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A review by steph_mcclure
Imogen, Obviously by Becky Albertalli
4.0
Coming-of-age stories have always held a special place in my heart, and *Imogen, Obviously* is no exception. It's a story that I wish I had more access to when I was younger, and it was recommended to me by a friend who thought I would connect with Imogen’s journey.
At its core, *Imogen, Obviously* explores the complexity of identity—especially the concept of defining our sexuality when we’re young. Imogen labels herself as "hopelessly straight" in a way that feels almost self-defeating, and yet, it’s also reflective of how many of us felt growing up. We were often told we needed to find the perfect label to understand ourselves, but none of those labels ever seemed to fit quite right. It’s like trying on shoes that are just too tight, and you’re left feeling frustrated and unsure of where to turn next. Imogen’s journey is a deeply relatable one—especially for anyone who, like me, grew up navigating their identity in an environment that wasn’t particularly open to exploration.
Imogen is about to start college and is an active ally to the queer community, with her sister and two best friends all being out and proud. She attends Pride, engages in queer discourse, and surrounds herself with queer communities. And yet—she’s never kissed anyone, dated anyone, or even truly considered the possibility that her "hopelessly straight" label might be inaccurate. This book’s strength lies in how gently it nudges Imogen toward questioning that label, all while exploring how society's pressures and her own assumptions shape her understanding of herself.
As a bisexual woman who didn’t come to terms with my own identity until adulthood—partly due to cultural influences and growing up in a very Christian household—I saw so much of my younger self in Imogen. Her confusion, the red flags she ignored, and the feeling of waiting for an outside force to define her made me think of all the times I questioned how I would ever "know for sure," despite the obvious signals I, too, was receiving. Albertalli beautifully captures the slow, often painful process of self-discovery, showing that it’s not about finding the perfect label but about giving ourselves permission to explore and grow.
Imogen’s journey isn’t just about figuring out her sexuality—it’s about understanding her wants and needs, and learning to separate her own desires from the expectations of those around her. Her growth feels so organic, and the romance that blooms in the background is sweet, tender, and hopeful, without overshadowing her personal journey. The book emphasizes that coming to terms with who you are isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience, and for Imogen, it’s a process filled with both joy and uncertainty.
One element I particularly appreciated was how the book subtly critiques the pressure to "come out" or declare your sexuality, which has been a recurring theme in queer literature. It emphasizes the fluidity of identity and the reality that not everyone will have a single "aha" moment that defines them forever. Imogen’s story is a reminder that we are allowed to take our time, that labels can change, and that the journey to self-acceptance is uniquely personal.
In the end, *Imogen, Obviously* gave me everything I needed in a queer coming-of-age story: love, understanding, acceptance, and hope. But beyond that, it reminded me of my own journey, of how important it is to give ourselves the space to explore without the pressure of societal expectations. It’s a nuanced, thoughtful story about finding yourself, and for that, I give it 4 out of 5 stars!
At its core, *Imogen, Obviously* explores the complexity of identity—especially the concept of defining our sexuality when we’re young. Imogen labels herself as "hopelessly straight" in a way that feels almost self-defeating, and yet, it’s also reflective of how many of us felt growing up. We were often told we needed to find the perfect label to understand ourselves, but none of those labels ever seemed to fit quite right. It’s like trying on shoes that are just too tight, and you’re left feeling frustrated and unsure of where to turn next. Imogen’s journey is a deeply relatable one—especially for anyone who, like me, grew up navigating their identity in an environment that wasn’t particularly open to exploration.
Imogen is about to start college and is an active ally to the queer community, with her sister and two best friends all being out and proud. She attends Pride, engages in queer discourse, and surrounds herself with queer communities. And yet—she’s never kissed anyone, dated anyone, or even truly considered the possibility that her "hopelessly straight" label might be inaccurate. This book’s strength lies in how gently it nudges Imogen toward questioning that label, all while exploring how society's pressures and her own assumptions shape her understanding of herself.
As a bisexual woman who didn’t come to terms with my own identity until adulthood—partly due to cultural influences and growing up in a very Christian household—I saw so much of my younger self in Imogen. Her confusion, the red flags she ignored, and the feeling of waiting for an outside force to define her made me think of all the times I questioned how I would ever "know for sure," despite the obvious signals I, too, was receiving. Albertalli beautifully captures the slow, often painful process of self-discovery, showing that it’s not about finding the perfect label but about giving ourselves permission to explore and grow.
Imogen’s journey isn’t just about figuring out her sexuality—it’s about understanding her wants and needs, and learning to separate her own desires from the expectations of those around her. Her growth feels so organic, and the romance that blooms in the background is sweet, tender, and hopeful, without overshadowing her personal journey. The book emphasizes that coming to terms with who you are isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience, and for Imogen, it’s a process filled with both joy and uncertainty.
One element I particularly appreciated was how the book subtly critiques the pressure to "come out" or declare your sexuality, which has been a recurring theme in queer literature. It emphasizes the fluidity of identity and the reality that not everyone will have a single "aha" moment that defines them forever. Imogen’s story is a reminder that we are allowed to take our time, that labels can change, and that the journey to self-acceptance is uniquely personal.
In the end, *Imogen, Obviously* gave me everything I needed in a queer coming-of-age story: love, understanding, acceptance, and hope. But beyond that, it reminded me of my own journey, of how important it is to give ourselves the space to explore without the pressure of societal expectations. It’s a nuanced, thoughtful story about finding yourself, and for that, I give it 4 out of 5 stars!