Yonah Klein: tone, fantasy, and the humanity behind superpowers

Some of our beloved authors have a signature voice, a comforting familiarity where you know what you’ll get. And then there’s Yonah Klein, a literary chameleon shape-shifting effortlessly between styles, tones, and genres with each new release. From science fiction to drama, comics to adventure and mystery, his stories cross the globe of literature, mixing and matching the best from each world. His latest, The Hive, is an intriguing and fast-paced science fiction drama about a close-knit town with a secret keeping them together - and everyone else out. It’s written for middle-grade readers, and for any adults looking for some magic. (As the author would say, the adults come first.)

In addition to the Hive, Yonah Klein has at least a dozen other middle grade, adult, and comic books, and has many more in the works.

Coming soon: Custom recommendations for your reading needs. Send your detailed questions to frumbooksnewsletter@gmail.com.

What genre do you think The Hive falls into?

When it was first published, the magazine tacked on the phrase “a fantasy” at the bottom of the title. I thought that was a big mistake, I don’t think there were any fantasy elements to it at all. I think it’s much closer to science fiction, with some elements of adventure or thriller. Both science fiction and fantasy are the imagining of things that don’t exist and probably can’t exist. The difference is that Science Fiction puts on a veneer of science or reasonability, and fantasy doesn’t. So I guess contemporary science fiction is the closest thing.

Within the world of frum literature, we have lots of real life stories, and some full-on fantasy, but that in between seems hard. How do you choose what balance to take?

There’s enormous freedom when you do world-building. I can imagine a world where people communicate by slapping each other in the face—nothing’s stopping me. Once I create that world, there are questions, like, why don’t people get angry? But since I’m making it up, I can make up an answer. Once I begin to touch on the real world, I can’t necessarily answer those questions by making something up, and that’s much more constraining. That challenge is fun, but it’s also difficult. But I’ve found that rules, even the ones I don’t like, tend to improve my writing because they force me to work harder.

The frum world has a lot of limitations. Some are rooted in halacha, there’s a responsibility for writers to produce things that are kosher. But some are just norms we’ve gotten used to, limitations that don’t seem to have a clear source beyond tradition. That makes it hard to get published if you push too far on those boundaries. If I want to introduce science fiction or fantasy, I often frame it in a way that keeps it only slightly speculative, which tends to get a better reception. I’ve heard editors say, “If you add in too much science fiction or fantasy, you won’t get a good reader base. We can’t publish that—not because it’s bad, but because no one will read it.” Meanwhile, I talk to readers who say, “I wish there were more Science Fiction. I wish there were more Fantasy.” I’ve had readers tell me they’d love to read a Jewish Western or a Jewish horror story. Nobody’s writing Jewish horror, but plenty of people want to read it. I think we could use a lot more of that.

[Participate in Yonah Klein’s “What do you want to read in Jewish fiction?” survey here]

Zooming in on your most recent release, The Hive, what was your goal with the storyline of Sruli, Dvoiry’s brother trapped in his mind? And what role does that backstage plotline play within the story?

When I wrote Dvoiry’s brother, Sruli, I had a clear perspective in mind, but I never once gave a name to his diagnosis. That was intentional. I didn’t want readers who had a family member with that diagnosis to say, “You’re presenting it wrong, you’re making it look too easy, you’re making it look too hard, you’re villainizing him...” I didn’t want any of that. I just wanted him to be a kid who needed extra attention. Keeping it vague allowed readers to interpret it however they needed to. Then, I got a letter from someone who said, “I’m so happy to finally see an autistic kid in a story. And I love that it’s not the focus but just part of the background, something the family deals with naturally. Thank you for being inclusive.” That was really gratifying. At least I knew I hadn’t gotten it too wrong.

This is an example of how stories evolve for me. A lot of story elements start as a simple idea—Hey, wouldn’t this be interesting?—and then develop organically. Initially, I imagined a character who had absolutely no emotional response to situations. You could insult him, and all he’d hear was the factual content, no hurt, no anger. That kind of total emotional control could even be a positive thing. But as I built up the character, I started shifting the idea: What if he’s not someone without emotions, but someone who doesn’t understand emotions? What if relationships go completely over his head? Then, later in the story, I realized that this honey lets you experience another person’s thoughts. And here we have a character whose thought process is a complete mystery to everyone around him. Doesn’t it make sense that someone would try to use the honey to bridge that gap? That part of the story wasn’t planned from the outset. It developed naturally.

