I’ve been talking with a few of my friends recently about the theatre/performance project I inevitably want to come out of this transition (no pun intended). One of the things I’ve been thinking a lot about is why I want to create theatre based either on my transition specifically or gender and trans issues in general. That is, whenever I’ve worked on a show in the past – whether I’ve directed, adapted, acted in, or worked off/backstage – there’s been something I felt was important in the show that I wanted to be involved in. To use the language of the Workshop, I’ve wanted to further something in the show that was accessable to the “common understanding.” Certainly, I think there should be a ‘selfish’ aspect to working on any project that’s important to you. That is, it should be important to you and you should want to work on it. But I’m worried that this trans theatre project I’m trying to develope is more selfish than not, that I’m looking to use theatre for my own personal therapy.
There’s definitely nothing wrong with using theatre as therapy. But I also want to communicate something important to an audience above and beyond making me feel better about myself. JM sort of beat me over the head when I said that, and I’m forced to admit she’s right: everyone is always undergoing some transition, mine is just a bit more…explicitly labeled as such than many.
The conversation got me thinking about how I’ve identified with basically every strong female figure in fiction that I’ve encountered, and why that is. I wouldn’t exactly say it’s puzzling or shocking that I’ve identified with strong female figures in fiction (tongue-in-cheek) but I hadn’t thought about it in terms of how my story or journey (‘transition,’ if you will…) could be applicable to other people.
More thoughts on this later.
-R
Edit, 3/28/09 – I’m attempting to organize my thoughts on trans fiction here. That page contains links to all of the blog posts I’ve written on the subject, as well as a (growing) collection of links to sites focusing on trans fiction, and particular trans-themed authors/stories I like.
EDIT 9/8/2007 – I’ve responded to this post here, where I basically retract much of what I say below…so read everything here with a grain of salt, please.
This post is a followup to a previous post, How do you transition, which was sort of a followup to Trans Fiction.
So G said (in a reply to How do you transition) that I should find some good trans fiction, and go cold-turkey on the bad stuff (not necessarily in that order). As a means toward that end, I decided to go through stuff I’ve bookmarked and try to figure out what the hell I’m reading… The list continues below
- Bek D. Corbin’s fiction – Dammit, this is already harder than I thought it would be. Most of it is along the same forced-feminization line (or, at least, unwilling feminization) that I’m coming to acknowledge is unhealthy, but it’s actually well written. I particularly like the Jordan Winter stories and the Whateley Academy stories, among some others…I think I’m gonna keep this, for now…KEEP, BUT I FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT
- Noel – Bah. Another ‘unwilling feminization’ story, though it’s also a nice little piece about redemption. KEEP, BUT I FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT
(the list continues below…) Continue reading 'How do you transition (a followup)'»
I just finished reading She’s Not the Man I Married, by Helen Boyd (who blogs at en|Gender). It’s sort of a thinking-out-loud kind of book – it’s not quite a memoir, not quite a book on theory, not quite a manifesto, but with tastes of all of those things, and more. It’s written by the partner of someone who identifies as trans (not transgender or transsexual or transvestite, but specifically trans, which I kind of love) and explores how the author has dealt with that and the conclusions she has come to. I really enjoyed reading it, and am looking forward to making G read it and getting her thoughts on Boyd’s experiences. Obviously, just as no two trans individuals have the exact same experiences, no two partners of trans individuals would, either. But Boyd is one of the few voices (the only voice?) of trans partners, so I’ll take what I can get. (It also helps that she’s a good writer.)
One of the common refrains throughout the book (paraphrased) “I don’t understand it [being transsexual] but I accept it.” For exapmle, from page 243: “Like a lot of feminists, I’m generally suspicious of what people mean when they say they have ‘a woman’s brain’ or ‘feel like a woman,’ but transsexual people are content after they transition, feel they’ve fixed something, and while I’ll never understand it, I’ve met too many people now who have given up too much to transition to doubt what is going on is legitimate.” I have a huge amount of respect from anyone else who is able to see something outside their own personal experience of the world and not say “No, no one can feel that way because I don’t feel that way.”
That said, one passage from close to the end of the book jumped out at me and I did want to ruminate on it.. From page 251:
The feeling that I am supportive of Betty’s transness only for the sake of the man I met creeps up on my now and again. Betty worries that out of love for him I “put up” with her. If she gets to the point where she has no male left for me to connect t, there is a chance I will wake up one day and realize I am not in love with and feel no loyalty toward her. This is why when a trans person uses that “but I’m the same person” argument, I want to say, “Well, I sure as hell hope not,” because we had better not be dealing with all this crap without its effecting any real change. That’s the point, that the trans person’s change will be enough to make living in the world easier and more comfortable for him, whether that’s done through crossdressing or transition.
Continue reading '“But I’m the same person!” “Well, I sure as hell hope not”'»
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