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Simplicity
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • From the acclaimed author of horror sensation Boys Weekend, a vibrant new graphic novel about a timid academic sent out from the walled dystopian security territory of New York City to investigate a cult in the wilds of the Catskill Mountains
"Mattie Lubchansky is a genius.”—Kristen Arnett, New York Times bestselling author of Mostly Dead Things and With Teeth
"[Lubchansky] blends dystopian science fiction and folk horror into a queer, trans story of hard-won hope in a future as terrifying—and as ridiculous—as our present. Sexy, insightful, and darkly funny.”—Lindsay King-Miller, author of The Z Word
In 1977, a group called The Spiritual Association of Peers decamps to the woods of the Catskills, taking over an abandoned summer camp. They name their new home Simplicity.
In 2081, scholar Lucius Pasternak, a fastidiously organized trans man, tries to keep his head down living in the New York City Administrative and Security Territory, which was founded after the formal dissolution of the United States in 2041. Then, he's offered a job by the mayor, billionaire real estate developer Dennis Van Wervel, to complete an anthropological survey of the people of Simplicity for a history museum he's financing. A wary Lucius is nevertheless drawn in by the people of the small wooded community, intrigued by its strange rituals and in particular by the charming acolyte Amity Crown-Shy. Born and raised on the compound, Amity is comfortable in their own skin, a striking contrast to Lucius' repressed reserve. But Lucius' control starts to slip when he begins to suffer visions both terrifying and sensual—visits from beautiful but nightmarish creatures.
Then, just as Lucius discovers that Van Wervel's project is more sinister than it seemed, members of the community begin to disappear, leaving behind grisly signs of struggle. The denizens of Simplicity believe that a being they call “The Lamentation” is responsible for the attacks. Amity and Lucius set out to hunt for the creature in the dangerous Exurb Zones, a wild wood full of libertarian doomsday preppers, wealthy isolationists, and worse. There, they'll finally discover the true threat to their way of life—and what they're willing to do to stop it.
"Mattie Lubchansky is a genius.”—Kristen Arnett, New York Times bestselling author of Mostly Dead Things and With Teeth
"[Lubchansky] blends dystopian science fiction and folk horror into a queer, trans story of hard-won hope in a future as terrifying—and as ridiculous—as our present. Sexy, insightful, and darkly funny.”—Lindsay King-Miller, author of The Z Word
In 1977, a group called The Spiritual Association of Peers decamps to the woods of the Catskills, taking over an abandoned summer camp. They name their new home Simplicity.
In 2081, scholar Lucius Pasternak, a fastidiously organized trans man, tries to keep his head down living in the New York City Administrative and Security Territory, which was founded after the formal dissolution of the United States in 2041. Then, he's offered a job by the mayor, billionaire real estate developer Dennis Van Wervel, to complete an anthropological survey of the people of Simplicity for a history museum he's financing. A wary Lucius is nevertheless drawn in by the people of the small wooded community, intrigued by its strange rituals and in particular by the charming acolyte Amity Crown-Shy. Born and raised on the compound, Amity is comfortable in their own skin, a striking contrast to Lucius' repressed reserve. But Lucius' control starts to slip when he begins to suffer visions both terrifying and sensual—visits from beautiful but nightmarish creatures.
Then, just as Lucius discovers that Van Wervel's project is more sinister than it seemed, members of the community begin to disappear, leaving behind grisly signs of struggle. The denizens of Simplicity believe that a being they call “The Lamentation” is responsible for the attacks. Amity and Lucius set out to hunt for the creature in the dangerous Exurb Zones, a wild wood full of libertarian doomsday preppers, wealthy isolationists, and worse. There, they'll finally discover the true threat to their way of life—and what they're willing to do to stop it.
272 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 29, 2025
11 people are currently reading
3731 people want to read
About the author
Mattie Lubchansky
9 books153 followersMattie Lubchansky is a cartoonist and illustrator living in Queens, NY. Her work has appeared in The Nib, New York Magazine, VICE, Eater, Mad Magazine, Gothamist, The Toast, The Hairpin, Brooklyn Magazine, and their long-running webcomic Please Listen to Me. They are the co-author of Dad Magazine (Quirk, 2016), and the author of The Antifa Supersoldier Cookbook (Silver Sprocket, 2021), Boys Weekend (2023, Pantheon), and Simplicity (2025, Pantheon).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 116 reviews
October 18, 2025
Very smart dystopian world building with a distinctly anti-facist bent and a compelling main character who is an anthropologist who "goes native" while visiting an off-grid survivalist society called "Simplicity." Mattie Lubchansky is very funny and her art is very fun, cartoonish but also emotionally compelling. Plus T4T romance!
August 13, 2025
Mattie is working very hard to prepare us to survive a police state, and she lets us know starkly, with the anvil-over-the-head panache of a true cartoonist, that it will really only happen if we know that police are the monsters, serving the rich, and that (someone) might have to blow up police stations.
I appreciate her writing this trans guy who isn't really radicalized left because the options available for that have been foreclosed. In future NYC in this book, seawalls lock everyone in, ads blare down, and to get in to a job interview you have to have a humiliating medical scan and also psychological evaluation so you don't pose any risk to your potential employer, who is evil.
I love the tension between characters at Simplicity, and I like that this is a kind of anti-cult-story cult story, where the cult itself is not posing a threat to our main character-- it's an earnest method of surviving an increasingly harsh world, seen by the rich as an archeological artifact that is "not a threat" but still something to be crushed under development and expansion. I love that while there is suspicion, sadness, and incomplete social integration within the commune, the true danger really does come from the hostile, harmful world, and the tendrils of animal nature magic that chaotically split our hero from the vestiges of his commitment to employment in capitalism are ultimately benevolent. It's a sweet story about believing in a future in the face of unbearable violence.
