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Burning Butch
Burning Butch is the courageous story of a trans / non-binary butch on a quest to survive conservative, religious, American culture while questioning if there is room in their heart for the traditional faith they were raised with, and what it means to come home again.
When divorce moves young Rebecca Mertz away from rural Pennsylvania and their abusive father, Mertz and their mother find a new life in a conservative Catholic subculture outside of Washington, D.C. There, Mertz's adolescence is dominated by fundamentalist Catholicism. Life becomes God, saints, and babies – except, of course, for the showtunes they latch onto, voices that permeate their childhood boundaries, singing about different worlds. Mertz spends their childhood split between Pennsylvania, and Maryland – between mother and father, between Catholic homeschooling and secular Americana, between safety and violence, between their real life and the "world" they keep being warned against.
It’s in homeschooling that Mertz learns what good, Catholic values are: anti-feminist, pro-life; anti-queer, pro-Jesus. The more babies, the better, so as to prove a stronger devotion to God. In an attempt to get away from their father, to interrogate their faith, and to repress the growing feelings Mertz has about a woman in their community, Mertz chooses the Franciscan University of Steubenville, a conservative Catholic school in Ohio.
As Mertz comes of age at an oppressive, gender-dependent Catholic college in the early aughts, they grapple with attractions, sexual encounters, and relationships with friends and teachers – men and women whom they trust and admire, who romantically engage with them while in the same breath renounce the sacrilege of Mertz’s identity.
Ever the outcast during their college years despite their affinity and aptitude for poetry, Mertz is forced to face their sexuality and what it might mean within the confines of their strict faith. As Mertz struggles to navigate this repressive environment, and questions what role they could play in this community, the vulnerable identity they create begins to threaten the life they know in potentially irreversible ways.
When divorce moves young Rebecca Mertz away from rural Pennsylvania and their abusive father, Mertz and their mother find a new life in a conservative Catholic subculture outside of Washington, D.C. There, Mertz's adolescence is dominated by fundamentalist Catholicism. Life becomes God, saints, and babies – except, of course, for the showtunes they latch onto, voices that permeate their childhood boundaries, singing about different worlds. Mertz spends their childhood split between Pennsylvania, and Maryland – between mother and father, between Catholic homeschooling and secular Americana, between safety and violence, between their real life and the "world" they keep being warned against.
It’s in homeschooling that Mertz learns what good, Catholic values are: anti-feminist, pro-life; anti-queer, pro-Jesus. The more babies, the better, so as to prove a stronger devotion to God. In an attempt to get away from their father, to interrogate their faith, and to repress the growing feelings Mertz has about a woman in their community, Mertz chooses the Franciscan University of Steubenville, a conservative Catholic school in Ohio.
As Mertz comes of age at an oppressive, gender-dependent Catholic college in the early aughts, they grapple with attractions, sexual encounters, and relationships with friends and teachers – men and women whom they trust and admire, who romantically engage with them while in the same breath renounce the sacrilege of Mertz’s identity.
Ever the outcast during their college years despite their affinity and aptitude for poetry, Mertz is forced to face their sexuality and what it might mean within the confines of their strict faith. As Mertz struggles to navigate this repressive environment, and questions what role they could play in this community, the vulnerable identity they create begins to threaten the life they know in potentially irreversible ways.
392 pages, Paperback
First published April 5, 2022
60 people are currently reading
5206 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 203 reviews
June 15, 2023
one thing about me, when i see something to do with catholicism and lesbianism, my ass is gonna be nodding and tearing along. religion gets beat into you so hard, it consumes you so much that it feel inescapable. even now, as someone that is extremely proud of their sexuality, i cant lie and say that religious guilt doesn’t eat me on some horrible nights. it’s really cathartic to read someone else’s experiences with religion and their sexuality and similar feelings to mine. especially when there’s a light at the end of the tunnel in a situation that can feel like an endless pothole.
May 12, 2022
The way my heart soared when I realized the chapters were named after songs from musicals……. Yeah, automatic 5 stars. Mertz, you’re the coolest.
