Rating: 🤩

Let’s talk facts for a second. Americans are currently living under what’s probably (if not definitely) the most openly anti-trans governmental regime in recent history. Not only did Republicans campaign with violent anti-trans rhetoric in 2024, but they’ve made good on their threats by pushing through anti-trans executive orders and policy since January.

With this, Democrats have also largely abandoned their trans constituents. And the Supreme Court ruled recently, in a 6-3 decision, that Tennessee’s ban on gender-affirming care for minors wasn’t discriminatory—setting a horrific precedent. So even though it’s never really been a safe time to be trans in the United States, it’s certainly gotten more dangerous.

What with that context (plus the fact the Supreme Court also ruled that parents can opt their kids out of school lessons that include LGBTQIA+ themes just last week), my emotions while reading Woodworking, Emily St. James’ frankly fucking incredible debut, were understandably heightened.

A quick plot summary

Woodworking follows a few trans women in a small conservative town in South Dakota right around the 2016 presidential election. Erica, 35 and recently divorced, is not out to anyone. The only other trans person (besides herself) she knows of in town is Abigail, her 17-year-old student. Abigail has never met another trans woman in real life. In fact she’s felt alone for as long as she can remember. And so they build an unlikely friendship as they both navigate the next few months.

Back to the review

The first thing I noticed on page 1 of chapter 1 of this book is the care St. James took in terms of respect for her own characters. With the exception of one instance where it makes sense not to be, the deadnames of all of the trans women in this book are censored. In the physical book, there’s a gray bar whenever anyone else uses their deadnames. In the audiobook, it’s a staticky sound. This happens a lot for Erica, since she’s not out. It’s explained as part of her day-to-day experience on the first page:

Since she had chosen the name Erica for herself in a frenzy on a baby-name website, Erica's old name had come to sound like it was enveloped in fog. It was very far away from her now, somewhere out at sea.

And what a brilliant choice it was to do this. As the reader in this story, it was none of my business what names these women were given at birth; all that mattered is that I knew their actual names, the ones they’d chosen for themselves.

POV (third, first, second) is also used as a metaphor of sorts in Woodworking. (Minor spoilers ahead.) As each of the characters’ sense of self and acceptance of their trans identity shifts and grows, so too does the POV change in their chapters. Erica is the easiest example, as there’s a very marked shift from third to first towards the end of the novel as she comes out and begins to live authentically as who she is, rather than continuing to try to pretend to be a man for the comfort of others. It’s a gorgeous moment. I cried. I cheered for her. I was so proud. Even though she was fictional, I felt honored to be included in the moment.

One thing I’ll note is that I think there’ll be readers who side-eye Erica and Abigail’s friendship. And on the surface, I get that. Erica is a 35-year-old teacher. Abigail is a 17-year-old student. And they’re texting and calling each other. It can feel a bit weird. It can feel a bit inappropriate on paper. In my read, that feeling is intentional. It’s supposed to feel a bit weird. In fact Erica grapples with that for most of the book, and others question it too until they know the situation.

But the fact of the matter is this: They are both the only trans women they know in town. And that’s a really big fucking deal.

While Erica does lean too heavily on a teenager for support in parts of this book, it’s part of her growth as she accepts herself and learns how to seek more appropriate support. But when you’re desperate for help you’re desperate—and you seek it where you can find it. In my view, the way they supported each other wasn’t inappropriate, but rather how much Erica leaned on Abigail in the beginning. All of which Erica learns in time.

As it stands right now—halfway through 2025—Woodworking is one of my favorite reads of the year so far. I want more people to read it. I’m practically begging more people to read it. Alongside Greta and Valdin (though they are completely different books, it’s my go-to recommendation when people ask for one. It’s just that good. And like most of the books I read, I borrowed it from the library. But I will absolutely be getting a copy from my local queer bookstore soon. 🏳️‍⚧️