We chat with debut author Gloria L. Huang about Kaya of the Ocean, which is an exciting, fresh, and beautiful middle-grade fantasy about embracing who you really are. This heartfelt adventure of sun, surf, and sand touches on mental health, the immigrant experience, and the complexities of growing up.
PLUS we have the first chapter to share with you at the end of the interview!
Hi, Gloria! Can you tell our readers a bit about yourself?
Sure, of course! Hi, readers! I’m an author of middle grade novels, and I also write literary short fiction. I was born in Canada, but I now live in California, which probably means I don’t need to tell you I am very affected by weather. I also love beaches and the ocean, so they often feature prominently in my stories and novels (like KAYA).
Hmm, what else? I also love scuba diving and snorkeling (more water-based activities), immersive theater, and food. That’s a legitimate passion, right?
When did you first discover your love for writing and stories?
I was one of those kids who wanted to be a writer since they could start dreaming of future careers. Actually, for a while, my career aspirations were torn between “writer” and “figure skater”. I couldn’t actually skate, I just wanted the stuffed animals the crowd threw on the ice after each routine. Clearly, as I child, I contained multitudes.
Back to the question! “Since I started reading and writing” is my official answer. Books were my gateway into the mesmerizing world of creating stories and eventually putting them down on paper. I still remember some of my first short stories and “books”. Sometimes I wish I had copies of them now. Then I remember how dramatic I was as a kid, and I think, hmm . . . maybe not.
Quick lightning round! Tell us:
- The first book you ever remember reading: The technical answer must have been a board book or a Golden Book, but the first books that really made an impact on me were the Sweet Valley Twins series. Those were really my gateway into middle grade books.
- The one that made you want to become an author: Ooh, honestly? Probably The Babysitters Club series. I loved Claudia Kishi (she was absolutely groundbreaking for Asian representation in books at that time!), but I was really inspired by how determined Mallory Pike was to become a writer. Elizabeth Wakefield from Sweet Valley Twins was also a serious writer, as was Jo March from Little Women, and those characters both inspired me, as well.
- The one that you can’t stop thinking about: We’re talking childhood books still, right? Can I cheat and give three? The True Adventures of Charlotte Doyle, Tuck Everlasting, and Homecoming. I still love those books. Talk about formative!
Your debut novel, Kaya of the Ocean, is out January 7th! If you could only describe it in five words, what would they be?
These are not exactly “descriptive” words, but five words I associate with KAYA are: friendship, ocean, goddess, anxiety, acceptance.
What can readers expect?
A contemporary middle grade novel filled with friendship, humor, and elements of Chinese mythological fantasy, in which a young girl struggling with anxiety and a fear of the water discovers she’s the secret descendant to the Chinese water goddess Mazu.
Where did the inspiration for Kaya of the Ocean come from?
A couple of places, really. When I started writing KAYA, the world was just emerging from the strongest grip of the pandemic, and I was witnessing a child very close to me struggling with anxiety for the first time (which is something I struggled with as a child, and sometimes still do now). I was reminded of how overwhelming it can be, especially when you’re a kid and you’re so scared something’s wrong with you. I wanted to write KAYA as a message to any kid struggling with—well, anything, really—that it’s powerful to accept their entire, whole, beautiful self. That every part of themselves, even the parts they might not always love, makes them who they are. So one source of inspiration was the brave kids fighting battles deep inside, where no one else can see.
Another source of inspiration was my cultural background. As I mentioned, I was a voracious reader when I was a kid and lived as much in books as in the world around me, but even then, I noticed that very few of the characters looked like me or anyone in my family. I wanted to honor my culture in KAYA, so I’ve included some heavily fictionalized pieces of my family history, especially in the flashbacks to some of Kaya’s ancestors. I also wanted to weave in the story of Mazu, this fascinating Chinese water goddess who’s unique and complex, and who’s still revered to this day but not really present in any middle grade novels I’ve seen. I wanted to write a fictionalized story bringing Mazu into the modern world and reimagining her as the ancestor to a young girl dealing with anxiety.
Were there any moments or characters you really enjoyed writing or exploring?
The fight Kaya has with her friends and her cousin Anne on the beach was a powerful scene to write. There were so many emotions and things said that couldn’t be unsaid, so many pressures and assumptions pushing and pulling at the girls that eventually transform Kaya’s power into something threatening and dangerous. I liked the challenge of getting those dynamics right.
I also enjoyed writing the flashback involving Kaya’s ancestor Yujin, who pretended to be her own brother in order to steal away from China to California to make money for her family during the Gold Rush. Her story felt so rich and full of potential, and it was fun to dip into it a little.
Did you face any challenges? How did you overcome them?
There were two challenges that were actually pretty unexpected. One involved the character of Kaya’s mom—as many Asian Americans can attest to, immigrant Asian mothers can often walk the line between fiercely loving and strict/overprotective. In the early versions of KAYA, some of my beta readers provided the feedback that Kaya’s mom seemed cold and almost cruel. I was horrified—that’s not how I meant to write her at all! It took several rounds of adjustments before I captured the balance between worry and deep love that I was striving for.
