It kind of strikes me. Being transgendered is a lot like having amnesia. I mean I can know things and I can self identify myself but at the same time when we all start to go through this we really don’t know a whole lot of things about who we are. It’s all Images, those lives we once led, not anything of substance really.

Kind of like our old or otherselves were a movie, one we had watched over and over until we knew it line by line and hated it. Then we start to transition and we’re given the book to read instead and it’s nothing at all like the movie. There’s similarities but it’s really not the same and we all have to start at the first of the book not really knowing what the real story of us is going to be.

http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/21191/images-4

I hadn’t heard either of these analogies before – being trans as having amnesia, and transitioning as the experience of reading a novel instead of seeing the movie – but I think they both have some value.

I don’t know enough about amnesia to comment from anything but a pop culture understanding of the affliction, but the analogy makes some sense: being trans, you know bits and pieces about what and who you are, how you’re supposed to present yourself, interact with others, what you might (or might not!) like and dislike. And there’s an expectation from those around you that you should know all this stuff, and an embarrassment when you don’t. A worry that you’ll make a fool of yourself.

Ugly Betty is a show I’ve talked about before. The trans character, Alexis, suffers from amnesia at one point (it’s that kind of show) and has no idea how to dress herself, carry herself, or interact with the world. She’s excited about what feels to her as a magical transformation for male to female, but hasn’t retained any of the experiences or knowledge to go with it. It was, to me, a poignant reminder that the journey is sometimes necessary for the destination to be worth anything.

And – as a voracious reader – I really like the idea of transitioning as reading a book versus watching a movie. Movies have to function in compressed time, telling a story in a few scant hours. Books, on the other hand, can expand details and zoom focus in as close as the author likes. Transitioning, the important details of my personality – who I care about, my politics, my humor, my intelligence - haven’t faded. But I’ve learned things about myself I simply couldn’t know while I wasn’t living ‘as myself.’ (I use quotes because I’m still not sure how to describe life before transitioning. “Trapped in the wrong body.” “Living as someone else.” “Forced to be a boy.” All have elements of truth, but none describe the whole experience.)

Now, in the midst (or post?) transition, I’m able to focus on my life instead of worrying how much time is left to tell the story. (If that sentence makes any sense…) I am not always able to forget about the movie version, I’m not always able to get over frustrations about the parts I had to leave out by not transitioning as early as I’d have liked, but I like the idea of thinking about my future as an open book, rather than a completed movie.

In that vein, I came across The Silence of the Night. It’s not super-long, and it deals with some dark subject matter – child abduction and implied rape – but it’s really a lovely story about a trans person trying to come to terms with her past. I was skeptical at first, but the magical and religious elements all come together in the end. Even I, agnostic at best, found a lot to like in the story, and definitely recommend it to anyone who is looking for a little hope to come out of all the darkness.

SIR Orlando to you

Sorry I’ve been so busy! Here’s a short post while I get some longer ones together.

Last night, before going to bed, I began to read Orlando. Briefly, Orlando is about a nobleman who – after some earlier adventures taking up about half the book – goes to sleep and awakes to find himself a woman, Lady Orlando.

Orlando often comes up in discussions of trans studies, and not without good reason. That said, some say that the character’s identity (and sexuality) stay as “straight male” throughout the book, meaning it isn’t quite as “trans” as is often held. I haven’t gotten to the part about the gender swap, let alone any same-sex relationships, so I’ll hold off commenting. I will say, however, that I’m loving Virginia Woolf’s style of writing, her self-awareness as a narrator, and her willingness to poke fun at the genre in which she’s engaging. I look forward to finishing Orlando (and writing more about it) as well as diving into other works of hers.

A partially obscured shot of a female face. How original for a book dealing with a trans character...

I just finished reading Almost Perfect, a young adult novel about a high school senior, Logan, who falls for a girl, Sage, that he eventually learns is trans. It’s well-written and believable, told from the first-person perspective of Logan, and does a good job of being injecting humor without being light or unrealistic. As someone who is a trans fiction aficionado, it was very refreshing to find a trans main character in a book that isn’t sensationalist or belittling. Or overly optimistic and picture-perfect.

