Lewis Hancox' graphic novel recounts the emotional, physical, and sexual experiences of his early transition. It's charming and insightful, and precisely the sort of book that irrational people will object to sight unseen. Yes, there are cartoons of naked bits. There are also earnest portrayals of family and friendship during a defining time in the author's life.
Narrative duties are shared between present day Lewis (beard, backwards ballcap, Spicoli-style Vans) and teenage Lois (protean self-inflicted haircuts, clothes as camouflage). Sharing the task puts the reader at ease; we know this story, to quote Hancox' dad, "will be reet."
Throughout, Hancox uses light humor to acknowledge deeper struggles. His younger self used to punch herself in the chest to discourage breast growth. I punished my body for decades with drink, smoking, and endurance sports for being "wrong." An episode at a high school party illustrates how easy it is to fall into substance abuse when your attention is focused on your presentation (p. 123 made me laugh out loud in shameful recognition of my younger self)
But the spine of this narrative is Hancox' relationship with his mother and father. On the one hand, they're parodies. Over the course of nearly 300 pages, mom wears her heart-decorated housecoat. Dad's cig never goes out. But the love and depth of these people is unmistakable. The Hancox character is continuously surprised by his parents' acceptance and support.
And watch for the caption, "Gramps dropping truth bombs." I had to stop, close the book for a minute and bask in the joy of it.
The St. Hell of the title is St. Helens, Merseyside, about an hour west of Manchester, UK. As a former language teacher, I loved being immersed in the dialogue. In fact, I'm off to find a ham buttie for lunch right now. You should do the same, then go out and buy this graphic novel.
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