'Terry Dactyl' Soars: A Queer Epic of Survival, Club Culture, and Radical Intimacy

If you’ve ever felt like your queer life is a series of glittering highs, devastating losses, and the stubborn refusal to play by straight society’s rules, then "Terry Dactyl" is your new literary soulmate. Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s latest novel, published by Coffee House Press, is a breathless, intoxicating ride through the life of a trans woman who refuses to let grief, isolation, or assimilation dull her radical sparkle. It’s not just a story about surviving—it’s about thriving, dancing, and loving fiercely in a world that often feels like it’s trying to erase you .

"Terry Dactyl" begins in Seattle, where our protagonist is raised by a motley crew of loving, chaotic “aunts” and “uncles” and two moms who are as flawed as they are fiercely devoted. From the start, Terry learns to be bold, creative, and unapologetically herself, even as the world tries to box her in. The novel’s early chapters are a love letter to chosen family, to the kind of queer kinship that forms in the cracks of mainstream society, where love is messy, loud, and sometimes a little too much—but always real .

Terry’s journey takes her to New York City, where she finds work in a Soho art gallery and, more importantly, finds love. The 1990s club scene is rendered in vivid, pulsing detail: the drugs, the music, the sense of possibility, and the ever-present shadow of AIDS. Sycamore doesn’t shy away from the danger or the dazzle; instead, she captures the full spectrum of queer life during a time when every night out could feel like a rebellion against the odds.

As the years pass, Terry’s world shifts. Friends die, others drift away, and the once-vibrant club scene begins to feel like a memory. The novel’s second act is a meditation on aging, loss, and the quiet ways that grief reshapes a life. When the COVID-19 pandemic hits, Terry finds herself alone, working from home, and grappling with a loneliness that feels both new and achingly familiar. The isolation is crushing, but it’s also a moment of reckoning—a chance to reflect on what it means to live authentically when the world feels like it’s falling apart .

Sycamore’s prose is both tender and unflinching, capturing the contradictions that define queer life: the joy and the pain, the resilience and the vulnerability. “Sometimes the most selfish people are the most generous, ” Terry observes, a line that speaks to the messy, complicated ways that queer friendships and chosen families sustain us, even when they don’t always make sense .

At its core, Terry Dactyl is a novel about the ongoing debate within the LGBTQ+ community: should we assimilate into mainstream society, or should we build our own distinct queer culture? Sycamore, a longtime anti-assimilationist activist and writer, makes her stance clear. Terry is shocked by the “respectability politics” that some of her friends embrace, the desire to fit in, to be “normal, ” to mimic straight norms. For Terry, queerness is not about blending in—it’s about standing out, about creating a world that celebrates difference, that refuses to be tamed .

This tension is woven throughout the novel, from Terry’s relationships with her mothers to her experiences in the art world. It’s a reminder that the fight for queer liberation is not just about legal rights or social acceptance—it’s about the right to live, love, and be seen on our own terms. “There is always more than one choice, ” Sycamore writes, a sentiment that feels both radical and deeply comforting in a world that often tries to force us into boxes .

Terry Dactyl is more than just a novel—it’s a cultural touchstone, a testament to the resilience and creativity of queer people across generations. It’s a book that understands that family and friendship change over time, that we are shaped by the past in ways we can’t always predict, and that survival can mean many things. It’s a book that celebrates the club scene, the art scene, the messy, glittering, heartbreaking beauty of queer life .

For LGBTQ+ readers, "Terry Dactyl" is a reminder that our stories matter, that our lives are worth celebrating, even in the face of loss and adversity. It’s a call to keep dancing, keep loving, and keep fighting for a world where everyone can be their truest, queerest selves.