[Dear readers: This issue contains discussions of transphobia.]
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In Still Life, Katherine Packert Burke’s debut novel, protagonist Edith feels stuck, not just in her fear of the future, but in unlearning her past. After graduating from college, Edith moves twice for two different grad school programs, explores relationships with two of her best friends, publishes a novel, moves again, and transitions. On the surface, her life is progressing. But inside, she focuses on relationships that could have been, stories she could have written differently, alternative career paths, whether she should have moved or even transitioned. “If you aren’t running toward a new, specific life,” Edith reflects, “you will always be haunted by the life you leave behind.”
But in the novel, as in real life, sometimes being stuck in a period of unknowing—a still life—is what we need to determine what comes next. It’s that stillness, and sometimes the frustration of seeing everything around us keep moving, that eventually propels us forward. You run into parameters that force you into action.
“It’s fucking impossible to be a person without giving up certain parts of the past,” her friend Val says. For Edith, her lease is up, she needs to finish her novel to have an income, the reason—person—she moved to Texas in the first place is no longer in her life. And so she packs up and moves, to a place she has no claim to but why does that matter for now? “She’d work out everything that could be worked out. She’d fill her blank document with words about a life like hers, a life that might be better, that might teach her the language of her need.” No longer would her life be still; “soon she’d have a real life.”
Existence as resistance
In a review for The New York Times, a critic wrote that Still Life doesn’t transform “a life into a story,” and that it leaves readers without something “to hope for.” We disagree; especially as we head into another four years of a Trump administration, there is a resistance in simply existing and taking up space as a trans woman.
What does moving forward look like for someone whose life feels volatile, surveilled, the future of your bodily autonomy and rights at risk? What choices are you able to make, and what are automatically denied from you?
The protests she and her friends join are only mentioned in passing, as if they’re a given, a part of everyday life and nothing extraordinary, despite the needs behind the protests being anything but. Her eventual move to take hormones is gradual and mostly off the page—because it’s difficult for a trans woman in the south to receive gender affirming care. Edith questions staying in Texas for fear of harassment and erasure, but she and her friends also recognize nowhere is truly safe and leaving doesn’t mean security, doesn’t mean progress.
The stillness Edith exists in might not be where she remains permanently, and she knows that; she wants out, even if she doesn’t know quite what that will look like. But her stillness is both existence and the attempt to determine her wants and needs. How can we readers not hope right alongside her?
Of course, we owe Edith much more than simply hope. Allies particularly must take concrete action to protect and increase trans rights, especially in the coming years. We compiled a list of books to read and organizations to get involved with tackling critical issues—including LGBTQIA+ rights and bodily autonomy. In addition to voting and pressuring our elected officials, donating, volunteering, protesting, supporting trans creators and owned businesses, and making our allyship clear in our everyday actions are all ways to push for a more equitable world.
*As always, it’s not on trans folks to be the ones educating or leading the fight for trans rights.
If you liked Still Life, read…
Still Life by Sarah Winman (a very different example of a still life, but a reflection on characters as they transition out of war and the time they need to once again feel whole)
Dogs of Summer by Andrea Abreu, translated by Julia Sanches
Other books we are reading (or hope to read) this month:
✅ The Message by Ta-Nehisi Coates
✅ Post-Traumatic by Chantal V. Johnson
✅ My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante, translated by Ann Goldstein
✅🎧Sleeping with the Frenemy by Natalie Caña
✅🎧 How to Keep House While Drowning by KC Davis
🗓️We Do This ‘Til We Free Us by Mariame Kaba
🗓️Black Women Writers at Work, edited by Claudia Tate
🗓️The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak
🗓️I Am Not Sidney Poitier by Percival Everett
Books new to our TBR:
This Bitter Earth by Bernice L. McFadden: While perusing Marcus Books, this book caught my eye, especially once I saw the blurb from Toni Morrison on the back.
Glassworks by Olivia Wolfgang-Smith I love intergenerational stories, and can’t wait to read this one when it comes out in paperback this February.
Big Familia by Tomas Moniz: I’ve been describing Moniz’s recent release All Friends Are Necessary as a warm hug, so I’m eager to read this earlier book by him!
Other publishing updates:
Right after the election was called, Hachette announced a new imprint led by a member of the Heritage Foundation, aka the people behind Project 2025.
Thousands of authors took a pledge to not work with Israeli cultural institutions complicit in the erasure of Palestinians.
Palestinian-owned publisher Interlink Books was interviewed by publishing outlet Publishers Weekly.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read! If you enjoyed this newsletter, please share with friends, and consider subscribing if you have not yet already.
We’ll be back in just a few weeks with our end-of-month issue to break down current topics in the publishing world.
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