Books that I wish I’d written – Middlesex

Today’s entry is going to be slightly shorter because it’s going to be about the book Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides. Plenty has been written about it, and by people way smarter than I am, so there’s no real need for me to explain why the book is great. It’s actually one of the most important American novels of the century. I will just focus on a couple of things that stood out for me so as to encourage you to read it. Needless to say, there are spoilers ahead. Read at your own peril.

First, the imagery is evocative and original. This is one of the things that always most draws my attention when reading a book because it’s extremely hard to come up with something that hasn’t been done before. You can always tell if writers have put a lot of thought into an image or whether they’re just going with the flow of what their culture has been putting into their imagery database throughout the years. Years ago, my wife and I were discussing about a couple of songs and about whether it was more valuable, from an artistic point of view, to sing about holding hands under the moonlight or to sing what the Red Hot Chili Peppers would sing (in the 80s and 90s; not so much now). I was actually referring to one Red Hot Chili Peppers song in particular, if you’re curious. Personally, I’m all for the Red Hot Chili Peppers way of doing things. That’s why this book was enjoyable. Off the top of my head, one image that struck me especially was when Cal was undressing for the first time in front of one girl in particular who, like him, has had a troubled adolescence: ‘While Olivia and I were both intellectually capable of handling the college curriculum, of excelling in it even, we remained in key ways emotionally adolescent. We cried a lot in bed. I remember the first time we took off our clothes in front of each other. It was like unwinding bandages’. With that image alone you know that the author knows what he’s doing. You can picture the characters undressing and hesitating about doing it and revisiting the pain they have experienced up to that point and trying to overcome it, and it’s all done beautifully in five words, in an almost tactile way. The book is full of suchlike images.

The other thing that has stood out for me is the characters themselves, especially the one of the grandmother. They brought to mind something that a teacher of mine used to tell me about writing: always try to go one step further with your story and your characters, even if it seems ridiculous and outlandish. Once you think you’ve reached the limit, keep going a bit further. That will make sure that you’ll surprise readers, and therefore hold their interest. The characters in this book move within what could be a pretty standard story about immigrants in the US, but simply go further than you would expect. The grandmother is obsessed with superstition, marries her own brother but keeps it a secret from everyone, even their children, and, upon her husband’s death, decides to stay in bed and never leave it again. It’s an extreme character, and one that is intensely fascinating. It’s so well developed that you believe everything that happens to it, and you just want to read and read about it. It’s really hard to make a character such as this one not feel far‑fetched and exaggerated for the sake of exaggeration.

The only thing I’m in two minds about is that I do feel that the author misleads readers a bit. From the beginning, you’re pushed in the direction of believing that the main character (Callie/Cal) will have a sex change operation and become a man. The first lines of the book are pretty memorable, and that’s what they’re leading you to think (I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974). However, that’s not quite what happens. There is more a change of perspective, and an acceptance. You could get technical and analyse the actual words as if you were a lawyer, but the point is you’re being led to believe one thing, but another happens. Now, is this really serious? No, not really, but it does bug me slightly. However, I don’t recommend doing this, because you run the risk of having your readers feel cheated. I do think it could have been done better, especially since the idea of the change of attitude is more beautiful. Should it discourage you from reading the book? Hell, no!!