March 18, 2023
words cannot express how much this book means to me.
‘Burning Butch’ follows the author’s experiences with Catholicism and growing up queer in a conservative Catholic community. Growing up queer and Catholic is a very special and peculiar kind of pain, and it’s one that I know well. It can be hard to reconcile a religious past, a religious upbringing and a childhood devotion to God, with a current “Godless” existence. With the present, existing as a queer person apart from religion. Mertz manages to capture this feeling of existing in Limbo your entire life, and only recently realizing this and coming to terms with it, perfectly.
Reading ‘Burning Butch’ was very cathartic for me, and all of the conversations Mertz had with friends and with themself about God and religion and the Church resonated with me. However, I don’t think this is just a book for former Catholics or queer people of faith. I think that ‘Burning Butch’ has a level of bittersweet relatability that could potentially apply to a lot of people. Mertz writes with such tenderness but refuses to shy away from the aspects of religion and queer childhood that some people might find “unseemly” or “inappropriate.” This is a particular strength of the memoir, writing about some of the worst parts of religion and devotion while maintaining a respect and admiration for the people in Mertz’ life that deserve it, and purposefully acknowledging the humanity of the people in their life that don’t.
Mertz experienced a lot of trauma, mostly at the hands of their father, but always speaks about their siblings and their mother and stepfather with so much love, and this love maintains itself throughout the memoir despite whatever happens to this familial bond. Bittersweet nostalgia can be found in every line of this book, as well as healing.
Mertz portrays the struggle with religion and identity so perfectly and, at the end of the memoir, talks about their divorce from religion as something as natural as breathing. I think ‘Burning Butch’ is very special in a lot of ways, and could really resonate with a lot of people.
“I think of Catholicism like a language - for the universe, for the mysteries. It’s the one I speak most fluently, anyway. But I don’t attend. I mean, they don’t acknowledge my moral authority, and I don’t acknowledge theirs. So, we’re at an impasse.”
“When Cece asked me if I believed in God, I said, ‘I believe in metaphors.’ I believe in stories and the power they have over us, how they change our lives and how we choose our roles and change the narratives and break open languages to include more people. You can do the opposite, too, with silence and gaslit language that erases what’s true, what really happened.”
c/w’s - homophobia, religious bigotry, lesbophobia, child abuse, SA, CSA, racism, drug use, death of a parent, suicide attempt, suicidal thought/ideation, emotional abuse, incest, sexual harassment, transphobia
‘Burning Butch’ follows the author’s experiences with Catholicism and growing up queer in a conservative Catholic community. Growing up queer and Catholic is a very special and peculiar kind of pain, and it’s one that I know well. It can be hard to reconcile a religious past, a religious upbringing and a childhood devotion to God, with a current “Godless” existence. With the present, existing as a queer person apart from religion. Mertz manages to capture this feeling of existing in Limbo your entire life, and only recently realizing this and coming to terms with it, perfectly.
Reading ‘Burning Butch’ was very cathartic for me, and all of the conversations Mertz had with friends and with themself about God and religion and the Church resonated with me. However, I don’t think this is just a book for former Catholics or queer people of faith. I think that ‘Burning Butch’ has a level of bittersweet relatability that could potentially apply to a lot of people. Mertz writes with such tenderness but refuses to shy away from the aspects of religion and queer childhood that some people might find “unseemly” or “inappropriate.” This is a particular strength of the memoir, writing about some of the worst parts of religion and devotion while maintaining a respect and admiration for the people in Mertz’ life that deserve it, and purposefully acknowledging the humanity of the people in their life that don’t.
Mertz experienced a lot of trauma, mostly at the hands of their father, but always speaks about their siblings and their mother and stepfather with so much love, and this love maintains itself throughout the memoir despite whatever happens to this familial bond. Bittersweet nostalgia can be found in every line of this book, as well as healing.
Mertz portrays the struggle with religion and identity so perfectly and, at the end of the memoir, talks about their divorce from religion as something as natural as breathing. I think ‘Burning Butch’ is very special in a lot of ways, and could really resonate with a lot of people.
