This is literally the first three pages of the book. Nevada’s opening pages sum up everything that makes it so special: it’s a sex scene that finds our disaffected narrator, Maria, being choked by her girlfriend, Steph, as she disassociates and neurotically contemplates the perils of domestic life, her frustration with her genitals, and the right way to fake an orgasm. I encountered the novel in 2018 on the recommendation of Torrey Peters and was captivated from the first page, which is excerpted here along with the novel’s first three chapters. Since then, despite going out of print, worn copies of its iconic orange cover have been passed, and lost, between thousands of friends, lovers, and frenemies. Originally published in 2013 by the brilliant, and now-shuttered, Topside Press, Nevada shattered whatever expectation of what trans literature “ought” to do. For a disproportionate amount of my trans friends, it’s Imogen Binnie’s Nevada. For me, it was James Baldwin’s explanation of the significance of eye contact between queer men in Giovanni’s Room and Jonathan Groff attempting to prepare for gay sex in an episode of Looking (I know, leave me alone). It can be both deeply unnerving and extremely affirming, a recognition of being included in a community bound by shared experience beyond rainbow flags. Most queer people remember the moment, or moments, they first experienced a piece of art that accurately, and honestly, reflected their own life back at them.
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