Review of And They Were Roommates by R. Eric Thomas
When I first heard about And They Were Roommates, it struck a personal chord. As a gay trans man, the premise promised a refreshing exploration of queer experiences, especially for a demographic that often gets overlooked or misrepresented in literature. I was eager to dive into R. Eric Thomas’s narrative, hoping for a well-rounded portrayal of trans masculinity. Sadly, I found myself grappling with a sense of disillusionment that has followed me through many reads that feature queer characters.
The story revolves around Charlie, a young trans man navigating the tumultuous waters of adolescence and identity while sharing a space with his roommate. On paper, it sounds like fertile ground for authentic exploration of themes surrounding gender identity, friendship, and the awkwardness of growing up. However, from the get-go, I couldn’t shake the feeling of incongruity regarding the portrayal of Charlie’s journey. The pace at which he transitions—coming out, starting hormones, undergoing top surgery, and changing his legal documentation—felt implausible. For those familiar with the complexities surrounding trans experiences, the timeline creates a series of plot holes that are hard to overlook.
Moreover, Thomas depicts Charlie in ways that felt reductive and frustrating. Instead of a nuanced character with strengths and vulnerabilities, Charlie often appears weaker and less astute than his peers. This emphasis on weakness, paired with his eccentric social behavior—like avoiding the dining hall and subsisting on breadsticks—struck me as a troubling representation. I couldn’t help but think that while not every trans man fits a certain mold, Charlie’s quirks were more distracting than they were relatable. It was a perplexing juxtaposition that evoked memories of “She’s the Man,” which, while entertaining, is not quite the standard for thoughtful representation.
Despite the backdrop of a boarding school teeming with quirky characters, I found them equally flat and unrealistic, rendering the surrounding narrative somewhat disjointed. The humor attempts fell flat against a familiar structure often seen in YA literature today—a formula that sometimes sacrifices depth for quirkiness.
On a technical note, the writing had its moments of sharp observation, but the pacing sometimes felt uneven, leading to sections that dragged without adding substantial context. If there had been more attention to character development and authenticity, I believe it could have turned these plot points into something truly engaging.
So who might find joy in And They Were Roommates? Perhaps younger readers who are less scrutinizing of trans representation may find value in its exploration of friendship and budding identity. It’s a book that, while disappointingly flawed in its representation, might serve as a springboard for discussions around the complexities of coming out and navigating social spaces.
In a landscape where authentic trans narratives are sorely needed, my hope is to inspire more authors to dig deeper into the realities of these experiences, beyond superficial traits or comedic situations. Ultimately, this read fueled my motivation to write something that genuinely resonates with real trans experiences—something more thought-provoking and nuanced. Here’s to crafting stories that not only entertain but also empower and reflect the rich tapestry of our lives.