek and Roman mythology, two inspired by Egyptian and Norse myth respectively, and various supplemental works. With his signature humorous style and deft characterization, Riordan introduced a generation of young readers to classical stories without the stuffiness of traditional anthologies (and won a record ten Goodreads Choice Awards along the way). That alone is an impressive feat, but the Texas-born writer has also used his wildly successful novels to advocate for representation in children’s fiction.
Populated with numerous POC and LGBTQ+ demigod heroes, the so-called Riordanverse is remarkably inclusive, particularly for a mainstream kids’ franchise. This diversity is refreshingly casual, with characters having a purpose and development that doesn’t revolve around their identity. However, while non-white characters in children’s fiction were not unheard of before Riordan’s novels, the queer representation in his Heroes of Olympus series was the first I ever encountered.
I remember reading Nico di Angelo’s coming-out under my desk during class and feeling, even then, like I was witnessing history. Today, cis white gay characters in young-adult media are much more widespread than they used to be, and certainly more common than non-white or non-cis queer representation. But to my sixth-grade self in 2013, that heart-wrenching scene where her favourite character admitted he liked boys knocked the wind out of her lungs with emotion and something else—something like recognition or relief. It was a wonderful moment, precisely because I’d never feel it again. A precedent had been set and the first—and largest—barrier had been broken down.
The book that brought us Riordan’s first queer representation / Photo via Read Riordan
Following close on the heels of Heroes of Olympus and immense fan support for the first queer couple of the franchise was Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, arguably Riordan’s masterpiece of inclusivity. The eponymous protagonist discovers his pansexuality as he finds himself attracted to his gender-fluid friend, a character whose nuanced portrayal won the series’ second instalment a Stonewall Book Award in 2017. We get to see Magnus, a cis boy, actively trying to learn about gender-fluidity through conversations about pronouns and gender presentation. Riordan, who previously worked as a middle school teacher, cited his experience with students who were uncomfortable with their assigned gender as motivation for him to create Alex Fierro. However, the character is also a natural fit for the series. Alex’s godly parent is Loki, who frequently shapeshifted across genders in Norse mythology. As Riordan said in an interview, “It made perfect sense to me that a child of Loki would be gender-fluid.”
The same point applies to The Trials of Apollo, which follows the god Apollo in his adventures as a teenage mortal stripped of his divine powers. In Greco-Roman mythology, Apollo had affairs with both men and women, so the protagonist’s open bisexuality is merely accurate characterization. Also introduced in this series is an older interracial lesbian couple and their adopted daughter, a welcome (and adorable) reminder that families can look different but are bound by the same unconditional love. In his books, Riordan has made a conscious effort to include characters who reflect the diversity of his own fanbase and filled a vacuum of inclusivity in children’s literature.
Apollo mourning his lover Hyacinth / The Death of Hyacinth by Alexander Kiselev via Wikimedia Commons
When I try to imagine what it’s like to grow up with good and abundant queer representation, I can’t. A gay boy in a popular series was a big deal. A gender-fluid or pansexual character in a book sitting in the school library was unthinkable. This is exactly why it’s so important we see the LGBTQ+ community in children’s media. Every kid deserves to grow up with characters that look and love like them.
Moreover, studies have shown that a lack of representation in media contributes to the development of low self-esteem and other negative psychological effects in adolescents. For LGBTQ+ children today, book characters can act as positive role models to help them grow up feeling less alienated and more comfortable in their own skin. Stories of finding acceptance and love also give kids hope for their own futures, which is especially crucial for readers growing up in non-supportive environments.
Representation of genderqueer youth is particularly important, simply because it is so rare. Even today, LGBTQ+ media focusing on trans or nonbinary stories is scarce, especially in books for kids. More troublingly, a study in the Journal of Children’s Literature surveyed picture books about trans children and found that portrayals are largely limited to white trans kids who identify as either male or female. Most books featuring non-cis kids are also released by smaller publishing houses or are self-published. Enter Alex Fierro—a gender-fluid Latinx character in a franchise that has been a bestseller since 2007. Even for a writer as big as Riordan, this was a gamble, as his other LGBTQ+ representation had been limited to cis gay characters. But considering the novel’s three weeks at the top of the New York Times bestseller list, I’d say it paid off.