“I think of Catholicism like a language - for the universe, for the mysteries. It’s the one I speak most fluently, anyway. But I don’t attend. I mean, they don’t acknowledge my moral authority, and I don’t acknowledge theirs. So, we’re at an impasse.”
“When Cece asked me if I believed in God, I said, ‘I believe in metaphors.’ I believe in stories and the power they have over us, how they change our lives and how we choose our roles and change the narratives and break open languages to include more people. You can do the opposite, too, with silence and gaslit language that erases what’s true, what really happened.”
c/w’s - homophobia, religious bigotry, lesbophobia, child abuse, SA, CSA, racism, drug use, death of a parent, suicide attempt, suicidal thought/ideation, emotional abuse, incest, sexual harassment, transphobia
July 4, 2022
As a butch lesbian who grew up in a conservative Catholic community, I was really excited to find Burning Butch. My religious past and my non-religious present feel like two fragmented parts of myself that I can’t reconcile, as much as I’d like to. Any positive memories of being Catholic are overshadowed by the trauma the church inflicted on me as a queer person, and the knowledge of the many other evils that the church has committed. I was hoping that reading Mertz’ account would help bring me some closure; looking back, I know that’s too tall of an order, and it’s going to take a lot more than one memoir to bring closure if I’ll ever find it.
Nonetheless, reading Burning Butch cathartic and revealing. It’s a story that needs to be shared. Mertz decided to continue living their life adjacent to the church - if not actively practicing Catholicism, still choosing to engage with its teachings and communities. I decided to break away from it altogether in order to preserve myself and create new meaning. But I really enjoyed witnessing Mertz find small queer safe havens in Catholicism, like the stories Joan of Arc or Saint Wilgefortis. And some of their takeaways from the religion (positive and negative) did bring comfort and perspective. I’ll share a few below (which you should avoid if you don’t want spoilers).
“I think of [Catholicism] like a language - for the universe, for the mysteries. It’s the one I speak most fluently, anyway. But I don’t attend. I mean, they don’t acknowledge my moral authority, and I don’t acknowledge theirs. So, we’re at an impasse.”
“As we walked around the festival I couldn’t shake the memory of the homeschooler and the zealots at Franciscan … Everyone smiled like they were only among friends, like we all thought the same thing, like we were free. I didn’t like the idea that the freedom depended on sameness.”
“When Cece asked me if I believed in God, I said, ‘I believe in metaphors.’ I believe in stories and the power they have over us, how they change our lives and how we choose our roles and change the narratives and break open languages to include more people. You can do the opposite, too, with silence and gaslit language that erases what’s true, what really happened.”
Nonetheless, reading Burning Butch cathartic and revealing. It’s a story that needs to be shared. Mertz decided to continue living their life adjacent to the church - if not actively practicing Catholicism, still choosing to engage with its teachings and communities. I decided to break away from it altogether in order to preserve myself and create new meaning. But I really enjoyed witnessing Mertz find small queer safe havens in Catholicism, like the stories Joan of Arc or Saint Wilgefortis. And some of their takeaways from the religion (positive and negative) did bring comfort and perspective. I’ll share a few below (which you should avoid if you don’t want spoilers).
“I think of [Catholicism] like a language - for the universe, for the mysteries. It’s the one I speak most fluently, anyway. But I don’t attend. I mean, they don’t acknowledge my moral authority, and I don’t acknowledge theirs. So, we’re at an impasse.”
“As we walked around the festival I couldn’t shake the memory of the homeschooler and the zealots at Franciscan … Everyone smiled like they were only among friends, like we all thought the same thing, like we were free. I didn’t like the idea that the freedom depended on sameness.”
“When Cece asked me if I believed in God, I said, ‘I believe in metaphors.’ I believe in stories and the power they have over us, how they change our lives and how we choose our roles and change the narratives and break open languages to include more people. You can do the opposite, too, with silence and gaslit language that erases what’s true, what really happened.”