Giving it five stars because I love Mattie's brain-- simultaneously, I want to make a note that I think there's a lot of depth left unplumbed in the world we get in this. Part of it comes from the format. Mattie's art style is easy going down, goofy, and smooth-- but the world this book is set in is one where nature mysticism brushes up against the tech oligarchies that she's been satirizing for years, and when it comes to that nature mysticism, I feel her style stretching and not quite matching the scope of her vision. For one thing, she ...doesn't draw very many plants, leaving us with the impression that the farm is feeding everyone from very empty raised dirt garden beds (I almost thought that the dirt beds were empty for plot related reasons and i think it is simply that she doesn't really want to draw the harvest). Likewise, trees and bushes look like very neutral clip art set pieces; the sense of "nature" we get in nature is just not very strong, except for the ecstatic renderings of the vines, leaves and horny deer beast which glows green and possesses one when one perceives a new way of existing. As with the plants, I think the framing of the story and its medium restricts what we really get to know about Simplicity, its philosophy, and the people who live there. I felt deeply curious about their hearts, their background, and the meaning of their love for each other, but we don't really get enough time with each of the people, or know how their different contexts brought them or their parents or grandparents to this way of life. It's a really idealized commune in many ways, before the murders start, and I think it's interesting to see Mattie (who is usually so pessimistic) rendering this kind of queer utopia but from, as it were, behind glass. I'm fascinated with the earnest vision here, with the two-page spread of nature god sex and with ALL the sex in this fairly horny but serious book, where trans bodies are rendered with medical straightforward goofy unflattering love.
I appreciate her writing this trans guy who isn't really radicalized left because the options available for that have been foreclosed. In future NYC in this book, seawalls lock everyone in, ads blare down, and to get in to a job interview you have to have a humiliating medical scan and also psychological evaluation so you don't pose any risk to your potential employer, who is evil.
I love the tension between characters at Simplicity, and I like that this is a kind of anti-cult-story cult story, where the cult itself is not posing a threat to our main character-- it's an earnest method of surviving an increasingly harsh world, seen by the rich as an archeological artifact that is "not a threat" but still something to be crushed under development and expansion. I love that while there is suspicion, sadness, and incomplete social integration within the commune, the true danger really does come from the hostile, harmful world, and the tendrils of animal nature magic that chaotically split our hero from the vestiges of his commitment to employment in capitalism are ultimately benevolent. It's a sweet story about believing in a future in the face of unbearable violence.
Giving it five stars because I love Mattie's brain-- simultaneously, I want to make a note that I think there's a lot of depth left unplumbed in the world we get in this. Part of it comes from the format. Mattie's art style is easy going down, goofy, and smooth-- but the world this book is set in is one where nature mysticism brushes up against the tech oligarchies that she's been satirizing for years, and when it comes to that nature mysticism, I feel her style stretching and not quite matching the scope of her vision. For one thing, she ...doesn't draw very many plants, leaving us with the impression that the farm is feeding everyone from very empty raised dirt garden beds (I almost thought that the dirt beds were empty for plot related reasons and i think it is simply that she doesn't really want to draw the harvest). Likewise, trees and bushes look like very neutral clip art set pieces; the sense of "nature" we get in nature is just not very strong, except for the ecstatic renderings of the vines, leaves and horny deer beast which glows green and possesses one when one perceives a new way of existing. As with the plants, I think the framing of the story and its medium restricts what we really get to know about Simplicity, its philosophy, and the people who live there. I felt deeply curious about their hearts, their background, and the meaning of their love for each other, but we don't really get enough time with each of the people, or know how their different contexts brought them or their parents or grandparents to this way of life. It's a really idealized commune in many ways, before the murders start, and I think it's interesting to see Mattie (who is usually so pessimistic) rendering this kind of queer utopia but from, as it were, behind glass. I'm fascinated with the earnest vision here, with the two-page spread of nature god sex and with ALL the sex in this fairly horny but serious book, where trans bodies are rendered with medical straightforward goofy unflattering love.
June 26, 2025
In a semi-distant future not unlike right now, actually, America has drastically devolved into fascism and chaos. States are walled-off and monitored with big swaths of land between them. Anthropology student, Lucius Pasternak is hired by NY to venture into the Catskill Mountains to study a thriving hippie commune that has been active since the 70s and seems untouched by real world issues and changes.
I love how Lucius, a trans man, starts off as an outsider/observer but finds himself assimilating into the community and agreeing with their way of life.
The illustrations of the commune as so fun! I enjoyed exploring all the little details. Of course I knew right away, given the title and the cover, that the commune would reveal a dark side.
The book is a lot of things all at once. It touches on cult vibes, if that interests you but leans more into "commune than cult"--shared beliefs and practices rather than leader-led "religious" fanaticism. There's folk horror holding hands with cosmic horror. Commentary on sociopolitical issues, thoughts on queer identities and sexuality, And it's really, really horny lol
I enjoyed it! Fun read for Pride Month and anytime :)
I love how Lucius, a trans man, starts off as an outsider/observer but finds himself assimilating into the community and agreeing with their way of life.
The illustrations of the commune as so fun! I enjoyed exploring all the little details. Of course I knew right away, given the title and the cover, that the commune would reveal a dark side.
The book is a lot of things all at once. It touches on cult vibes, if that interests you but leans more into "commune than cult"--shared beliefs and practices rather than leader-led "religious" fanaticism. There's folk horror holding hands with cosmic horror. Commentary on sociopolitical issues, thoughts on queer identities and sexuality, And it's really, really horny lol
I enjoyed it! Fun read for Pride Month and anytime :)
December 28, 2025
I'm just gonna read everything Mattie Lubchansky does and that's just how it is.
This is weirder and looser than Boys Weekend, more vibes than plot even though there's plenty of plot. Doesn't play by the rules or do what you expect, always goes weirder and harder. Even more queer, too.
This is weirder and looser than Boys Weekend, more vibes than plot even though there's plenty of plot. Doesn't play by the rules or do what you expect, always goes weirder and harder. Even more queer, too.
