A review by billie_visible
If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo
3.0
If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo opens with a scene familiar to many queer readers for generations past. Timidly, Amanda arrives to greet her father for the first time in years, an awkward reunion heavily weighted by the pain of the unspoken: abandonment, abuse, and rejection.
Yet from the onset, there is a clear light at the end of the tunnel. Their reunion marks a turning point in their relationship, as Amanda moves in with her father following the Obligatory-Low that marks any suicide survivor’s life. For even in his hesitation, his discomfort, there is a sense that he sees her. While he murmurs statements like “I’m old fashioned” and Amanda reminds him that her name is now in fact Amanda, and no longer Andrew, the legal name on her birth certificate, it feels that her father grapples less with the fact that a woman now stands before him, and more the fact that a woman who he was never there, for now, stands before him. His awkwardness is rooted led in acceptance. He’s resigned, the details in the book revealing there’s no doubt Amanda is who she has always been. Instead, he’s embarrassed about himself, angry at being faced with his own failings and a daughter who hasn’t been broken by them.
Amanda’s story is altogether both unique and familiar, playing into the arcs of common issues present among lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals, transgender and nonbinary individuals, and teenagers in the throes of romance. Yet in its essence, Russo’s novel buries these themes deep, swaddled into a Hallmark-movie-worthy YA-read that made me brutally aware that I’d never actually read a teenage romance before that wasn’t a subset of the fantasy/sci-fi genre.
The formula is rather simple: just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. Girl meets boy. Boy and girl bond over some she’s not like other girls moment (it’s Star Wars and Neil Gaiman). Girl and boy catch feelings. Girl and boy fall and love. Girl and boy have some sort of emotional hangup that could be resolved by a single conversation that won’t happen because that would negate the plot of the book. Drama happens because of the lack of said conversation. Drama resolves. Happily ever after. Cue don’t you, forget about me…
There are a few mild curveballs Russo throws our way to keep us on our toes, stereotypes she occasionally swaps around and paths taken unexpectedly. Her “baby steps” approach to Amanda’s character as a transgender teen is likely the most surprising thing about the book, albeit understanding, a choice made to help her connect better with a cisgender audience and reach a wider swath of audience (no book bannings for this author!).
Amanda is written as someone who began hormone treatment young and has had both top and bottom surgery which are not common as a whole in the U.S. at only 16% of the population as of 2022.
Throughout the trauma and pain of Amanda’s life, she experiences a well-deserved happy ending that young LGBTQIA+ members and allies have come to expect departed from generations of depictions of trauma. I cannot help but wonder what this book would feel like to read as a trans person, the privilege Amanda is granted for “passing”, and the sheer financial implications it imposes on a family that doesn’t even seem to be well-off. Ultimately, her life is all that matters, as is the idea that perhaps in the hands of a young reader, this book could impose a ray of hope.
Yet from the onset, there is a clear light at the end of the tunnel. Their reunion marks a turning point in their relationship, as Amanda moves in with her father following the Obligatory-Low that marks any suicide survivor’s life. For even in his hesitation, his discomfort, there is a sense that he sees her. While he murmurs statements like “I’m old fashioned” and Amanda reminds him that her name is now in fact Amanda, and no longer Andrew, the legal name on her birth certificate, it feels that her father grapples less with the fact that a woman now stands before him, and more the fact that a woman who he was never there, for now, stands before him. His awkwardness is rooted led in acceptance. He’s resigned, the details in the book revealing there’s no doubt Amanda is who she has always been. Instead, he’s embarrassed about himself, angry at being faced with his own failings and a daughter who hasn’t been broken by them.
Amanda’s story is altogether both unique and familiar, playing into the arcs of common issues present among lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals, transgender and nonbinary individuals, and teenagers in the throes of romance. Yet in its essence, Russo’s novel buries these themes deep, swaddled into a Hallmark-movie-worthy YA-read that made me brutally aware that I’d never actually read a teenage romance before that wasn’t a subset of the fantasy/sci-fi genre.
The formula is rather simple: just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world. Girl meets boy. Boy and girl bond over some she’s not like other girls moment (it’s Star Wars and Neil Gaiman). Girl and boy catch feelings. Girl and boy fall and love. Girl and boy have some sort of emotional hangup that could be resolved by a single conversation that won’t happen because that would negate the plot of the book. Drama happens because of the lack of said conversation. Drama resolves. Happily ever after. Cue don’t you, forget about me…
There are a few mild curveballs Russo throws our way to keep us on our toes, stereotypes she occasionally swaps around and paths taken unexpectedly. Her “baby steps” approach to Amanda’s character as a transgender teen is likely the most surprising thing about the book, albeit understanding, a choice made to help her connect better with a cisgender audience and reach a wider swath of audience (no book bannings for this author!).
Amanda is written as someone who began hormone treatment young and has had both top and bottom surgery which are not common as a whole in the U.S. at only 16% of the population as of 2022.
Throughout the trauma and pain of Amanda’s life, she experiences a well-deserved happy ending that young LGBTQIA+ members and allies have come to expect departed from generations of depictions of trauma. I cannot help but wonder what this book would feel like to read as a trans person, the privilege Amanda is granted for “passing”, and the sheer financial implications it imposes on a family that doesn’t even seem to be well-off. Ultimately, her life is all that matters, as is the idea that perhaps in the hands of a young reader, this book could impose a ray of hope.