Becoming Kirrali Lewis by Jane Harrison

First published in 2015, this novel caught my eye -again- due to the "State Library of Queensland Winner" medallion on the front cover. Then the blurb revealed it to be a story set in the 1980s (a decade close to my heart, including my uni years!) with flashbacks to the 60s; a story about an aboriginal girl adopted into a white family.
If any student were ever to earnestly enquire about Australian history, I think the best option would be to hand them a copy of this novel and follow up with a discussion afterwards. Harrison is thorough in her addressing of Aboriginal issues without being cliché - I appreciate that would be a hard thing for a writer to do, especially with such a contentious topic.
The writing is simple (think Sally Morgan's 'My Place') but interesting. At times I had to take a little break from reading as it was highly emotional in places. That might be due to the fact that I am a parent. I'd be interested to see if teenage readers would be as moved as I was at certain points.
Without giving too much away, here's an excerpt from when the protagonist was assaulted by a few racists thugs after she leaves the local pub:
   Kirk and I bolted. My clunky heels skidded on the uneven bluestone surface of the alley and within a few strides they had overtaken and surrounded us. I was flooded with fear.
   It happened quickly. I saw the flash of a fist and heard a crack like dry thunder. I realised Thug One must have broken Kirk's nose. He staggered back into the paling fence which shuddered along its length. Thug Two flung his arm around my neck in a headlock and I bit him as hard as I could. He leapt back, yelping in pain. I took a wild swing with my shoe at Thug Three's genitalia but missed. He lashed out with a backhanded punch and I went down, my knees hitting the pavers. Someone held me, someone stomped on my head. The pain was excruciating. Somewhere, Kirk was moaning.
   Worse than the pain was hearing guys my age, guys I might have gone to school with, or been neighbours with - ordinary guys- use those words. They called us niggers. No-hopers. Bludgers. Boongs. Filthy abos. And after each curse came their disgusting laughter... (pp.57-8)

One Would Think the Deep by Claire Zorn

I always tell my students, look for the books with the pretty 'medals' adorning the cover. Well, this baby had no less than three! Zorn has (again) composed an engaging, relevant and punchy novel for older (youth) readers. I think boys would enjoy this one as it has stacks of surfing references, and the girls would enjoy the 'young love' additions. Basically, any teen who knows what it is like to be misunderstood, and who wants desperately to fit in, would attain great satisfaction from reading this.
I think Zorn creates vivid images in few words, so this novel would be brilliant as a class text.

The protagonist, Sam, leaves home after his mum dies unexpectedly. He is 'adopted' by an aunt who only just tolerates him being a part of her family. The reader is keenly aware that Sam is grieving and struggling to adapt to his new environment away from all his former support networks. The good news is, he re-kindles his close friendship with his surfer cousin 'Minty' and soon enjoys and adopts surfer habits; the bad news is Minty's brother Shane hates his guts. This is around the time we learn that Sam has severe anger management issues, so there's a bit of biff from time to time.

I don't want to give anything away, but there's a hot chick called Gretchen who certainly brings out a whole other side to Sam. Say no more!

I'll leave you with a surfing excerpt. Loved this book.

The ocean opened up in front of Sam. Waves bigger than he had ever seen, like cliff faces, sucking water off the rocks and rearing up before rolling back in again. The sound was like a hurricane or a bushfire, a merciless roar, the water devouring everything in its path. The sky seemed to become water, the horizon line gone altogether. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, Sam scanned the dark rolling water. He could just make out two figures. He peered over the edge to see Minty jumping off the rocks and into the churning black water... The three of them watched as Minty manoeuvred the board onto the crest of a wave. Sam held his breath and watched in disbelief as Minty got to his feet. One of the guys gave a low whistle. Minty, a tiny speck compared to the colossus of water, drifted down the face of the wave with his trade-mark casual stance, crouched low shoulder into the water, the fingertips of his right hand trailing along behind him, skimming the wall, like a kid playing with a fountain...  (p.79-80)