October 5, 2025
so many butts
September 29, 2025
When I sit at my desk working or still have to do laundry as world crisis after crisis happens, it feels absurd. Lubchansky is one of the leading voices who perfectly encapsulates how very absurd and disconnected this moment in time feels. Simplicity is set in a world slightly ahead of our own (2081), but deeply entrenched in its own chaos, patterned after echoes of now. Both art and text capture relatable moments, even if her characters are involved in situations we aren’t, like running away from genetically-modified beasts created for the rich to hunt. (The elephants are so last century.)
Lucius is simultaneously everyone who’s worked for a place they suspected was actually evil and a highly specific trans guy from the future. He’s sent to “study” The Spiritual Association of Peers, a group of hippies who broke off from society in the 1970s and live in the Catskills. Of course, he wants to figure out if their sex rituals are true, and of course, he and Amity (a trans woman who’s training to become their spiritual leader) start fucking.
The moment Lucius’ gender breaks the company’s AI “health” machine that’s clearing him to go on this trip, you know that he cannot complete his task in full. As the truth comes out about mysterious deaths in the community and the company’s ultimate plans, Lucius and Amity face what was always perhaps their destiny.
I had to read the epilogue twice, which I found the weakest part of the book. It ends on a perfect note, more about society’s cycles in the kind of American capitalism we cling to, but the delivery felt off, perhaps because I wanted for Lucius and Amity what I want for every trans person: joy and peace to just live our lives.
Lucius is simultaneously everyone who’s worked for a place they suspected was actually evil and a highly specific trans guy from the future. He’s sent to “study” The Spiritual Association of Peers, a group of hippies who broke off from society in the 1970s and live in the Catskills. Of course, he wants to figure out if their sex rituals are true, and of course, he and Amity (a trans woman who’s training to become their spiritual leader) start fucking.
The moment Lucius’ gender breaks the company’s AI “health” machine that’s clearing him to go on this trip, you know that he cannot complete his task in full. As the truth comes out about mysterious deaths in the community and the company’s ultimate plans, Lucius and Amity face what was always perhaps their destiny.
I had to read the epilogue twice, which I found the weakest part of the book. It ends on a perfect note, more about society’s cycles in the kind of American capitalism we cling to, but the delivery felt off, perhaps because I wanted for Lucius and Amity what I want for every trans person: joy and peace to just live our lives.
December 31, 2024
First off, thank you so much to NetGalley, Pantheon Publishing and Author/Illustrator Mattie Lubchansky for the opportunity to read and review this advanced reader copy of Simplicity.
We live in an interesting time; I know, understatement of the year. I find myself looking back at the “Dystopian” novels that I read in my youth and finding them hard to go back to because they now feel too close to reality. Now call me a radical if you will, but it’s getting scary out there. Mattie Lubchansky, author and illustrator of Simplicity, has re-energized my love of this genre, while inflaming my radicalization and class consciousness.
The setting is a really good “glimpse” into the near future, a possible dystopia of what comes after the US. I like how the main character Lucius, has a naivety that is recognizable and understandable to the reader, when looking at the commune of Simplicity (SAP), and the corporation that he works for. It reminds me of the way that sometimes as liberals and more progressive thinkers, we can idolize, or even essentialize, groups merely for the fact that they aren’t of the norm and how that ends up being reductive. In the case of the SAP folk, this is quickly disproven by this community being a lot more than what we think it is. I really like the characterization of the corporation that Lucius is working for because it strips away all of the green-washing that our modern-day capital class likes to hide behind. What starts as a corporation that looks like they are saving history for posterity, quickly melts away to the soul-less, money-obsessed monopolies that we know and live with in our everyday lives. It’s like when Jeff Bezos (or insert the vapid billionaire of your choosing) sets up a foundation or gives a lot of money for some charity. They purport themselves as these great benevolent paragons of righteousness, when in reality they are basically gilding their own image so we don’t really look into why they are so insanely wealthy? But I digress…
I loved reading this graphic novel. It hits all the notes of class-consciousness, queer representation/acceptance and self-discovery all while doing so in a way that stays relevant to the reader. It brings resolution while still showing the unfortunate situations that we find ourselves in. As Amity put it, “ There’s no such thing as leaving the world is there? … We’re in the world. The choice has already been made for us.” I guess in the end, it is a story of survival and of adapting the best we can to stay alive; culturally, spiritually, physically. I am very excited to see what Mattie comes up with next!
We live in an interesting time; I know, understatement of the year. I find myself looking back at the “Dystopian” novels that I read in my youth and finding them hard to go back to because they now feel too close to reality. Now call me a radical if you will, but it’s getting scary out there. Mattie Lubchansky, author and illustrator of Simplicity, has re-energized my love of this genre, while inflaming my radicalization and class consciousness.
The setting is a really good “glimpse” into the near future, a possible dystopia of what comes after the US. I like how the main character Lucius, has a naivety that is recognizable and understandable to the reader, when looking at the commune of Simplicity (SAP), and the corporation that he works for. It reminds me of the way that sometimes as liberals and more progressive thinkers, we can idolize, or even essentialize, groups merely for the fact that they aren’t of the norm and how that ends up being reductive. In the case of the SAP folk, this is quickly disproven by this community being a lot more than what we think it is. I really like the characterization of the corporation that Lucius is working for because it strips away all of the green-washing that our modern-day capital class likes to hide behind. What starts as a corporation that looks like they are saving history for posterity, quickly melts away to the soul-less, money-obsessed monopolies that we know and live with in our everyday lives. It’s like when Jeff Bezos (or insert the vapid billionaire of your choosing) sets up a foundation or gives a lot of money for some charity. They purport themselves as these great benevolent paragons of righteousness, when in reality they are basically gilding their own image so we don’t really look into why they are so insanely wealthy? But I digress…
I loved reading this graphic novel. It hits all the notes of class-consciousness, queer representation/acceptance and self-discovery all while doing so in a way that stays relevant to the reader. It brings resolution while still showing the unfortunate situations that we find ourselves in. As Amity put it, “ There’s no such thing as leaving the world is there? … We’re in the world. The choice has already been made for us.” I guess in the end, it is a story of survival and of adapting the best we can to stay alive; culturally, spiritually, physically. I am very excited to see what Mattie comes up with next!
