This is an important read, although not without its flaws. I feel some geographic parallels to Samantha Allen, an ex-mormon who did her undergrad at BYU and grad work at Emory in Atlanta (I grew up in eastern Idaho which is heavily LDS and did my undergrad in South Carolina), so I understand a bit where her perspectives growing up may have come from. Part exploration of conservative-state queer communities, part autobiography (she visits places she's lived/places important to friends and allies in the community), Allen spends the summer of 2017 criss-crossing the interior of the country, against a backdrop of presidential tweets banning trans servicepeople and the Charlottesville riots. The postscript is already dated- the judge's block on the military ban has already been reversed by now, in 2019. The opening chapter in Provo, Utah is the strongest, I feel, as it not only goes into the baby!trans feels but also an examination of the crossroads queer LDS members find themselves at at the moment, and how tumultuous a change attitudes have taken in the last ten years. I recall in 2009 attempts to start a GSA at my high school failed, but this year, a decade later, my hometown had the largest pride parade they've had at ~2,000 people participating.

My problem with this book is how often Allen pooh-poohs the "coastal elite" queer strongholds of San Francisco and NYC as expensive, complacent places where there's so much choice segregation shakes out again- that while in the Castro you might have bars for specific, individual subcultures, a mid-size metro in Mississippi just has one place for everyone to converge in one happy community. A theme that goes on is that in oppressive places, you find opportunities for connection, especially resisting together, and that IS true- red state LGBTQ communities are resilient in the face of hostile state governments trying to deny their existence- but I don't think it's necessary to punch out at the historic early battlegrounds of LGBTQ rights. I get it, I really do (when I mention I'm from Idaho, I've seen the question marks that pop up on faces because I'm not a white Mormon potato farmer), but that did give me pause. To her credit, Allen does note that as much as she feels comfortable in some of these places, she still carries white privilege and that black trans women, the most vulnerable community, might feel less safe. Pure speculation, but I'm guessing some of the hangups about LA/SF/DC/NYC come from growing up in a conservative LDS environment and even though she's shed both those identities, it takes some self-reflection to get rid of everything.

I would recommend to: red state readers (especially those in the LDS or evangelical communities because narratives about people might be more persuasive than stats), coastal people who have never been to the interior of the country ( )

i wanted to like this book so much more than i did.. i have so many thoughts about this book. like the fact that Allen consistently goes on rants about how terrible New York City or San Francisco are. this props up a false dichotomy between "red and blue" and "urban and rural" that weakened her book rather than strengthened her attempt to give voice to silenced experiences. and even more troubling is the fact she kept insisting on trying to discover the "real america" - a comment that should make us all cringe in the era of growing nationalist sentiment we see rising through figures like Trump who also clings to an idea of a "real america". this book read like a travel blog honestly. i was pretty bored by a lot of the book. it also felt like Allen inserted herself into the book too much, perhaps if not herself then her friends who came along the journey, whereas i was way more interested in the lives and stories of the people she was traveling to see. in the end it seemed too much like other books i've read where experiences are inflated to become a universal rather than the individual stories they really are. BUT THERE ARE SO MANY OF US!! AND WE ARE POWERFUL! and that's a big point of this book - is that LGBTQIA+ people are EVERYWHERE AND WE'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE! and those born in red states are tough and are always going to fight for rights and will change the world ( )

Wanting to show that conservative America is not entirely doom and gloom for LGBTQ+ people, journalist Samantha Allen and a fellow trans friend embark on a tour of "red" America. They return to former haunts, visit iconic clubs and restaurants, meet with friends and friends-of-friends, and find welcome and unexpected surprises in both small towns and large cities. One piece of insight they are seeking is, for queer folks choosing to live under the threat of frequently hostile legislation, what makes it worth staying?

I had a hard time deciding on memoirs for the "a memoir written by someone who is trans or nonbinary" category for this year's Read Harder challenge, but I'm pleased to have landed on this one. Not only do I love road trip stories, but it was enlightening as well. Allen is an excellent writer, and I loved the clever turns of phrase sprinkled throughout. This book gives me hope for the traditionally and overwhelmingly conservative areas of our country. ( )

Such a beautiful reflection--so timely, and something I hope becomes outdated very, very soon. I wasn't quite expecting its trajectory, probably mostly because I avoid synopses and reviews apart from identifying something I want to read, and so I was a little surprised that this focused on cities that are more or less progressive bubbles in mostly conservative, Southern states. I loved the discussions of identity in all its iterations, but particularly that of geographical identity (obviously?) and the reclamation of areas that are only reported for their unfavorable conditions. This hits home for me particularly right now, having moved from St. Louis, MO, (another locale that would fit in with this book) to the rural, conservative Western Slope of Colorado--both in hearing constantly from the residents of my tiny town what a terrible place St. Louis is, and also living in an area where it is not very safe to be out. I love Allen's writing, and I would be thrilled if she took on a similar writing assignment in the future to discuss places like these--places where LGBTQ folk carve out fulfilling lives despite living in hostile communities. ( )

This is a terrific look at queer-friendly dots of hope in regions of America with a well-deserved reputation for homophobia, bigotry, and repression. Part memoir, part reportage, part road trip ... it's a heckuva ride, and it left me wanting more. ( )