Gender Dysphoria and Gender Bending in Infinite Jest

The Pale King, David Foster Wallace's posthumous novel, or fragmented novel, or faux-memoir, is worth the read for the simple taut, beautiful writing, but on this Easter, this day of re-birth, I speak for us pagans, agnostics, non-Christian folks: that Easter is a symbol of re-birth, making new choices, etc, I choose to reflect on the ways the late DFW wrote about “gender dysphorics” (his term) in his masterpiece Infinite Jest.

IJ is not about trans folks, though many of the minor characters play with gender. The novel is really a a galaxy of subplots that criss cross each other, or nearly criss cross each other, and like Lost, or BSG, if the characters all sat down and a had a pow-wow, many questions would be answered, (as well as raised, of course, in a maddeningly Lost-like kind of way.). I have read the novel three times, the first time barely paying attention to the gender tropes, the second time noticing it more, and the third time, with me out of the proverbial closet, personally and maritally speaking (but not in the larger, hello world, I want a sex change kind of way...which by the way is where I lean and repress, etc.) the gender tropes were up front, and varied.

Poor Tony Krause—a Jewish junkie gender dysphoric. A true gender dysphoric, transvestite prostitute, however we mostly look at the word through Poor Tony's addiction issues. The novel spends a fair amount of time describing Poor Tony's addictions to contrast with the stories and POVs of the recovery drug addicts and alcoholics. Poor Tony is in no way a knock on Tony's gender issues. The poor referring to his addictions and hapless fuckery, rather than his gender identity.

Helen/Hugh Steeply—an agent from the Office of Unspecified Services who assumes the identity of a woman. Hugh is never depicted as Hugh, only as Helen, and the brother of the main character falls in love with Helen. Helen, for me, is more of the accidental crossdresser. A straight, less beatific contrast to Poor Tony Krause, who has seen prettier days.

USS Millicent Kent's father—unnamed, fascinated with ballet tutus. A creepier trans person, albeit we see her through his daughter's perspective, whose tutus he develops a fetish for.

Barry Loach's brother—trainer at ETA who moved away from a Catholic family and became a woman who held billboard's up at Atlantic City entertainments.

Unnamed transvestite thugs—when Don Gately remembers Fax's death, a trio of sirenish large women show up, and Don eventually recognizes them as “fags” (sic)...DG's term.

Though at first these short descriptions may not seem flattering, and DFW wasn't trying to push a TG agenda, but each character represents a large swath of the TG continuum. There are other trans references, and all in all positive, though some characters do not like/or see through/or ambivalent too the characters.

It's actually kind of nice to see a myriad of POVs. Helen gives us the idea of the hassles of really living like a woman. It's funny because he's straight, but a dedicated agent, and really tries (and somehow) miraculously passes. PTK is there for sheer depravity (not because of his gender) but because PTK has a gross and bottom of the well addiction problem. The other peripheral characters are more or less cardboard cut-outs, yet visible and not at all made fun of, but rather accepted with little to no judgement by characters who range from upper crust to junkies.

I'm shutting up. Go be fab. Be reborn. Happy Easter

A sigh

Personally ladies, this spring has been good, but psychically rough. Like it or not I am/was a latent trans woman, like many of my generation, mostly because of socio-political-technological reasons. Transwomen/men today benefit so much from the internet. Not that it is an excuse, but growing up in such a kudzu culture... it took me a while.

Geez, if I were a teenager now, dealing with these same issues, my life would have a different arc.

That's not to say my life to date isn't valid...it is. But everyone else views your lifestyle as a choice, not necessity. You know that ennui, trans people, how there's that fuzzy, gauzy past, our past sexuality, our past identity, past whatever, that exists, that acts as a standard to the growth of the trans personae, the true personae.

Regardless...a friend asked me today "What do you want from this self?" It was an old friend, a straight friend. "What does this voice sound like?" He meant the tone...and all I could say was aggressive, confident, proud.


And I thought about that. And what that meant.

And I hadn't thought about what I wanted, I was just too busy being me for the first time.

I came up with an answer, that may change...




My hobby is mirror.

Lipstick, rouge and heel
peel back my skin and skull cap
and like a goddess spring forth
into my bathroom,
my smoke ring
like a laurel
upon my gigantic pretty head.
From lips smack truth,
pink, or brown, or fuck hot red,

and black, deep pitch, and yes, I suppose

I am a freak
and showed up at the wrong address, the wrong party,
my real body somewhere else
doing whatever manila chore it does when it isn’t with me.
‘cause I mean who wouldn’t
want to be with me?

I be illusion, drum, and wail
give me a scarf I can make seas sick
with my pitch and bob.

And so what? The stork is not a smart bird,
after all, I am not weak, and though my smile
makes you sick, some clown
in a dress, some perv with the nerve,
you say, I am iron, to reforge myself,

to be iron is to destroy stone.







Note: Manila is meant to recall vanilla. Lately my girlie self has been more...aggressive...thus the diva turn in tone towards the end. In my small town I am very aware of how most stones (trans-phobics) react to difference. Down here, from my porch, I better be ready to back it up.

Ciao!

Personal notes

For the last twelve days, I have felt an enormous feminine pull, however the feelings were internal, and not focused/worried about on my exterior feminine wiles. Example: it's as if my brain is playing some video game where you get to play the true you, and you get to watch yourself on screen. My poor male image of myself has been supplanted by a feminine one.

Any thoughts?

Whew...domestic bliss

Thank god.

This week has been like a whip snap mop attack, my nerves stretched thin, my exhaustion complete. Thanks work. Thanks job, I couldn't have done it without you...

Plus, I haven't femulated in sooo long.

(in my mind I'm tapping my fingernails, red, long, self-manicured, along the kitchen counter)

Until tonight.

Interesting behavorial observation:

During the last twelve days (I get to go all out one night a week, and my general, subtle feminine ways are allowable during the rest of the week. Putting it that way sounds bad, but what it really amounts to is baby steps. My wife is allowing this to grow, but prefers an organic, slower process--I'm down. I prefer it quick and fast) perhaps out of conditioning, perhaps from my heart, I have found myself mentally skipping from male dominated energies to female dominated energies at an hourly pace. Most of my life the female urges have been dominated by waves, to borrow the metaphor from Petra but now I find my energies switching more frequently.

It's nice. I will monitor. I will report, report, report.

But I digress...so finding myself alone for an extra two hours this afternoon and gasp...went outside to take the trash to the bin, in 5 inch heels, boi jeans and a gyrl tee, allowing my feminine steps to enlarge at the hips and shorten at the knee. It feels natural that way, and cautious too, for I am not gliding in 5 inch heels, 3 yes, in 5 I'm more than competent, but my grace fades at times from lack of experience.

And I have begun the evening with casual attire. Sandals, jeans, cheap Big Lots blouse (bland but serviceable in a variety of outfits), and a 70s orange headband

And after a break a black pencil skirt, pink blouse, hose.

And after and after and after....