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 17, 2025
I really liked Mattie's Boy's Weekend, and this new graphic novel is a great follow-up! Queer characters surviving in a future libertarian hellscape New York state.
There's always great easter eggs in the backgrounds, my favorite was the news headline for a fish spotted in the Hudson - newsworthy in a future after a mass extinction.
There's always great easter eggs in the backgrounds, my favorite was the news headline for a fish spotted in the Hudson - newsworthy in a future after a mass extinction.
July 2, 2025
In the not so distant future, a trans scholar is hired by a tech millionaire to interview a cult in the Catskills. The cult is tech free and free love, except for the sudden appearance of a rampaging monster that is devouring all of the cult's acolytes.
Mattie Lubchansky's books are the only thing getting me through this timeline. It's frankly obnoxious how good she is at satire while also creating a gripping trans narrative within a decades old cult within a futuristic society. There are some parts that are to be expected (yep, the cult has a sex thing) but there are twists and turns that you won't see coming. You should read this because, while it won't solve the present, it will help you find the humor in it. Also, for me, please slow down and read all of the jokes Lubchansky has hidden in the background.
Mattie Lubchansky's books are the only thing getting me through this timeline. It's frankly obnoxious how good she is at satire while also creating a gripping trans narrative within a decades old cult within a futuristic society. There are some parts that are to be expected (yep, the cult has a sex thing) but there are twists and turns that you won't see coming. You should read this because, while it won't solve the present, it will help you find the humor in it. Also, for me, please slow down and read all of the jokes Lubchansky has hidden in the background.
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September 12, 2025hmmmm as much as I love graphic novels I feel like.......this concept might have been better served by a prose novel? I just wanted more background on everythingggg
Also Mattie's art style is so distinctive and cartoony/fun which is an interesting juxtaposition but also like, all the women in here looked like Mattie's stand-in in her more autobiographical cartoons
Also Mattie's art style is so distinctive and cartoony/fun which is an interesting juxtaposition but also like, all the women in here looked like Mattie's stand-in in her more autobiographical cartoons
September 30, 2025
I love Mattie Lubchansky's work, so take this review with a grain of salt. I follow them on social media and preorder their work each time.
I'm a fan! This graphic novel does a good job capturing the weirdness of entering leftist spaces in a humorous way. I was easily able to draw parallels to my own experiences in such spaces, particularly as I was first entering them. It captures the absurdity of philanthropists and militarized police forces in a tongue-in-cheek way. It was nice having a mostly queer cast of characters where their queerness was a matter of course but society was still realistic. The author seems to draw inspiration from several real world events (including stop cop city, the most on-the-nose parallel), and I think the book benefits from this. That said, their characterization of far right preppers as buffoons feels a bit dishonest/childish to me, and I wasn't a fan of the ending (even if it was hopeful). To some extent, I felt that the book kind of loses its punch.
I appreciate the messaging, the importance of doing rather than hoping for change and the power of the people to enact that change. I also like the idea of bringing the commune to your community rather than the other way around.
PS, this book has a lot of graphic content: cartoon gore, sex, nudity, and violence. Avoid if that's not your thing. It's not my thing either, but as a fan girl I gotta.
I'm a fan! This graphic novel does a good job capturing the weirdness of entering leftist spaces in a humorous way. I was easily able to draw parallels to my own experiences in such spaces, particularly as I was first entering them. It captures the absurdity of philanthropists and militarized police forces in a tongue-in-cheek way. It was nice having a mostly queer cast of characters where their queerness was a matter of course but society was still realistic. The author seems to draw inspiration from several real world events (including stop cop city, the most on-the-nose parallel), and I think the book benefits from this. That said, their characterization of far right preppers as buffoons feels a bit dishonest/childish to me, and I wasn't a fan of the ending (even if it was hopeful). To some extent, I felt that the book kind of loses its punch.
I appreciate the messaging, the importance of doing rather than hoping for change and the power of the people to enact that change. I also like the idea of bringing the commune to your community rather than the other way around.
PS, this book has a lot of graphic content: cartoon gore, sex, nudity, and violence. Avoid if that's not your thing. It's not my thing either, but as a fan girl I gotta.
October 12, 2025
This book is horny, mesmerizing, psychedelic, and so so timely. The art is beautiful, the world feels rich, and I would have happily read another 100 pages.
To all who feel dread about encroaching fascism or the urge to move out to the woods to escape it, you should read this book!
To all who feel dread about encroaching fascism or the urge to move out to the woods to escape it, you should read this book!
July 31, 2025
I've never read cult horror where the cult is the victim before but as expected, excellent.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 3, 2025
terrifying - werk
August 12, 2025
Mattie is an incredible artist on so many fronts and this is her creativtiy and vision in full bloom. Absolutely loved this!
August 20, 2025
This was a good read. The art is great, it is very unique you know the artist when you see it.
The story is straightforward and gets to the point, lots of worldbuilding. Good stuff.
The story is straightforward and gets to the point, lots of worldbuilding. Good stuff.
September 8, 2025
Mattie Lubchansky is an incredible cartoonist and storyteller, and this is Mattie at the top of her game. Beautifully drawn, compellingly written, and well worth your time. Check it out!
September 20, 2025
The researcher who doesn’t think they’ll fall for the cult is a trope more people need to write about cause that hit HARD! Also how u end a book like dat
November 23, 2025
Did not dig the art style and the plot was lackluster. I was excited with the premise but let down in the execution.
December 20, 2025
Quite weird but also had something to say
August 23, 2025
this is dreamier and looser than the other graphic novel of theirs i've read (boys' weekend!) but it really resonates as a snapshot of this current moment in time. it's intense and anxiety-inducing (but community is there for the finding and building). the characters are lovely and easy to invest in. the art is wonderful to look at.
October 31, 2025
I enjoyed it, though not as much as Boys Weekend. I really didn't understand the end, though. I'll look for more from the author/artist.
