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Original Review at Before We Go Blog: https://beforewegoblog.com/review-the-transition-logan-ashley-kisner/

Logan-Ashley Kisner’s work has been on my radar since the publication of his YA horror debut, Old Wounds, but although I’ve greatly enjoyed his non-fiction explorations of horror and transness on screen (and have cited him in my own articles and dissertation), it’s taken me till the publication of his trans werewolf novel, The Transition, to get my ass in gear and read his fiction. Like Old Wounds before it, The Transition is a work of Young Adult horror that centres trans identity and experience. Given Kisner’s academic background in Film Studies, it’s no surprise that The Transition situates itself within the tradition of cinematic rather than literary depictions of transness and horror, and it newly incorporates transness into a vast body of teen horror fiction and film. The Transition is particularly indebted to the body horror and werewolf subgenres, and it’s easy to imagine it making the jump to the silver screen (though with lycanthropic allergies being what they are, maybe we should make that the platinum screen instead). Although I’m aware from Kisner’s own non-fiction of the influence the Ginger Snaps series has had on his work and thought, I’d most recommend The Transition to fans of Teen Wolf (both the original movie and the TV series).

One of the many ways The Transition leans into and embraces its generic origins is in its plotting. There’s a lot about The Transition that feels standard, but if that’s the case, it feels intentional and self-aware. Those aspects of the work that are anything but standard are specifically the ones related to the protagonist’s identity. Through this approach, The Transition opens up the classic teen horror story to trans characters and readers. The novel follows Hunter, a transmasc teenager who’s recovering from top surgery while navigating interpersonal conflict with his friends and father, dysphoria, and transphobic sexual harassment from the local bully. When Hunter is attacked and infected by a werewolf while walking the woods outside his house, it’s left to Hunter and the two best friends he’s secretly in love with–Mars and Gabe–to find a cure before Hunter’s transformation becomes permanent. Critical to The Transition‘s emotional core is a lingering conflict between Hunter and his former best friend, Riley. When Hunter and Riley were fourteen years old, Riley rejected Hunter after Hunter was sexually harassed by Riley’s boyfriend, Ethan. Riley claims that she doesn’t believe Hunter’s account, despite the fact that Ethan continues to bully Hunter. Hunter’s ongoing conflict with Ethan, his regrets and frustrations concerning Riley, and his romantic interest in Gabe and Mars are critical to The Transition‘s emotional stakes, and lend the novel a powerful weight. Each of these conflicts–internal and external–develops alongside Hunter’s growing sense of his supernatural connection with the werewolf who bit him.

As a trans author, scholar, and reviewer, I was particularly impressed by Kisner’s rendering of uniquely trans experiences. From the description of the aftermath (and aftercare) of Hunter’s top surgery, to the way the novel’s trans characters wrestle with self-loathing and the rejection of trans identity, Kisner’s depiction feels raw and true. Scenes of transphobia, likewise, are relatable rather than caricaturish, and there were many points during my reading when I found myself nodding along with Hunter’s experiences both of himself and a largely transphobic society. A big part of The Transition is its exploration of the innate horrors of the body, and particularly the parallel between a not-uncommon self-perception of the trans body as subreal, and the potential of reconstructing oneself along intentionally monstrous lines. While other recent trans monster narratives (e.g. Soraya E. Quinn’s Teeth, Lee Mandelo’s The Woods All Black, Rien Grey’s The Scales of Seduction, Dani Finn’s Grey Angel, etc ) position monstrosity as self-affirming, The Transition offers a different perspective. Here, the choice to become monstrous is instead a metaphor for the refusal to live a trans life and the danger of retreating into toxic, self-isolating, and self-annihilating behaviours. Neither use of the figure of the monster is correct or superior, rather, they each represent potentially fruitful ways of interrogating the relationship between transness, monstrosity, and self-expression.

