What Is The Book Skim About?

'Skim' is this little gem of a graphic novel that’s equal parts funny and heartbreaking. It follows Kim, a goth-leaning teen who’s more comfortable on the sidelines than in the spotlight. The story’s strength lies in its honesty—Skim’s voice is so real, you’d swear you’ve met her. When a classmate’s suicide attempt (and later death) shakes her school, the reactions range from performative grief to outright avoidance. Skim’s journey through all this is messy, tender, and deeply human. Her crush on Ms. Archer is handled with such nuance, and the Tamakis’ collaboration is seamless. It’s a book that stays with you, not because it’s loud, but because it’s so quietly true to life.

I picked up 'Skim' on a whim, and wow, it’s one of those stories that lingers. At its core, it’s a coming-of-age tale, but it’s so much more than that. Kim, or Skim, is this wonderfully complex character—she’s sharp, sarcastic, and yet incredibly vulnerable. The graphic novel format works brilliantly here; Jillian Tamaki’s art adds layers to Mariko Tamaki’s writing. Skim’s world is full of small, telling details: the way her uniform wrinkles, the doodles in her notebook, the way her face changes when she’s trying not to cry. The suicide of a classmate’s boyfriend looms over the story, but it’s not just a 'very special episode' kind of plotline. It’s about how grief ripples outward, affecting everyone differently.

One thing I love is how the book explores Skim’s quiet rebellion. She’s not the loud, angry teen stereotype—she’s observant, curious, and deeply introspective. Her relationship with her teacher, Ms. Archer, is messy and real, capturing that confusing mix of admiration and infatuation. The Tamakis don’t shy away from awkwardness, and that’s what makes it feel so authentic. By the end, I didn’t want to leave Skim’s world—it felt like saying goodbye to a friend.

SKim is a graphic novel that hit me right in the feels when I first read it. It’s about a teenage girl named Kim, nicknamed 'Skim,' who’s navigating the messy terrain of high school, identity, and First Love. The story’s set in the ’90s, and the art style—moody, scratchy, and full of shadows—perfectly captures that bittersweet vibe of adolescence. Skim’s a bit of an outsider, into tarot cards and Wicca, and her wry observations about her classmates and teachers make her painfully relatable. The plot thickens when her best friend’s ex-boyfriend dies by suicide, sending shockwaves through their school. It’s not just about grief, though; it’s about how Skim tries to make sense of her own emotions while everyone around her is falling apart. The way Mariko Tamaki and Jillian Tamaki weave together humor and heartbreak is just masterful.

What really stuck with me was how the book handles themes like depression and queer identity so subtly. Skim’s crush on her female teacher isn’t sensationalized—it’s just this quiet, aching part of her life. The Tamakis don’t tie everything up neatly, either. Like real life, some questions don’t get answers, and that’s okay. If you’ve ever felt like you didn’t quite fit in, this book will feel like a hug from someone who gets it.