It's unsurprisingly self-published, though it tries to obfuscate it a little by creating a one-person publishing house:
I skimmed the book, and the portrayal of TERFs is hilariously awful. This book is in "so bad it's good" territory, I couldn't stop laughing.
Blair Marshall was twenty-seven, five-five, drove a 2016 Chevy Malibu, and lived with her significant other, a thirty-eight-year-old woman named Naomi Hoffman in the north valley off Happy Valley Road. She had good credit, a couple thousand dollars in the bank, and ran a nonprofit organization named Womyn Born Womyn whose mission was spreading harmful lies about transgender people.
In her mug shot, her feminine features and long blond hair belied a stony expression.
In the past year, Marshall’s little nonprofit hate group had tried to push a bill through the state legislature that would have forced trans people to use public restrooms based on their assigned sex at birth. The measure died in committee only after someone pointed out that doing so would force trans guys—many of whom were bearded and muscular—to use the ladies’ rooms.
Not that trans guys were a threat to cisgender women either. But the bigots realized their proposed legislation would have had the opposite effect of “keeping men out of women-only spaces.”
And now Blair Marshall, self-appointed gender defender of the valley’s restrooms, had brutally murdered a Black transgender woman. Well, if she was going to continue her crusade against my community, she’d have to do it from behind bars. I intended to put her there.
That's right, she didn't just murder a trans woman but a
black trans woman.
A lot of this book is just characters sitting around and discussing how awful TERFs are. Over and over again. Repeating the same information the reader already knows and stressing how terrible and evil these TERFs are.
“Blair Marshall,” Becca explained. “She murdered a trans woman in a Save Mart restroom.”
“She’s a TERF.” I glared at the screen, which now showed the woman speaking at a rally. “She runs Womyn Born Womyn. Judge revoked her bail after she threatened a witness. Her bail bond agent hired me to drag her scrawny, transphobic ass back to jail. I’m hoping Z and Rodeo can pick her up before the weekend.”
“Now I remember.” Easton nodded with a frown. “What a horrible person.”
“The judge revoked her bail because she threatened a witness. Were you the witness?”
“Yeah. She threatened to out me to my bookkeeping clients if I testified against her.”
“Did you know each other prior to the incident?”
“Not personally. Before the attack, Blair had been trolling LaTonya online. I don’t know why Blair focused on her in particular. Maybe because Tonya was Black as well as trans. You know how those TERFs are. Most are as racist as they are transphobic.”
“So, no idea where she might be hiding?”
“Ha! I wish. If I did, you’d be the first person I’d tell. I’m not normally a violent person, but I hope she dies a slow, painful death.”
“Maybe you should let Drake have [this job]. Sure, he’s an eejit, but at least Marshall and her TERF Nazis would go after him instead of you. In a few days, we’ll be flying out to the Keys, leaving all this shite behind us.”
I shook my head. “Oh no. You don’t understand these people. Now that they know I’m trans, they’re going to keep coming after me like a pack of rabid dogs. They pretend they’re these woke feminists, but in reality, they’re no different than the wing nuts on the far right. Just a bunch of fucking bullies who get off on hurting people more vulnerable than them. And they are relentless. Me turning over this job to Drake won’t stop them coming after me.”
A thinly veiled Rowling reference appears:
"I saw on Twitter that Hannah Jakes has gone full TERF.”
I turned to them, feeling like yet another shoe had dropped. “Are you serious?”
“Afraid so. She posted a link to a right-wing blog claiming how kids are getting brainwashed into thinking they’re trans, and that allowing them to transition is child abuse. The usual transphobic straw man arguments and gaslighting bullshit.”
“Why would she do that? Her Spellbound series has such diverse characters.”
Becca put a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, but even a lot of her so-called diverse characters were problematic. A lot of harmful stereotypes. Butch Meyers, the token lesbian character, was always hitting on straight girls. And Pedro Garcia, the only Latinx character in the entire series, is the son of the school’s groundskeeper. Because apparently landscaping is the only thing my people know how to do. At least in her mind.”
I sighed. “You’re not wrong. I’m still disappointed. Why do people have to be such shits?”
The TERFs themselves barely get any screentime or dialogue, which is just about the only part of their portrayal that's true to life. When they do speak, it's, well...
She put her hands on her hips. “I recognize you. You’re that tranny bounty hunter who was featured in Phoenix Living a few years back.”