April 27, 2022
This was an intense one for me. First of all, I’m so glad that R/B chose to share their story because it matters. It matters to all of us who have similar experiences of abuse, particularly spiritual abuse. Those of us who grew up queer in the Church, who struggled and fought. Those of us who survived and those who did not. These voices matter and these stories need to be told. It was painful, it was beautiful, and I can’t wait to see what they do next.
July 28, 2024
This didn’t really do anything unique? Like there wasn’t anything special about this book vs other queer religious books (and I’m getting tired of reading queer religious books because they’re all sounding the same). I’m glad that this book exists for people to feel represented and connected, but I don’t think it’s doing anything that hasn’t / isn’t already being done better. It gives better written Pageboy vibes, but still nothing unique.
June 5, 2022
i needed this book.
there were times where i read a passage and wanted to scream out “EXACTLY!” because exactly, yes, this is exactly what it’s like to be queer and catholic.
it’s not perfect— it’s messy and overexplained in just the right way but i really don’t care. and i honestly prefer it this way. if you can’t relate to it you might not rate it as highly, but i did and i will.
i’m not sure how hard it would resonate with someone who didn’t grow up catholic, but if you want to know what it’s like, it’s this. their explanation was what i’ve been trying to put into words for so long. it gives me hope, that someone like me can come out the other end and love themself fully, without any pretense of “is this wrong? am i lying?”
thank you, thank you so much to the author for writing this book.
there were times where i read a passage and wanted to scream out “EXACTLY!” because exactly, yes, this is exactly what it’s like to be queer and catholic.
it’s not perfect— it’s messy and overexplained in just the right way but i really don’t care. and i honestly prefer it this way. if you can’t relate to it you might not rate it as highly, but i did and i will.
i’m not sure how hard it would resonate with someone who didn’t grow up catholic, but if you want to know what it’s like, it’s this. their explanation was what i’ve been trying to put into words for so long. it gives me hope, that someone like me can come out the other end and love themself fully, without any pretense of “is this wrong? am i lying?”
thank you, thank you so much to the author for writing this book.
July 26, 2024
There is a part in this memoir where a girl critiques one of college-aged Mertz’s poems for being about God when it’s not something people are debating or talking about anymore. Something along those lines. And that’s how I felt reading most of this until I got to that part because Mertz explained how lots of people are still having the conversations they were writing about…but just maybe not in that person’s (or my) social circles. I know next to nothing about Catholicism and really didn’t care to learn about it from this book, but it was eye-opening to learn just how strict some Catholics are and how much queers growing up in the church went or still go through.
As always, the non-chronological order made things confusing and frustrating for me. But I did enjoy that each chapter was named after a showtune.
As always, the non-chronological order made things confusing and frustrating for me. But I did enjoy that each chapter was named after a showtune.
July 7, 2023
i expected more :(
July 20, 2024
Simultaneously a mirror and a window book for me. I tore through this one.
June 18, 2022
WOW!
this should be recommended reading for every lesbian/trans/queer person.
this should be recommended reading for every lesbian/trans/queer person.
March 11, 2023
4 / 5 ⭐️‘s
"Burning Butch" by R/B Mertz
This is a brave and impactful memoir that delves into the difficulties of being a trans/non-binary butch person growing up in a conservative Catholic subculture. The author reflects on how faith, sexuality, and gender identity intersect and the struggles that arise when these aspects clash.
Mertz's writing is candid and vulnerable, portraying the challenges they faced while growing up split between two worlds - one of safety and the other of abuse. They write about their experiences being homeschooled, their exposure to secular American culture, and the dichotomy between their true self and the world they were taught to fear. The author's account of their struggles with their faith and sexuality while attending a conservative Catholic college in the early 2000s is particularly compelling.
This ARC audiobook was provided by @Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
"Burning Butch" by R/B Mertz
This is a brave and impactful memoir that delves into the difficulties of being a trans/non-binary butch person growing up in a conservative Catholic subculture. The author reflects on how faith, sexuality, and gender identity intersect and the struggles that arise when these aspects clash.
