I absolutely loved T.S. Easton’s Boys Don’t Knit (in public). It was campy and fun and awkward in the loveable way that only the British can pull off.
The sequel, An English Boy in New York, was fun, but was really just riding on the coattails of the first book. I felt it was trying harder than it needed to.
Regardless, I still like the premise of a boy in the knitting world.