There are memoirs that explain. There are memoirs that reflect. And then, once in a very long while, there’s a memoir that doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t wait for understanding, and certainly doesn’t smooth over the jagged parts. Instead, it grabs you by the collar, shoves you into its world, and demands that you feel every splinter of bone-deep truth embedded in its prose.
Rae Elle Riley’s Just Nod If You Can Hear Me is that memoir. From the very first page, we meet Chuck Keiran, a steamfitter, a brawler, a man etched from grit and gasoline, your classic blue-collar antihero clinging to life in a rust-soaked world of factories, unions, and dive bars. But Chuck is not who he seems. Beneath the hard exterior and years of camouflage lives Rae, a trans woman buried under the wreckage of a life built to survive everyone else’s expectations. Rae doesn’t step out of the shadows gently. She explodes into them, armed with nothing but her truth, her pain, and her art. Just Nod If You Can Hear Me doesn’t offer a redemptive arc in the traditional sense. There are no clean breaks, no sudden epiphanies, no “and then everything was fine” ribbon to tie it all up. Instead, Riley offers readers a series of emotional detonations, each chapter a blowtorch to shame, silence, and societal erasure.