Mertz's writing is candid and vulnerable, portraying the challenges they faced while growing up split between two worlds - one of safety and the other of abuse. They write about their experiences being homeschooled, their exposure to secular American culture, and the dichotomy between their true self and the world they were taught to fear. The author's account of their struggles with their faith and sexuality while attending a conservative Catholic college in the early 2000s is particularly compelling.
This ARC audiobook was provided by @Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.
July 24, 2024
Really eye opening in terms of someone's experience with Catholocism. The level of gaslighting, trauma and emotional rollercoasters the author went through is incredible, and it's amazing that they got out of that environment to some extent. It also offers hope to overall change of the religious structure in general, and in today's political climate, I think that's more important to recognize than ever.
Only minor thing I didn't really like was that the author did the audiobook, and I find they didn't really have an engaging tone/vocal range, and at times, passages seemed to drag because of it. Other than that, solid read..
Only minor thing I didn't really like was that the author did the audiobook, and I find they didn't really have an engaging tone/vocal range, and at times, passages seemed to drag because of it. Other than that, solid read..
July 29, 2024
Oof so much gaslighting. Also reminded me of what was special and not so special about my own experiences with religion.
January 29, 2023
beetje matig
May 17, 2024
This is a cool book. There’s not a lot of media about experiences with being gay and religious that I’m aware of and although I have left and have a lot of … ill will towards my past religious communities, the shit Mertz was talking about was just (sorry for the elementary language) So Real. I’m glad that they went beyond a generic “erm, the Bible actually doesn’t say that” and speak almost purely from their experience and let us know that this shit IS confusing and complicated!!!!! Does that make sense?? I hope it does. I like this book.
Their writing style is weirdly simplistic. I remember near the beginning of the book since they start in their early childhood I was bothered by sentences like “I did X and somebody told me I can’t do X because Y, but I could just tell that this person needed an excuse and Y didn’t actually matter.” I’d be like how could 5-year-old you just tell, Mertz? Can you go into detail? Then eventually I was like wait I guess it is that simple, sometimes you really can just tell ….. I hope I’m making sense.
Also loved the way they talked about theeeee (I can’t come up with a better word at the moment) weird contradictions between being a third parent which the world has decided is being maternal while also hating the gender assignment you have that much. When people talk about this I never see it talked about with the ermmmm care Mertz gives it. It is hard to separate your nonexistent Instinctive Womanly Nurturing Abilities from simply liking and caring about your siblings but they are separate things! I am so glad Mertz said this indirectly. Thank you for your contribution to the eldest “daughter” of a difficult household community, Mertz. Thank you so much.
My only genuine problem with this thing is the amount of laziness they gave to talking about race. From my understanding, in this book at least there’s not a single actual black person they know personally to add, like, any interesting layer to there perspective on the whole thing. They talk about how the area they and a lot of other students had an apartment was gentrifying some black neighborhood and kind of just say that it was fucked up. They talk about their classmates saying slightly racist things and how they “could just tell” it was wrong. They quote a bunch of civil rights leaders and reference a bunch of black singers that they admire but there are just no meaningful experiences around that topic that make it worth mentioning in this book. It felt very lackluster and performative and I would’ve much rather gone without these lazy pointing outings of “and they were racist! And it was wrong!” There was just nothing impactful or worth thinking about. Nothing new was said because we all know that midwestern Catholic cult-like people are not very nice to black people! This might be crazy to say but Mertz is the type of person who if they said Black Lives Matter I’d ask them which ones they even knew. Yk what I mean.
Otherwise. Lol. It’s a good book. Required reading I feel.
Their writing style is weirdly simplistic. I remember near the beginning of the book since they start in their early childhood I was bothered by sentences like “I did X and somebody told me I can’t do X because Y, but I could just tell that this person needed an excuse and Y didn’t actually matter.” I’d be like how could 5-year-old you just tell, Mertz? Can you go into detail? Then eventually I was like wait I guess it is that simple, sometimes you really can just tell ….. I hope I’m making sense.
