If you’re waiting for another Detransition, Baby, you might be in for a shock. Honestly, most readers expected a direct sequel to Torrey Peters' massive 2021 hit. Instead, we got Stag Dance, a collection released in early 2025 that feels more like a fever dream in a lumberjack camp than a Brooklyn soap opera. It’s weird. It’s gritty.
And it’s exactly what the genre needed.
The Weird History Behind the "Stag Dance"
Basically, the titular story—which is a novella, really—takes us back to an illegal logging outfit in the frozen woods. It’s a hyper-masculine world of sweat and saws. To keep morale up, the men decide to throw a "stag dance." This sounds like a modern bachelor party, but it’s actually rooted in real frontier history.
In these all-male environments, some men would volunteer to "be the women" for the night. They’d tie a handkerchief or a burlap triangle to their arm or crotch to signal they were "skooches"—the ones to be courted.
Why Babe Bunyan Matters
The narrator is a guy nicknamed Babe Bunyan. He’s huge. He’s strong. He’s also, in his own words, "prodigiously ugly." When Babe decides he wants to be a skooch, the camp loses its collective mind. It’s not just about drag; it’s about a man who looks like a mountain wanting to be seen as soft.
Peters uses this 19th-century setting to poke at a very 2026 problem: who is "allowed" to be feminine? We often see transition stories about "passing" or being beautiful. Babe isn’t either of those things. He’s a brick of a human trying to navigate a rivalry with Lisen, the "pretty" boy of the camp. Their tension is thick, uncomfortable, and frankly, kind of heartbreaking.
It's Not Just About Lumberjacks
While the lumberjack story takes up the most space, the book is actually a quartet. It’s a mix of stories Peters wrote over a decade, which explains why the vibes shift so wildly.
- Infect Your Friends and Loved Ones: This one is a sci-fi apocalypse. A virus wipes out the body’s ability to make hormones. Suddenly, everyone is forced to choose a gender and stick to it via a rationed supply of estrogen or testosterone. It’s a brutal look at how we’d act if our identities were literally under siege.
- The Chaser: Set at a Quaker boarding school. It’s about two boys, a secret romance, and the kind of casual cruelty only teenagers can master.
- The Masker: This is the "contemporary horror" piece. A young crossdresser in Las Vegas gets caught between an older trans woman and a guy who wears high-end silicone masks to "infiltrate" spaces. It’s messy and deals with the darker corners of fetish and identity.
Why People Are Polarized
You’ve probably seen the reviews. Some people love the "early American mythology" vibe, while others find the old-timey jargon in the main story a bit much. "I doused my saw in kerosene so it'd slide smooth"—that’s the kind of prose you're dealing with.
It’s a big departure from the sharp, modern dialogue of her previous work. Honestly, it feels like Peters is trying to prove that transness isn't a "new" fad. By placing these themes in the 1800s or a dystopian future, she’s arguing that the struggle for self-definition is universal and timeless.
The "Ugly" Truth
One of the most nuanced points in Stag Dance is the exploration of "ugliness." In a world obsessed with trans joy and "glow-ups," Peters focuses on the people who don't fit the aesthetic. Babe Bunyan is a "monster" who wants to be a girl. It’s a uncomfortable, raw look at how much we tie gender to physical beauty.
Actionable Insights for Readers
If you’re planning to dive into the world of Stag Dance, here is how to actually get the most out of it:
- Don’t expect a linear narrative. The book jumps from the 19th century to a sci-fi future. If you try to read it like a standard novel, you’ll get frustrated. Treat it like a gallery of different "what if" scenarios.
- Look past the slang. The logging terminology is dense. You don't need to know every tool name to understand that Babe is experiencing a gendered awakening. Focus on the internal emotions rather than the external technicalities.
- Read "The Masker" last. Even though it’s at the end, it provides the most "real-world" context for the themes of the other three stories. It bridges the gap between the historical fiction and our current reality.
- Acknowledge the discomfort. This isn't a "safe" book. It deals with "manhood" as a surveillance system. It’s meant to make you feel a bit of the claustrophobia the characters feel.
Peters isn't interested in being a spokesperson for a "perfect" trans community. She’s interested in the losers, the "monsters," and the people who make bad choices. That’s what makes the writing feel human. It’s not a lecture on gender theory; it’s a story about people trying to survive their own bodies.
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If you want to understand where trans literature is heading in 2026, you have to look at how authors are breaking away from "representation" and moving into "myth-making." That’s exactly what's happening here.