Manhunt

If you're a queer person scared of sex, and the harsh realities of being queer in a world that hates you, you shouldn't read this book. If you think all queer rep needs to be "good rep" (whatever that means), this book is not for you. If rape and gore scares you, the splatterpunk GENRE is not for you (this has no more graphic rape/gore than any other splatterpunk novel I've read, y'all are just sensitive to trans characters being raped-- and you should sit with that for a while, because even if it scares you, it happens and it's worth discussing the complex feelings around it).

Fran is stupid, Beth is self-loathing, and Robbie is avoidant. All of these traits are just normal human traits, shown on transgender characters. They are not the ONLY traits these characters possess-- many are just being hypercritical because of the nature of the book. Even if you yourself are trans, acknowledge that your standard for media produced BY trans and GNC people is HIGHER than cishet folk. As if you expect them to be "better" because they are trans.

The book is hard to read. I wouldn't call the rape scenes "graphic," just blunt. [Character] is raped and it's horrific. That's what rape is. Horrific. Fading to black doesn't capture that same discomfort. And, whether you babyfashes like it or not, art is MADE to make you uncomfortable. If you can't handle that, step out of those spaces. I also recommend more reviewers do some research on "degenerate art," the terminology and what was produced, and by who. So maybe don't use that word so flippantly.

There are aspects of this book I hate. Fran is stupid, straight up. She gives "dumb blonde" energy. She knowingly gets into a makeout sesh with one of the fucking TERFs, while she's "dating" Robbie. It's noted that she does what she wants, and if you tell her that it's a bad idea or question her, she'll make you the bad guy. Fran ha spissed me off for the entire duration of the book I have read thus far.

Beth seems to think of herself as a "brick." There's a fantastic quote at the start of part 3 that explains this terminology. She's filled with self loathing and spite, and is sick of being mistreated by other queers. It's well-known that "theyfabs" (whether or not I think it's a great word is irrelevant, because I knew exactly the kind of person the author was talking about when I read it), AFAB people using they/them pronouns who make a big deal out of BEING AFAB ("women/nb people welcome! but nb AMAB and trans women are not" is a common one), are pretty rotten towards trans women. Gretchen being catty towards them in her book and on her Twitter is a product of a consistent behavior displayed by queers who get a moment to step out of the pool of oppression. It doesn't mean they aren't suffering, but it's a completely different world. I think Beth is partially an embodiment of that frustration. She suffers similarly before T-day, being kicked out by those who claimed to be "accepting of all genders/sexualities," and has been deeply hurt by it. When those who are supposed to be your allies treat you like a monster, you're going to be pretty damn spiteful.

Robbie, for me, was not terribly relatable. He's avoidant, got to grow up doing "boy things," and has some pretty weird bits of inner dialog. I can't relate to him, as a fellow trans man, so I didn't enjoy reading his sections. However, he did remind me of quite a few of my transmasc friends, so my inability to relate is not equated to him being a good or bad character.

This book discusses difficult-- but very real-- topics that many queer authors (you know which) refuse to acknowledge. Gretchen acknowledges them. And you know what? They're scary, they're difficult, and they're degenerate. As far as I'm concerned, that's what art is meant to be.

Edit: As of finishing the book, I realized how much I truly enjoyed the characters. The third part brings out everyone's best traits and worst flaws, and the love between them all is something rarely explored in more cisheteronormative works. Queer found family-- where found family started, mind you-- is something all its own. And, no matter how horrific the world around us is, no one can take that away from us.

Part three rocketed this up from 4 stars to 5, and Manhunt now proudly sits in my Favorites shelf.

Roiling cocktail of “what if Katniss Everdeen was trans?” 

Grotesque queer horror of the most beautiful and trashy variety. It is so rare to find something that so bluntly captures the trans experience, trans survival, love and gore wrapped in a scrapnel coated blanket. It is uncompromising, at times bordering on cruel, the accumulation of a thousand daily tragedies spilling out over a ceaseless apocalypse.

Within that pain are the pockets of hope that sustain us. The relationships and messy connections and bitter loyalty of communities continually rebuilding themselves because nobody else is going to save them. It is an uncertain future, but a future all the same.

Book itself is a close 4 stars. An interesting take on the zombie dystopia where the virus hooked to testosterone and men turned into savage animals (so basically a slow afternoon at FOX). The book though focuses on meaningful development and interactions between transfolx trying to survive, and the big baddie are TERFs turning into actual transcidial maniacs. Some issues are a bit of a too inconsistent storyline that is a bit jumpy too follow sometimes. Also, whenever two people meet they immediately start having sex, or at least thinkling about it, which quickly becomes gratuitous and then irritating.
One star added to balance out a bit the hordes of actual TERFs (Trans-Exclusionary Retro-Fascists, there is nothing radical or feminist about these scumfucks) having a sad seeing themselves represented appropriately as murderous Nazis in the book and rating-bombing Goodreads. And of course, fuck you, Goodreads, for not protecting people on your platform from them.

Perfect perfect perfect.

I had a whole thing I was going to self-consciously write here, but honestly I feel like I already put all my thoughts down in the notes section. Basically: I want more of this, and less self-congradulatory pastelcore YA nonsense. This book is a gift.

EDIT: Actually, no, a thing I want to say real quick.

I have been waiting a long time to read a book that tells me I am capable of harm. Not because I want to cause harm, but because the ability to cause harm is the hallmark of a thinking, fully-realized person interacting with any meaningful social environment. I am a person, therefore I am capable of harming other people. I do not want my representation to exist just to educate or comfort cis people, or exist only to educate or comfort in general; I don't want to be told I'm naturally good, or pure, or that I exist only to be hurt and rise above it, forgive, or choose not to.

I want to be held accountable, because that is the only way to be a good person: to choose to be better, knowing there is an alternative where you don't. This book accomplishes that, and for that it will always be deeply meaningful to me.

If you want to know how to write trans people for trans adults-- rather than for the benefit of cis people or the comfort of weary teenagers-- read this book.