Queer-e Vol. 1. no. 1 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Book Reviews 15. Maureen Phalon ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright (c) 1995 by Author, all rights reserved. This text may be freely shared among individuals, but it may not be republished in any medium without express written consent from the authors and advance notification of the editors of Queer-e . ---------------------------------------------------- The Political Body and the Body Politic _Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women, and the Rest of Us_, by Kate Bornstein. New York: Routledge, 1994. 245pp. _My American History: Lesbian and Gay Life During the Reagan/Bush Years_, by Sarah Schulman. New York: Routledge, 1994. 345pp. Feeling disenfranchised lately? Good. Now that the 1994 election has reared its ugly head, with California leading the country in cries of "Save Our State" and "Three Strikes You're Out," it is easy to see that the politics of scapegoating and propaganda are very much alive. But two new books should serve as good comfort to the jaded political heart within almost every queer I know. Both Sarah Schulman's _My American History_ and Kate Bornstein's _Gender Outlaw_ invite us to stop and take a long look at the queered American landscape we inhabit. Although a combination of the two books might produce a gestalt something like "This can really suck" (Schulman) "but ain't life grand?" (Bornstein), both authors' abilities to analyze the way things work in the United States _fin de siecle_ is in itself refreshing. _My American History_ is a photo album of the malicious Reagan/Bush social disaster. The book chronicles Schulman's varied new pieces, essays, and talks, among them a 1981 essay on the National Right to Life Party ("Fear and Loathing on the Hallelujah Trail"), an essay on the closing of gay bathhouses ("Health or Homophobia?: Responses to the Bathhouse Guidelines"), a 1990 essay entitled "Is the NEA Good for Gay Art?," and a final guidebook for setting up a Lesbian Avengers chapter. Within this diverse range of topics, Schulman deftly weaves through the entangled issues of AIDS, human rights, and the short-sighted and often calamitous effects of politics and political positioning. While all of the articles focus on a single issue, each engages in larger questions concerning civil rights in America, particularly for gays, lesbians, women, different ethnicities, and the homeless. Schulman's essay "Consumed by Neglect: Who is to Blame for the TB Epidemic?" is a brief on public health policy when such policy concerns the disenfranchised; she neatly shows how the combination of homelessness, political fumbling, and classism in New York City exploded into the TB crisis. Although the subtitle of _My American History_ suggests that its contents are limited to the Reagan/Bush years, many of its topics extend far beyond these presidential terms. Schulman questions, for instance, the very basis of the recent "gays in the military" debate, asking in the book's introduction "who" has determined the terms of this so-called national debate and "who" is setting the agenda. Good question. I'm sure the lovely ladies of the armed forces are probably well above the 10% mark in terms of sisters. And the Navy? Hello, Fleet Week. After all, the Clinton Administration's "don't ask, don't tell" is little more than a euphemism for Reagan/Bush America's don't think, don't speak, stay invisible. The articles concerning ACT UP, in contrast, reveal the organization's brilliant, loud, and courageous fight to define the AIDS crisis from the perspectives and needs of the most visibly affected communities. Schulman's final chapter about the Lesbian Avengers is fun and direct; the reader can see much of ACT UP's style and spirit in the activities, graphics, humor, and no-apologies attitude of its enthusiastic members. Thisbrings to mind what I felt was the only missing chapter in the book: What happened to and what is happening in ACT UP? I'm sure that Schulman hasn't turned her analytical eye away from this issue; her opinions on the organization's dissolution within many American cities might help political groups like the Lesbian Avengers avoid future pitfalls. Each of Schulman's articles could easily be developedinto an entire book in its own right, making _My American History_ a wonderful analytical springboard and addition to any modern history course. Perhaps more importantly, the book serves as an inspiration to the reader by illustrating that the individual can make a great impact in often small ways. Schulman makes it clear that no one is going to help the gay and lesbian community but ourselves. The policy "don't ask, don't tell" is not going to cut it; in fact, as Schulman illustrates, it might just kill us. The author's ability to capture the ways in which our nation's spirit has become infected with the callousness and arrogance encapsulated in the tag 'Reagan/Bush' may be her most valuable contribution. Unfortunately, recent political developments have only made the infection fester. We have a long way to go. While Schulman's _My American History_ analyzes theinteraction of bodies in the political sphere, Kate Bornstein's _Gender Outlaw_ focuses on the body itself as a site of politics. The book progresses through Bornstein's shifting gender awareness to her present transgressively gendered status. Everyone seems to have an opinion on transgenderism, but the more thoughtful person is continually refining this opinion, including Bornstein. When I first began to read her book, I was surprised to realize the extent to which my own understanding of and practice within the gender system is based on an assumption of gender as static. And while I recognize that a binary system serves to maintain male privelege, it was only when I read _Gender Outlaw_ that I recognized just how much I rely on and employ this system. Indeed, Bornstein's book might appropriately be called the first of a new "gender self-help" series, since it is not so much about "the" gender system as it is about "your" gender system. Bornstein forces her reader to acknowledge a very basic fact: there is a gender system out there that we all embrace each and every day. Bornstein's prose is inundated with questions, commentary on other texts, and challenges, so much so that I found myself wandering around the house and talking to myself after every few pages. She engages the reader in a dialogue about gender identity, which is no mean feat given the ongoing controversy about transsexualism in the queer community. Insightful observations about both the physical body and the gendered body build like waves throughout the book, and while it might be too dramatic to call the result a tsunami, Bornstein's arguments loom large, powerful, complex, potentially shattering. I initially read the book as someone who believed that everyone has the right to be who they want to be, and if that necessitated sex reassignment, go girl. But by the end of the book, and I would argue to Bornstein's credit, I began to question the naivety in this view. Bornstein refrains from writing a simple "I-have-all-the-answers" marketing piece; instead, she guides her readers in questioning the physical body's relationship to the metaphysical world. The notion of being trapped in the 'wrong body' slowly evolves though the text until the reader wonders if there ever was a 'right' body. Although the fact that the book gives few answers might disconcert some readers, Bornstein effectively shows that answers all too quickly become rules--a dangerous alignment for all of us. Still, while the content of Bornstein's book is extremely challenging, her style can become a bit tiresome. In an effort to engage the reader more personally in the discussion, Bornstein is at times overly cutesy and casual, adopting a Chatty Kathy persona on one page and becoming Malibu Barbie unleashed on the next. But this is just a small point, and Kate does a good job getting over her cutesy self. Her casual style is clearly linked theoretically to the book's innovative typography. Points, digressions, and examples are played off one another in blocks of text to the right and left; different fonts are featured, some bolded, some not. In a simple way, the book's layout serves as a reminder of how easy it is to break, challenge, or bend rules. More profoundly, it's a good example of how stepping outside of prescribed formats can work well for a text like this one. The layout made for very fluid transitions, an appropriate framework for the nature of the work. Everyone is a "gender defender" to some extent, and Bornstein is right when she argues that if we could alllook at gender as fluid, we would eventually get rid of male-female power differentials. Perhaps we would all do well to become gender disphoric in the present system. In fact, this may just be the revolutionary act post ACT UP that Schulman's next history will document. Bornstein wants the transgressively gendered to become transgressively gendered and loud. I say right on. About the author: Maureen Phalon works in a tall building in a small suburb outside of San Francisco. At times, she likes to think of herself as Mary Richards since they share the same job title. This act rarely amuses her coworkers.