The other challenge involved Kaya’s relationship with her friend Taiyo. In earlier versions of KAYA, the friendship was a little more crush-based. I was concerned, however, that it was taking attention off of Kaya’s close friendships with Iolana and Naomi, who I see as the real loves of her life at this point in time. So I revised a few times to make Kaya’s friendship with Taiyo a little more platonic, with just the very distant promise of romance.
What do you hope readers take away from Kaya of the Ocean?
I really hope they take away the message that if they’re struggling with something, first of all, they’re not alone. Second of all, there’s a power and strength in accepting all parts of who they are, even the parts they might think of as flaws or weaknesses. Kaya’s dad says a Chinese expression to her: quexian mei. It means that things are more beautiful when they’re imperfect or broken. I hope that’s the message readers take from KAYA.
What’s next for you?
I’m working on a couple of other middle grade novels, and I’m always working on my short stories. I’m really happiest when I have a couple of projects in the works
Lastly, what books are you looking forward to picking up in 2025?
A bit of a cheating answer, but I’m looking forward to reading several of the other books that were also recognized as Junior Library Guild Gold Standard selections and American Bookseller Association Indies Introduce and Kids Indie Next selections (as I was honored to find out KAYA was as well). They all seem like such amazing books—my TBR reading list for next year is long!
For adult fiction, I’m really looking forward to David Mitchell’s new book, To Vinland. He and Jhumpa Lahiri are two of my favorite adult authors.
Chapter One
Maui, 2024
Though I’ve never been able to prove it, I’m certain the ocean is trying to drown me.
My first memory of feeling this way is more like a dream— my mom’s screaming face distorted through a wavery, watery lens; wisps of fear, of shock. I think I was about three. Whenever I asked Mom about this memory, she furrowed her brow and claimed not to remember. “You’re always making things up. So much imagination.”
When I was seven, I was playing on the shore when a sneaker wave overwhelmed me. In a split second, it washed me and my toys partially out to sea. I remember that vividly— the shock of digging in the sand one moment and tumbling through the water the next. Luckily, my dad ran over the wet sand to fish me out, but I clearly remember the sensation of the water towing on my legs as though trying to pull me under. My bucket and spade were a casualty of that warm summer day. “They swim with the fishes,” my dad said afterward with a grin. I didn’t think his joke was very funny.
Now I was thirteen, with several years of intense swim lessons behind me. And I tried not to think about my grim childhood conviction that the ocean was somehow . . . calling me home. I really tried not to think about the little girl I sometimes saw under the water, the one my parents called my “imaginary friend” until I was too old to have imaginary friends anymore. It was my policy not to look directly into the ocean, because I knew I might see her if I did: a small five-year-old child, her hair in messy pigtails and her eyes haunted and sad, always reaching for her white blanket. It was bad enough I suffered from anxiety so severe that my skin was raw and red from washing and scratching, that my mind was always filled with worries and my heart filled with dread. The last thing I needed was another problem, another fear. So even though I lived on an island surrounded by millions of cubic miles of water, I built a box in my mind for my hydrophobia, put it inside, and tried not to think about the sea at all.
Even before the faded yellow school bus careened to a stop on the side of the unpaved road near my house, I could see my friends waving excitedly through the dusty windows. I shook my head and laughed as I ran to climb the bus steps.
“Kaya!” Naomi crowed, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her soft blonde hair brushed my cheek, wisps of silk that smelled of sweet fruit. When we were younger and took turns brushing out each other’s hair, I used to marvel at how delicate hers was.
In my mind, I would recite the different names for Naomi’s hair as I brushed: golden, flaxen, fair. It felt unfair there was only one name for my hair: black.
It was Iolana who helped me learn to love my hair and appearance, who corrected me when I complained about my coarse dark horse’s mane. “No,” Iolana replied sternly. “Here are some other descriptions you can use instead: jet- black, poker-straight,thick.
You have the hair of a Hawaiian goddess.”
“But I’m Chinese.”
“Chinese goddess. And don’t you forget it.”
Iolana loved her Hawaiian heritage—she was fiercely proud of who she was, and I tried to imitate that as much as I could. I knew how lucky I was to have her. To be growing up in Hawaii with so many Asian and Pacific Islander kids around. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for my dad when he was growing up in Indiana in the eighties, the only Asian kid in his class. Sometimes I tried to ask him, but he always waved my questions away. “Past is past,” he would reply. He didn’t like to talk about his life before he and my mom relocated to Hawaii. Neither of my parents were the kind who would settle down with me for cozy heart‑to‑hearts. One time when I was younger, I asked my mom why I didn’t have blonde hair and blue eyes like so many of the girls in my books. My mom replied distractedly, “Doesn’t matter. Work hard, be successful, then write your own books with Chinese girls in them.”
When I remembered how it was when I first met Naomi and Iolana, I marveled at our closeness now. Iolana and I quickly became rivals in first grade— we competed over everything. Friends, schoolwork, even how many picture books we could read in a day. Naomi was so used to following Iolana around that she automatically took her side.