My street was clogged with a chanting mob of people, some of whom carried signs that said things like Fuck Your Pronouns, Trannyism Is Child Abuse, Sorry about Your Dick, and No Men in Womyn’s Spaces. I squeezed the Gray Ghost through the crush of crazed protestors and TV crews into my driveway. As I pulled in, I spotted the words “Tranny Perv” painted on our front door.
Nary a TiM or a TiF to be found in their vocabulary, always tranny lol
On the rare occasion they do speak, their arguments are unsurprisingly made of straw, but what's funny is that the author does not trust the reader to figure out why these obviously bad arguments are bad, and always follows them up with long screeds of standard troon talking points. Behold as our protagonist infiltrates the Womyn born Womyn, because she/her of course passes flawlessly:
A woman in her thirties with a teal-blue side-shave haircut and a pleasant face came down the hallway. She immediately set off my gaydar. “Ms. Windsor?”
“Yes, an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
“Elise Holbrook. Likewise. I like your pin.”
That was always a coded response between members of the queer community. Rather than asking, “Hey, are you gay?” we compliment one another’s subtle queer cues. A butch haircut, a rainbow bracelet, a queer pride T-shirt. Although if this woman found out which letter in the LGBTQIA acronym I represented, she’d be less enthusiastic about talking with me.
I forced a blush. “Thanks. Bought it at Pride last year. Gotta represent, right?”
“Absolutely. Follow me back to my office.”
Her office was small but tidy. Framed photos of Holbrook, Marshall, and others attending various events decorated the wall. I recognized her standing underneath the Michigan Women’s Music Festival banner in one.
“What would you like to know?”
“How did you become a part of Womyn Born Womyn?”
“Blair got me into it. She and I are cousins.”
I studied her for a second and saw the resemblance in the eyes and nose. I hadn’t noticed it earlier because of the vastly different hairstyles.
“I told her about encountering a tranny in a women’s restroom at a Pink Trinkets concert. It really shook me up to see him there. I felt so unsafe.”
“Why, what happened? Did the trans person attack you?”
“No, he didn’t. But he was this big guy, must’ve been six-four. Prominent brow. No amount of makeup could hide that. It felt so invasive. I’m not transphobic. But he didn’t belong there. What was to keep him from raping me?”
I forced myself to ignore the deliberate misgendering and the insinuation that trans people were inherently violent or a threat to cis women. I had a role to play, so I swallowed my anger, hoping to get close to Marshall.
“And you told this to Blair?” I tried to sound empathetic.
“I did. She and I have always been close. She told me she was starting a local chapter of WBW to help protect the women in the valley. And to protect the kids.”
“The kids?”
“When some parent starts listening to the TRA propaganda—”
“TRA?”
“Sorry, the trans rights activists. They’re indoctrinating parents, who then convince their impressionable kids that they are trans. It’s nothing short of child abuse, forcing them to take hormones and undergo irreversible surgery. They’re kids, for Goddess’s sake.”
“Have you met with any of these children?”
“A few noncustodial parents have talked with us, explaining how their kids have been brainwashed.”
I went through a list of questions I’d come up with earlier that had enough of a trans-exclusionary, pseudo-rad-fem bent to elicit her sense of trust.
I learned that the paid staff of the organization was small. Only a half dozen people. The rest of the membership were volunteers who showed up to rallies, protests, and other events to spread their transphobic propaganda.
It was all I could do to play along while she went through the usual litany of bogus anti-trans conspiracies, absurd leaps of logic, straw man arguments, and disproven medical and psychological claims. I was impressed in an odd way. To the ignorant, they sounded totally legit until you started poking holes in them with facts based in science and reality.
No one had brainwashed me to be trans. I had known I was a girl since I was five. I was the one who had to convince my family, as is nearly always the case. And kids not allowed to transition too often committed suicide, especially when unsupportive parents resorted to conversion therapy to “fix” their queer kids. I was one of the lucky ones, having survived a suicide attempt and having supportive parents.
There's a whole subplot about the TERFs deepfaking a video of the protagonist being inappropriate with a child. As the novel progresses, our protagonist uncovers a shocking secret:
“Patriots of Liberty Caucus? They’re those far-right-wing plonkers who’re lobbying to make life miserable for queer people? What’s Marshall doing with that lot?”
