Review of It Gets Better . . . Except When It Gets Worse: And Other Unsolicited Truths I Wish Someone Had Told Me by Nicole Maines

Nicole Maines as Nia Nal/Dreamer in Supergirl was a revelation in more ways than one, and I have loved following her on Twitter even as that site slides deeper into the abyss. So when I heard she had a memoir, It Gets Better … Except When It Gets Worse, coming out, of course I needed to read it. Thanks to NetGalley and publisher Dial Press for the eARC.

As the introduction establishes, this is Maines’s story, on her terms and in her (ghostwritten) words. Her story had previously been told by Amy Ellis Nutt in Becoming Nicole, which I haven’t read. Maines doesn’t criticize Nutt or that book too much, simply remarking—correctly—that its perspective is different from her own. It Gets Better … Except When It Gets Worse is raw and unvarnished. In sharing her life up to this point, her ambivalence about being thrust into activism amid pursuing her acting, Maines also takes aim at the expectations we (fans, especially queer fans) put on actors and high-profile activists. In a world where we are eternally expecting inspiration porn, Maines steadfastly refuses to give us our fix. Respect.

The first few chapters are achingly familiar to anyone who has read other trans memoirs: Maines realizing she is a girl at a very young age, her parents grappling with this understanding and its implications not only for her but for her twin brother and their entire family. Fortunately, her parents (particularly her mom, from the beginning) are supportive, fighting for Maines’s rights at school—her first brush with fame was as a plaintiff in a case against a Maine school board over bathroom rights—and even moving to send her to a more inclusive school. The fact that Maines’s childhood experience of transition was so tumultuous in spite of continual parental support only serves to highlight how truly awful it must be for trans kids with less supportive families.

Maines came of age in an interesting time for trans rights, as she herself notes in these chapters. In the beginning her mom really has to search even for the vocabulary to describe what Maines is going through, but by the time Maines is graduating high school, transgender has become a household term. It feels like in the last ten years we’ve gone through this whirlwind of rising awareness, tentative acceptance, and now pernicious backlash, and you feel it reading this book. After fighting for her rights in childhood, Maines’s frustration being right back at square one in her adulthood comes across so strongly here.

The most interesting parts of the book for me were towards the end, as Maines discusses breaking into acting and eventually being cast in Supergirl. I didn’t really know much about how she got into acting. She just showed up one day on my TV, a trans actor playing a trans character, and stole my heart. Nia Nal’s evolution on screen, including the trans rights storylines the show played out, were pivotal in helping me understand and accept I am trans; I literally named myself Kara after the show’s main character (I was well chuffed to learn from this book that Maines did something similar in naming herself after a Zoey 101 character).

It isn’t surprising to hear, in her own words, that Maines struggled with imposter syndrome, etc., while she started acting on the show. I applaud her for being honest about it—there are echoes here of what I read in Anna Kendrick’s memoir this summer. Acting is a far more demanding and destabilizing profession than we often know, and social media and celebrity culture has warped our understanding of what the life of the average actor is like. And this is where It Gets Better … Except When It Gets Worse truly gets interesting.

Maines minces no words in her criticism of the toxic segments of Supergirl fandom: specifically, some shippers who take their OTPs way too seriously. She doesn’t play favourites—from Karamel to Supercorp (the latter being my ship, if I have to pick one, but I am actually kind of happy Kara is alone at the end of the series), each ship has a small but vocal contingent who attacked the cast and crew any time the show didn’t seem to be going their way. I remember this well, even if I was always on the outskirts because I don’t venture places like AO3. The Supergirl hashtags were a good place for community for me on Twitter back in those days, especially around conversation about queerness and queer representation—so it sucks that some fans took things way too far.

But Maines goes even further. On the topic of Dreamer, the original character designed for her, whom she has ported over into the comics and been writing for the past few years, Maines confesses to some frustration with how Dreamer was developed on the show. She wanted a darker, edgier character—and is realizing this in her comic stories (which I haven’t and probably won’t read). For example, there is a notable episode where Dreamer has to take on an anti-trans villain. She nearly kills him, which would be against Supergirl’s code, of course. Maines is like, “Dreamer should have killed him! It makes sense.” And, like, I won’t pretend to agree with that because I happen to like the squeaky-clean approach to justice the CW Supergirl took, in contrast to something like Arrow.

But I love it for Nicole. I love that she sat down to write this book and said, “Fuck being the good girl, the politic one, the nice trans woman. Fuck being inspirational, feel-good, or positive. Things suck right now, and I want to tell everyone why they suck, and I don’t want to pretend I don’t want to be out for blood.” Maines makes it clear: she wants the freedom to be messy. Some of y’all (especially white cis people) might not realize how subversive this is, but anyone belonging to an underrepresented group in media gets it: the pressure to be well behaved, to be “good,” can be overwhelming at times.

I respect this. We want to lionize people, call them trailblazers, simply for existing—or fighting for the barest sliver of human dignity. I want to call Maines inspirational. I feel an affinity for her, even though I’m older and my experience with transition is incredibly different and I am ace whereas she is incredibly horny on main (and I am here for it). Somehow, her attitude and her outlook resonate with me; this book is no exception. Out of respect to her wishes, however, I’m trying my best not to put her on that pedestal.

So instead I want to say this: It Gets Better … Except When It Gets Worse is a messy book. It refuses to be the feel-good memoir you hope for from a young actor or a trans celebrity. While the ingredients are there—the sad, low moments, and the triumphant ones—Maines doesn’t want to assemble them into a satisfying meal. She wants you to feel unbalanced. She does say she wants trans readers to feel seen (and I do), but she is also exhausted by the political upheaval of the last five years, and she will not hold back. I admire this, and I really appreciate this attempt to short-circuit the narratives around actors and activists like herself.

At various points in reading this, I felt entertained, uplifted, triggered, saddened, shocked, and impressed. In that sense, this is a very human book. Nicole Maines is a trans woman, and a lot of this book is about that—but she’s also a young woman in her twenties, at the start of her adult life and her career, shouting into the void, and this book is also about that. There’s more here than just her thoughts on trans rights and trans life, just as there is more to Maines than Dreamer or being trans or being mouthy on Twitter. I love memoirs that contain multitudes.