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Books We Loved in 2020

There aren’t many things we are going to miss about 2020, however one spot of hope, joy and love has been the awesome new books that were released. Did you get to read any of these this year?

Trans/Nonbinary Books for Readers of All Ages (part 2)


Supernatural romance with a nonbinary love interest.
Historical romance about a female outlaw who first claims a trans woman as her hostage, but then they team up.
Autobiographical account of the Japanese author’s journey through love and legalities.
The author’s journey (pronouns: e/em/eir) through identity and sexuality.




Trans/Nonbinary Books for Readers of All Ages (part 1)


A trans woman investigates that her Mennonite grandfather may have also been trans.
Follows the lives of trans women in the late ’70s.
Metafiction re-imagining the historical figure of thief Jack Sheppard as a trans man.

A queer trans woman navigates grief and memory.
First full-length novel from the author of Glamour Boutique, coming in January 2021.


Set in the ’90s, a shapeshifter who romances men and women in different bodies struggles to categorize their identity.
Horror novella — first in a series — set in a queer anarchist commune with a cast of diverse gender and sexual identities.
Fantasy set in a word where gender is not assigned at birth.
Re-imagining of Sherlock Holmes as Lovecraftian fantasy, and the “John Watson” character as a trans man.
Fourth installment of Lethe Press’s collection of transgender and genderqueer speculative short fiction.



Fantastical fiction with a trans heroine who is selectively verbal and uses ASL.
Twelve-year-old trans boy faces transphobia at home and at school.
Trans girl protagonist with a best friend who uses gender neutral pronouns.
A trans heroine moves through a fantasy world based on Jewish folklore.


Magical realism and romance between a cis girl and a trans boy.
Romance and revenge with a queer trans protagonist.
A trans lesbian teenager becomes her city’s greatest superhero.
A gay trans boy fights to be accepted into his family’s magical legacy.
Science fiction challenging gender and sexual norms, with intersex and nonbinary protagonists.
Nonbinary protagonist Ben (they/them) is kicked out of their parents house, has to deal with a new home and a new romance with a boy at school.
In this standalone companion to Not Your Sidekick, the trans guy villain get to become the hero.
A sweet contemporary romance between a trans girl and a cis boy.
A contemporary romance tackling drugs, abuse, and disorders featuring a romance between a trans boy and a cis girl.
When the trans protagonist decides to go “stealth” at his new school, he grapples with self-doubt and discrimination.

Leeb’s 7 Picks For Queer Allies

And we’re BACK!

THIS FRIDAY, JUNE 19th, we will be reopening to the public. We have spent a week cleaning, re-organizing and re-stocking so we can open FRESH and FULL. We want to keep our community as safe a possible and that is why customers must be wearing a mask to enter the store. If you don’t have one, we can give you one. Also, THANK YOU for maintaining that good ol’ social distance, especially since we are only letting 10 people in at a time.

For the time being our store hours will be a little different. Monday through Saturday we will be open from 11am until 6pm, and on Sundays we will be closing at 5pm. At this time we are unable to accept donations, so please keep an eye on our sister store (Philly AIDS Thrift) for when they are accepting donations.

We are still shipping books directly to customers if you place an order via — also feel free to place curbside pick up orders through the website if you’d like. Every bit of support helps, especially right now.

We miss and love you, can’t wait to see you soon!



“Dream House” as Book Review

I am unaccountably haunted by the specter of the lunatic lesbian. I did not want my lover to be dogged by mental illness or a personality disorder or rage issues. (…) Years later, if I could say anything to her, I’d say: “For fuck’s sake, stop making us look bad.” 
In the Dream House

The awful truth about stories of abuse is that they are, at brass tacks, incredibly banal. Most manipulators and abusers follow the same patterns, as if a sulfuric and still-smoking demon popped into existence and gave them a handbook. But that’s still too interesting an image for the bitterly basic truth: certain patterns of behavior just work. So many of these stories share the same narrative structure. 

True as this may be, it’s infuriating — for two reasons. One is how reductive this fact becomes: really, that’s the problem with abuse stories? They’re all the same? How dare you, how dare you dismiss the horrors of the human condition as not having enough plot twists, etcetera, so forth. The other reason it infuriates is that the familiarity makes the fact of the abuse all that less believable, to some: how could you not see it coming? How did you not understand what was happening? (Why didn’t you leave?) We all know this story, how did you not know you were living it?

Carmen Maria Machado’s In The Dream House tries to tackle these issues (which are, in a sense, the same issue) with vaulting ambition: recontextualizing and re-imagining Machado’s time spent with an abusive partner as different literary and film genres, as sociological text, as fairy tale metaphor… the list goes on. She takes us through the relationship linearly, but slices defining moments up into an arrangement of essay-like chapters: “Dream House as Lesbian Pulp,” “Dream House as an Exercise in Point of View,” “Dream House as Chekov’s Gun.”

Her overarching thesis — that queer women have been and continue to be just as likely to abuse each other in relationships as anyone else, that queer women are just as resistant as anyone else to admitting this fact — is a live wire. Its current lights up the book with urgency, taking anyone who reads it to task by asking the hard questions. How do we define abuse, where do those definitions come from, how are they perpetrated? How does the stereotype of predatory queerness interact with our reluctance to name and expose abuse, as a community?   

The constant framing and re-framing of her experiences also serves to draw on different elements, play with style and form, heighten atmosphere. Machado invites the reader to experience the relationship as something other than the too-familiar narrative structure, even though they know its real “genre.” It’s a fantastic way to capture the conundrum of examining abusive relationships in retrospect, the frustration of how obvious the signposts are, coupled with how, when it was happening, you kept hoping you were reading it wrong, and you’d wake up in a different story. 

In the Dream House is a wholly admirable work. It’s cleverly imagined and skillfully executed. It tackles meaningful issues and uses its platform to shine a brighter light on things left in the dark for too long.

The book’s subject matter makes it hard to critique. Tackling the author’s choices feels like criticizing her very personal journey in processing her trauma — which is exactly what the book is, and so the snake eats its own tail (/tale). And yet for all the book’s admirable qualities and as much as I enjoyed the process of reading it, its overall impact felt surprisingly light once I finished. Possibly because I am already a convert to Machado’s arguments about abuse in queer female communities and how important those stories are, because, as she writes, “our culture does not have an investment in helping queer folks understand what their experiences mean.” 

But possibly because Machado does a neat little disappearing trick into her own narrative. She distracts you with form and style and citations, and although she preserves the details of what she said and did, she deliberately exorcises her own rage. It lurks in the shadows — most notably in the “Dream House as Choose Your Own Adventure” section — and she tries to claim it, in the end. But by that point Machado has spent so much effort talking about her experience in every context but this one, the context of her own pain, it doesn’t quite click. Arguably it isn’t meant to. Machado has been upfront on social media on how difficult this book was to write, how she has sometimes regretted selling it. Turning personal horror into publicly-consumed product requires distance, if one wants to stay sane. 

The result is perhaps more like an excellent master’s thesis — or, to extend Machado’s own metaphor, a recreation of the dream house in exacting and perfect miniature. An incredible recreation instead of the thing itself, built to be contained and never meant to be inhabited by living creatures. The bulk of In the Dream House is written in the second person (you do this, you hear something, you drive the car), and I was reminded of a line from Richard Siken: “This is in the second person. This is happening to you because I don’t want to be here.”


LGBTQ Books for Black History Month