Some of the most beloved voices in children’s literature belonged to authors who spent much of their lives hiding an essential part of who they were. Maurice Sendak, Tomie dePaola, and Arnold Lobel—three names etched into the memory of generations—were all gay men who, for much of their careers, lived in the closet. And while their books rarely speak of queerness directly, many readers have found something unmistakably resonant in their work: a sense of otherness, tenderness, and longing that transcends age.
Maurice Sendak
Best known for Where the Wild Things Are, Sendak was private about his sexuality until late in life, when he spoke openly about his 50-year relationship with his partner. His books are often about children navigating powerful emotional landscapes—anger, fear, isolation—and finding some kind of peace or power within them. Max, who sails away to a land of wild things and returns “still loved,” resonates with anyone who’s ever felt like a misfit.
In interviews, Sendak often rejected the sugary view of childhood. He understood children as complex, emotional beings, and he honored their interior lives with raw honesty. For queer readers, especially, that honesty can feel like an early glimpse of recognition—the feeling of being seen, even without being named.
Tomie dePaola
Creator of Strega Nona and Oliver Button Is a Sissy, dePaola was openly gay but noted that publishers discouraged him from being public about it early in his career. His semi-autobiographical Oliver Button tells the story of a boy who prefers dance and books to sports, and is teased for it—but ultimately finds affirmation. The book, quietly revolutionary at its time, has long been cherished by queer readers and those who felt different as children.
DePaola’s illustrations are joyful, inclusive, and steeped in tradition—often drawing on his Italian heritage and Catholic upbringing. His work reminds us that identity is woven into the fabric of stories, even when it’s not spoken aloud.
Arnold Lobel
Lobel, author of the Frog and Toad series, once said, “Frog and Toad are really two aspects of myself.” Published in the 1970s, the series captures a tender, emotionally nuanced friendship between two male characters. They share holidays, write each other letters, and weather life’s small disappointments together.
Lobel came out to his family later in life, and passed away from AIDS-related complications in 1987. Today, many readers—queer or not—see Frog and Toad as a quiet portrait of love and companionship, disguised as friendship in an era that offered few other options.
Children’s literature has always been a space for wonder, but it’s also been a place of shelter—especially for those who felt different. These authors, in writing stories about friendship, longing, bravery, and belonging, left traces of themselves on the page. And perhaps that’s why their books endure: because they speak to what it means to be human in all its quiet complexity.
