OF THE
TIMES
"I was three or four years old when I realized that I had been born into the wrong body, and should really be a girl. I remember the moment well, and it is the earliest memory of my life ....
So begins Jan Morris's haunting account of her journey from male to female in this classic work on transsexual ism. A singularly articulate and sensitive observer, Morris evokes the indefinable, inexorable, and, for most of us, unimaginable force of the instinct that led her, through years of torment, to the surgeon's clinic in Casablanca and an ambiguous but joyful fulfillment. As a man, James Morris was an army officer, celebrated foreign correspondent (he accompanied Sir Edmund Hillary's successful expedition to Everest in 1953), renowned author, husband, and father of four children. During the period of transition Morris became acutely conscious of the specific qualities distinguishing the masculine and the feminirie, and her depiction of the subtle changes experienced psychologically as well as physiologically by a person is uniquely revealing. Absorbing and insightful, Conundrum is an extraordinary saga of personal courage.Excerpted from pgs. 7 & 8:
"Certainly the best firsthand account ever written by a traveler across the boundaries of sex .... In charting her flight through the androgynous zone to the other side of sex, Morris can offer no real answer to the central mystery .... W hat Jan Morris does offer, through her life and her work, is a window on the wondrous possibilities of mankind."
- Newsweek
"The record of a journey, with self-knowledge as its destination."
- The Times (London)
"A beautiful book."
- Harper's
Jan Morris, a journalist and author of Destinations , Cities , Last Letters from Hav , and numerous other books, lives in Wales
I present my uncertainty in cryptic terms, and I see it still as a mystery. Nobody really knows why some children, boys and girls, discover in themselves the inexpungeable belief that, despite all the physical evidence, they are really of the opposite sex. It happens at a very early age. Often there are signs of it when the child is still a baby, and it is generally profoundly ingrained, as it was with me, by the fourth or fifth year. Some theorists suppose the child to be born with it: perhaps there are undiscovered constitutional or genetic factors, or perhaps, as American scientists have lately suggested, the fetus has been affected by misdirected hormones during pregnancy. Many more believe it to be solely the result of early environment: too close an identification with one or the other parent, a dominant mother or father, an infancy too effeminate or too tomboyish. Others again think
the cause to be partly constitutional, partly environmental nobody is born entirely male or entirely female, and some children may be more susceptible than others to what the psychologists call the "imprint" of circumstance.
Whatever the cause, there are thousands of people, perhaps hundreds of thousands, suffering from the condition today. It has recently been given the name "transsexualism," and in its classic form is as distinct from transvestism as it is from homosexuality. Both transvestites and homosexuals sometimes suppose they would be happier if they could change their sex, but they are generally mistaken. The transvestite gains his gratification specifically from wearing the clothes of the opposite sex, and would sacrifice his pleasures by joining that sex; the homosexual, by definition, prefers to make love with others of his own sort, and would only alienate himself and them by changing. Transsexualism is something different in kind.
It is not a sexual mode or preference. It is not an act of sex at all. It is a passionate, lifelong, ineradicable conviction, and no true transsexual has ever been disabused of it
To me gender is not physical at all, but is altogether insubstantial. It is soul, perhaps, it is talent, it is taste, it is environment, it is how one feels, it is light and shade, it is inner music, it is a spring in one's step or an exchange of glances, it is more truly life and love than any combination of genitals, ovaries, and hormones. It is the essentialness of oneself, the psyche, the fragment of unity. Male and female are sex, masculine and feminine are gender, and though the conceptions obviously overlap, they are far from synonymous. As C. S. Lewis once wrote, gender is not a mere imaginative extension of sex. "Gender is a reality, and a more fundamental reality than sex. Sex is, in fact, merely the adaptation to organic life of a fundamental polarity which divides all created beings. Female sex is simply one of the things that have feminine gender; there are many others, and Masculine and Feminine meet us on planes of reality where male and female would be simply meaningless."
Lewis likened the difference between Masculine and Feminine to the difference between rhythm and melody, or between the clasped hand and the open palm. Certainly it was a melody that I heard within myself, not a drum-beat or a fanfare, and if my mind was sometimes clenched, my heart was all too open. It became fashionable later to talk of my condition as "gender confusion," but I think it a philistine misnomer: I have had no doubt about my gender since that moment of self-realization beneath [my mother's] piano [at age three or four]. Nothing in the world would make me abandon my gender, concealed from everyone though it remained; but my body, my organs, my paraphernalia, seemed to me much less sacrosanct, and far less interesting too.
hahahahahahahahaha WTF is the world coming to. Rupal, where is Rupal when you need her