lishing, says books by or about
marginalized figures are sometimes
picked up by larger publishers on
“the basis of their acceptability.
They get sort of cleaned up some-
times.” With Street Noise, she
aims to publish books that might
make some readers uncomfortable,
and she’s been encouraged in this
pursuit by librarians. At confer-
ences and in conversations with
library organization leaders, she
says, she’s gleaned that “librarians
are really, really interested in this
kind of subject matter. They’re not
shying away from it.”
Librarians have also been instru-
mental in shaping the mission of
Arsenal Pulp, a Canadian pub-
lisher whose books focus on LGBTQ and BIPOC (black, indig-
enous, and people of color) issues. Brian Lam, publisher, shifted
the press’s attention to those issues when he took the helm
there in 1992, in part out of personal interest—he identifies
as queer—and in part because he saw an opportunity in the
market. Though the U.S. had its fair share of small LGBTQ
presses at that time, in Canada, he says, there was “nothing
happening.”
In 2012, at the suggestion of librarians, Arsenal Pulp began
publishing LGBTQ titles for young adult readers, and in 2016
the press began publishing them for children. In the past 10
years there’s been a growing realization among librarians and
publishers, Lam says, that “these books are not only important
but they actually save young kids’ lives.”
Arsenal Pulp also maintains a robust adult list: forthcoming
books include Corinne Manning’s We Had No Rules (May), a
short story collection featuring queer characters; Vanishing
Monuments (May), about a nonbinary photographer and the
debut novel from John E. Stintzi, who, like their main char-
acter, is nonbinary; and the memoir The Home Stretch (June), the
first nonfiction title by gay novelist George K. Ilsley, in which20 PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ■ APRIL 6, 2020
T
he history of LGBTQ publishing is, in many ways,
a history of small presses—outlets that showcased
LGBTQ life long before mainstream publications
or publishers had the nerve to. Now that pub-
lishing at large has embraced LGBTQ writing,
the fate and function of those presses merit reexamination. What
purpose do they serve, and what makes them distinct from their
larger competitors, now that everyone has, so to speak, opened
the closet?
Small presses, as well as those focused on marginalized com-
munities more broadly, see themselves as a necessary counterpart
to big publishers. The act of publishing LGBTQ narratives by
itself might no longer be outré, but these publishers, both
established and new, all have unique readerships, their own
relationships with independent bookstores and libraries, and a
continued appetite for boundary-pushing books.Diverse missions
While all presses focused on
LGBTQ or marginalized commu-
nities share a mission of increasing
representation, they differ in terms
of how specific or how aggressively
political that mission is and, by
extension, what kinds of books
they take on.
One new addition to the special-
ized-press community is Street
Noise Books, a publisher of graphic
memoirs for young and new adults
founded by Liz Frances, a book
designer and art director who previously worked for Scholastic.
She says she was inspired to launch Street Noise Books after the
2016 election, when she realized she wasn’t doing enough to
combat prejudice and marginalization. Accordingly, Street
Noise’s books, which will begin publishing this year, include
memoirs on race, womanhood, and LGBTQ issues. In August
the press will release Bishakh Som’s Spellbound, which chronicles
the author’s daily life as a transgender woman.
Frances, speaking from her experience in traditional pub-Even as LGBTQ culture
goes mainstream, queer
presses and imprints
remain vitalBY DANIEL LEFFERTS