There will be spoilers beyond this point, so consider yourself warned. If you’re looking for a recommendation, I would definitely recommend Almost Perfect. But a title like that should tell you that it has an ending which is – at best – bittersweet.

I read the book in one sitting, picking it up from the library earlier tonight and putting it down just now. It was very much a roller-coaster of a tale, with Logan’s conflict over Sage’s gender pushing him away from her, while his friendship with and desire for her pulls him closer. And I have a very strong suspicion that if they had ended up together in the end, I would have called the book unrealistic and creating a falsely positive view of what being outed as trans can mean.

At the same time, I really wanted Logan and Sage to end up together.

All to often, trans fiction acknowledges the difficulties of being trans only to ultimately wrap everything up in a picture-perfect bow. Caitlyn’s Tale comes to mind as an easy example, along with countless semi- or explicitly-pornographic works.

Almost Perfect was ultimately satisfying because it didn’t gloss over the difficulties of being trans, or of being confronted with one’s own prejudice about gender and sexuality. Logan reacted really poorly when Sage came out to him, reacted poorly again when they almost hooked up, again when they did hook up, again when… (you get the picture). The book respectfully told the story of a boy who had never given gender a second thought, and was forced to confront feelings he didn’t like within himself. (Initially, his attraction to Sage, but ultimately, by trying to confront his embarrassment and repulsion.)

And yes, it’s more realistic for Logan and Sage not to end up with each other. First, they’re only in high school, and I’m always skeptical of high school romances working out in fiction. On top of that, the huge issue of Sage’s trans status in small-town Missouri. I think all of the decisions made by all of the characters throughout Almost Perfect are realistic and believable.

Bla bla bla. I really wanted Logan and Sage to end up together.

The ending of this book set me off onto a nice long crying jag, and not simply because Logan and Sage didn’t end up together. I cried because Sage got badly beaten near the end of the book, and it caused her to drastically doubt herself. I don’t want to doubt myself. I cried because of the unresolved trouble Sage had with her father at the end of the book. I so badly want my own dad to stop hurting me and protect his little girl. I cried because Almost Perfect simultaneously highlighted how difficult Sage’s transition was for those around her and how that difficulty was not her responsibility. I hate causing others inconvenience, and am convinced my transition is nothing but a big bother for those around me, even though I know that’s not true.

From near the end of the book:

We all hated ourselves. Me, Mr. Hendricks, Tammi, and I was sure, Sage. The perverse thing was, none of us had really been all that greedy or self-absorbed. Sage’s father, cruel as he was, just wanted his son back. Tammi just wanted a sister. I wanted a “normal” girlfriend. And Sage – all she wanted was to be herself.

I cried because I really didn’t want to hear that right now. I want to be right, to see the world in black-and-white, to feel like my anger and frustration with my dad is justified, unequivocally and without nuance. I cried because I want to be a “normal” girl, and don’t get to have that. I cried because Sage started transitioning so much earlier than I did and – sure enough – still regretted not starting earlier.

Most heartbreaking of all, I think, was Sage’s slowly-shattering facade of happiness. I relate to that so completely, I who trained myself to smile more frequently because it seemed more feminine. I’m scared of making myself vulnerable, lest I be cracked, and I’m scared of not, lest I rot from the inside.

This post has obviously drifted a bit far afield from simply reviewing Almost Perfect. I’ll finish by saying that I do think it’s an important addition to the trans fiction cannon, and unique for being both a young adult novel and not written from the perspective of the trans individual. I do think it does attempt to build dramatic tension too steeply, with lots of “But when I learned her secret, it would change everything” style sentences. But it’s a young adult novel, so I’m willing to forgive the author for his bluntness.

