Woodworking by Emily St. James is a novel for mere mortals.
It takes place in the shadow of the 2016 presidential election, and of all the goings-on of those few months, of all the things said and seen; Woodworking is set in rural South Dakota, against a backdrop of bad community theatre and doomed local progressive political campaigns. It’s about two losers in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing of importance.
Needless to say, I fell head over heels for the cowardly, awkward, big-hearted nobodies at the center of Woodworking. Erica, an English teacher, is trans, deeply closeted, newly divorced, and worst of all, still in love with her ex-wife. Abigail is Erica’s loud, abrasive, seventeen-year-old student, the only other trans woman in their podunk town—and, to my horror and delight, Erica’s guide through early transition.
Their friendship is hilarious, moving, and beautiful—and so, so harrowing to watch. Woodworking accurately captures the relationship between newly hatched trans women and their trans elders, the relationship between troubled students and their English teachers—and it explores the uncomfortable but fascinating overlap between the two.
The prose is breezy and unobtrusive, with hardly any frills or flourishes. The point of view alternates between Erica, whose sections are written in third person, and Abigail, whose sections are written in first person. It’s not a difficult read—unless you struggle with second-hand embarrassment. Emily St. James loves to embarrass her characters, which is where the novel finds most of its ample humor.
This is not an action-packed plot. Much of the tension comes from misunderstandings and miscommunications. This may turn off some readers, but I’d like to note that nothing here felt contrived; characters have reasons (be they good or bad) for concealing and revealing information.
The novel is sapphic—Erica is a lesbian, and Erica’s relationship with her ex-wife plays a large part in the novel, but their romance-slash-friendship is firmly subplot territory. Instead, the novel centers Erica’s and Abigail’s friendship, and through that friendship, explores the joy of being known—and the temptation of simply disappearing.
Woodworking is a plucky little must-read. It’s a quiet rebuttal to nihilism and hopelessness. It’s a celebration of forming and maintaining relationships, imperfect though they might be. Erica and Abigail are pathetic, embarrassing people, and they matter so, so much to all the other pathetic, embarrassing people in their lives.
It’s a good reminder.