I studied the screen further and recognized two bald, muscular men with a new-Nazi vibe. “Those two guys. They’re members of White Nation, the group responsible for the Piestewa Freeway bombing. I don’t know their names, but I recognize them from when I was pursuing one of their members a few years back.”
“I thought Womyn Born Womyn was a liberal feminist group,” Wong said. “What are they doing with members of White Nation and the Patriots of Liberty?”
“Beats the hell outta me.”
That's right! The TERFs have a secret alliance with the nazis! And then they team up to disrupt the protagonist's wedding. It's okay, though, she/her knows how to defend she/herself and gets to beat the shit out of a TERF:
A horde of people flooded into the clearing shouting “Leave Blair alone!” and “Trannies are perverts!” They carried signs that read “Trannies Go to Hell,” and “No Men in Dresses.”
Most of them were women, but a fair number of their ranks were men.
I felt like I would puke. Or pass out. Or puke and then pass out. But I tamped it down as a surge of adrenaline and fury blazed through my system.
“Oh fuck no!” I kicked off my heels and struggled to detach the train from my dress. I wasn’t letting these fuckers ruin my wedding.
Conor gripped my arm. “Let the cops handle it, love.”
My former colleagues at the Phoenix PD jumped up, flashing their badges to confront the rabble. The members of the Athena Sisterhood also joined the fray. But the haters with their signs and their chants flooded in like an invading army, outnumbering the bikers and the cops three to one.
“I can’t stand by while these assholes ruin my wedding.” I ripped the train from my gown and rushed into the melee.
I spotted Mandy Hudson and charged her. She swung at me with her homemade sign, but I ripped it out of her hands and hit her squarely on the side of the head. I tossed the sign aside and threw Hudson to the ground, flipping her onto her belly.
Instinctively, I reached for my cuffs, which weren’t there. I was in a wedding gown for pizza’s sake. Time to improvise.
She struggled to twist around onto her back, and I clocked her solidly on the nose. That seemed to stun her enough for me to pull the veil off my head and wrap five feet of tulle around her wrists.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” I growled into her ear. “I’m going to make you and your pathetic TERF trolls sorry you walked in here. Didn’t know I used to be a cop, huh? Or that I’m friends with a women’s motorcycle gang?”
“We have to protect women,” she muttered between sobs.
“You aren’t protecting anyone.” I shoved her hard into the wood chips that lined the paths of the greenhouse. “Trans people aren’t a threat to anyone. You’re the only threat here. You’re the ones making everyone less safe.”
“But the kids…”
But, before you start thinking this is all absurdly black and white, know that redemption for TERFs is possible! Meet Tanisha, who contacts the protagonist with an E-Mail:
Dear Ms. Ballou,
I saw your video. I’m sorry for the lies that WBW is telling about you and other trans people. I used to be a member of the group. I think I can help you find Blair. I want to help. Call me.
What made her realize TERFs were all wrong and evil?
“When I joined WBW several years ago, our mission was to protect women. I believed all the lies they told me. About how allowing trans woman into restrooms and locker rooms made us unsafe. That any man could claim to be trans and walk right in. I didn’t think we were being transphobic. I didn’t hate trans people. I didn’t know any. But they convinced me that trans people were crazy fetishists who posed a threat to real women.”
“Trans women are real women.”
“I know. That’s how they talked. When I was with them, I did and said a lot of horrible things, both online and off. I know I hurt a lot of innocent people.”
“Why are you helping me now? What changed your mind about trans people?”
“A few months ago, I met this amazing woman. Her name is Stacie.” She showed me a photo on her phone of her and another woman standing arm in arm. “After a couple of dates, she told me she was trans. I couldn’t believe it at first. She wasn’t like the stereotype, you know? She’s shorter than me, has a feminine voice. There was nothing masculine about her.”
“She’s lucky,” I said. “A lot of trans women don’t pass as cisgender.”
“I know. She explained that to me. But what really struck me was how sweet, gentle, and caring she was. Blair was always saying you could recognize trans women because no matter how good they looked, they had male energy. But Stacie isn’t like that. She’s more feminine than I am. She is truly a woman. That’s when I realized that all of this stuff Blair and Elise and the others were saying was nothing but hate and bullshit. They claimed to be woke radical feminists who cared about women, but in reality, they were nothing but a bunch of bullies looking for someone to hurt and feel superior to.”
That's right, she met a trans woman who was better at woman-ing than she and repented.
