Berlin as a place of Intersections: Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex

Middlesex: Jeffrey Eugenides' 2002 NovelFor my second reading this semester, I am reading Jeffrey Eugenides’ 2002 novel, Middlesex. Again, I had planned to post about my reading of the complete volume of the Art of Travel, the book that we’ve been reading throughout this semester and for a portion of my related blogging class last semester. As it seems, we’ve read and discussed almost all of my favorite parts of this book, and I feel that the way we’ve done it (that is, in relation to/reflection on our actual experiences abroad), is probably more effective than just writing a critical review on the book. In any case, I fell into a copy of Eugenides’ Middlesex in the course of the past couple of weeks and have not been able to put it down. No, Middlesex is not a traditional travelogue, nor does it hone in on the importance of Berlin, but I aim to use this review to read Berlin’s importance into Middlesex.

For clarification purposes, I will be using the term “intersexed” rather than the author’s chosen-term “hermaphrodite” (see critique in 5th paragraph), and will also use the gender neutral pronouns “hir” (pronounced “here”) and “ze” (pronounced “zee”) (rather than “her,” him,” or “his” and “she” or “he,” respectively).

In brief summation, Middlesex follows the story of an intersexed person (a person that is biologically neither male nor female, but who falls into a linguistically-undefined category of sexual genetics). Calliope/Cal reflects on hir life throughout time from a place we find out is Berlin. We, the readers, understand the heritage of Cal, the grandchild and child of incestuous heirs. Ironically, we find out, Cal’s family tried to choose and predict hir’s sex. Unfortunately for them, this went horribly wrong. Cal then traces hir life to Detroit as a lonely and confused teenager. Then identifying as a “she,” Cal undergoes the painful realization that ze is intersexed upon visiting a specialist sexologist in New York before running away, in 1974, to San Francisco, a supposed paradise for those who occupy the sexual margins, such as Cal. But, here, Cal doesn’t find more acceptance for choosing not to conform to a conventional sex. Hir love life is very complicated and often heartbreaking, constantly filled with problems and voids, confusions and running. However, one must note that Cal’s story is more than the problems and running, the “figuring out” and “transforming.” Cal’s story is about all the little negotiations that happen in the middle, the middle of place, of immigrant experience, of time, of love, of gender, and of sex. These little life negotiations, I think, are what make this book so much more memorable and human than it might have been if just left an epic story, as it sometimes appeared to be.

My view on Middlesex is that it is a story of intersections: in place, in time, and, of course, in biological sex. Herein lies the importance of Berlin to the character’s telling of the story. Because the character is in the middle of finding hirself through very specific but often overlooked narrative mediums, when the reader realizes that Cal is in Berlin, very specific meanings come to Berlin. First, it seems that Berlin is either discursively produced as a space in which intersexed individuals can negotiate their lives in relative acceptance, or the author just takes it for granted that people already view Berlin in such terms. Because this produces and/or assumes notions of progression (“progression” in terms of liberal rhetoric and freedom-from-oppression), then one would think that Berlin is to be thought of as an entirely modern, if not futuristic society that breeds utopia. But, Berlin is the cross-roads. Cal may be able to come to Berlin and find peace to negotiate, but Berlin, too, is between times. Never to be thought of as in-line with the “modern” West just as Cal’s identity also excludes her from the “modern,” the character and the place are internal and external spaces that are constantly made to come to terms with the problems that literally haunt their pasts. While, as I stated, I am reading significance into Berlin and interpreting things left unsaid by Eugenides, as I see it, almost all that Cal reflects on personally/internally can be paralleled on some level by hir external place in Berlin. Berlin, an apparent compendium of Western discursive productions, remains a space for those in the middle, those without a space to their own.

To paraphrase a man I met about a month ago at a neighborhood bar put it, “I came to Berlin because I had an empty wallet, an empty stomach, and an empty canvas. Now that I’ve come, I see why few artists leave. You don’t need much money, there’s plenty of food, and there’s constant inspiration. If I do leave, it’s because Berlin has made me know who I am.”

Just to stand on my soapbox built out of my concentration in identity studies, I offer some critique, too, of Middlesex. Eugenides, for his efforts, should, I think, have done more consulting on proper terminology and necessary specificity to use, given he chose to write about an especially confusing, often unspoken of identity. This case brings to mind the now often discussed inquiry, “Could Toni Morrison have written her novels if she were not (or did not identify as) an American black woman?” As always, and using this case as a lens, my answer is that she could not have. Here, having Eugenides represent an identity that he himself does not identify or align with brings about, firstly, the problem of the word “hermaphrodite.” Time and time again, I have heard Middlesex cited as the source for peoples’ belief that this term is, in fact, politically-correct. It is not (or at least it is not in the West). As a general rule with, I am sure, many exceptions, no modern medical institutions, political policy firms, or social advocacy organizations use this word. The term disavows the multitude of intersex genetic-makeup and replaces it with a more digestible, less critical version that allows for people to imagine there being one single way to be non-normative in sex (in this case, only 5th-chromosomal mutation), as opposed to the hundreds of ways that exist. Furthermore, the term “hermaphrodite,” implies two complete, reproductively-functioning sets of secondary sex characteristics (breasts and genitals) to be had by the person in question. As this, despite all the variety that does exist, is impossible, “hermaphrodite” is a confusing misnomer. Despite my critiques, I do applaud Eugenides efforts to open up conversation and also applaud Oprah(‘s Book Club) for making this book as big a success as she did. I hope that the intersexed and allied community finds it possible to talk through some of the problems in this book while leaving it intact as one of the few published, widely-read novels that sheds some light onto the often ignored identity that is “Middlesex.”

On one final note: I’ve volunteered as a safe-zone affiliate for NYU’s LGBT office for the past two semesters. Not only would I encourage anyone with similar interests to go to a Safe-Zone training session upon returning to campus, I would also encourage anyone reading this blog who has any questions, personal or non-specific, to be in touch with me.