Maia Kobabe grew up in an idyll. Cow fields threaded by a dirt road. No TV. Almost no internet. Nights fell over hills, stars shone bright, and Kobabe read fantasy novels, imagining other universes while searching for an identity, a glint of self to carry into the world.

“I lived in a shire,” said Kobabe, whose father and mother carved beads, weaved and sewed in a rustic community not far from Santa Rosa, a Northern California town. “I wish every kid had so much space to wander in. I wish every kid could walk out their door in any direction and be perfectly safe to catch snakes and frogs and pick berries.”