“Bren’s arm wrapped around A.J.’s chest as the first verse started. It was only then, as music poured from the bud snuggled in his ear, that he realized it–even without his Discman, there was always music when he was with Bren.” – Robert J. Halliwell, And Then He Pressed Play: Track One
CANADIAN AUTHOR Robert J. Halliwell’s And Then He Pressed Play: Track One is a gay/queer coming-of-age love story set in 2006 in the fictional Irish town of Glenbridge, near Cork. It follows 16-year-old A.J. Walker, an openly gay, yet wallflowerish Canadian exchange student from Moose Jaw, as he begins his Grade 11 year at an all-boys school in Ireland.
On his first day, he meets Bren O’Shay, a friendly extrovert who couldn’t be more different from him. After an initial misunderstanding, they become close. As A.J. settles into life in Ireland and begins to open up about his life in Canada, his feelings for Bren deepen into something more than friendship, something closer to love.
Halliwell’s novel is a strong example of how contemporary Canadian queer fiction—especially from own voices authors—continues to evolve beyond familiar coming-out narratives while still honouring the emotional, often dramatic landscape that defines the genre. In this case, our protagonist, A.J., is already living openly and authentically in his sexual/romantic identity at sixteen. That aspect works well for me personally, as I’m not particularly fond of “awakening” narratives and tend to avoid them. (Is this a controversial statement? 😏) Now, our love interest for A.J., Bren, may not be as in tune with his feelings, but the author handles it without that “SURPRISE—you like boys (too)!” out-of-nowhere device; instead, the feelings develop and unfold organically.
At first glance, the novel’s cover might only suggest a gay/queer YA romance: first meetings, first love, and the kind of soft-focus intimacy often associated with YA fiction. But as the saying goes, don’t judge a book by its cover. Halliwell makes it clear early on through direct trigger warnings that this story carries heavier themes, including bullying, violence, and hate speech directed at gay/queer characters.
That tonal duality is where the novel both challenges and distinguishes itself. Writing for a YA audience often comes with an implicit expectation of accessibility and emotional safety, that “cozy romance” feel, yet Halliwell resists sanding down the harsher realities LGBTQ youth (heck, even us adults) can face. The depiction of bullying and anti-gay violence isn’t gratuitous, but neither is it softened to the point of irrelevance or what I like to call “forced emotional narrative contrivance.” Instead, these darker themes sit uneasily with the romance, creating a narrative that asks whether tenderness can coexist with trauma in a way that still feels honest to younger readers—especially gay/queer readers who have experienced these aggressions.
That’s a difficult balance to strike, and while it may feel jarring at times, it’s also a mark of the author’s willingness to push beyond the genre’s comfort zone—and Halliwell does this excellently. Similar to another LGBTQ book I recently read, Under the Covered Bridge by Canadian author Nicholas Young, the measured use of violence in relation to gay/queer youth is poignant, powerful, and delivers meaning rather than disingenuous shock value.
As an own-voices work, the novel carries a sense of authenticity, particularly in its portrayal of friendship and “found family.” While the latter can feel like an overused buzzword, it remains a meaningful and effective concept in gay/queer lives. Halliwell’s work contributes to a growing body of fiction exploring queer identity—particularly Canadian and Irish experiences—which have historically been underrepresented in mainstream YA fiction and wider literature.
The inclusion of a student exchange program between Canada and Ireland serves as an effective narrative device. It allows for organic cultural contrast and connection, particularly through language. The use of regional slang and idioms adds depth to the dialogue and grounds the characters in their respective worlds without feeling forced or overly explanatory. This narrative also reflects themes of sexual identity, exploring the spectrum from gay/queer to straight. It examines how we interact with those who are different from us, especially in a global context.
One of the more refreshing aspects of the book is its handling of teenage voice. YA fiction can sometimes fall into the trap of overly polished, hyper-articulate dialogue—what might be described as “adult cleverness” masquerading as teen speech. This narrative device annoys me to no end. Thankfully, Halliwell largely avoids this. The characters sound like teenagers: emotionally intense, occasionally inarticulate, and still figuring out how to communicate what they feel; this is especially evident with Bren. That restraint gives the relationships, platonic and romantic, a sense of realism and keeps the emotional stakes believable.
Also, the author’s use of music as a communicative language within the narrative is much more than simple nostalgia designed to tug at heartstrings or the application of pop culture to feel hip; instead, it functions as both a form of self-expression and a way to connect with others, all handled brilliantly.
Now, speaking directly to LGBTQ readers who feel they’ve moved beyond youth-focused queer narratives,
particularly coming-out or first-love stories—and I include myself, for the most part, in that group—this novel may not initially seem like your cup of tea. Sure, like many YA/MM stories, it revisits familiar territory, but it does so with a level of care and complexity that’s genuine and fresh, even in an over-saturated market.
So, even if you’ve “been there” in terms of life experience, there’s value in seeing those stories told with nuance, especially when they acknowledge both the sweetness and the threat that can accompany queer adolescence. This novel effectively challenges readers’ expectations and assumptions about the genre, providing some truly resonant moments. And you learn some great Irish dialogue!
Ultimately, And Then He Pressed Play: Track One is notable less for reinventing the genre and more for expanding its emotional range. It’s a book that refuses to remain purely comforting, instead insisting that young love stories can—and perhaps should—make room for the difficult realities that shape them, as they shape us into the gay/queer people we become. As Halliwell himself puts it, “Hate will never win in my books,” and that right there gives the message readers ultimately want in the gay/queer YA romance genre. Well, at least I think they should want it if they’re looking for quality work, which And Then He Pressed Play: Track One absolutely is. I’m looking forward to the next book, or should I say, Track Two.
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