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rainbowbookworm 's review for:
Woodworking
by Emily St. James
Emily St. James’s Woodworking is a deeply felt, sharply observed debut about identity, community, and the surprising ways we find and sustain each other—especially when the world around us insists on misunderstanding who we are. It’s a novel that brims with emotional texture and interior insight, and one that defies conventional expectations at nearly every turn.
I checked out the audiobook on a whim, expecting to listen to half one day and the rest the next. Instead, I couldn’t stop. Narratively, it’s propulsive without being showy. I found myself quickly absorbed by the central relationship between Erica, a closeted trans high school teacher, and Abigail, a politically outspoken teenage girl who has been navigating the world as visibly trans for much longer than she should have had to. Their dynamic is layered with power reversals, emotional risk, and unexpected grace. There’s a real tenderness in the way St. James allows them to influence and challenge one another without ever veering into sentimentality or melodrama.
As the novel progresses, there’s a reveal that launches the story into a somewhat chaotic finale—a kind of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink twist that I normally might find frustrating. But here, it didn’t dampen my connection to the characters or their arcs. The emotional groundwork laid throughout the novel kept it grounded, even as the pace accelerated.
The book also makes some bold formal choices in its audio production: the use of static to signal deadnaming is inventive, if inconsistently applied. That inconsistency is worth noting, especially for listeners for whom those moments are emotionally charged. Deadnaming happens within the text itself, so content warnings may be necessary for some readers.
That said, the book feels remarkably generous. Woodworking doesn’t promise a neatly resolved ending or a world free of cruelty. But it does offer a space for possibility. It’s a story where mentorship can come from a teenager, where healing might involve someone from your past, and where chosen family isn’t always separate from blood. It also gently acknowledges the real-life complications of being trans in public, particularly for those who work in schools or conservative spaces. Erica’s fears around visibility reminded me of the same fear I carried when I worked in a Catholic school and knew that being open about my identity could cost me everything.
Abigail, though, is the heart of the novel. Fierce, reluctant, emotionally intelligent, and startlingly funny—she reminded me of Maeve from Sex Education in the best possible way. The book shines brightest when we see the world through her eyes.
Woodworking made my heart race, melt, and ache. It reminded me of my own formative friendships and the people who helped me see myself more clearly. It’s not a fairy tale, but it’s full of hope. For anyone who has lived through the loneliness of not being seen—and for those who have finally found someone who sees them—this book is a gift.
I checked out the audiobook on a whim, expecting to listen to half one day and the rest the next. Instead, I couldn’t stop. Narratively, it’s propulsive without being showy. I found myself quickly absorbed by the central relationship between Erica, a closeted trans high school teacher, and Abigail, a politically outspoken teenage girl who has been navigating the world as visibly trans for much longer than she should have had to. Their dynamic is layered with power reversals, emotional risk, and unexpected grace. There’s a real tenderness in the way St. James allows them to influence and challenge one another without ever veering into sentimentality or melodrama.
As the novel progresses, there’s a reveal that launches the story into a somewhat chaotic finale—a kind of everything-but-the-kitchen-sink twist that I normally might find frustrating. But here, it didn’t dampen my connection to the characters or their arcs. The emotional groundwork laid throughout the novel kept it grounded, even as the pace accelerated.
The book also makes some bold formal choices in its audio production: the use of static to signal deadnaming is inventive, if inconsistently applied. That inconsistency is worth noting, especially for listeners for whom those moments are emotionally charged. Deadnaming happens within the text itself, so content warnings may be necessary for some readers.
That said, the book feels remarkably generous. Woodworking doesn’t promise a neatly resolved ending or a world free of cruelty. But it does offer a space for possibility. It’s a story where mentorship can come from a teenager, where healing might involve someone from your past, and where chosen family isn’t always separate from blood. It also gently acknowledges the real-life complications of being trans in public, particularly for those who work in schools or conservative spaces. Erica’s fears around visibility reminded me of the same fear I carried when I worked in a Catholic school and knew that being open about my identity could cost me everything.
Abigail, though, is the heart of the novel. Fierce, reluctant, emotionally intelligent, and startlingly funny—she reminded me of Maeve from Sex Education in the best possible way. The book shines brightest when we see the world through her eyes.
Woodworking made my heart race, melt, and ache. It reminded me of my own formative friendships and the people who helped me see myself more clearly. It’s not a fairy tale, but it’s full of hope. For anyone who has lived through the loneliness of not being seen—and for those who have finally found someone who sees them—this book is a gift.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Cursing, Deadnaming, Emotional abuse, Homophobia, Transphobia, Religious bigotry
Minor: Suicide attempt, Outing