Book Review: Notes from a Regicide by Isaac Fellman
From the moment I picked up Notes from a Regicide, Isaac Fellman’s remarkable talent for weaving narratives pulled me in. As a long-time admirer of trans literature and stories that explore the complexities of identity, I was eager to see how Fellman would continue his exploration of family and self after his Lambda Award-winning The Breath of the Sun and the impactful Dead Collections. Little did I know that this latest offering would become a journey through time, love, and revolutionary spirit that would resonate deeply within me.
At first glance, Notes from a Regicide may appear as an intricate tapestry of narratives, but as I delved into its pages, I found a beautifully crafted universe that reflects the ways we come to understand our parents and ourselves. The story follows Griffon Keming, who is on a quest to piece together his parents’ history through his father’s prison memoir, penned while awaiting execution. This memoir becomes not just a window into Griffon’s lineage but a lens through which broader themes of history, love, and personal identity unfold. The narrative transitions seamlessly between the fantastical city of Stephensport, the revolutionary backdrop of the Nameless City, and contemporary New York, illuminating the contrasts and connections between these worlds.
What struck me most was the thoughtful examination of trans identity across generations. In the confines of Stephensport, where medical transition is denied, the experiences of Etoine and Zaffre collide with Griffon’s more accessible path in modern times. Fellman delves into the trauma of navigating gender identity in oppressive environments, exploring the internalized judgments and the revolutionary politics intertwined with these experiences. Zaffre’s character, particularly, stands out—a trans woman artist who transforms her struggles into revolutionary art, embodying resilience in a world that often seeks to diminish her.
Fellman’s prose, especially in the tender love story between Etoine and Zaffre, is where his writing shines. The way he captures their burgeoning romance and the intricacies of navigating transitional bodies feels so genuine. I was especially moved by the line, "Those hands touched me more intently than other hands," which serves as a reminder of the profound connections we forge, often amid chaos.
While the novel’s structure—oscillating among multiple narratives—created a few dizzying moments, it ultimately enriched the reading experience, mirroring how fragmented our understanding of familial legacies can be. Some sections felt densely layered to the point of overwhelm, particularly in the world-building of Stephensport. Yet, I believe this complexity is a testament to Fellman’s ambition in crafting a meaningful narrative that resists easy categorization.
In short, Notes from a Regicide is a book about love—the sacred bonds between parents and children, friends and comrades. It’s a narrative that reminds us that some stories are too precious for the public eye, often existing in those intimate spaces where our truths lie. I’d recommend this novel to readers who appreciate rich, layered complexity in storytelling, particularly those interested in exploring the intersections of identity, art, and revolution.
Fellman’s ability to tackle profound themes with tenderness and insight opened my eyes to new dimensions of love and legacy, making this a deeply impactful read I won’t soon forget. Whether you’re a fan of speculative fiction, trans narratives, or simply tales of human connection, Notes from a Regicide has something to offer, inviting you into a world where the past and present collide in surprising, poignant ways.