I wanted to have a story where donor- conceived children were front and centre, and for it to be accessible and relatable for all children


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y 2030, there will be an average of one or two donor-conceived children in every English state primary school, according to the Human Fertilisation and Embryology


Authority. That’s a pretty interesting statistic, and one that Kristina Rahim flags while talking about her debut children’s novel (Nosy Crow, June), The Doughnut Club. The heroine of The Doughnut Club, Quinn, is


donor-conceived (as are Rahim’s children; she drew upon on her own experience in writing her novel). While on holiday, Quinn starts to question whether she really belongs in her surfing-loving, outdoorsy family – hobbies she doesn’t have the same enthusiasm for. Coincidentally, on the same holiday Quinn


and her brother Ollie find out that there is a website that gives information about donors, and they discover they have 16 “diblings” (donor siblings). Ollie isn’t fazed by the news but Quinn is determined to find out more, and as the novel progresses she hides her investigations from her parents, who are a little more cautious about telling their children about their origins. The idea for The Doughnut Club was sparked


by a conversation one of Rahim’s children had in primary school. She was asked why she didn’t have a daddy, and when she replied: “I don’t have a daddy, I have a donor,” the other child thought she had said: “I have a doughnut.” “It was very sweet and we all had a laugh


about it, but it made me aware that other children need to know more about donor- conceived kids,” says Rahim. When her daugh- ters were younger, there were a few picture books with diverse families, which was “great”, but as they got older there were fewer books with donor-conceived protagonists. “I wanted to have a story where they were front and centre, and for it to be accessible and relatable for all children.” The novel certainly is relatable for all


children – Quinn has her moments of wonder- ing whether she belongs, as everyone does growing up, and she has a bit of a love/hate relationship with Monica, a girl who turns up at the same holiday place every year and may (spoiler alert) learn something about the way she was conceived as the novel progresses. The sibling bond between Quinn and her brother is also something that comes under focus, especially given the fact that he isn’t as interested in finding out more about his “diblings” as she is. “Quinn is completely excited and thinks:


‘This is amazing, all these extra siblings every- where’, whereas Ollie is not interested. It was important to reflect that, because each child is going to have a different response. Some want to meet their donors, some don’t.” The Doughnut Club was never meant to be an


“issues book”, but is rather a fun and relatable adventure, which happens to have donor conceived children front and centre of the narrative.


Quinn’s story is Rahim’s first published book,


though there were some manuscripts that fell by the wayside. Her journey to becoming an author is an “uninteresting tale of Covid-19 and lockdown escapism”, she says, because her work in property came to a standstill while her wife’s job continued, and she took charge of homeschooling. She would take the children on daily walks and make up stories and poems, eventually progressing to giving chapter books a go. Joining the “wonderful” WriteMentor community gave her a push in the right direction, as did Becky Bagnell, a literary agent who spotted the potential for a middle-grade novel in an adult short story about an 18-year-old donor-conceived person who was meeting their donor for the first time. Bagnell was “very excited” about the idea of


a children’s novel with a donor-conceived child as the main protagonist. Rahim explains: “I’d always included diverse families or a donor- conceived child, but they were secondary characters or just kind of mentioned… I wasn’t sure whether [putting them front and centre] would be appealing to publishers… Becky gave me the confidence to try and I’m always grateful to her for saying: ‘Give it a go.’”


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first draft of The Doughnut Club was ready in 2023. Rahim then started entering competitions and the manuscript was named as the winner of the PFD Queer Fiction


Prize 2023. That got her a deal with Silvia Molteni at Peters, Fraser + Dunlop, who then secured a three-book deal with Nosy Crow. The Nosy Crow team are “brilliant”, Rahim


says. “The whole team were just all so genuinely enthusiastic and supportive of just what I was trying to do and everyone just seemed to be on the same page as to what the story could do. And, with it being a debut, they’ve just really helped guide me through the process and I’ve never felt bad about asking my random debut questions along the way to any of them in the team, which has been lovely. I feel in good hands.” She hopes that there will be some school visits


as part of the promotional plans, because “kids are just great and will be engaged and interested in things that are not what they see every day”, and will get to see and hear about families that differ from their own. And the children who are donor-conceived


should be seen and supported, she adds, which brings us back to the statistic that predicts that every class in English primary schools will have at least one donor-conceived child by 2030. “We know more than just our family who have


donor-conceived children, whether it’s two mums or a single parent. I think science is wonderful and amazing and provides the opportunities for people to have families if they really want to,” says Rahim. “And it’s important for them to feel seen and understood.”


09


Extract


“Do you remember, at the Pink Parents picnic over Easter,” Mum asks, “when Tariq’s dad told us about a website he’d joined where he could look up families who had used the same donor as them?” I nod, which isn’t the best way to answer a person when you’re sitting behind them. “Quinn? Olly? Anyone?” Mum says. “Yeah, sorry, I remember,” I reply, giving Olly a nudge. His fingers are creeping around his console again. “Well, we thought we’d try it as well,” Mum says, turning towards Mama. Mama tugs at the seat belt across her chest as if it is too tight, clearing her throat of that tickly cough she gets right before she makes important work calls. “Yes, well,” she starts. “When we looked up your donor, we got a bit of a surprise.” Olly gives me a confused glance before dropping his eyes back towards his screen. “It seems as though your donor has been … quite popular,” Mum continues. “It looks like you both have some half-siblings out there in the world,” Mama adds, nibbling her lip. “One annoying sister is bad enough.” Olly laughs, nudging me with his elbow as he taps the buttons on his console. How can he just go back to his stupid game? This is BIG news.


JO MIESZKOWSKI


Books Author Profile


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