September 24, 2025
Simplicity is a book that operates on the margins of both worlds and comprehension. It is at once a graphic novel and an anthropological dissection, a narrative of both the self and the communal, a story about people and the structures they erect to survive—physically, morally, emotionally—in a world that has been rendered absurd and terrible in equal measure. Mattie Lubchansky invites us to the Catskills, to a place called Simplicity, a commune founded in 1977 by the Spiritual Association of Peers, and what we find there is a universe simultaneously familiar and alien, pastoral and monstrous, joyful and nightmarish.
From the first chapter, she establishes the tension that will thread the entire narrative: Lucius Pasternak, the meticulously organized, fastidiously careful trans scholar, is dispatched from the walled dystopian precincts of New York City to observe this community, ostensibly for a museum project. But as with all things in her world, the surface explanation is merely a pretext. The city, the walls, the bureaucracies—they are as absurd as they are menacing, and Lucius’s precision, his need for order, is both a survival strategy and a narrative device through which the reader negotiates the chaos that surrounds him. Every panel is dense with detail; every line, every color, carries the weight of observation and subtext. Lubchansky’s art is not decorative—it is integral to the psychology of the book. It reflects the commune’s energy, its rituals, and the otherworldly undertones that begin to infest Lucius’s perceptions almost immediately.
Amity Crown-Shy, born and bred within the compound, is a force of contrast to Lucius. Where he is cautious, measured, almost inhibited, Amity is confident, immediate, and unapologetically present. This contrast is central to the tension and the appeal of the story: it is through Amity’s ease in their own skin, and through the commune’s unconventional social rhythms, that Lucius begins to loosen his own constraints, to feel the pull of a life less regimented and more embodied. This dynamic also highlights Lucius’ trans identity, portraying how a transgender person navigates selfhood, desire, and social belonging within and outside normative structures. Lubchansky’s handling of Lucius’ gender identity is neither superficial nor performative; it is central to his psychology, his interactions, and his ethical reasoning. His experiences, both visceral and psychological, offer a nuanced exploration of trans embodiment in a world that is often hostile, yet strangely enchanting.
The narrative architecture of Simplicity is labyrinthine but deliberate. As Lucius delves deeper into the Exurb Zones, the wild and untamed territories surrounding the commune, we are led through a series of escalating experiences that blur the lines between external threat and internal perception. The Lamentation—half legend, half creature, half metaphor—emerges not only as a threat to the physical integrity of the commune but as a lens through which Lucius negotiates his own fears, his desire, and his moral compass. Each chapter ratchets tension: disappearances, strange rituals, moral ambiguity, the subtle manipulations of Van Wervel’s ostensibly academic project. Lubchansky moves effortlessly between horror and humor, between surreal eroticism and stark realism, never allowing the reader to settle into safety or certainty.
The book’s thematic preoccupations are profound and interwoven. There is the constant negotiation between the individual and the collective, a question that she renders tangible in every panel and plot beat: what is the cost of communal security? When, if ever, should one prioritize the self? And conversely, when is self-preservation a betrayal? These questions are not abstract; they are lived, embodied, and often violent. The commune itself is not utopia—it is a space of labor, ritual, intimacy, and occasional horror. Lubchansky’s refusal to simplify human dynamics is mirrored in her art: the panels are busy, layered, and alive, conveying the density of experience and the way observation itself shapes the observer.
Lucius’s vision sequences are perhaps the most audacious narrative devices in the novel. Erotic, terrifying, and surreal, these episodes interrogate desire, fear, and the permeability of reality. The horror is not gratuitous—it is existential, a reflection of the anxiety inherent in bodies that must negotiate both freedom and constraint, pleasure and danger. Importantly, these sequences also foreground Lucius’ trans experience: how his body and identity interact with desire, the gaze of others, and the surreal pressures of a world that is both physically and psychologically hazardous. Lubchansky’s sensitivity and insight bring the trans experience into sharp relief, making it an integral lens through which the story’s ethical and emotional stakes are experienced.
By the time the narrative reaches its climax, the stakes are both internal and external. The threats of the Exurb Zones, the ethical challenge posed by Van Wervel, and the corporeal and psychological demands placed on Lucius and Amity converge. The resolution is neither simplistic nor didactic; it is hard-won, morally nuanced, and aesthetically satisfying. The commune survives, but not unchanged; Lucius survives, but he is not the same person who entered its boundaries. Lubchansky refuses narrative closure in the sense of neat moral or plot resolutions, but the emotional and ethical trajectories are clear: survival is possible, but only through engagement, courage, and ethical clarity.
Lubchansky’s style—bright, crowded panels, sharp satire, layered symbolic detail—serves the story perfectly. Every page demands attention; every small element, from background characters to environmental minutiae, communicates plot, theme, or psychological texture. There is humor here, sometimes dark, sometimes absurd, but it is never detached from the narrative stakes: it underlines the strangeness of the world and the inventiveness of its inhabitants.
Ultimately, Simplicity is a meditation on ethics, community, and the navigation of fear in a chaotic world, rendered through the lens of folk horror and graphic innovation. Lubchansky balances visual spectacle with narrative depth, blending surrealism, horror, humor, and social critique into a cohesive and affecting whole. It is a novel that demands careful reading and close attention to both text and image, rewarding the reader with insights into the nature of belonging, morality, and human resilience, particularly through the lens of trans and gender nonconforming experience.
In the end, the book is a triumph of imaginative, socially conscious storytelling. It interrogates utopia, dystopia, and the liminal spaces between, all while telling a story that is viscerally affecting, intellectually rigorous, and visually arresting. Simplicity is not merely read; it is experienced, navigated, and inhabited. Lubchansky’s achievement is in creating a work that is thought-provoking, emotionally resonant, and formally daring, a rare blend in contemporary graphic literature.
Rating: 91/100
From the first chapter, she establishes the tension that will thread the entire narrative: Lucius Pasternak, the meticulously organized, fastidiously careful trans scholar, is dispatched from the walled dystopian precincts of New York City to observe this community, ostensibly for a museum project. But as with all things in her world, the surface explanation is merely a pretext. The city, the walls, the bureaucracies—they are as absurd as they are menacing, and Lucius’s precision, his need for order, is both a survival strategy and a narrative device through which the reader negotiates the chaos that surrounds him. Every panel is dense with detail; every line, every color, carries the weight of observation and subtext. Lubchansky’s art is not decorative—it is integral to the psychology of the book. It reflects the commune’s energy, its rituals, and the otherworldly undertones that begin to infest Lucius’s perceptions almost immediately.
