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Spent<\/em> by Alison Bechdel<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/9780063278929-scaled.jpg\")
<\/figure>\nI came of age with Alison Bechdel\u2019s comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For<\/em>, though after they were originally published. Some people are Fun Home<\/em> superfans, but DTWOF<\/em> has my heart. It is the DTWOF<\/em> cast of characters that is revived\u2014and expanded upon\u2014in Bechdel\u2019s latest, Spent<\/a><\/em>. Except Mo, the series\u2019 protagonist, who has always had similarities with Bechdel, is Bechdel herself. Or, at least, is a cartoonist. Named Alison Bechdel. Enter, autofiction.<\/p>\n\n\n\nIn it, Bechdel has written a memoir about growing up with her father (see: Fun Home<\/em>) called Death and Taxidermy<\/em>, which has been adapted for television (see Fun Home<\/em>\u2019s adaptation into a Broadway musical). She and her partner are raising goats, grappling with capitalism and technology and the demands of the day, all against the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic. <\/p>\n\n\n\nThe book is about <\/em>money and the ways money defines and eludes and shapes and limits us. But really, for me, the book is meta upon meta, a glimpse at the lives of beloved characters, and a refreshing look at queer middle age within intentional community and chosen family. It\u2019s about living your values, or trying to and sometimes succeeding, while the people around you attempt the same, or don\u2019t. I didn\u2019t realize how much I needed to read about people at a similar life stage, albeit a bit older, navigating queer life at a time where coming out is not top of mind, but the changing landscape and language of queer life as we age is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\u2014Tara-Michelle Ziniuk, managing editor<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Unworthy <\/em>by Agustina Bazterrica<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nIn Agustina Bazterrica\u2019s new novel,<\/em> a group of women live in a secluded convent ruled over by a mysterious figure known only by His capitalized pronouns. Outside the convent, the world is in ruins, having fallen to a perhaps-too-on-the-nose lethal combination of climate change and artificial intelligence. Inside its walls, the society is organized according to a disturbing religious system whereby women are separated into classes according to their spiritual purity. And of course, true to the parameters of the fucked-up-convent genre, lesbianism abounds. <\/p>\n\n\n\nOn its face, The Unworthy<\/a><\/em> is a tale of religion. On a deeper level, it\u2019s about how meaning is made, and why people come to accept abject violence and dehumanization. Like Bazterrica\u2019s much-acclaimed Tender Is the Flesh<\/em>, this follow-up novel is deeply concerned with the normalization of extremism in societies, particularly with how the erosion of meaning begins with language. The women of the convent selected as spiritually pure aren\u2019t brutally mutilated when they have their mouths and eyes sewn shut, they\u2019re \u201cEnlightened.\u201d The place where women are trapped in solitary confinement among human bones isn\u2019t a prison, it\u2019s the \u201cTower of Silence.\u201d It\u2019s this replacement of meaning that allows the book\u2019s characters to shrug at staggering acts of cruelty. Despite the fantastical setting of the novel, its philosophical concerns are very relevant to our world, making for a story that is as illuminating as it is grotesque.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\u2014Nour Abi-Nakhoul, contributor<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/the-unworthy-9781668051887_hr.jpg\")
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Woodworking<\/em> by Emily St. James<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Woodworking-cover-FIN-scaled-1.jpg\")
<\/figure>\nI\u2019ve followed the work of Emily St. James for what feels like\u2014and in a way is literally\u2014a lifetime, dating back over a decade when we both had very different names and lives and she was my favourite critic at The A.V. Club<\/em>. Now out as trans, St. James has largely pivoted away from criticism and into the realm of fiction as a novelist and TV writer for Yellowjackets<\/em>\u2014and I\u2019m so glad she has. <\/p>\n\n\n\nHer first novel, Woodworking<\/a><\/em>, was far and away my favourite thing I read this year. Set in South Dakota ahead of the 2016 U.S. election, the book follows Erica, a freshly out-to-herself trans woman high school teacher, and Abigail, the brash and very out trans student she confides in. It\u2019s a witty and multi-layered look at intergenerational trans relationships set amidst a rough political moment, and St. James delivers plenty of painfully accurate internal monologues from both sides of the coin. But the book has a surprising number of layers beyond its central relationship, best captured by a twist about two-thirds of the way through that will have you rethinking everything and everyone you\u2019ve learned so far. <\/p>\n\n\n\nWoodworking<\/em> asks key questions about what it means to be trans not simply as an individual, but in community, and what we take and give in order to lead the lives we know we deserve. While its setting predates this current political moment, it feels even more necessary today as we all grapple with what we owe one another amidst a torrent of hate. St. James deserves a spot on the Mount Rushmore of transfeminine authors of our current moment (see also: Torrey Peters, Casey Plett), and I\u2019m excited to see what she follows this up with. