In her remarkable debut novel, Woodworking, Emily St. James demonstrates an extraordinary talent for capturing the complex reality of trans experiences with both tenderness and unflinching honesty. Set against the backdrop of Mitchell, South Dakota during the 2016 presidential election, the novel presents a richly textured narrative of self-discovery, unlikely friendship, and the courage required to live authentically in a place where being visibly different can be dangerous.
St. James weaves together the perspectives of three trans women at different stages of their journeys: Erica Skyberg, a thirty-five-year-old recently divorced English teacher who has just accepted her trans identity but remains closeted; Abigail Hawkes, a confident yet vulnerable seventeen-year-old student who transitioned early and faces the daily challenges of being the “Only Trans Girl” in school; and Brooke Daniels, a prominent community figure who has kept her trans identity secret for decades, building a life of privilege and conservative respectability at the cost of her authentic self.
Authentic Voices in a Transphobic World
What immediately stands out in Woodworking is the authenticity of its characters’ voices. Each protagonist speaks with a distinct cadence that reflects their unique circumstances and perspectives:
Erica’s narrative is tentative and often second-guessing, reflecting her newness to understanding herself as a woman and her fear of losing everything she’s built
Abigail’s sections crackle with teenage defiance and sardonic humor that barely mask her vulnerability and longing for acceptance
Brooke’s chapters employ a fascinating second-person perspective that creates a dissociative effect, highlighting how she has split herself from her authentic identity
St. James excels at depicting the interior struggles of her characters without sentimentality. The prose is sharp, often bitingly funny, and always deeply human. Consider this passage from Abigail’s perspective:
“To be normal, to feel safe, to not be treated like a car accident, to be able to see lights on the horizon in the middle of the night and know, somehow, that it’s where I belong, that it’s where I’m going and where I’ve always been…”
These words capture the universal longing for belonging that transcends the specific experience of being trans while remaining firmly grounded in that reality.
The Power of Accidental Community
At its heart, Woodworking is about finding your people—sometimes in the most unexpected places. The evolving relationship between Erica and Abigail forms the emotional core of the novel. Initially fraught with reluctance (particularly on Abigail’s part), their connection develops into something neither could have anticipated: a mutual lifeline.
St. James skillfully avoids the potential pitfalls of this premise. Their relationship isn’t portrayed as a simplistic mentor-mentee dynamic, nor is it presented without complexity. Instead, it’s messy, sometimes contentious, and ultimately profound. Abigail’s repeated insistence that they’re “not friends” becomes a running joke that gradually reveals its defensive purpose, while Erica’s growing reliance on a teenager for guidance creates ethical tensions that the novel doesn’t shy away from exploring.
The supporting cast is equally well-drawn, particularly:
Constance, Erica’s ex-wife who finds herself drawn back to Erica as she embraces her true identity
Megan, Abigail’s earnest friend whose commitment to liberal politics sometimes overshadows her ability to see Abigail clearly
Jennifer, Abigail’s older sister who has rebuilt her life to protect her sibling
A Nuanced Portrayal of “Woodworking”
The novel takes its title from a concept referenced early on—the practice of “woodworking,” or disappearing into stealth as a trans person, becoming so thoroughly integrated into society as your true gender that your trans identity becomes invisible, even forgotten. This concept becomes a through-line that connects all three protagonists:
Abigail dreams of escaping to a bigger city where she can “be just another girl on the street”
Erica fears the visibility that transition would force upon her
Brooke has achieved the ultimate “woodworking” success, but at tremendous personal cost
What elevates the novel is its refusal to present any single approach as inherently superior. St. James presents the desire to blend in as entirely understandable given the hostility trans people face, while also showing how isolation from community can exact a devastating toll. The characters must each find their own balance between safety and authenticity, connection and self-protection.
Structural and Stylistic Innovation
Structurally, Woodworking is divided into months from September through December, charting the progression of these intertwined lives across a pivotal autumn. St. James demonstrates impressive control of multiple viewpoints, using first-person for Abigail’s sections, third-person limited for Erica’s, and an innovative second-person for Brooke’s single extended chapter, which forms the emotional climax of the novel.
The writing shifts seamlessly between pathos and humor, often within the same scene. Abigail’s perspective in particular employs a distinctive voice rich with contemporary internet-influenced speech patterns and defensive sarcasm that feels authentic to a smart, wounded teenager in 2016. Her commentary often provides laugh-out-loud moments even in difficult circumstances:
“Erica is the person closest in age to me, which is incredibly depressing. Most of the people here are old, and they’re only just getting a chance to live.”
Some Minor Flaws Among the Brilliance
Despite its considerable strengths, Woodworking isn’t without flaws. Occasionally, conversations between characters feel too neatly constructed to communicate specific ideas about gender rather than emerging organically from the characters themselves. This is particularly noticeable in some of the support group scenes, where dialogue sometimes takes on a slightly didactic quality.
Additionally, while the small-town South Dakota setting is generally well-rendered, some secondary characters occasionally tip toward caricature, particularly in their negative reactions to trans characters. These moments stand out because St. James otherwise demonstrates such nuance in her character development.
The novel’s final chapters, while emotionally satisfying, resolve some plot threads with a neatness that doesn’t quite match the messy complexity that precedes them. A slightly more ambiguous conclusion might have better served the realism that characterizes the majority of the work.
A Landmark Contribution to Trans Literature
These minor criticisms aside, Woodworking represents a significant achievement and an important contribution to the growing body of trans literature. It joins works like Torrey Peters’ Detransition, Baby and Imogen Binnie’s Nevada (which St. James explicitly acknowledges as an influence in her author’s note) in presenting trans characters with depth, complexity, and humanity.
What sets Woodworking apart is its multi-generational perspective on trans experience and its setting in rural America rather than a coastal urban center. By exploring three different eras of transition—Brooke’s stealth existence beginning in the 1990s, Erica’s late-in-life awakening, and Abigail’s adolescent transition in the 2010s—St. James creates a kind of compressed history of trans feminine experience that highlights both progress and persistent challenges.
A Timely Novel with Universal Themes
Though set in 2016, Woodworking resonates powerfully with our current moment when trans rights are under unprecedented attack. In her author’s note, St. James directly addresses how conditions have worsened for trans people since the time of her narrative. Yet the novel never feels like a political tract; its politics emerge organically from characters dealing with the real consequences of others’ prejudice.
Beyond its importance as trans representation, Woodworking succeeds as a novel about universal human concerns: the search for identity, the yearning for connection, the complicated nature of family (both biological and chosen), and the courage required to live honestly. In Erica’s journey to accept herself, Abigail’s struggle to envision a future, and Brooke’s belated recognition of what she has sacrificed, readers of all backgrounds will find resonant emotional truths.
Verdict: A Remarkable Debut Not to Be Missed
Woodworking announces Emily St. James as a major literary talent with a distinctive voice and profound insights into human nature. This moving, funny, and deeply intelligent novel deserves a wide readership, not just for its timely exploration of trans experience but for its universal emotional truths about identity, belonging, and the courage required to live authentically. It’s not just one of the best debuts of the year; it’s one of the best novels, period.