Also loved the way they talked about theeeee (I can’t come up with a better word at the moment) weird contradictions between being a third parent which the world has decided is being maternal while also hating the gender assignment you have that much. When people talk about this I never see it talked about with the ermmmm care Mertz gives it. It is hard to separate your nonexistent Instinctive Womanly Nurturing Abilities from simply liking and caring about your siblings but they are separate things! I am so glad Mertz said this indirectly. Thank you for your contribution to the eldest “daughter” of a difficult household community, Mertz. Thank you so much.
My only genuine problem with this thing is the amount of laziness they gave to talking about race. From my understanding, in this book at least there’s not a single actual black person they know personally to add, like, any interesting layer to there perspective on the whole thing. They talk about how the area they and a lot of other students had an apartment was gentrifying some black neighborhood and kind of just say that it was fucked up. They talk about their classmates saying slightly racist things and how they “could just tell” it was wrong. They quote a bunch of civil rights leaders and reference a bunch of black singers that they admire but there are just no meaningful experiences around that topic that make it worth mentioning in this book. It felt very lackluster and performative and I would’ve much rather gone without these lazy pointing outings of “and they were racist! And it was wrong!” There was just nothing impactful or worth thinking about. Nothing new was said because we all know that midwestern Catholic cult-like people are not very nice to black people! This might be crazy to say but Mertz is the type of person who if they said Black Lives Matter I’d ask them which ones they even knew. Yk what I mean.
Otherwise. Lol. It’s a good book. Required reading I feel.
June 22, 2022
In honor of Pride Month, I've been working some LGBTQ+ memoirs into my reading. Burning Butch is one of those titles—an articulate, quirky recounting of the author's journey from fundamentalist Catholicism to their current identity as a nonbinary butch teaching at a Catholic University and still wrestling with issues of faith. I was struck by the commonalities and differences between Mertz's experiences and my own. I had an easier time of it embracing my identity (in this case nonbinary no frills femme lesbian) than did Mertz, and I was also raised by a religious family, but my family's religion was Congregationalism. Congregationalism more or less leaves each of us to find our own path with a minimum of dogma, but has high expectations for living our beliefs. (There's a joke that UCC—United Church of Christ—actually stands for Unitarians Considering Christianity.)
If you're interested in learning more about nonbinary queer experience, Burning Butch is a title you'll appreciate. You'll also appreciate it if, like a great many of us, you've come to your queer identity after a childhood firmly grounded in religion. This is memoir, not fiction, and Mertz is inviting us to stand alongside them as they reflect on their journey of identity.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via EdelweissPlus; the opinions are my own.
If you're interested in learning more about nonbinary queer experience, Burning Butch is a title you'll appreciate. You'll also appreciate it if, like a great many of us, you've come to your queer identity after a childhood firmly grounded in religion. This is memoir, not fiction, and Mertz is inviting us to stand alongside them as they reflect on their journey of identity.
I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via EdelweissPlus; the opinions are my own.
June 28, 2022
A really cool book, written by a really cool author
October 10, 2025
It was a really interesting memoir to read - the author both came of age in a very different time and in a very different religion that I did. I think that the story was interesting, but the writing and narrative decisions didn't quite shine for me. Still, I did like it. Would recommend if you wanted to read about someone grappling with religion and queerness.
May 28, 2023
Moving book!! Four stars only because the chapters where not in chronological order, which was challenging for me to keep on track with their life….(probs a personal issue for me and literary genius for others)…. I appreciated all the common issues in their life -things I could relate to, and yet so much that was different and compelling to me. One of those books you’d love to recommend. I only wish I would have read it originally with my book club, I would of LOVED talking about it with others!
April 6, 2024
i wanted to like this book so much more than i did. i feel like we didn’t get the full journey of rb and i wanted more. it was centered on the college but kept us at arms length of what they shared and it was never the full picture. at the end of the day i related to the storyline of growing up queer in the church but didn’t feel like i could fully connect because i didn’t really know rb. the storyline was all over the place and confusing on names and timelines
June 22, 2022
Mertz’s struggle to come to terms with their identity and sexuality amidst the most conservative of Catholic experiences plays out in a memoir with intellectual flashes amongst a great deal of suffering. There’s humor as well, though, including the titling of each chapter with the name of a show tune. While it’s a compelling story, it suffers from a lack of tight editing.
