Currently Reading: A Wolf Called Wander, by Rosanne Parry, illustrations by Mónica Armiño
This week, I decided to post a review I wrote a while back, but hadn’t found the right time for yet… Vivek Shraya’s I’m Afraid of Men. This book has been on my staff picks at the book shop since I got my hands on an ARC in May of 2018. Shraya is a prolific multi-disciplinary creator, and this small volume cannot nearly be called representative of her work, despite its relative visibility within mainstream culture. It seems like the right time to hype this title, since next month is the Toronto launch of Shraya’s new book, Death Threat, with artist Ness Lee. It will also be a celebration of Shraya’s imprint, VS. Books, and their first title, Shut Up You’re Pretty, by Téa Mutonji.
I had three reasons for wanting to write about I’m Afraid of Men, and why I’m consistently championing this title. First, I live in Canada, and this book was a big deal here. That said, I know that CanLit doesn’t always get the buzz that American-published titles do, so I wanted to lift this title up as much as I can, now that the initial visibility of its splash of a release has calmed down a little. Second, I often have customers at the book shop ask me what I thought of it as a trans person myself, and what audience I think it’s appropriate for. Finally, the book felt deeply personal to me, because despite the fact that there are lots of things that Shraya and I don’t share – experiences of racialization and gender identities, for example – there are lots of things that we do share. I, too, am afraid of cis people, men in particular, and I have also loved cis men, in my life.
I was lucky to get my hands on I’m Afraid of Men when it was just an ARC, and I later had the pleasure of attending the Toronto launch with the book shop where I work, which is why I can say with confidence that Shraya is as engaging in person as she is on the page. In Toronto, Shraya’s event for I’m Afraid of Men featured a dramatic recitation from the text accompanied by an artistic video montage, as well as a conversation hosted by Jully Black. I found myself moved when Black asked poignant questions that Shraya answered with touching vulnerability, and laughing as the two discussed soap operas. The large event at the Art Gallery of Ontario was sold out, and those in attendance were a diverse crowd. It felt like the perfect way to welcome Shraya’s creation into the world.
I devoured this book in one sitting. Although parts of the book felt as accessible as a trans 101 lesson, many of Shraya’s anecdotes resonated with me, and I felt like I could have easily been reading a friend’s diary. The book is part personal narrative, part critical analysis, and all clearly-written. My one caution to anyone who has extensive personal experience with the subject matter in this book is that the concluding pages felt more instructional and less nuanced than the rest of the book. That said, I would feel as comfortable handing a copy of this book to a cis het white young person with a limited knowledge of trans people and gender-related issues, as I was handing it to my genderqueer trans partner, covered in my eager marginalia.
I’m Afraid of Men is a must-read book that skillfully bridges the academic and the lyrical, and offers an important perspective on life as a trans woman of colour in contemporary society. It’s available now as a vibrant hardcover that’s perfect as a gift, or would be a gem on any shelf.
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