Amity Crown-Shy, born and bred within the compound, is a force of contrast to Lucius. Where he is cautious, measured, almost inhibited, Amity is confident, immediate, and unapologetically present. This contrast is central to the tension and the appeal of the story: it is through Amity’s ease in their own skin, and through the commune’s unconventional social rhythms, that Lucius begins to loosen his own constraints, to feel the pull of a life less regimented and more embodied. This dynamic also highlights Lucius’ trans identity, portraying how a transgender person navigates selfhood, desire, and social belonging within and outside normative structures. Lubchansky’s handling of Lucius’ gender identity is neither superficial nor performative; it is central to his psychology, his interactions, and his ethical reasoning. His experiences, both visceral and psychological, offer a nuanced exploration of trans embodiment in a world that is often hostile, yet strangely enchanting.
The narrative architecture of Simplicity is labyrinthine but deliberate. As Lucius delves deeper into the Exurb Zones, the wild and untamed territories surrounding the commune, we are led through a series of escalating experiences that blur the lines between external threat and internal perception. The Lamentation—half legend, half creature, half metaphor—emerges not only as a threat to the physical integrity of the commune but as a lens through which Lucius negotiates his own fears, his desire, and his moral compass. Each chapter ratchets tension: disappearances, strange rituals, moral ambiguity, the subtle manipulations of Van Wervel’s ostensibly academic project. Lubchansky moves effortlessly between horror and humor, between surreal eroticism and stark realism, never allowing the reader to settle into safety or certainty.
The book’s thematic preoccupations are profound and interwoven. There is the constant negotiation between the individual and the collective, a question that she renders tangible in every panel and plot beat: what is the cost of communal security? When, if ever, should one prioritize the self? And conversely, when is self-preservation a betrayal? These questions are not abstract; they are lived, embodied, and often violent. The commune itself is not utopia—it is a space of labor, ritual, intimacy, and occasional horror. Lubchansky’s refusal to simplify human dynamics is mirrored in her art: the panels are busy, layered, and alive, conveying the density of experience and the way observation itself shapes the observer.
Lucius’s vision sequences are perhaps the most audacious narrative devices in the novel. Erotic, terrifying, and surreal, these episodes interrogate desire, fear, and the permeability of reality. The horror is not gratuitous—it is existential, a reflection of the anxiety inherent in bodies that must negotiate both freedom and constraint, pleasure and danger. Importantly, these sequences also foreground Lucius’ trans experience: how his body and identity interact with desire, the gaze of others, and the surreal pressures of a world that is both physically and psychologically hazardous. Lubchansky’s sensitivity and insight bring the trans experience into sharp relief, making it an integral lens through which the story’s ethical and emotional stakes are experienced.
By the time the narrative reaches its climax, the stakes are both internal and external. The threats of the Exurb Zones, the ethical challenge posed by Van Wervel, and the corporeal and psychological demands placed on Lucius and Amity converge. The resolution is neither simplistic nor didactic; it is hard-won, morally nuanced, and aesthetically satisfying. The commune survives, but not unchanged; Lucius survives, but he is not the same person who entered its boundaries. Lubchansky refuses narrative closure in the sense of neat moral or plot resolutions, but the emotional and ethical trajectories are clear: survival is possible, but only through engagement, courage, and ethical clarity.
Lubchansky’s style—bright, crowded panels, sharp satire, layered symbolic detail—serves the story perfectly. Every page demands attention; every small element, from background characters to environmental minutiae, communicates plot, theme, or psychological texture. There is humor here, sometimes dark, sometimes absurd, but it is never detached from the narrative stakes: it underlines the strangeness of the world and the inventiveness of its inhabitants.
Ultimately, Simplicity is a meditation on ethics, community, and the navigation of fear in a chaotic world, rendered through the lens of folk horror and graphic innovation. Lubchansky balances visual spectacle with narrative depth, blending surrealism, horror, humor, and social critique into a cohesive and affecting whole. It is a novel that demands careful reading and close attention to both text and image, rewarding the reader with insights into the nature of belonging, morality, and human resilience, particularly through the lens of trans and gender nonconforming experience.
In the end, the book is a triumph of imaginative, socially conscious storytelling. It interrogates utopia, dystopia, and the liminal spaces between, all while telling a story that is viscerally affecting, intellectually rigorous, and visually arresting. Simplicity is not merely read; it is experienced, navigated, and inhabited. Lubchansky’s achievement is in creating a work that is thought-provoking, emotionally resonant, and formally daring, a rare blend in contemporary graphic literature.
Rating: 91/100
May 9, 2025
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️💫
Critical Score: A
Personal Score: A-
I love woke lit! Lubchansky follows up Boys Weekend with the even better Simplicity. It’s super rich in progressive politics, and honestly, bravo to Pantheon for publishing this in today’s climate. We need more woke lit desperately. Plus, the story is captivating and twisty. The world-building is spectacular. The diverse representation in the character writing is a dream. The artwork might not be a style I love, but it’s very well done.
If you want a ferociously queer and anti-capitalist story that’s captivating and quick, look no further. When you’re done, you’ll be looking for more just like it.
A huge success!
Critical Score: A
Personal Score: A-
I love woke lit! Lubchansky follows up Boys Weekend with the even better Simplicity. It’s super rich in progressive politics, and honestly, bravo to Pantheon for publishing this in today’s climate. We need more woke lit desperately. Plus, the story is captivating and twisty. The world-building is spectacular. The diverse representation in the character writing is a dream. The artwork might not be a style I love, but it’s very well done.
If you want a ferociously queer and anti-capitalist story that’s captivating and quick, look no further. When you’re done, you’ll be looking for more just like it.
A huge success!
