Afterlife fiction for young people

Sophie Masson has published widely in children’s and young adult literature.  She’s now working on her creative practice thesis, in the fascinating field of Afterlife Fiction.  Of course, classical antiquity offers many ways to think about the subject of the Afterlife, as Sophie writes below …

– Liz Hale

Afterlife fiction for young people

A short introduction

In the last fifteen years, fiction set in or about the afterlife has become a popular and critically acclaimed sub-genre within contemporary speculative fiction for young adults. These intriguing narratives, where the main characters die at the beginning of the story and find themselves in an alien world, the world beyond death, have developed into a fertile ground for imaginative and intellectual challenge and discovery.

A nineteenth-century interpretation of Charon’s crossing, by Alexander Litovchenko – Location: Russian Museum, St. PetersburgTechnique: oil on canvas, Public Domain,

Currently engaged in a PHD in Creative Practice at the University of New England, I’m writing a novel, The Ghost Squad, set in a world like ours but where there is (secret) proof of afterlife, and an accompanying exegesis about contemporary afterlife fiction for young people: that is, fiction which is specifically set in or about the afterlife. In the exegesis, I’m looking at recent young adult novels from around the world, published between 2003 and 2016, which is the period in which afterlife fiction for young adults has mainly appeared, but I also briefly look at a precursor: Astrid Lindgren’s 1975 afterlife novel, The Brothers Lionheart, a useful contrast to the contemporary texts.

All of the novels depict an afterworld which is neither Heaven nor Hell but something in between; a transitional, liminal world, not a final end-point. They are territories very often blending elements from Purgatory, Limbo and Hades, or similar places found in traditional beliefs around the world.  One of the exciting things about the novels is how well and intriguingly they blend many different cultural influences, across both space and time: cultural diversity is an important factor here. Amongst those elements are those from Classical mythology and history: it’s more than bleak Hades-like landscapes which are found in several texts; the notion of the guide or ferryman is central to more than just Claire McFall’s novel, Ferryman, and in Jane Abbott’s Elegy, set in a country town in Victoria, the main characters are reincarnated Greek gods and heroes.

John Roddam Spencer Stanhope, Charon and Psyche;, Public Domain,

In Lynnette Lounsbury’s Afterworld, the Necropolis, which is one of the principal settings of the book, evokes aspects of Ancient Roman cityscapes, such as gladiatorial arenas, while in Kinga Wyrzykowska’s Memor: le monde d’après, there are echoes of Greek philosophy and taxonomy. Very often, these elements occur in unexpected and imaginative ways; surprise is one of the great pleasures of afterlife fiction for young people.


There has been some interesting work done on the theme of the afterlife in fiction, such as Alice Bennett’s Afterlife and Narrative in Contemporary Fiction (2012),her book-length study of adult afterlife fiction. However, aside from a short discussion on aspects of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials–which is not an afterlife fiction, but contains some episodes set in an afterlife–Bennett does not look at afterlife fiction for young adults. A chapter on the theme of afterlife in young adult fiction is also included in literary commentator Patty Campbell’s 2016 book, Spirituality in Young Adult Literature: The Last Taboo, and touched on in Postsecular spirituality in Australian young adult fiction, a 2016 thesis by Australian PHD student Dale Kathryn Lowe, though neither of them looks at the specific genre of afterlife fiction itself. Indeed, it appears that no substantial analytical survey of afterlife fiction young people has been published to date—which is where my research comes in!


Sophie Masson is an award-winning author for young people, and a PHD student in Creative Practice at the University of New England. Her website is, and she blogs at


Philomela’s Silence

Kylie Constantine writes about the reception of Philomela in Laurie Halse Anderson’s novel for young adults, Speak.  ​She talked about it at our recent Mythical Workshop.

– Liz Hale

Philomela’s Silence

Nightingale and rose detail of the south garden wall fresco excavated at the Casa del Bracciale d’oro, Pompeii.