But I really want to see some well-written, mainstream, nuanced trans fiction with a happy ending. It seems like the trans fiction that’s out there – what little that there is – either has everything end poorly or saccharine-sweet. I want a middle ground: something that won’t leave me in tears, while still acknowledging that life is difficult. I want to be able to see myself in the characters I’m following without expecting things to either be saved via a deus ex machina or fall apart slowly and painfully.

Because if I can’t find a believable happy ending in fiction, it sometimes feels unlikely that I’ll find one for myself.

(A final PS – reading from 10PM to 3:30AM straight undoubtedly didn’t help my mental health. I’m sure things will look better in the morning…)

Stella, someone who could get women drivers a bad name, literally knocks Charlie off his expensive racing bike. She discovers that Charlie, a research field biologist, has a secret. He’s gearing up to transition as a woman, only he’s too frightened to do it. Stella takes control and her brother, Simon not only fancies ‘Cathy’ but falls in love with her.

Follow the mayhem, as this romantic and at times adventure story rambles all over the place as they pursue their lives. Keep the tissues handy, it has pathos, humour and real life, as Cathy deals with the triumphs and tribulations of being a woman.

It’s fun. If you’re looking for something easy to read, this is a good pick The chapters are all pretty short, nice bite-sized pieces, which makes it easy to read quite a lot without realizing it. (I’m almost at chapter 200, out of 957 so far, with more chapters still being added.)

That said, I haven’t caught up to the most recent chapters, so read my review with that in mind.

At the end of the day, it’s nice reading about a character who actually identifies as trans. Cathy has to deal with being out (or not) sleeping with her partner (or not) feeling ignorant about how to ‘be a woman,’ and so on. Likewise, Angharad occasionally touches on really difficult pieces about being trans, in feelings of inadequacy, regret, family members, romantic relationships, and more. For all that, though, I think Falling off a Bike has some shortcomings, and I’m not convinced it’ll keep my attention for another 700+ chapters.

To begin, the story has something of a ridiculous narrative, and I feel like I can only put up with so much. Cathy is wooed by a British Lord, promoted (and promoted and promoted) at work, is inherently so graceful and beautiful as to provoke a coworker’s murderous rage, saves babies from burning cars and befriends small children and forest animals (literally), and cries all the fucking time. Now, I’m aware I occasionally accuse myself of that: of having a really good life and still being down in the dumps all the time. But I sure as hell hope I’m not as tiring to my friends as Cathy occasionally has been to me as a reader.

Coupled with that, I don’t love some of the gender politics in the story. Cathy refuses to have sex until marriage, which is fine, but rejects any possibility of having sex before surgery. That’s fine too, although I would have rather read about a character who (like myself) is able to enjoy sex with the equipment they have. But I think the author portrays Cathy’s feeling around her body and sexuality in a pretty superficial way. Cathy also mentions she doesn’t like interacting with other trans people, but rather than explore that as a point for character growth it’s just brushed off. I also think the story’s characters sometimes stray over the line of ‘playful banter’ into ‘sexist jackassery.” (And then Cathy rushes off to her room to cry again.)

Do I recommend this as something to read? Yes, but with those caveats. It doesn’t fall into the trap of “Oh no, I’m really a man but [ridiculous situation] has made me a woman!” which is quite refreshing. I also do appreciate the story’s humor, and have grown to care about the characters. But that makes it all the more frustrating when I think an opportunity was missed, or don’t like how a relationship or character is being developed.

(Again, it’s somewhat unfair to judge this entire work by only 1/5 of it. But the 200 chapters I’ve read so far are at least as long – if not far longer – than some of the trans fiction out there, so I don’t feel totally out of line reviewing it at this point. If/when I catch up to the current chapters, or if/when I decide to give up, I’ll let y’all know.)

