Review of First Person Plural by Andrew W.M. Beierle (New York: Kensington 2007), 322pp.

On the surface, Andrew Beierle’s 2007 novel First Person Plural, takes the mantra “write what you know” and throws it out the window. Beierle’s main characters are Owen and Porter, dicephalus (“two-headed”) conjoined twins, who share just one body (and one penis) between them. I have met Beierle and can attest that he has but one head to call his own. (I cannot speak to how many penises he might have.)
That’s what makes First Person Plural a work of such extended, imaginative genius. He has managed literally to put himself in the body of an Other. Not one sentence permits the reader to escape the conceit that the narrator is a musically inclined, conjoined twin raised by progressive parents in a misty time that feels like late Nineties Athens, Georgia. And that one of these conjoined twins, Porter, is straight, and the other, Owen, is gay.
Needless to say, the sexual wrinkle is a wonderful vehicle for humor and Beierle exploits it for all its worth. The horny brothers’ argument concerning which hand, if either, is going to jerk off their shared penis after Porter has met the pure girl of his dreams had me laughing to tears. And Owen’s counting state capitals so as not to have to pay attention to the girly parts of the woman with whom Porter is making love is another riotous, indelible scene.
But humor isn’t Beierle’s main achievement. Not by a long stretch. The brilliance of First Person Plural is the way the novel – solely through narrative conflict and not didactically – provides a new perspective on what it means to be an Other, the fluidity of boundaries between people in relationship, loneliness that is most acute paradoxically in a crowd, and the mysteries and surprises that the people closest to us can spring on us years after we think we know everything there is to know about them. Beierle, of course, brings a peculiar knowledge of these issues because he is a gay man. But when Porter’s wife becomes pregnant – has another being that is both inside and a part of her, yet separate from her – the universality of his theme becomes apparent. These are issues that all of us “know.”
First Person Plural is a novel that for the most part surprises. (Only the last line was no surprise, and yet still managed to be dramatically moving.) The novel traces Owen and Porter’s life from high school, through college, and into a budding career as alterna-rock musicians, with a focus on their romantic lives – or lack thereof. No character is a stereotype, except maybe the skanky roadies of both sexes who bed down Owen and Porter while they are on the road with their band. Even the evangelicals have a human face, and what is most surprising is the way in which Beierle allows them to be moved, to show a generosity of spirit on some issues that isn’t reflected in the more common gay narratives.
“People always tell stories to explain things they cannot understand,” Owen muses to himself near the end. He imagines the narrative people tell about his conjoined condition typically involves a metaphor of imprisonment and, perhaps, escape. The narrative of First Person Plural is infinitely more complex, incorporating themes of both imprisonment and escape, but also elements of transcendence and empathy that suggest neither imprisonment or escape, but rather the building of bridges from one of us to the Other. ( )

This book challenges a lot of societal baggage. It's about siamese twin boys. One is straight and one is gay. This book tackles many uncomfortable issues and does so without passing judgment on the characters or their perspective, a very difficult task indeed when you take on such themes as: Christianity and the whacko religious right, homosexuality, heterosexuality, fraternal relationships, human sexuality, psychology, right wing politics, among a few. Somehow each of the brothers unique perspectives are as balanced and I doubt many writers could accomplish this. Even the awful wife, who I hated, I still could understand why she chose to behave the way she did, even if I didn't agree with it. By the books end you have two heroes as far on the spectrum as could and you love and honor their unique struggle through life. ( )