Russo hopes her book will show trans youth that life contains all through-lines, especially happy ones, regardless of the fact that when your brethren are represented in the media, they’re mostly in a state of suicidal ideation or doing sex work. But in the trans narrative it’s actually pretty radical. To the uninitiated, this might not seem all that revolutionary: a romance that ends happily plus gives you all the feelz. I want cis youth to take away that their trans peers are human beings just like them who worry about bills and grades and love and just want to get by.” Russo herself is a trans woman from Chattanooga, Tennessee, who is a fan of genre fiction that “unfolds like a flower.” She wanted to write a book where “trans youth take away that it's possible to have friends and family who protect and cherish you, a love life, and meaningful hopes and dreams for the future. Talk about hope! This seemingly simple story has secured Russo a spot in the romance pantheon and earned her well-deserved lucre and accolades in the process.
Meanwhile, I’ve just finished Meredith Russo’s bestselling, “If I was Your Girl,” a beautifully written, YA contemporary romance in which Amanda, the trans protagonist, is both pretty and popular and goes out with a hot, nice football player. She shrugs and I order some vegan noodles. During the Great Depression, the only two industries that thrived were escapist entertainment and private schools because they help people crawl through the shrapnel of compromise and disappointment,” he informs the waitress. “Look, I always say, romance is the literature of hope. Though it’s winter, he’s wearing a light blue tee-shirt of a unicorn shitting a rainbow and is slightly sweaty.īut we’re not just here for the buns. We take our seats at the counter by the window and Damon immediately calls the waitress over for a quadruple order of buns.
“Mary!” Damon calls, interrupting himself to wave me over, his booming voice causing several diners to startle and glance in our direction before turning back to their ramen. From the expression on Geoff’s handsome face, blank yet slightly perturbed, the way one might appear receiving sudden news of a rent hike, you can tell that he’s heard this soliloquy before and he’s hoping it might segue into another topic, like the Sanctuary on “The Walking Dead.” “We thought Dubya was a credulous moron until the advent of the orange sock filled with fermented rat semen,” Damon bellows, as though the two of them were home alone instead of in a crowded restaurant in the East Village famous for its pork buns.
Geoff nods as Damon makes stabbing gestures in the air with his novel for emphasis. Romance author Damon Suede, holding a copy of “Last Exit to Brooklyn” in one hand and “Romance and the Erotics of Property” in the other, impatiently waits in line at Momofuku with his husband, forensic investigator and writer Geoff Symon.
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