In just a handful of stories, Plett’s fiction goes across the country, from hip bars in New York to snow-buried apartments in the heartland to cloud-covered neighborhoods in Oregon. Her characters all struggle in some way; sometimes they get it together, but not always. Things get dicey, but I never got a feeling like they were hopeless.
And maybe the thing about her fiction is the thing she doesn’t do: patronize. Her characters, mostly trans women, exist fully formed. They’re not one-dimensional cutouts there to prop up stereotypes, they’re not window dressing. And, the more I think about it, the more it seems exactly the point.
Her stories pick up on these ideas, the forming of identity and coping and what happens after (or, in one exception, before) people transition. Again, the journey isn’t central and you can see how her arguments work in her fiction. The stories are about people and what happens after everyone says “Oh, you’re so brave,” or “Wow, that’s inspiring.” They’re about living. Sometimes it means doing sex work on top of a regular job (“Portland, Oregon”), sometimes it means a messy relationship (“Lizzie and Annie”) and sometimes it means taking the first nervous steps (“Twenty Hot Tips to Shopping Success”).
The knockout story here is “Not Bleak,” which follows two women on a trip up to Mennonite country in rural Manitoba. Plett vividly captures the setting and attitude and even the language of the prairies. At times, it felt almost cinematic. But it also captures a feeling of being out of place; Zeke comes from a world that doesn’t disapprove of trans people, but can’t even process they exist; in the absence of understanding is a void of even recognition. Or as Plett writes:
“Zeke opened the door and I jerked face up from my hands.
Woah, I said.
Her face, so naturally calm, suddenly moved into an expression of glumness. Yeah, she said.
She was in shirtsleeves and grey cotton pants, and her shoulder-length black hair was neatly slicked back. Zeke was on the pale side to begin with – which is saying something for our stupid corner of the world – but with her soft girl-body, already so unassuming, and now passing for a boy, she looked truly ghostly. Like she was a wraith, something you could put a hand through.” (pg 145)
At the same time, there are moments of levity. Between the larger stories are smaller changes of pace: a guide to buying female clothing, a manifesto on true literary equality (“Sarah Schulman next to David Sedaris!,” shouts the narrator) among others.
All in all, a great debut by a great new voice. Recommended!