It's 2003, and artist Dawn Levit is stuck. A bookbinder who works in conservation at the Met, she spends her free time scouting the city's street art, hoping something might spark inspiration. Instead, everything looks like a dead end.

And art isn't the only thing that feels wrong: wherever she turns, her gender identity clashes with the rest of her life. Her relationship, once anchored by shared queerness, is falling apart as her boyfriend Lukas increasingly seems to be attracted to Dawn only when she's at her most masculine. Meanwhile at work, Dawn has to present as female, even on the days when that isn't true.

Either way, her difference feels like a liability. Then, one day at work, Dawn finds something hidden behind the endpaper of an old book: the torn-off cover of a '50s lesbian pulp novel, Turn Her About. On the front is a campy illustration of a woman looking into a handheld mirror and seeing a man's face.

And on the back is a love letter. Dawn latches onto the coincidence, becoming obsessed with tracking down the note's author. Her fixation only increases when her best friend Jae is injured in a hate crime, for which Dawn feels responsible.

As Dawn searches for the letter's author, she is also looking for herself. She tries to understand how to live in a world that doesn't see her as she truly is, how to get unstuck in her gender, and how to rediscover her art, and she can't shake the feeling that the note's author might be able to help guide her to the answers. A sharply written, deeply evocative story about what it means to live authentically-even within an identity whose parameters have not yet been defined-Endpapers will appeal to readers of queer, nonbinary, or trans fiction like Torrey Peters' Detransition, Baby as well as anyone who loves character-driven, setting-rich stories like Tell the Wolves I'm Home or The Immortalists.