But I have to admit, I was (and am) a little confused by the question Morgan is asking. It seems self evident – even in the links within her post, not to mention those in the comments – that there is trans literature being generated. (Morgan seems to define ‘trans lit’ as ‘fiction,’ a definition I don’t have any problems with.) More broadly, she seems to be creating divisions where none need be:

Yet what would “trans literature” be like? When we talk about the literature of an identity group we mean that members of the group want to read about people like themselves. African-Americans want books with African-American protagonists; lesbians want books with lesbian protagonists; and so on. But the trans community is very diverse, and different parts of it have very different needs. Cross-dressers, for example, often read, and write, erotic fantasies about cross-dressing. Pre-transition transsexuals reportedly read memoirs and theory voraciously in order to find out if transition is right for them, and how to survive it. Post transition, however, they often settle happily into their preferred gender and have no further need for trans books. They are often content identifying with characters of their preferred gender and don’t want to be reminded of what they see as a painful past life.

Those who regard themselves as in a third gender, as gender-free or gender-fluid, and those who are intersex, will probably want books about people like themselves. Obviously there is a real need for a literature for them. However, they are only a part of the trans community (and apologies to any of them who do not want to be regarded as part of it), so the market is even smaller.

It’s true: “trans” is very broad term, which catches potentially disparate groups under its net. But so does “people of color” or “lesbian” or “young adult.” A protagonist who is in the midst of transitioning with full familial support may have a different audience than a protagonist who identifies as genderqueer and has been kicked out of hir home. But I can imagine books being listed under ‘African American fiction’ that nevertheless share little in common beyond the protagonist’s skin color. (I was hoping to use the the books listed in African American fiction at Amazon for examples, but it looks like most/all of those are specifically romance novels aimed at women. Odd.)

And I think the thing that does bind different trans* identities together – somehow feeling outside one’s assigned gender roles – could allow those interested in trans fiction to enjoy a wide variety of trans protagonists, even if not every protagonist matches every reader’s lived experience.

I’m also concerned by how Morgan divides the trans community:

• Cross-dressers: “often read, and write, erotic fantasies about cross-dressing”
• Pre-transition transsexuals: “reportedly read memoirs and theory voraciously in order to find out if transition is right for them, and how to survive it.”
• Post-transition transsexuals: “often content identifying with characters of their preferred gender and don’t want to be reminded of what they see as a painful past life”
• Genderqueer: “probably want books about people like themselves”

First, as I said, I think someone who identifies as genderqueer might still be able to identify with a cross-dressing protagonist in a way that someone who is cis might not. But I also feel like Morgan is reinforcing really stereotypical ideas about what those identities mean.

I attempted to bring this up in the comments section of the post, saying

I think [the way you present post-transition life in your post is] an overly simplistic view of transitioning, or of post-transition life. Without getting into the ‘are you still trans after transitioning’ debate, I think there’s even more value in depicting successful, empowered post-transition characters to remind both trans and cis individuals that it is possible to transition and be a whole and complete person.

I’m not sure Morgan understood where I was coming from, though. Her reply:

I used the word “often” in that section you quote very deliberately. I certainly wouldn’t suggest that such attitudes were true of everyone who transitions. What I have tried to do here is give readers an overview of the great diversity of the trans community, and that means trying to give space to as many different viewpoints as possible.

But I don’t think Morgan got in multiple viewpoints, I think she got in multiple stereotypes.

I’m curious how self-identified cross-dessers, drag queens/kings, pre- mid- and post-transition transsexuals, and genderqueer individuals would react to Morgan’s assessment of what they are looking for. To be clear, I think members of all those groups share a desire for protagonists in which they can find themselves. I think all humans, period, share a desire for art which reflects their own experiences.

I just don’t think anyone should decide for another group what their reflection looks like.

I’ve been enjoying the stories a lot, and much of what I’m doing now is rereading pieces I’ve encountered before. Specifically, I’d say the story arcs of Toni, Nikki, Jade, Ayla, and Sara are the most well written, along with the other various stories by those characters’ authors.

But while the order of the stories at Crystal Hall is OK, there have been pretty consistent occasions where I’m not sure if I missed something because the information isn’t supposed to have been revealed yet, or if I missed something because I didn’t read another story I didn’t know was a precursor. Characters traveling freely between authors just furthers the issue.

