Gender Queer resists easy categorization in terms of genre: it is memoir, a bildungsroman or coming-of-age narrative, a comic book, and a work of graphic creative nonfiction, all at once. As the memoir proceeds along a loosely chronological timeline from childhood into adolescence and early adulthood, author Maia Kobabe reflects on formative events that prove revelatory of eir eventual nonbinary or gender-nonconforming identity. E grows up off the grid in rural northern California, experiences deep discomfort with the gendered aspects of eir body, navigates crushes on both boys and girls, and devours every book e can find, from fantasy and queer lit to manga and fanfic, all in the pursuit of greater self-understanding in a world of confusing and often unfair norms and expectations.

Maia experiences the trials and joys that are familiar to most adolescents while also feeling frustrated that e isn’t able to pick up on the gendered cues that everyone else seems to absorb effortlessly. In one early scene that depicts a school field trip to the river, Maia wonders why e isn’t allowed to run through the water with eir shirt off like all the boys can. In another, Maia is embarrassed to discover that e’s the only person in a hot tub who hasn’t shaved eir legs. There are even more deeply unsettling experiences that follow from these, such as Maia’s traumatic first Pap smear exam that leaves em feeling invaded and more estranged than ever from eir own body. One striking panel illustration shows Maia impaled on a sharp object, overcome by a “wave of psychological horror” and a sense of bodily violation that runs “too deep for words.” Throughout, Maia struggles to make sense of the emotions elicited by these experiences. E reveals that in high school e used to fantasize about being reunited with a long-lost male twin who had always felt he was a girl, the two of them together forming one whole person.

As Maia is navigating eir gender identity and expression, e also begins to discover quirks about eir sexuality. E develops crushes on boys and girls, but also, especially, on androgynous people, and finds emself fantasizing often about gay male relationships. At the same time, Maia finds that e isn’t particularly interested in dating, in romance, or in sex, and is certainly not interested in marriage or having children. A range of possibilities present themselves to Maia: is e a gay boy trapped in a female body? A lesbian attracted to masculine-presenting women? Or, perhaps, asexual (experiencing little or no sexual attraction to other people)? Maia dates occasionally but always finds emself breaking up with partners due to waning interest and the need to better understand eir gender. In the end, while Maia doesn’t put any final label on eir sexuality, it’s clear that eir attractions are fluid but also not particularly intense. Sex and romance are simply not priorities for Maia.

As Maia ruminates on the possibilities of a third gender, neither male nor female, e finds that language often proves inadequate to describe what e’s feeling. For example, Maia recalls feeling pleased to be described by eir sister, Phoebe, as a “genderless person.” Eventually, Maia realizes that e’s been cultivating a masculine appearance, with a short boyish haircut, boys’ clothes, and an elastic bandage to flatten eir breasts, not because e feels like a boy but because e doesn’t want to be perceived as a girl. To describe this feeling, Maia enlists the metaphor of a scale: e has sought to outweigh feminine traits with masculine ones not because e feels male but because e wants to achieve gender balance. Conversations about these discoveries with others, however, prove difficult, as Maia finds that it’s easier to describe what e’s not rather than what e is. It’s not until meeting author and zinemaker Jaina Bee that Maia discovers Spivak pronouns (e/em/eir), which finally feel right for em. Now, rather than a scale, Maia thinks about gender as a landscape, full of diverse features and vistas that afford many possibilities at once.

Still, even queer people and non-queer allies sometimes have difficulty understanding Maia’s new pronouns and identity. Maia’s mother, who had never enforced gender roles in the home, tells Maia that no one enjoys their period and that she doesn’t feel particularly girly herself, but that doesn’t mean she’s genderqueer. Maia’s lesbian aunt surprises and disappoints Maia when she tells eir that, while she’ll agree to use Maia’s preferred Spivak pronouns, she sees genderqueerness as a trend and suspects it’s a form of internalized misogyny. Shaken by this, Maia admits to sometimes feeling as though eir gender and sexuality are broken. However, a book by researcher Patricia Churchland helps Maia better understand the genetic, hormonal, and psychological factors that contribute to eir feelings of gender alienation. Genderqueerness, Maia finds, doesn’t reject women or womanhood but rather embraces a different way to inhabit gender altogether.

Yet Maia continues to find how difficult it is to articulate emself in language others will understand. Even at a convention for queer comics, Maia freezes up when people accidentally misgender em, afraid to create awkward tension by correcting them with eir new pronouns. These struggles continue as Maia begins teaching one-day comic-writing workshops to junior high students. E wonders if e should discuss eir identity and pronouns with eir students so that young nonbinary and trans students feel more seen, even at the risk of using up limited class time. At the same time, Maia fears potentially offending parents and taking the attention off of instruction. In the end, Maia keeps quiet but promises to come out as genderqueer “next time.” This is where the memoir ends, poignantly suggesting that Gender Queer itself is Maia’s act of coming out. With all of eir thoughts, feelings, and experiences laid bare over the course of the memoir, Maia has said with written words and illustrations everything e was unable to say out loud.