For over a decade, cousins Jillian and Mariko Tamaki have held reverent places within the comics world. Their novels have consistently translated the profundity of youth and girlhood through a mixture of Jillian’s subtly evocative, beautiful art style, and Mariko’s immensely raw and insightful writing. Together, they penned two beloved graphic novels: Skim, a moving, painful story of alienation, and This One Summer, a nostalgic tale about growing into femininity.
Now, nearly a decade later, they’ve created yet another masterpiece in Roaming, which I was absolutely delighted and honored to review. Roaming once again tackles themes of growing up and what that means for young girls, particularly queer girls. And once again, it does so with a realness that at times made me wince. Though the book itself is rather thick, I tore through my first reading in a day. And each time I return to it, Roaming proves to be the kind of story that takes up residence in my heart.
That sharp, awkward limbo stage
Roaming centers on Zoe and Dani, two high school best friends now attending different colleges, who spend their spring break in New York City. They’d always talked about visiting NYC together, although Dani ends up inviting one of her college friends, a stylish, intimidating girl named Fiona. Immediately there is tension between Fiona and Zoe that seems judgmental in nature, although it quickly becomes apparent that there’s more to it than that.
Like previous Tamaki novels, the writing and the art coalesce in a way that seems simple, yet has a masterful flow. This style keeps the story engrossing and fast-paced, all at once. Subtle changes in the characters’ expressions are quickly replaced by a new change of action. Every single line holds some weight to it—even the moments that are seemingly fluffy. This reflects the mutability of the narrative that works gorgeously, as the story itself reflects the mercurial nature of being a young woman going through immense change.
Many reviewers noted that the novel is painfully relatable, especially in the way it reflects the late-teen stickiness that comes with feminine relationships. I certainly felt this too: this review has admittedly taken me some effort to write because stories that reflect authentic human experiences are hard to talk about without spoiling the entire plot. Essentially, being a young woman is very hard, and it’s nearly impossible to grow into your own version of adulthood without both hurting others and being hurt.
The characters are all at once frustrating, endearing, and impossible to outright hate since they are so reminiscent of both people I’ve known and loved, and of myself at that age. Ultimately, I did feel more attached to Dani and Zoe, since the Tamakis have a track record of writing about the alienation that Asian girls feel growing up. Zoe, in her attempts to assimilate (both in college and in impressing Fiona), is much quicker to disregard aspects of her Asianness: from getting a Korean fake ID despite being Japanese because “white people can’t tell the difference anyways,” to absorbing Fiona’s offhanded comments about her race. Dani, meanwhile, is very Asian in her sensibilities and ends up feeling ostracized by Zoe and Fiona because of this, as Fiona’s cavalier outlook is often thoughtlessly judgmental.
Indeed, Fiona serves as the catalyst for much of the book’s central conflict, because she drives a wedge between both girls without ever really seeming to feel remorse for her words and actions. Dani and Zoe begin the trip with excitement, yet by the story’s climax, Zoe is too infatuated with Fiona to act like her own person. Meanwhile Dani—fed up with all the mean girl behavior—ultimately starts going off on her own. As someone who was definitely more of a Dani at that age, it was painful and frustrating to see how the girls ended up tag-teaming against her. Yet even so, I couldn’t outright condemn Fiona, nor could I condemn Zoe, because that’s just how it is at that age. You want so badly to be something more than yourself, but if you chase that ideal too far, you end up losing your way.
Conversely, I could see why Zoe wanted to chase a new relationship away from Dani. Dani was comfortable as she was, satisfied with her life, and in many ways afraid of growing up. Fiona was, by contrast, this new, exciting presence, unlike anything she’d ever known before. The Zoe in me understood, and related to, that desire to go off and chase the newer experience, especially when there was a romantic and sexual connection there. The Zoe in me also understood how it feels to subvert your Asianness in order to fit in, without even realizing it (granted, as a half-white person, it’s always been easier for me to “code switch”). In the end, I found myself really rooting for Zoe. She was definitely the most lost of the three girls, yet this also made her care the most about both girls.
As for Fiona, I ultimately felt very sorry for her. There’s a profound loneliness that comes with being a young woman, and some of the loneliest people I’ve known are the ones who act as though they’re above it all. At that age especially, girls might try to act as though they’re wise to the world as a defense mechanism, even though nobody’s especially wise, mature, or worldly at 19. Fiona talks a lot of shit about a lot of things, all in an attempt to sound cool and politically correct. Yet it was ultimately groan-inducing, especially when it came at Dani’s expense. Yet all the same, I knew what was going on. To get overly annoyed at her character would be to get annoyed with all young women, a truly shallow takeaway from a book like this.
Ultimately, all three girls go through a metamorphosis that’s beautifully portrayed through visual metaphors of changes in nature. Dani is forced to challenge her innocence and find her own place in the world, Zoe is forced to grapple with the consequences of change, and Fiona is forced to learn that acting cool and untouchable won’t bring you the kind of happiness that vulnerability does. And if that ain’t the fruit of being that age, I don’t know what is.
Yet another must-read collaboration
While some might find character-focused stories to be boring, I’ve always maintained that they’re some of the most vital pieces of storytelling out there. The Tamakis in particular have a talent for creating work that says, “I see you,” and Roaming is no exception. As with Skim and This One Summer, I felt a wave of gratitude and catharsis when I finished this novel. And while yes, much of this has to do with my similar experiences as an Asian woman, I’ve found that their work has an indisputably universal quality for anyone who’s ever been young, curious, and searching.
Roaming hits bookstores near you on September 12, 2023, alongside a fall book tour with the Tamakis. This book was truly a captivating experience from start to finish, and I heartily recommend it to anyone who’s ever (similarly) been young, curious, and searching, even if it hurt.
(featured image: Drawn & Quarterly)
