When a book manages to be both deeply personal and universally resonant, it deserves to be called visionary. Transitions, edited by Danielle Hopkins with a foreword by Juno Roche, is one such book. A one-of-a-kind anthology, it gathers together the writing of eight emerging trans and non-binary voices from the UK, all of whom were selected through the inaugural JKP Writing Prize. With “the trans everyday” as its theme, the collection is more than a showcase of literary talent, it is a love letter to the trans community, a defiant celebration of joy, and a call to reimagine what trans storytelling can be.
At its heart, Transitions asks: what does it mean to be trans today, and every day? The answer, of course, is not one story, but many. From the sharp sting of anxiety before stepping out the door, to the exhilaration of wild swimming, to the peculiar time-warp of reliving adolescence in adulthood, the stories gathered here map the terrain of trans life in all its variety. Together, they affirm that while hardship and marginalization remain ever-present, so too do solidarity, humor, love, and liberation.
The anthology opens with a clear statement of intent. As Sabah Choudrey, one of the competition judges, notes in the introduction, trans stories are too often reduced to trauma. “We, as trans, non-binary and genderfluid people, know that our stories are often portrayed as negative, painful or heart-breaking. That might be what we carry every day but it isn’t our lives every day. We are more than that.”
The stories that follow embody this ethos. They acknowledge the undercurrent of struggle, but refuse to stop there. Instead, they turn their gaze toward joy, resilience, and the quieter yet equally radical acts of living authentically.
This rebalancing makes Transitions stand out, not only within trans literature, but within contemporary short fiction more broadly.
Tash Oakes-Monger’s We Are Everywhere sets the tone with a dazzling sequence of vignettes celebrating queer kinship. Here, community replaces estrangement; found families step in where blood ties have failed. The piece is a reminder that while rejection can wound, chosen solidarity can heal and strengthen in equal measure.
Edward Whalen’s Bits and Pieces of Myself turns inward, reflecting on the complex relationship between mind and body in the process of transition. The narrative lingers on the shifting harmony and discord between the two, showing that embodiment is not a single endpoint but an ongoing dialogue.
In An Eagle at Sunset, Den Casey gives voice to a non-binary lesbian in their 60s. Preparing to get their first tattoo, they reflect on the persistent need for visibility and the frustration of being misunderstood. It is a story of resilience and refusal, particularly powerful in its focus on later-life transition, a theme too rarely explored.
In Torso, Kole Fulmine renders in intimate detail the ritual of chest binding. Their prose captures the tactile, emotional, and symbolic weight of the act, making the familiar strange and the private universal.
Finally, Ezra Woodger’s My Amazing Mostly Monochrome Dreamcoat closes the book with a story about found family and radical visibility. The patched-up punk jacket of the title becomes both shield and beacon, embodying the defiance, vulnerability, and solidarity of queer life. What begins as armor against hatred transforms into a symbol of hope for younger trans people, reminding us that visibility itself can be an act of care.
What makes Transitions so compelling is not only the stories themselves but the diversity of the writers who tell them. Oakes-Monger brings experience from LGBT healthcare; Medcalf from sexual health advocacy and youth work; Casey and Whalen from community organizing and personal reflection. Mizumoto is also an artist and publishing co-ordinator; Fulmine balances academia with work as a trainer; Woodger is a poet; Hopkins herself is both editor and contributor.
This breadth of perspective enriches the anthology, making it feel expansive despite its slim size.
The prose throughout is consistently strong. These writers are not only telling their truths; they are crafting literature. They use direct address, break the fourth wall, and experiment with voice, inviting readers into intimate, conversational spaces. The result is storytelling that feels both polished and personal, experimental yet accessible.
In an era where trans lives are under constant scrutiny and attack, Transitions is both an act of resistance and a gift. It rejects the idea that trans existence can be flattened into tropes of tragedy or triumph. Instead, it insists on nuance: on anxiety and laughter, on rage and tenderness, on the pain of rejection and the ecstasy of community.
Juno Roche, in their foreword, situates the collection as a vital contribution to queer literature, affirming its place not as a side note in the cultural record but as an essential part of it.
The anthology is a reminder that trans people are not simply surviving, they are thriving, creating, and reimagining the possibilities of storytelling itself.
Transitions is much more than an anthology; it is a celebration of trans lives in their fullness and contradiction. Its eight stories span age, identity, and experience, but together they create a collective voice that is hopeful, defiant, and beautiful. For trans readers, it offers affirmation and kinship. For cis readers, it provides a window into lived realities too often obscured by stereotype or erasure.
Above all, the book is a reminder that trans stories are not monolithic. They are multiple, layered, and endlessly rich. And in amplifying these voices, Danielle Hopkins and the contributors to Transitions have given the world something extraordinary: a book that informs, inspires, and unites, one story at a time.
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