Some of that self-expression emerges, in The Transition, as a debilitating anger. Hunter himself is a deeply angry, deeply wounded individual, even before a ravenous beast takes a chomp out of his arm. Although Hunter’s father and two best friends are well-meaning and incredibly supportive, he has a tendency to lash out at them, and I can’t say that Hunter’s an easy character to get along with. As someone whose anxieties tend to manifest more as depression, stepping into the shoes of a protagonist–even a teenage protagonist–who’s more likely to yell at or argue with someone offering aid than to thank them was a challenging (though not unrewarding) experience. That said, Hunter comes across as a realistic teenage protagonist and the reasons for his anger make sense given the context. He’s well-drawn, and I can imagine that for a great many trans teens picking up The Transition, Hunter will be an important character, whose on-page struggles with both outward and inward-directed rage are relatable.

For me, the stars of the book, however, were Hunter’s best friend, Gabe, and another trans man named Lawrence. More than just the dutiful, protective friend, Gabe comes across as someone whose depth of character is disguised by his relative quietness. There’s also a meaningful yet subtle narrative associated with Gabe that I thought was exceptionally well-handled by Kisner. There were just enough hints that revelations associated with the character felt well-earned and satisfying, yet it was never something that felt unnecessarily drawn out just for the sake of it. While I might have preferred that those revelations were addressed earlier by the text in order for the fallout conversations between the characters to carry more weight and enjoy more room to breathe, I was ultimately pleased with how Gabe’s development shook out. Gabe is also a very easy character to like. Lawrence, in contrast, is incredibly messy, but in a way that satisfies, and some of my favourite passages in the book were from Lawrence’s perspective. It’s probably the adult reader in me–so take my experience with a grain of salt–but there was a level of texture, nuance, and resonance to Lawrence’s voice that I did find myself yearning for from the novel as a whole. Much of this will be down to The Transition‘s target demographic, rather than any fault with the book itself, but where Hunter–despite a clear personality–occasionally feels a little surface-level, Lawrence feels like a demonstration of the kind of rich character work I was hoping for based on Kisner’s non-fiction. Although the work as a whole is perfectly well-written, with clear, accessible prose, Lawrence’s chapters were where I really got a sense that Kisner can write. Again, I suspect this is a facet of my age and personal tastes rather than a failing of the novel. If anything, the fact that Kisner is able to switch between a simpler narrative voice and the more stylized Lawrence passages showcases the command he has over his work.

While The Transition is an impressive book in many respects, and while I personally enjoyed a lot of what Kisner engages with in terms of trans identity, certain aspects of the novel feel unbalanced. Where the book really sings is in its middle portion–a sizeable chunk of the book, to be clear, and well worth engaging with, even if the opening doesn’t initially grab you. Here, Kisner digs more deeply into Hunter’s past and the emotional richness of his interpersonal conflicts. The werewolf element, which I had expected based on Kisner’s background to be the most powerful element of the book, feels less critical to the story Kisner is telling. Aspects of the ending, though frenetic and intense, didn’t quite land for me how I was hoping, and while the Lawrence chapters brought a delicious grit to the page, elsewhere I was surprised by the straightforwardness of style and atmosphere. The premise of The Transition is so full of promise that I think I just wanted more from it than was reasonable to expect–more layers, a willingness to either get more visceral or, conversely, to engage more with the camp, high school melodrama of some of its forebears. All that said, there’s a lot that Kisner does exceptionally well, and it may be the case that as a reader of primarily adult fiction I’m bringing an invalid set of expectations to the work. I did ultimately enjoy The Transition, and I’m especially eager to see whether Kisner will bring his obvious skill to the adult horror scene.

The Transition is undeniably a good book and an easy read–accessible, polished, and clearly written, with important themes at its heart. I’ll certainly be purchasing copies of it for trans teen family members and get the sense that it will resonate most with a younger demographic who are truly in the thick of the conflicts and feelings that Kisner explores. Certain aspects of the plot are likely to appeal no matter your age–Kisner’s treatment of Riley and Hunter’s fractured friendship really resonated with me, and Lawrence’s desperate attempts to wrestle with life in a transphobic world are particularly–if sadly–relevant to our present moment. Beyond this, it’s incredibly exciting to see trans authors directly engaging with horror and the monstrous, becoming a louder voice in genres that have for too long been eager to talk about us without speaking with us.