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Loading... Middlesexby Jeffrey Eugenides
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will love Sign up for LibraryThing to find out whether you'll like this book. This is a reread of one of my favorite books. The protagonist has 5-alpha-reductase deficiency syndrome, a genetic mutation where the effect is a type of hermaphroditism such that he appears female until puberty, when he essentially switches to becoming male. The story follows the protagonist's understanding of himself and of gender in general. He starts with his grandparents, who emigrated from Turkey and set the genetic stage by marrying even though they were brother and sister. It follows through his parents and then his own life, sexuality, and self-discovery, and is interwoven throughout with mythology (he's Greek, so there's a lot of classicism incorporated) and the transformations that society is going through as he is growing up (and transforming himself) (the family settles in Detroit, and there's lots of discussion of race and the dynamics of immigrant and racial populations, as well as a great scene in the Detroit riots). The writing in this book is excellent. Eugenides has a very fluid style full of subtle allusions and echoes of Greek poets. All of the science and gender research in it is very correct, too. The protagonist's interactions with a particular gender researcher are modeled on an actual case in the gender literature - gender researchers always get very excited when a case shows up that sheds light on the nature vs. nurture debate: the protagonist here (and the real person he's based on) was one such case, being genetically male, but raised as female until puberty. In the famous case the researcher, named John Money if you're interested, believed that the subject proved that nurture (the gender of raising) was the determining factor, claiming that the subject was completely female. Over time, though, the story unraveled and it turned out that aspects of the subject had been concealed, and the subject eventually switched their gender identity to living as a man. The fictionalized version in Middlesex does a very good job exploring all the factors going into this, and is accurate to the real story, as far as I know it. To summarize, then, Middlesex is a wonderfully written exploration of gender and identity. It is also a great, accurate introduction to most of the common themes you'd encounter in a psychology of gender class. In addition, it's a great story and a compelling family drama. You should read it. hadn't read this in a while--had almost forgotten how perfect it is! The transfiguration of one person’s life based on choices made by others can be drastic. An intriguing tale takes a look into different cultures and societies and the taboos that exist amongst them. The underlying meaning of the book, I feel, is a longing to belong and feel loved despite circumstances that are beyond our control. Although a strange tale it was believable until the end where the story took a turn and became a completely different book. The ending felt like a soap opera turned desperate.
This novel repeats the stand-out achievements of The Virgin Suicides: an ability to describe the horrible in a comic voice, an unusual form of narration and an eye for bizarre detail. Eugenides does such a superb job of capturing the ironies and trade-offs of assimilation that Calliope's evolution into Cal doesn't feel sudden at all, but more like a transformation we've been through ourselves. Some of this footloose book is charming. Most of it is middling. His narrator is a soul who inhabits a liminal realm, a creature able to bridge the divisions that plague humanity, endowed with ''the ability to communicate between the genders, to see not with the monovision of one sex but in the stereoscope of both.'' That utopian reach makes ''Middlesex'' deliriously American; the novel's patron saint is Walt Whitman, and it has some of the shagginess of that poet's verse to go along with the exuberance. But mostly it is a colossal act of curiosity, of imagination and of love. Like the Greek drama cuff links that Cal's father wears, ''Middlesex'' has two faces -- one comedic, the other tragic -- and the novel turns the story of Cal's coming of age into an uproarious epic, at once funny and sad, about misplaced identities and family secrets. The book displays the same sort of knowing portraits of adolescence that ''Virgin Suicides'' did, but this novel is at its most incisive not as a bildungsroman about teenage angst and gender confusion, but as a ''Buddenbrooks''-like saga that traces three generations' efforts to grapple with America and with their own versions of the American Dream.
References to this work on external resources.
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Eugenides weaves together a kaleidoscopic narrative spanning 80 years of a stained family history, from a fateful incestuous union in a small town in early 1920s Asia Minor to Prohibition-era Detroit; from the early days of Ford Motors to the heated 1967 race riots; from the tony suburbs of Grosse Pointe and a confusing, aching adolescent love story to modern-day Berlin. Eugenides's command of the narrative is astonishing. He balances Cal/Callie's shifting voices convincingly, spinning this strange and often unsettling story with intelligence, insight, and generous amounts of humor:
Emotions, in my experience aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." … I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic traincar constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." ... I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I've entered my story, I need them more than ever.
When you get to the end of this splendorous book, when you suddenly realize that after hundreds of pages you have only a few more left to turn over, you'll experience a quick pang of regret knowing that your time with Cal is coming to a close, and you may even resist finishing it--putting it aside for an hour or two, or maybe overnight--just so that this wondrous, magical novel might never end. --Brad Thomas Parsons
(retrieved from Amazon Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:58:03 -0400)
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But to get to that point, we have the story of the previous two generations of the Stephanides family, Greek-Americans living in Detroit by way of a tiny village in Asia Minor. It's also the story of how Cal came to have the requisite genetic condition and surrounding circumstances for such a transformation. It's a long story, entwined with a great deal of history: the Turks' burning of Smyrna, the Second World War, the 1967 race riots, the Nation of Islam, all forming a backdrop and context to the family's story. They move through the burning of the harbour, speakeasies and hot dog stands, moving to the suburbs, and I recognise the greater narrative, the story of an immigrant family and their identity, their homesickness and their difference, their gradual assmilation, and finally, their loss of what's left behind.
There are discordant notes in this grand tapestry, of course - sometimes the inner life of the teenage girl isn't particularly well rendered, and occasionally things get a little too soap-operatic - but on the whole, it's an achievement. I could have done with a little more about Cal's life post-"second birth", actually - a little more on how he deals with a life lived male, and how he deals with the family secrets he inherits, but as it is, it's a substantial, solid achievement - a warm bath of a novel, just the right level of comedic, and full of insight into identity. (