In “Stag Dance,” Torrey Peters probes the complicated, evolving realities of queerness and trans life.
By Hugh Ryan
Updated March 18, 2025 (NYTimes.com)
Hugh Ryan is the author of “When Brooklyn Was Queer,” “The Women’s House of Detention” and, forthcoming in 2026, “Becoming History.”
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STAG DANCE: A Novel and Stories, by Torrey Peters
In an 1817 letter to his brothers, the poet John Keats defined the concept of negative capability as “when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” This is a quintessential trait of a great writer, who must know everything but create characters who know nothing, or only the wrong things, or different things on different pages. In her discomforting new collection, “Stag Dance,” Torrey Peters excels at this particular kind of unknowing. Hopscotching through genres and decades, Peters, across three short stories and a novella, summons up characters whose ideas about sex, gender and sexuality exist beyond (or before, or to the side of) our current orthodoxies.
Set in the early 1900s, the titular novella explores what happens when a restless winter camp of “timber pirates” decides to throw a gender-bending soiree. Any man can declare himself a “skooch” for the night and be courted by the others, but when the biggest, ugliest lumberjack, Babe Bunyan, steps up first, it upsets the camp’s surprisingly fragile hierarchy of manhood. Babe Bunyan knows the other men expect (and even want) Lisen, the youngest, slightest, most feminine axman to take the role of skooch.
Bunyan’s own desires are unclear even to him. He wants to play the skooch, and he wants the men to court him, but more than anything, Bunyan wants Lisen to recognize that they are the same in some essential way that he can’t define. Plaintively, he wonders, “How do you beg when you don’t even know the words to beg with?” When this desire for sisterhood gets thwarted, the stag dance becomes a violent competition. “We were rivals,” Bunyan reflects of his new dynamic with Lisen. That, in a way, is his dream achieved. Because “to be rivals is to be something the same.”
The other stories in “Stag Dance” run a gamut of painful settings, from future dystopia, to girls’ weekend gone wrong, to aborted boarding school romance. In her acknowledgments, Peters says that she wrote each tale “to puzzle out, through genre, the inconvenient aspects of my never-ending transition — otherwise known as ongoing trans life — aspects that didn’t seem to accord with slogans, ‘good’ politics, or the currently available language.” Strip away the (sometimes clunky) antiquarian diction, and it’s not hard to see a parallel between Babe Bunyan and a modern queer person just coming out, fascinated, infuriated and a little in love with someone one step further on their gender journey.
Peters excels at plumbing the murky hearts of queer people. Her characters betray one another and themselves, and occasionally end the world in their desire for revenge. They embrace feelings they’re not supposed to have. Frequently they’re tormented by external manifestations of aspects of themselves that they have yet to admit, define or find a way to love.
In the most disturbing of the stories, “The Masker,” two women at a trans and cross-dressing convention in Las Vegas plan to publicly humiliate a third attendee, who they feel is not legitimately queer, just a fetishist in a “poreless silicone skin” suit. As with the lumberjacks of “Stag Dance,” however, it’s the similarity between the characters that brings the story to its inevitably cruel and heartbreaking conclusion. Krys, the narrator, hates how she’s “saddled with a stupid fetish or gender or whatever.” When her trans friend Sally points out “the masker” at the convention and calls “him” a “pervert,” Krys is struck by “the disturbing knowledge that comes from distinguishing in others the parts of yourself that you most hate.” Is she a fetishist, a trans woman, both, or neither — and who gets to decide? Ultimately, Krys must sacrifice either Sally or the masker, and in so doing, sacrifice part of herself.
The collection will likely make readers of all genders uncomfortable. That’s on purpose. Peters’s characters are complicated, in pain, angry and unsure of their own identities or desires. Her award-winning first novel, 2021’s “Detransition, Baby,” also courted controversy, by centering a character whose gender was messy, unclear and still evolving. Peters is not interested in “positive” representation; she’s interested in authenticity. She wants to show that all parts of the queer experience, even the disturbing parts or the parts we don’t understand, are worthy of being made into art. That includes jealousy, doubt and negative capability.
A great Torrey Peters story feels like punching yourself in the face, laughing at the bleeding bitch in the mirror and then shamefacedly realizing you’re aroused by the blood on your lips. The four pieces in “Stag Dance” will leave you bruised, broken and wanting more.
STAG DANCE: A Novel and Stories | By Torrey Peters | Random House | 288 pp. | $28
A version of this article appears in print on April 6, 2025, Page 8 of the Sunday Book Review with the headline: Fluid Dynamics. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe
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(Contributed by Michael Kelly, H.W.)