Holly Black's dark, angsty faerie tale introduced me to quite a few concepts that were eye-opening at the ripe age of 12. One of these was a secondary character who is revealed to be gay (and into sadomasochism, no less— the early 2000s were a very different time for YA). Even though things end rather poorly for him, I found myself fascinated by this boy who liked boys and felt a strange kinship in that, even as I thought of myself as a girl at the time. Re-reading it much later, I was surprised to find how minor a plot this was in the scope of the story. I had spent so much time turning the knowledge over and over in my head, feeling certain that I had to keep it a secret even if I didn't understand why, that it became central to my recollection of the book. It wasn't a great representation of gay people, nor did it perfectly reflect my own experience, but even so, it was the barest glimpse for me into a different world. It was the smallest suggestion that somewhere, out there, there might be a different way for me to be.