Even for cisgender and straight readers, reading LGBTQ+ characters can prove beneficial. Research shows that children’s fiction that highlights the thoughts and emotions of characters who are different from the reader contributes to empathy development. Think of Matilda or The Diary of a Young Girl, two timeless classics about young people who face difficulties due to being different. The books’ enduring appeal—both are listed among Time’s 100 Best Young-Adult Books of All Time—is a testament to the power of narratives that expose children to diverse perspectives. This also makes it easier for kids to understand the issues highlighted in these stories when they come up in a more formal, ‘grown-up’ setting.
Alex Fierro, gender-fluid demigod and fashion icon / Artwork by Viktoria Ridzel via Rick Riordan
The most common argument against representation is also the weakest. Excluding LGBTQ+ characters from books will not keep young people from learning about the existence of the community itself. Kids are accessing the Internet at younger ages than ever before, and with all that information at their fingertips it’s inevitable that they will come across LGBTQ+ content, and it may not be in a manner that is age-appropriate. The sensitive, kid-friendly portrayals in books like Riordan’s give children a safe space to learn about gender, sexuality, and most importantly, respect.
Apart from the usual cohort of Bible-thumpers and overprotective parents, there is another group of critics who accuse Riordan of writing diverse characters to pander to a politically aware young audience. But to anyone who has read the books, Riordan’s commitment to representation is neither new nor surprising. The Percy Jackson books started as a bedtime story for Riordan’s own son, who had been diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia. All the demigods of the franchise have the same learning differences, which turn out to be special abilities allowing them to read Ancient Greek or Latin and stay alert in battle. Percy is also raised in a low-income household by a single mother and at one point, an abusive stepfather. From the very beginning, these books have been about kids who become great heroes despite having all the odds stacked against them.
It’s also not necessarily bad to play to an audience. By paying attention to his young readers’ calls for more inclusive books, Riordan proves that he is willing to listen and learn about the various identities under the LGBTQ+ umbrella and why representation is important. He cares about his fans, and he wants each of them to be able to see themselves as the heroes of his stories.
Of course, Riordan’s fame as an established writer, and a white cishet male one at that, allows him a freedom and a platform not afforded to many other authors. The dearth of representation in popular kids’ books reflects a larger problem within the publishing industry itself. In a study of 153 mainstream publishing houses by Lee & Low Books, 81 percent of employees identified as heterosexual and 97 percent as cisgender. It can be argued that this lack of diversity puts LGBTQ+ authors, particularly those who are also POC and/or disabled, at a disadvantage when it comes to getting published by bigger companies. As a result, their stories receive less attention from young readers who get their novels from chain bookstores and school libraries, which mostly stock bestsellers and popular series.
In recognition of this problem and of the astronomical success of his own mythology-based series, Riordan launched an imprint in 2018 to publish and support emerging authors from underrepresented backgrounds who write stories incorporating mythology from their own cultures. Riordan himself offers guidance to the writers and promotes their novels, several of which feature LGBTQ+ characters of colour. Rather than appointing himself the expert on experiences that are not his own, Riordan chose to use his influence to spotlight other writers without his privilege. If 2013 me saw her favourite author now, she would be proud. I know 2021 me is.
Riordan at the 2017 Stonewall Award Ceremony / Photo via Rick Riordan
While we elevate those who are battling injustice today, we must also ask ourselves: do we want future generations to inherit a war? Or are we fighting this one so that they can know peace? Call me an idealist, but if kids never learn hate, the adults they grow into will not have to spend their lives struggling against it.
Thoughtful representation in children’s books and media is vital for creating more open-minded, welcoming communities. In an increasingly multicultural and integrated society, it is inevitable that we will encounter people who are different from ourselves. They are our classmates, professors, servers, landowners, and employees. When kids grow up with diverse media, they learn to respect and welcome differences. After all, you don’t have to be straight, cis, or white to kill monsters—you just have to be brave.