Then Wesley Vaughn said something rude to Iolana in front of the whole class— half of the kids gasped with shock, and the other half started whispering, Wait, what did he say? What does that mean? I stepped up to defend her, telling Wesley to back off and reminding him Iolana, her parents, and her big brothers were all born in Hawaii and were as American as anyone else. Honestly, I think it was the mention of Iolana’s big brothers that really cowed him, but after that, Iolana and I buried our rivalry. She and Naomi had been my closest friends ever since.
“Dude, let go of her.” Iolana rolled her eyes as Naomi wrangled me into a seat across the aisle. “She’s not a baby. She can sit down on her own.”
“Yes, Mom.” Naomi pushed at Iolana half-heartedly, and they engaged in a brief hand-slapping battle.
“Okay, when you guys are done, let me know.” I reached into my bag for a dog-eared novel I’d been reading.
“Done! We’re done.” Naomi swiveled back to me. “Hey, Kaya. A bunch of us are going surfing at Waiwaihuna after school. You in?”
I stifled a groan. “Surfing? Again?”
“You do realize you’re from Lihiwai, right?” Iolana stretched her arms in the air, her expression mild despite her scornful tone.
“We’re literally a surf town. It’s kind of our thing.”
“Yeah, but that’s even more reason to break stereotype.” I glanced down longingly at my book. In Honors English, we were studying Greek mythology, and I had found a novel at the library that was a retelling of Persephone’s tale. On the cover was an arm, creamy and white, reaching up to the sky. Another hand dangled just out of reach, the two hands suspended millimeters apart for all time.
Naomi and Iolana dropped their gazes to the book. Iolana sniffed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to ditch us to read. Again.”
Naomi shook her head furiously. “Uh‑uh, Kaya. No way. It’s almost winter break! School is done after today! We’ve been working hard—”
“Eh.” Iolana lifted her hand and let it waver in the air.
“Fine, Kaya’s been working hard. Whatever. The point is, it’s time for us to have fun together.” Naomi shot me a suspicious look.
“Is that book even homework?”
I squirmed a little. “Well . . . no.”
Iolana let out a guttural “Boooo!” while Naomi turned her thumb down.
“Rude,” I countered, slouching down in my seat.
“So it’s settled.” Naomi’s voice was cheery with triumph. “Surfing. After school.”
Iolana’s fingers flew deftly over her phone screen. “Sick. The waves are gonna be six to nine this afternoon.” She flipped her phone around to show us, but all I could see was a video banner of a surfer girl executing a perfect cutback on a curling wave. A roiling feeling of dread tumbled deep in the pit of my stomach. While Naomi squealed with excitement, I sighed. Iolana and Naomi were much stronger surfers than me—almost everyone was—But Naomi was right: I hadn’t spent much time with my friends recently, preferring to soothe my worsening anxiety by reading. If only we could plan something besides sliding up and down powerful waves of water that might kill us at any moment. I bit my lip and scratched my forearm as surreptitiously as I could. Then I glanced up to see Iolana and Naomi peering at me with twin expressions of concern.
“Are you scratching?” Iolana’s question was blunt, falling between us heavily like a weight. Her eyes took in the raw patches of skin on my arm, then softened with sympathy. “I thought you were getting better, Kaya.”
“What? I’m not. I mean, I am.” My cheeks grew hot with shame, and I turned toward the window. It was easy to imagine the ocean beyond the palm trees and greenery. The waves rising and crashing, the water tumbling and roiling with a fury that felt like pain.
“I mean . . . I don’t know.”
“Kai.” Naomi glanced quickly at the bus driver to ensure he wasn’t watching in the rearview mirror, then she shuffled across the aisle to slide in next to me. “Listen. I know you’re a little scared of the water—”
“I’m not scared,” I protested weakly. My arm was prickling uncomfortably, and I badly wanted to scratch it, but I resisted. I tightened my fingers into fists. “I’m just, like, reasonably cautious.”
This was a lie. I was definitely scared.
Iolana’s lips twitched at the corners. “So, you weren’t scared that time we went walking on the beach and a wave touched your foot and you screeched like you were being attacked?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Okay, first of all, shut up.”
Iolana snickered. “Good argument.”
“Anyway.” Naomi grabbed my hands and stared into my eyes.
“As I was saying, I know you’re ‘reasonably cautious’ about the water, but the only way to get over that is to face it and get out there as much as possible. You know? And you promised us you’d try.” I squirmed uncomfortably and pulled my hands out of Naomi’s.
It was true. I had promised. But only because I was tired of being the weird girl who never hit the surf with everyone else—not because I wanted to. “Okay, okay. I said I’d go. No need for an intervention.”
Naomi beamed. “Good girl.” She shuffled back across the aisle and dropped onto the seat next to Iolana. They quickly resumed their excited chatter surmising what the height of the waves would be by the afternoon.
I glanced down at my book, the floating hands eternally suspended in the air, reaching toward each other in vain.
Excerpt from Kaya of the Ocean / Text copyright © 2025 by Gloria L. Huang. Reproduced with permission from Holiday House Publishing Inc. All rights reserved.