August 31, 2025
In a future America that has been separated into rigorously controlled security territories, one group in a town called Simplicity has managed to live apart for years. Trans scholar Lucius Pasternak receives the opportunity of a lifetime, to go live among the people of Simplicity and research their lifestyle for an upcoming exhibit at a new history museum funded by his territory’s billionaire mayor and real estate developer. The people of Simplicity are peaceful but untrusting, and although Lucius tries to participate and get closer, particularly to gregarious acolyte Amity Crown-Shy, he still feels apart from everyone. Then the people of Simplicity start disappearing, leaving behind grisly trails into the woods. Lucius accompanies Amity into the wilds to confront whatever dangers in the Exurb Zone are destroying Amity’s people. But they’ll have to decide how far they’re willing to go to save Simplicity when they discover the true danger in the woods.
Simplicity is an odd tale about a scholar discovering meaning in his life by abandoning everything he knows to live at a pseudo-religious commune in the woods. This is the second of Mattie Lubchansky’s graphic novels I’ve read, and while I liked it somewhat better than the other her overall storytelling techniques leave me feeling somewhat adrift at the end. In this one, it’s clear at the start that the town of Simplicity isn’t all that it seems to be, but that doesn’t even play into the main plot once people start disappearing and Lucius starts having vivid, disturbing dreams that may be something more. Is this a story about someone getting sucked into a life that he never expected, simply because he gets used to it? It seems like it’s trying to tell more though, with big outside threats and the evils of corporations and big money getting in the way of the seemingly idyllic lifestyle of Simplicity as well, and some flashbacks in Lucius’s life that add little more than questions to an already question-packed book. There is almost too much going on for any one chunk of story to be fully explored, and I ended the book feeling like I don’t totally know what happened. Did Lucius win? Did he find happiness? I think Simplicity may not be for me, but I appreciated the premise and the early story while Lucius tried to find his place.
Simplicity is an odd tale about a scholar discovering meaning in his life by abandoning everything he knows to live at a pseudo-religious commune in the woods. This is the second of Mattie Lubchansky’s graphic novels I’ve read, and while I liked it somewhat better than the other her overall storytelling techniques leave me feeling somewhat adrift at the end. In this one, it’s clear at the start that the town of Simplicity isn’t all that it seems to be, but that doesn’t even play into the main plot once people start disappearing and Lucius starts having vivid, disturbing dreams that may be something more. Is this a story about someone getting sucked into a life that he never expected, simply because he gets used to it? It seems like it’s trying to tell more though, with big outside threats and the evils of corporations and big money getting in the way of the seemingly idyllic lifestyle of Simplicity as well, and some flashbacks in Lucius’s life that add little more than questions to an already question-packed book. There is almost too much going on for any one chunk of story to be fully explored, and I ended the book feeling like I don’t totally know what happened. Did Lucius win? Did he find happiness? I think Simplicity may not be for me, but I appreciated the premise and the early story while Lucius tried to find his place.
July 4, 2025
I’m just existing, man. Don’t you want to exist?”
4.25 / 5.00
Simplicity by Mattie Lubchansky will have you saying “fuck the patriarchy!” Thank you to Pantheon Books for my early copy of the final print version via contest. All opinions are my own.
2081 was a simpler time, as Brockerton and Klaybeth are about to learn. Simplicity was a utopian society, living off the land. Except it had orgies and fistfights and sexual fever dreams and a diseased bear that was possibly killing off the inhabitants. Learn more in this very important history lesson so history doesn’t repeat itself!
I’m going to start off by saying this book will not be for everyone, but it was for me. It took me a while to understand exactly what was going on, but it kept me engaged and entertained throughout. The art work is a mix of Steven Universe and Rick and Morty, but make it 18+ (sex and nudity).
I finished this in one sitting and honestly couldn’t put it down. I wanted to figure out what was going on and how it would all play out, and I was not disappointed. I’d love to see a sequel to this story in the future!
This story had me singing Let It Grow by Eric Clapton. The music has the same “peace and love” vibes the inhabitants of Simplicity are trying to cultivate in not only their world, but someday hopefully the whole world. Lucius is definitely “Standing at the crossroads / Trying to read the signs / To tell me which way I should go,” many times throughout this story. “Trying hard to get a friend I can count on / But there’s nothing left to show / Plant your love and let it grow,” could definitely be the theme of his growth from timid researcher to someone stronger, more open, and more in tune with the world around him.
Connect with me on Instagram (@bookmarks_and_backbeats) for more reviews, musical pairings, and all around good times!
4.25 / 5.00
Simplicity by Mattie Lubchansky will have you saying “fuck the patriarchy!” Thank you to Pantheon Books for my early copy of the final print version via contest. All opinions are my own.
2081 was a simpler time, as Brockerton and Klaybeth are about to learn. Simplicity was a utopian society, living off the land. Except it had orgies and fistfights and sexual fever dreams and a diseased bear that was possibly killing off the inhabitants. Learn more in this very important history lesson so history doesn’t repeat itself!
I’m going to start off by saying this book will not be for everyone, but it was for me. It took me a while to understand exactly what was going on, but it kept me engaged and entertained throughout. The art work is a mix of Steven Universe and Rick and Morty, but make it 18+ (sex and nudity).
I finished this in one sitting and honestly couldn’t put it down. I wanted to figure out what was going on and how it would all play out, and I was not disappointed. I’d love to see a sequel to this story in the future!
This story had me singing Let It Grow by Eric Clapton. The music has the same “peace and love” vibes the inhabitants of Simplicity are trying to cultivate in not only their world, but someday hopefully the whole world. Lucius is definitely “Standing at the crossroads / Trying to read the signs / To tell me which way I should go,” many times throughout this story. “Trying hard to get a friend I can count on / But there’s nothing left to show / Plant your love and let it grow,” could definitely be the theme of his growth from timid researcher to someone stronger, more open, and more in tune with the world around him.
Connect with me on Instagram (@bookmarks_and_backbeats) for more reviews, musical pairings, and all around good times!
January 10, 2026
I read Simplicity having just finished Boys Weekend, allowing me to make a fresh comparison between the books.
