Middlesex
I’m not sure about you, but I know virtually nothing about hermaphrodites. Anatomically, I can fumble the pieces together like Steve Carell in 40-Year-Old Virgin during the family health clinic scene. Biologically, I can formulate a nice little Punnett square and do the math. But I’ve never done any hermaphrodite-related research (now more commonly referred to as “intersex”).
Well, there’s a first time for everything! Stay woke.
Middlesex is a widely celebrated, Pulitzer Prize-winning novel written by Jeffrey Eugenides. It follows the transition of the protagonist narrator from female (Calliope/Callie Stephanides) to male (Cal Stephanides). Eugenides helped pave the way for more in-depth discussions on gender identity, ethnic assimilation issues, race relations, and the emotions behind psychosexual milestones. As he was not an intersex individual himself, he painstakingly sifted through research on the topic—a process that took over nine years until he felt sufficiently confident. Following a tumultuous internal debate over the voice of the novel, Eugenides settled for a fictional memoir in which Cal retraces the steps of his family’s legacy. He starts with his grandparents, moves right along to his parents, details his upbringing (as a she), and continues through his intersex transformation, relating the reverberations that the change had on his family. While there has been some negative criticism as to the unrealistic scope of Cal’s hindsight (he was obviously not alive to witness and report all that occurred before his birth), I actually find his narrative breadth refreshing. Cal’s unwavering omniscience makes him seem almost divine, which in turn makes me trust his story. Usually omniscient people know what’s good. Because he simultaneously transcends the plot and is embedded within, he is able to speak with a special kind of candor that makes you feel like he’s your best friend sitting next to you telling a story.
One thing I love about the book— it’s very sexy without being risqué. I mean, after all, he’s talking about his grandparents and his parents getting it on…not exactly masturbation material. In other words, you’re not going to need one of these:
The stuff of nightmares.
Furthermore, I very much enjoy Eugenides’ blending of fact and fiction. This novel manages to satisfy both itches by sprinkling historically factual elements into the storyline. For instance, Cal’s grandparents are affected by the Balkan Wars, Cal’s father takes a firm stance on the Watergate scandal, and the entire family is endangered by the 1967 Detroit riots. It’s a history lesson ensconced within an imaginary tale and that is genius.
I give the novel 5 out of 5 flames. The book incites you to think about groups of people other than yourself and it does so creatively and inconspicuously. That’s the best way to learn—when you hardly notice that you’re learning. I truly could not put this book down at the time of reading and there’s something to be said for an author’s ability to engross a reader so wholly.
PS: Check out my review of The Marriage Plot if you want a not-so-glowing take on a (shitty) Eugenides’ novel. Then, while you’re at it, check out my review of The Virgin Suicides— another one of his novels. It’s fine.
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