I know multiple stories covering the same period of time make a simple timeline pretty much impossible…but if anyone over at Crystal Hall is reading this, some sort of order guide would be just lovely! (Or, lacking that, having the date ranges listed along with the story descriptions, so you could know what calendar period the story spans.)

(This is all separate from my love/hate relationship with trans fiction, which I’ll try to cover more in another post.)

I bring all that up because I am feeling better about the show, but I’m still feeling like I’m in something of a funk more generally. And, with a recent comment on an older post about trans fiction, I’m reading some new stories and finding them feeding some of the same escapist urges I’ve mentioned in the past.

Basically, I’m looking forward to when this show is over so I can focus on being a woman rather than performing a woman. Or, at least, I’m looking forward to focusing on figuring out how to be a woman. And these stories, as they always do, feed into a desire to A) be of an appropriate age where I, say, legitimately not know what the hell I’m doing, or B) be in an alternate universe/timeline where not everyone else knows I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

Honestly, that’s kind of what I’m hoping to do starting sometime in the next few months, when my schedule calms down. Set aside some time to, for lack of better terms, rehearse and practice: putting on makeup, walking in heels, trying on some of the different outfits I’ve acquired. Of course, all this will require shopping between now and then…

Because I’m not going to find myself in the magical – or, at least, absurd – situations some of these characters find themselves. But I do think it would do me some good to put time aside to feel like I’m allowed to play with these new “trappings of femininity.”

(All that said, I think some of the Mary Sue fantasies  played out in trans fiction is hilarious. The amount of immediate 180-ing from “No, I’m not a girl! Stop making me dress like a girl!” to “Gee whiz, Bobby! Your muscles sure are big! Teehee!” is kind of ridiculous. Likewise, I love the standard advice of, “You may not need tampons, but you absolutely have to have a few in your purse and under your sink to keep up appearances!” (On that note, if you come over to my apartment and check my bathroom for tampons, you won’t find any. Not even to for “the illusion.” But I will throw you out of my apartment.))

- I never had the courage to come out & someone else forcing me will probably always be just a fantasy.

- There is no sexual stimulation in reading these stories(for me) & the sexually explicit ones are sometimes a turn off. I think, for me, it is just good reading about subjects that are near & dear to me.

- [Trans fiction] stories help me have an imaginary life like I really want.

- I do not think that I am alone to have those stories with us when we have gone to bed. I just hope that they have been as inspirational to others as they have been to me.

And, of course, the seven ‘E’s:

1. Explore – reading to find new ideas or expressions, to help figure out where one is on the gender continuum.

2. Experience – to share the thoughts and feelings others have about themselves.

3. Expand – to widen one’s horizons about the various lifestyles and choices.

4. Erotic – to engage in a sexual experience which may result in another E – Ejaculate.

5. Escape – to lose oneself in the fantasy of others when there is no chance of it happening in real life.

6. Evolve – to help oneself move forward toward a real life goal.

7. Excuse – to let someone else take charge – to not be responsible for your actions.

How about you, gentle reader? Why do you read trans fiction? (Or write it? Or don’t read it? Or any other thoughts on the subject?)

As a reminder, I’m collecting my thoughts on, and links to, trans fiction here. Enjoy!

-R

From the author’s site: “Supervillainz is a madcap adventure story of a Scooby gang of queer twenty-somethings pitted against a gang of superheroes who believe one of the kids is responsible for their brother’s death.” I think this book is really important becuase it’s about a group of characters who happen to be trans, and while their status as trans feeds the story it isn’t really the core element. That said, the writing wasn’t amazing – it was good, and I enjoyed reading it, but it didn’t blow me away. I do, however, look forward to Goranson’s next book. Buy it now from Chicago’s feminist bookstore, Women & Children First!

As a reminder, the Trans Fiction page is where I’m collecting thoughts on trans fiction, as well as examples that I think are worth reading.

-R