A Tender Autopsy of Becoming

There's something deeply fitting about a debut graphic novel centered on the preparation of bone broth—that slow, transformative process of drawing sustenance from structure, of making something nourishing from what others might discard. Alex Taylor's Bone Broth, recipient of the First Graphic Novel Award, offers us precisely this kind of alchemy, the award impressive for a first-time creator breaking new ground.

Our guide through this queer coming-of-age thriller is Ash, a young transmasculine protagonist navigating early adulthood through the steamy, frenetic confines of a London ramen shop. What begins as workplace drama—complete with economic precarity and the complex dynamics of bonding with difficult colleagues—pivots sharply when Ash's difficult boss dies at a staff party. The subsequent selfie session with the corpse is exactly the kind of dark, absurdist detail that signals we're in skilled hands.

Taylor orchestrates dual narratives through color: one strand, bathed in warm pinks, traces Ash's gradual integration into his workplace family, while a more ominous, purple-shadowed timeline emerges following that death. The storytelling maintains a deceptive lightness even as it descends into increasingly unsettling territory, with those dreamlike hues masking the visceral punch to come. The horror elements resonate with particular force for queer readers who understand intimately how precarity, surveillance, and the threat of violence shape daily life.

The manga-influenced aesthetic captures the claustrophobic intensity of kitchen work, with panels that refuse neat linearity. The artwork is intricate, though Taylor's chromatic storytelling may require adjustment for readers expecting conventional structure.

What makes Bone Broth essential reading is how Taylor uses visceral imagery—flesh, bone, organic matter being broken down and reconstituted—to create a metaphor that honors rather than exploits bodily transformation. The parallel between surgical precision in gender-affirming care and the knife-work of culinary craft runs throughout, inviting us to consider the radical acts of self-creation available to those willing to reshape themselves. It's a meditation on the knowledge held by those who understand the body as malleable, as something that can be remade with intention and care.

Most importantly, Ash's transness isn't treated as narrative conflict or teaching moment. We encounter him simply living—working, making mistakes, building connections—with his gender identity as naturally present as any other aspect of who he is. This matters. Trans representation that doesn't center transition as trauma or spectacle remains frustratingly rare, and Taylor's approach feels both revolutionary and refreshingly mundane.

Bone Broth is fundamentally about chosen family, workplace solidarity, and the small acts of care that sustain us. When the narrative shifts into supernatural territory—an unexpected ghost story—it mirrors Ash's own journey of becoming without being heavy-handed about it.

Taylor has created something original: a thriller with real heart, horror laced with tenderness, and a trans protagonist we can recognize ourselves in. Bone Broth reminds us that transformation happens through patience, community, and sometimes, necessary violence done with care.

Out now £17.99 to order or for more info see the publishers website.