For folks who have learned about trans and nonbinary identities in the last 10-15 years of pop culture representation, this graphic text history of people who identify as trans will be a welcome addition to their reading lists. The library that I got it from had it classified as Young Adult, but don’t let that choice sway you. Though young adolescents may be its intended audience, it is full of information that readers of all ages need to know. I say that with plenty of hedging. What I might find new or useful might be old hat or misinformation to you. That’s the funny thing about background knowledge. A writer (and illustrator) have to assume it when creating a text, but everyone’s experiences (both lived and read) vary. It probably reveals more about me than the text when I say that I found it full of new information and names that represent trans and nonbinary identities throughout history.
If nothing else, this text provides a firm rebuttal to the idea that transgender and nonbinary identities are a modern, western convention. It would be nice if bigots who are misinformed or uninformed of this history were required to read and discuss this book as part of their education. I couch that statement as a hypothetical not only because I know such people would never willingly read the book but also because simply exposing people to information does not automatically result in a change in their perspectives. Still, this book's utility in discussing its topics is so high that I am sure it will be subject to a book ban from those very bigots who are scared of their own shadows.
As the subtitle indicates, the text addresses a variety of cultures and eras where people who lived outside the conventional gender binary have left their mark in the historical record. The authors begin with a helpful preface that reminds the reader that the “ancient history” section (and even some of the more recent sections) feature stories of people who might not recognize modern terms and identities discussed later in the book. Some of those names include Elagabalus, Antonio de Erauso, We’wha, and Lucy Hicks Anderson. Even so, the authors are correct to position the telling of these stories as a challenge to white, cishet histories that take up a great deal of space, especially in the United States.
A really cool aspect of the book is the inclusion of primary sources and content experts in the eras and people in each chapter. When I pick up a book like this one, I assume it will be full of information that might be easily searchable online (if I were so motivated — and if search engines were as good as they were 5-10 years ago!). That is, I cynically think well, I could probably just read a couple of Wikipedia entries and get the same info that’s in this book. I’m glad to be wrong here. I, of course, would not have been informed enough to accurately search for 90 percent of the names mentioned in the book, and some of the experts quoted here have given their words directly to the authors. So, these quotes exist nowhere else. Simply searching the internet won’t get you the same reading experience that’s presented here, and that’s before you consider the value of the images that accompany the text. The choice to have shades of pink, purple, lavender makes it clear that this book foregrounds people with trans and nonbinary identities. There’s plenty of black and white to offset the richness of the other colors used; suffice to say that this book is a pleasure to look at.
The book’s final section really pushed it over the edge from being merely interesting to being essential. Combs is the primary author, and he leads off this section by acknowledging his positionality as a co-creator of the text. Instead of leaving the “Present Moment” chapter up to himself as the sole interpretive source, he calls in a dozen other folks to tell their own stories or stories important to them. It’s no mere afterthought. He explains how “As I talked with and learned from them, I made new choices about what shape the entire book was going to take” (p. 258). It’s not like he invited an old friend onstage to cover a song that friend’s band used to sing just to give a compliment or credit. The welcoming of those friends onstage (if we’re keeping with the gig metaphor) caused a recalibration of the entire show to that point and necessitated wholesale revision of the setlist for next time. Combs’ extensive comments in each contributor’s section of the Acknowledgments prove that he took their input seriously throughout the project. There are references to sensitivity readers and other collaborators as well. Eakett’s part of the “Present Moment” section provides further evidence of the inherently collaborative nature of this work. He recounts some of the processes involved in supporting Combs with the text and remarks “At some point, we stopped calling it his book… and started calling it our book” (p. 334, emphasis in original). There are two names on the cover of the book, but that is a limitation of publication. There are dozens of collaborators, researchers, activists, artists, and authors—not to mention names from times before who are the focus of the text—that made this book possible. Do your part by reading it and sharing it with someone who could stand to learn from that example of community-inspired historical narrative.
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