In the second panel of The Pervert, a fictional graphic novel created by Remy Boydell and Michelle Perez that tells the story of a transgender sex worker coming to terms with their identity, the narrator recalls being asked by a “fiscally conservative, socially libertarian” guy to have sex while enduring homophobic slurs. The world of this raw, unflinching story is filled with similar encounters, and with drugs and violence—the things that are hidden from plain view, whether they happen on the streets or in the bedroom. This is not cartoon pornography, but sex (at least in the anatomical sense) is at the heart of the issue for the those in the trans community.

The Pervert is not all flavor. That is to say, it isn’t all violence and curse words. There is a balance to this delivery that, as the preface says, feels “like foie gras on a knife blade.” We can never forget the edge but we still love the flavor. The balance comes, in part, by the watercolored impressionist style of the art and its placement. Color is used to full effect, creating a visual mood in the panels, like the way bile yellow fills the four panels depicting the fast-food restaurant manager soliciting after-hours ball-pit sex while on duty. The putrid nature of the color, along with the context, creates a physical sensation of revulsion as the reader takes on the point of view of the narrator and stares for a panel at the pig-tailed girl playing in the pit.

A panel from The Pervert, by Michelle Perez and Remy Boydell

The balance also comes in the coverage of the life of the narrator. This is a multifaceted view of a trans life. Dating, working, living, and relationships—including both blood and chosen family—are depicted, making the point that a trans life is like any other life. But the burden is higher for the narrator, because in addition to simply trying to function, the issue of their gender and identity creates even more complications, which is why there is a through line of despondency in the majority of the story. This despondency is heightened by the fact that the narrator remains nameless. “My name doesn’t really matter. I think I’m sorta embracing a philosophy where I don’t value my life as much anymore.” This is an important aspect of the story, because as the narrator tries to cope with their identity they have to first answer to society’s idea of what that identity can be. Society’s judgments are undeniable and colorfully exhibited in both images and text, like the old man’s red face at the free clinic in an otherwise black-and-white panel, or the questions from the Christian volunteers at the food pantry. “Well, have you been looking for work then?” “You’re gonna get a job though, right?” Survival on the fringes of society is hard enough without doctors telling you to abstain from sex or your coworkers saying they’re going to run a train on you.

A panel from The Pervert, by Michelle Perez and Remy Boydell

The Pervert is beautifully paced and full of a number of silent panels, as well as full-page borderless panels. The silent panels allow the reader to breathe, and to reflect on the preceding images. The full-page panels and splash pages for the chapter divisions serve as transitions between stages in the growth and development of the narrator and often use a single color, or remain colorless to exhibit mood.

The Pervert follows the long-standing tradition of comics representing stigmatized voices, allowing us to bear witness to their lives. By showing and amplifying these voices, we as a society become aware, and that awareness creates empathy. Additionally, The Pervert showcases queer history by including the story of the older trans community. In this way, The Pervert feels like a timeless story rather than one rooted in the now. While the challenges that the narrator faces are undeniably modern-day problems, the issues of physical transition and societal acceptance are enduring. It is on this issue that The Pervert concludes on a surprisingly positive note, giving the reader hope that an accepting world can and does exist.

A. M. Larks is the fiction editor of Please See Me.