The scientific backdrop humming behind the scenes plays a role here in The Hive, and was present in Power Plays too. Where does that come from? Does it reflect your own interests? And what do you think that pattern adds to your stories?

I’ve always been fascinated by science. I come from a family of highly intelligent people, and we had a lot of interesting thought experiments and discussions at the table. My dad was a plumber and my older brother’s a plumber, so none of us became rocket scientists, but this kind of thinking was always in our heads. I also grew up loving Sherlock Holmes, so brilliant characters interacting with the world in analytical ways became something I was naturally drawn to. You can see it in my first novel, Power Plays, where my protagonist was always steps ahead of everyone else. But after that I told myself, “Okay, the brilliant-guy cliché is done, time to move on”. So in Face2Face, I worked hard to make sure my characters weren’t super-intelligent. It was almost a habit I had to break.

The honey came from a completely different angle. We were brainstorming a story around Tu Bishvat, and my editor wanted a connection to one of the Shivat Haminim. She suggested honey. And she threw out ideas - maybe it’s a honey that makes you feel really good, or helps with focus, something like that. I started playing with those concepts, trying to find something I could run with. And then the idea of a hive mind emerged. Because bees live in a hive. So logically, if this honey had a special property, it would do something like that. That idea quickly grew into a major element of the story.

Kids often imagine having magical superpowers and the good that will bring to their lives an the world. The magical honey in The Hive seems ideal - a cure to all conflict and wars in the war! But from the first chapter, we see the negative effects this panacea has. What do you want kids to take away? And how does Dvori and her husband’s eventual reinvention of the honey play into this?

These things are always more complex than they seem. An example that’s been on my mind a lot is AI. Today, I wrote a chapter, edited it, and then plugged it into AI to ask what could still be improved. It gave me specific, helpful feedback. Some of its suggestions were brilliant, and it's only getting better. So I use it. Then I see discussions in writer’s groups: Is this ethical? One person says, “Well, I’m getting paid the same amount, but now I’m doing less work.” But writers are still making roughly the same wages as in 1920, so I don’t mind if we get a little more for our money. Then someone else says, “But it’s not really your work”. And all of those concerns are valid, but also completely irrelevant. Because the truth is, this is happening. Whenever something exists that increases efficiency, productivity, or profits, it will be used. It’s inevitable. Every major technological advancement, whether it was cars, the internet, or AI, has changed the fabric of culture. People always say, “But this will change everything!”. And they’re right. Look at the automobile. It didn’t just make travel easier, it also reshaped society, enabled people to live farther from family, led to sprawling cities full of lonely people, and transformed the way we interact. But no one’s suggesting banning cars. That’s just not an option.

That brings me back to something else you mentioned—the appeal of superpowers in storytelling. Superpowers reflect how stories evolve over time. The first stage of storytelling is wish fulfillment. I’m weak, but what if I were strong? I’m poor, but what if I had unlimited money? That’s where ancient mythology comes from, characters who are bigger, stronger, and smarter than everyone else. And the message is: Wouldn’t that be cool? But eventually, readers get bored. So the next stage is conflict. What happens when our hero meets someone just as strong? That’s where supervillains come in: Titans clashing. But then that loses its relevance. Because what does that have to do with real life? That leads to the third stage—where stories take their larger-than-life characters and show that no matter how much power a character has, they have regular real-life problems. They’re struggling despite their power. That’s where stories get interesting again, because they’re relevant to us. They tell us, You're not missing something. You're talented, smart, and capable, and some problems will be a problem for every human being.

You've written for middle grade, teens, and adults. What is the biggest difference for you between writing for these age groups, both when conceiving an idea and making the story happen?

I always try to come up with a story that I'll enjoy. No offense to the readers, but they come second. To me, the ideal children's book has to be appealing for adults, because I think that’s what the more sophisticated kids are looking for. The more we train our kids to read, the more they'll demand sophisticated stories. I'm always looking for a take on something that hasn't been written about, at least not in our world. As a kid and an adult, I loved stories that had a unique tone, messaging, or concept, and I want to see that expanded. So, I'm looking for ideas that will help bring that out.