March 30, 2023
I read the audiobook, loved the narration
It's surprising how different American Catholicism is different from French Catholicism
It's a good memoir, focused on the author's childhood and their relationship to religion, their family and sexuality but talks very little about their gender so a few parts are confusing due to that
It's surprising how different American Catholicism is different from French Catholicism
It's a good memoir, focused on the author's childhood and their relationship to religion, their family and sexuality but talks very little about their gender so a few parts are confusing due to that
April 17, 2024
A raw ,beautiful and real story. Putting into words the experience of many who identify as queer and raised conservative and strictly religious. Having attended the same university Franciscan a solid ten years later starting fall 2017. I experienced similar events and it was healing to hear another human went through it as well. Great book couldn’t recommend more.
July 26, 2024
I’m rounding up, I wish Goodreads had half stars.
July 30, 2025
Reading this felt very personal to me, a lesbian who spent a year at Franciscan University. In many ways this reading experience helped me make peace with a lot of hangups I’ve had in separating myself entirely from my experience at the university (I’m finally donating my Franciscan mug and sweatshirt). Mertz’s writing is beautiful, and their story affirmed me in ways I didn’t know I needed. Though they went to the school many years before I did, the culture there has not changed—I only knew of one out gay couple on campus, and they weren’t exactly popular with every crowd. I would give this memoir to anyone who wanted to understand the culture of not only Franciscan but the charismatic catholic community in general, from youth groups attending Steubenville conferences to homeschool cliques. I felt so understood, validated, and forgiven by this book, and I’m so grateful that Mertz has lived to be an older queer person who made it out and settled comfortably into the in between.
October 13, 2025
'Burning Butch' is a coming-of-age memoir about R/B Mertz's journey as a closeted lesbian in a highly conservative Catholic environment.
While this type of book should be right up my alley, its execution largely failed to impress me. The memoir touches on paramount issues, such as compulsory heterosexuality, religiously motivated bigotry, and abuse, all treated with care and raw honesty. However, the book lacks focus, especially when it comes to the other people in Mertz's life, who are underdeveloped and therefore forgettable. The non-linear structure of the memoir also doesn't help to stay invested.
I truly, truly hate that I didn't love this.
While this type of book should be right up my alley, its execution largely failed to impress me. The memoir touches on paramount issues, such as compulsory heterosexuality, religiously motivated bigotry, and abuse, all treated with care and raw honesty. However, the book lacks focus, especially when it comes to the other people in Mertz's life, who are underdeveloped and therefore forgettable. The non-linear structure of the memoir also doesn't help to stay invested.
I truly, truly hate that I didn't love this.
February 28, 2025
The analysis of religion from a queer perspective in this book was some thing that I didn’t think I would resonate so strongly with. R/B Mertz has a fantastic riding voice, which makes it feel like you’re talking to a longtime friend when reading his book. If you’re someone who has a complex relationship with religion, complex relationship with yourself, or just generally feel alone this book is for you.
The time jumped, sometimes were a little bit confusing, and it was a lot of characters to keep up with, but that’s just the way that life goes. Definitely recommend.
The time jumped, sometimes were a little bit confusing, and it was a lot of characters to keep up with, but that’s just the way that life goes. Definitely recommend.
September 6, 2025
Beautifully written, candid memoir about the experience of growing up lesbian, gender non-conforming and Catholic, whilst unpacking the ramifications of childhood sexual abuse. With a great deal of heart packed into it, R/B Mertz weaves together an emotional, insightful story of fighting back against suicidal ideation, coming to forgive the women who did their best raising us, and ultimately of self-acceptance. I have read a fair few trans and/or queer memoirs, and whilst all of them add a valuable voice to the experiences of our community - safe to say that this one in particular really connected with and stood out to me.
July 29, 2022
To say I loved this book would be an understatement
Displaying 1 - 30 of 203 reviews