On 24 March at the ERC’s 10th Anniversary Celebrations, we touched on many topics, comic and poignant. Perhaps the most poignant, among our discussions of gods and goddesses, mythical beasts, and heroic quests, was that of Philomela, whose violent story feels as relevant today as it was in antiquity. Philomela’s tale draws on themes of sexual assault, domestic violence, and censorship––all of which are reported in the news on a daily basis.

According to Ovid (in Book VI of the Metamorphoses), Philomela is the younger daughter of an Athenian King. Her older sister, Procne, is married to King Tereus of Thrace, and has a son, Itys. She has not seen her family for some time. Tereus returns to Athens to collect Philomela for the purpose of visiting her sister, but on the return journey Tereus makes different plans. He takes Philomela to an isolated hut in the woods and brutally rapes her. To suppress her protests and to ensure her silence, he cuts out her tongue. Tereus abandons Philomela in the woods and tells Procne that her sister died on their return journey.

Image from an Attic wine cup, circa 490 BC, depicting Philomela and Procne preparing to kill Itys. (Musée du Louvre, Paris)

Over the course of a year Tereus repeatedly violates Philomela, while she secretly weaves her story into a cloak. When it is finished, she sends the cloak to her sister. Procne rescues Philomela and in revenge the sisters slaughter Itys and feed him to his father. Tereus attempts to kill Procne and Philomela, but the gods intervene in sympathy and turns each of them into birds. Traditionally, Philomela becomes a nightingale.

The story of Philomela appears repeatedly in art, music, and culture, and is the subject of my PhD thesis, Song and Silence: Case Studies in the Reception of Philomela from Antiquity to the Twenty-First Century. But for the purposes of the Our Mythical Childhood project, considerations of Philomela reveal her pervasive power. Philomela can be found in television shows, films, and literature popular with older children and young adults. She is often alluded to rather than overtly referenced. While Philomela’s influence is evident in episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Hush), Dr Who (the Ood) or throughout Netflix’s recently adapted series, 13 Reasons Why, her silent presence is overwhelming in Laurie Halse Anderson’s novel, Speak.

Speak is the first-person narrative of fourteen-year-old Melinda Sordino, who documents her freshman year of high school over the course of four academic periods. Melinda is a social outcast, ostracised after her 911 call brought the police to at a party she had attended the previous summer. Melinda is unable to tell anyone why she called the police and over the year, her mutism alienates her from her friends, teachers, and her family. Melinda’s silence stems from an encounter with a gorgeous older boy, a “Greek God”, who forces himself on her in the woods next to the party house. He covers her mouth with his hand as he rapes her, and her protest, like Philomela’s, is denied through silencing. Melinda loses her identity with the loss of her voice: “I saw my face in the window over the sink and no words came from my mouth. Who was that girl? I had never seen her before.”

Melinda’s ability to speak again is regained through her recovery. Like Philomela, she is able to tell her story not through weaving, but through written notes, graffiti, and her art project on trees. But unlike Philomela, whose voice returns through the nightingale’s song, Melinda finally speaks of her trauma to her art teacher. “The tears dissolve the last block of ice in my throat. I feel the frozen stillness melt down through the inside of me, dripping shards of ice that vanish in a puddle of sunlight on the stained floor. Words float up.”

At different periods in time, references to Philomela have evoked themes of censorship, identity, mourning, sorrow, beauty and suffering, along with ideals associated with Christ, the soul, the poet and more recently, feminism. In each manifestation, the focus is Philomela’s voice, as she regains the ability to vocalise through the sonorous beauty of the nightingale’s sad song.

For more information on Speak, go to Laurie Halse Anderson’s website:

For an example of Philomela in music, listen to Mendelssohn’s “Ye Spotted Snakes” from A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1842):


Ovid. Metamorphoses. Translated by David Raeburn. London: Penguin Classics, 2004.
Anderson, Laurie Halse. Speak. New York: Square Fish, 2011.

Kylie Constantine is a PhD candidate in the School of Arts, UNE.  Her research traces the reception of Philomela in song and popular culture.  Her Honours thesis (2016) explored the feminine voice in Benjamin Britten’s The Turn of the Screw.