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\u2014Mel Woods, senior editor, audience engagement<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Emperor of Gladness<\/em> by Ocean Vuong<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nI remember when Ocean Vuong stormed the queer literary scene in 2019 with his first novel, On Earth We\u2019re Briefly Gorgeous<\/em>. The book was a deeply personal and award-winning mediation on the ties that bind us to our parents, home and race. Expectations were high, then, for Vuong\u2019s follow-up. Yet despite the pressure, The Emperor of Gladness<\/a><\/em> surpasses its predecessor. The book opens on Hai, a gay 19-year-old about to jump from a bridge to die by suicide, only to be stopped by Grazina, an elderly woman suffering from dementia. The two form the unlikeliest of bonds, and we follow Hai on the most universal of challenges: to wake up, each day, and face what comes.<\/p>\n\n\n\nTrained and often published as a poet, Vuong brings elegance and dignity to the mundanity of Hai\u2019s life. From his minimum-wage job at a local fast food joint, to the favours he does for Grazina and his co-worker, there is undeniable value to Hai\u2019s exsistence\u2014no matter how seemingly small or unnoticed. The Emperor of Gladness<\/em> is reframing that in which we deem things to escape\u2014quiet towns, the service industry, elder care. These are not failures, nor is our queerness. We can be royalty in even the most compact of kingdoms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\u2014Kevin Hurren, contributor<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>![\"\"](\"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/218636419.jpg\")
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Paradise Logic <\/em>by Sophie Kemp<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/figure>I came of age with Alison Bechdel\u2019s comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For<\/em>, though after they were originally published. Some people are Fun Home<\/em> superfans, but DTWOF<\/em> has my heart. It is the DTWOF<\/em> cast of characters that is revived\u2014and expanded upon\u2014in Bechdel\u2019s latest, Spent<\/a><\/em>. Except Mo, the series\u2019 protagonist, who has always had similarities with Bechdel, is Bechdel herself. Or, at least, is a cartoonist. Named Alison Bechdel. Enter, autofiction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In it, Bechdel has written a memoir about growing up with her father (see: Fun Home<\/em>) called Death and Taxidermy<\/em>, which has been adapted for television (see Fun Home<\/em>\u2019s adaptation into a Broadway musical). She and her partner are raising goats, grappling with capitalism and technology and the demands of the day, all against the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The book is about <\/em>money and the ways money defines and eludes and shapes and limits us. But really, for me, the book is meta upon meta, a glimpse at the lives of beloved characters, and a refreshing look at queer middle age within intentional community and chosen family. It\u2019s about living your values, or trying to and sometimes succeeding, while the people around you attempt the same, or don\u2019t. I didn\u2019t realize how much I needed to read about people at a similar life stage, albeit a bit older, navigating queer life at a time where coming out is not top of mind, but the changing landscape and language of queer life as we age is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2014Tara-Michelle Ziniuk, managing editor<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n In Agustina Bazterrica\u2019s new novel,<\/em> a group of women live in a secluded convent ruled over by a mysterious figure known only by His capitalized pronouns. Outside the convent, the world is in ruins, having fallen to a perhaps-too-on-the-nose lethal combination of climate change and artificial intelligence. Inside its walls, the society is organized according to a disturbing religious system whereby women are separated into classes according to their spiritual purity. And of course, true to the parameters of the fucked-up-convent genre, lesbianism abounds. <\/p>\n\n\n\n On its face, The Unworthy<\/a><\/em> is a tale of religion. On a deeper level, it\u2019s about how meaning is made, and why people come to accept abject violence and dehumanization. Like Bazterrica\u2019s much-acclaimed Tender Is the Flesh<\/em>, this follow-up novel is deeply concerned with the normalization of extremism in societies, particularly with how the erosion of meaning begins with language. The women of the convent selected as spiritually pure aren\u2019t brutally mutilated when they have their mouths and eyes sewn shut, they\u2019re \u201cEnlightened.