I might be in the minority, but I like this novel better than Boys Weekend. While Boys Weekend had an emotional core that was more engaging / direct to me upfront, Simplicity explores similar themes (corporate dystopia, self discovery, identity) through a different lens more harmoniously and completely. The story coheres much better as a result and ends more satisfactorily.
I also like the slight ambiguity to the ending. I appreciated it even more after I returned to reread the final pages a couple of days later and really push my thinking to make sure I understood how the story concluded. The museum frames the colony as dissolving seemingly for no reason, but we know that the corporation was set to clear them out. Did Lucius and Amity fight back with the commune and lose? Were they the ones that went back to NYC to ironically flip the positioning / framing of nature vs the city, or did they inspire it? The final panel with the line “The city’s no place to raise a family” while skewering the surveillance state has fully taken over the Exurb Zones lands well.
As before, I like the small details Lubchansky shares visually, often in the background or not commented on explicitly: David still being Lucius’s lock screen picture for instance despite being exes with a strained friendship, “inflated” death tolls, etc.
I am not sure if this a complaint, but I will note that the corporate commentary was more heavy-handed while the true ethos / origin / “judgment” of the commune was left more ambiguous.
Final note is that this novel is much more graphic sexually. Works well for the story, but worth noting when recommending.
A solid 4 to me - an improvement upon Boys Weekend in terms of storytelling clarity while adding more complexity for pondering.
I might be in the minority, but I like this novel better than Boys Weekend. While Boys Weekend had an emotional core that was more engaging / direct to me upfront, Simplicity explores similar themes (corporate dystopia, self discovery, identity) through a different lens more harmoniously and completely. The story coheres much better as a result and ends more satisfactorily.
I also like the slight ambiguity to the ending. I appreciated it even more after I returned to reread the final pages a couple of days later and really push my thinking to make sure I understood how the story concluded. The museum frames the colony as dissolving seemingly for no reason, but we know that the corporation was set to clear them out. Did Lucius and Amity fight back with the commune and lose? Were they the ones that went back to NYC to ironically flip the positioning / framing of nature vs the city, or did they inspire it? The final panel with the line “The city’s no place to raise a family” while skewering the surveillance state has fully taken over the Exurb Zones lands well.
As before, I like the small details Lubchansky shares visually, often in the background or not commented on explicitly: David still being Lucius’s lock screen picture for instance despite being exes with a strained friendship, “inflated” death tolls, etc.
I am not sure if this a complaint, but I will note that the corporate commentary was more heavy-handed while the true ethos / origin / “judgment” of the commune was left more ambiguous.
Final note is that this novel is much more graphic sexually. Works well for the story, but worth noting when recommending.
A solid 4 to me - an improvement upon Boys Weekend in terms of storytelling clarity while adding more complexity for pondering.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 26, 2025
I actually enjoyed this more then I thought I would from the fist few pages. This is a queer book more than anything and its politics are on the page anywhere. Post gender,sexual orientation etc… It a little jarring seeing the artwork that I’ve come to associate with kids content and the actual contents of this which was very adult. At first I was unimpressed with the entire thing and it felt a little 2 millennial and full of itself. But then the story continued and it told something actually sort of compelling about alternative communities and didn’t try to white wash how weird they actually are.
The main protagonist having good intentions but inadvertently being part of the problem was a dilemma that I haven’t really seen much in a graphic novel, there’s complex moral problems that Simplicity tackles and I was fond of the author/artist for being brave enough to engage with that. Many a modern leftist can sort of see themselves in the protagonist, someone who is well meaning and good by most standards. But also someone who needs to pay the bills and is tied to the society in which they were brought up in and therefore contributing to a global oppression system, pride flag included. My fav part of this is definitely the ending and how it all circles back. The museum as a place to morally launder concepts and ideas to people; while not letting them question the ethics of the establishment itself. I enjoyed the ambiguity of what might have happened to our protagonist…
Not a groundbreaking work but It was entertaining and it paired really well with everything I’ve been reading recently.
The main protagonist having good intentions but inadvertently being part of the problem was a dilemma that I haven’t really seen much in a graphic novel, there’s complex moral problems that Simplicity tackles and I was fond of the author/artist for being brave enough to engage with that. Many a modern leftist can sort of see themselves in the protagonist, someone who is well meaning and good by most standards. But also someone who needs to pay the bills and is tied to the society in which they were brought up in and therefore contributing to a global oppression system, pride flag included. My fav part of this is definitely the ending and how it all circles back. The museum as a place to morally launder concepts and ideas to people; while not letting them question the ethics of the establishment itself. I enjoyed the ambiguity of what might have happened to our protagonist…
Not a groundbreaking work but It was entertaining and it paired really well with everything I’ve been reading recently.
August 20, 2025
The New York City Administrative and Security Territory was founded after the fall of the United States in 2041, and is run by its billionaire mayor. Lucius is a researcher sent from NYC-AST to do an anthropological survey of the settlement of Simplicity for a new history museum. Simplicity is a small community, living free from “civilization” and following their own rituals. Lucius finds himself drawn to the community, specifically their freedom from taboos and rigid gender definitions, as Lucius is still struggling to be comfortable in his own body. As he settles more into the community he starts to have sensual dreams, that slowly become nightmares. When members of the community start to disappear, Lucius finds out the true purpose of the museum. He must decide if he will return to the city, or if he will stay and fight for Simplicity.
An interesting and weird dystopia-horror graphic novel that explores ideas of community, gender, and the evils of capitalism. It’s very weird, very mind-bendy, and very horny. The book stumbles in the narrative at times, as it’s sometimes hard to follow what’s going on. But overall really enjoy the ideas of fighting back against the police state and forced gender ideals.
An interesting and weird dystopia-horror graphic novel that explores ideas of community, gender, and the evils of capitalism. It’s very weird, very mind-bendy, and very horny. The book stumbles in the narrative at times, as it’s sometimes hard to follow what’s going on. But overall really enjoy the ideas of fighting back against the police state and forced gender ideals.
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