There are also parts of stories that pose new questions. In Power Plays, the main concept is a kid who is so smart, capable, and slated for success that he fails at everything. He doesn't have friends, he doesn't know how to process his grief when his father disappears, and the mere fact of what his father was working on, and what he continues to work on, nearly ruins his life. Why? Because he has so much going for him that he's not equipped to deal with normal life. I don't see that kind of question posed in many stories.

Do you think the questions or premises you choose would play out differently if you’d chosen adults as the audience?

My initial projections of stories tend to be pretty dark, and the editors have to rein it in. I like to joke that I have not yet committed a literary murder, but I'm waiting eagerly. The essence of a story, as everyone always says it, is conflict and resolution. But I think we can expand that and maybe reframe it. The essence of every story is pain and relief. To me, the power of the story, the extent to which the story hits home, is the amount of discomfort the story builds up in the beginning. Then, when you resolve it, people enjoy the resolution. So when I’m writing for adults, I’m more open about bringing that intensity and pain to the fore, whereas for children you sometimes want to be a little tamer and more sensitive, because kids have a stronger emotional reaction to things.

My most popular novel by far was Face2Face. One of the most common things I saw in the fan mail while the serial was running, was "I love it. It's so sad." One after the other. It was surprising, but it drove home how much they sympathized with these characters. I think we sometimes miss that. We're so careful when writing to make sure stories are tame, soft, and that they don't hit too hard. But often, what a story needs is to punch harder. The more power in a story, the better it resonates with the reader, and the more meaningful the resolution will feel.

Let’s talk about mood or tone. Each of your stories has a distinct vibe, whether the haunted history of The Last Rebbe of Lodz, the surrealism of Face2Face… how do you think vibe and genre overlap and diverge? Can you talk about the elements that make up a mood?

I don't know that tone has to relate to genre, but it often does. A Western is set in the Wild West, people wear cowboy hats, they shoot each other a lot, and they chew tobacco. Those are the outward elements of the genre. Now, in that world, you could write a tragedy, a mystery, all sorts of things, but there's typically a particular tone to a Western, with unspoken rules of society, a lot of hard choices, and a sense of self-reliance.

Tone is about creating a feel for the story, an emotion that runs through it. If you’re doing a scary scene, you want it to feel scary. So you focus on scary elements to it - footsteps behind you, sweat dripping down a forehead. Every scene has its own music. And a book can have a tonal theme, like the key of an orchestral piece, running through the whole thing.

How do you choose the right tone? I dunno. It can be arbitrary, maybe. You just pick something that works for your story. It’s all about creating a compelling world, one people would enjoy reading. I try to create a world that feels right for the story. In The Hive, Dvori's in a world where she’s never quite sure where she stands. It's emotionally unstable, and the world around her is set up to reflect that.

You’ve collaborated with many artists on comic books, which cover stories more fantastical and adventurous than you’ve gone with your regular books. What opportunities do comic books bring? What challenges?

Comics are a completely different medium. You can portray things in imagery while showing a unique sense of motion that comes from showing one frame at a time. That causes some difficulties. For instance, every action sequence has to have a certain amount of dialogue, and that forces the action to be presented through a different lens. Each snapshot of action almost exists in a vacuum, which creates a different way things move from one to another.

On the other hand, you can tell a whole story through the visuals. I put out a book about a circus troupe, and my artist decided to have fun with the sheriff’s office. Every time we had a scene in it, there was a wanted sign on the wall for Yonah Klein, each with a different reward amount. You can’t be subtle like that without the visuals. In a comic, you can portray facial expressions that we don’t even have words for, and add things to the background that don’t interfere with the story. Each format has its own rules and system and you can utilize them as you learn to explore what each one does best.

What’s next for you?

I have a number of stories I’d love to write, and it just depends where my next editor asks to go. It’s a collaborative journey, and the ideas have to fit the editorial guidelines and preferences of the publishers. Right now, I’m working on an audio production for Naki radio, and I’m looking for a serial book and/or comic to go along with it. I’ve got another novel coming out soon, a spy thriller called Operation: Firewall, and I’m currently in the middle of two more novels currently on pause. So stay tuned!