\u201d The place where women are trapped in solitary confinement among human bones isn\u2019t a prison, it\u2019s the \u201cTower of Silence.\u201d It\u2019s this replacement of meaning that allows the book\u2019s characters to shrug at staggering acts of cruelty. Despite the fantastical setting of the novel, its philosophical concerns are very relevant to our world, making for a story that is as illuminating as it is grotesque.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2014Nour Abi-Nakhoul, contributor<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div> <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019ve followed the work of Emily St. James for what feels like\u2014and in a way is literally\u2014a lifetime, dating back over a decade when we both had very different names and lives and she was my favourite critic at The A.V. Club<\/em>. Now out as trans, St. James has largely pivoted away from criticism and into the realm of fiction as a novelist and TV writer for Yellowjackets<\/em>\u2014and I\u2019m so glad she has. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Her first novel, Woodworking<\/a><\/em>, was far and away my favourite thing I read this year. Set in South Dakota ahead of the 2016 U.S. election, the book follows Erica, a freshly out-to-herself trans woman high school teacher, and Abigail, the brash and very out trans student she confides in. It\u2019s a witty and multi-layered look at intergenerational trans relationships set amidst a rough political moment, and St. James delivers plenty of painfully accurate internal monologues from both sides of the coin. But the book has a surprising number of layers beyond its central relationship, best captured by a twist about two-thirds of the way through that will have you rethinking everything and everyone you\u2019ve learned so far. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Woodworking<\/em> asks key questions about what it means to be trans not simply as an individual, but in community, and what we take and give in order to lead the lives we know we deserve. While its setting predates this current political moment, it feels even more necessary today as we all grapple with what we owe one another amidst a torrent of hate. St. James deserves a spot on the Mount Rushmore of transfeminine authors of our current moment (see also: Torrey Peters, Casey Plett), and I\u2019m excited to see what she follows this up with. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2014Mel Woods, senior editor, audience engagement<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n I remember when Ocean Vuong stormed the queer literary scene in 2019 with his first novel, On Earth We\u2019re Briefly Gorgeous<\/em>. The book was a deeply personal and award-winning mediation on the ties that bind us to our parents, home and race. Expectations were high, then, for Vuong\u2019s follow-up. Yet despite the pressure, The Emperor of Gladness<\/a><\/em> surpasses its predecessor. The book opens on Hai, a gay 19-year-old about to jump from a bridge to die by suicide, only to be stopped by Grazina, an elderly woman suffering from dementia. The two form the unlikeliest of bonds, and we follow Hai on the most universal of challenges: to wake up, each day, and face what comes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Trained and often published as a poet, Vuong brings elegance and dignity to the mundanity of Hai\u2019s life. From his minimum-wage job at a local fast food joint, to the favours he does for Grazina and his co-worker, there is undeniable value to Hai\u2019s exsistence\u2014no matter how seemingly small or unnoticed. The Emperor of Gladness<\/em> is reframing that in which we deem things to escape\u2014quiet towns, the service industry, elder care. These are not failures, nor is our queerness. We can be royalty in even the most compact of kingdoms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2014Kevin Hurren, contributor<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div> <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\nThe Unworthy <\/em>by Agustina Bazterrica<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nWoodworking<\/em> by Emily St. James<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
<\/figure>The Emperor of Gladness<\/em> by Ocean Vuong<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\nParadise Logic <\/em>by Sophie Kemp<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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