Commentary: Quiver by Julia Watts
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Julia Watts' LAMBDA award-winning 2018 novel Quiver is an engrossing story about queerness, fundamentalist Christianity, and friendship. Ultimately, the book asks the question, "Can two people from totally opposite lifestyles, families, and cultures cultivate a genuine friendship?" In order not to spoil the book, I won't share the answer Julia Watts posits. But I can assure you that the journey to her answer is filled with tension, love, doubt, fear, moments of tenderness as well as pleasure.
Zo-- a gender-fluid teen-- moves out of Knoxville, TN out into the rural areas outside of Johnson City. There, Zo meets Libby, the eldest daughter of the fundamentalist Christian family next door. Despite the fact that both teens recognize how different they are, they both feel that the other sees them as they are; they share an unspoken understanding and this draws them closer together. The two families attempt to see past one another's differences and adorable friendships crop up between the mothers, Zo's little brother and Libby's little brother, and then, of course, Zo and Libby. But these budding friendships strain under the weight of their identities. How can you be friends with someone if they don't know who you really are? Zo wonders about this often, waiting for the time to tell Libby that not only is she queer in sexual orientation, but also in her gender identity. To avoid spoilers, I won't explain the plot any further!
This was the first book I've ever read with a main character whose identity resembles my own. Zo's queerness, reflected back at me from the page, reminded me so much of myself at her age, although, admittedly, I was far less confident and knowledgeable. However much Zo's story reminded me of my younger self, I found an even deeper sense of tenderness towards how Zo navigates her queerness in relation to other LGBTQIA+ folks.
Zo left behind her life in Knoxville to move with her family to the countryside. We soon learn that one of the reasons for this move was a recent breakup Zo went through, which affected her grades and her physical health. I know what you all might be thinking: A teenager going through a breakup? So what? Well, because it's bigger than that.
Zo recalls,
"Being a lesbian was really important to Hadley, and she wanted me to say that I was one too. But if I said I was a lesbian, I'd be saying I was a 100 percent girl who liked only other 100 percent girls, and I couldn't say that... She wanted to be with a woman, not with some amorphous thing, as she called me once when we were fighting."
Even within the LGBTQIA+ community, there are plenty of moments when Trans, gender fluid, genderqueer, non-binary, gender non-conforming, and agender folks have a hard time feeling loved, understood, cherished, and valued. "Am I queer enough?" or "Am I presenting my queerness in the right ways?" are questions that stab at our dignity, our sense of self, and our feeling of belonging. I feel this every day.
Like other queer people, a lot about who I am is assumed by people I meet or work with. And that's okay to a degree. Not everyone I stumble across needs to know everything about who I am. And, to be honest, I keep a lot of it to myself on purpose. I am married to a cis, straight man. Therefore, I am shielded from a lot of violence and pain that other trans folks experience. For this reason, I try to step back, not take up space, and find ways to support my community. But, if I'm being honest, this experience can be incredibly isolating. And, because I don't take up much space, people frequently assume I am cis myself and speak to that assumption openly. It hurts my feelings not because I hate when I present as a woman. I love the days and moments I feel like a woman just as much as I love the days and moments I feel like I exist outside the binary. Rather, this assumption hurts my feelings because it signals that folks don't know me and they don't really want to.
Reading Quiver, for these reasons and more, made me feel so much joy, made me feel seen, and made me feel queer enough. Quiver provided a story I could get sucked into not just because I am a book-lover, but because I am Trans and non-binary and I needed a place where that term is understood, where I don't have to explain myself, where I don't have to look into people's eyes and see blank, panicked confusion, as they try to hide the fact that they don't know what I mean when I say who I am and they don't have the guts or love to learn more. While reading Quiver I could just exist as myself. I could live and relax and cry and laugh as myself. That's an incredible gift.
Edit: While recently recommending this book to a friend, I gave an explanation as to what this book meant to me and why I was recommending it. I wanted to share that here too.
I highly recommend this book whenever you are in the mood for a powerfully optimistic young adult story. Tender, loving, and brave, this book reminds me of my own adolescence, growing up in a conservative, anti-gay environment. I had plenty of friends who I genuinely loved and cherished who were openly anti-gay and I had many conversations with them about it-- pushing them to be kind and loving even if they don’t understand something. I didn’t have a guidebook, I didn’t have adults helping me; all I had was my gut telling me what to do-- the love I felt for them guiding the way. Zo and Libby’s friendship reminds me of that exact same experience. At times, my efforts failed, but there were other times I succeeded. I needed stories like this when I was a teen; stories to encourage me that it is worth trying to change people’s minds. Sometimes, it works.