warning: this post has spoilers for the book, not that I think the book is worth the warning, but you may
Throughout Trans-sister Radio, representation is a key issue: community members refuse to let Dana represent herself and refuse to acknowledge her identity as a woman; Allison is denied the opportunity to represent herself to parents (instead, the principal does the work of representing Allison in rather negative ways); the radio becomes a way for Dana and Allison to represent themselves; the four major characters are able to represent themselves to the reader through their first-person chapters; and, ultimately, we have a story about a transwoman written and represented by a cisgendered heterosexual man. The questions of who gets to represent themselves and how, and who gets to represent those who are denied the ability to represent themselves, are central to this book (and I am sure, this course).
As I started reading, I found the whole premise of Bohjalian writing and selling this book problematic. I’m not coming out as universally against dominant culture folks writing about and representing subaltern positions. But it appears here that we have a sentimental story written for a liberal audience whose primary goals, I feel, are to learn more about the Other through voyeurism and to feel good about their own liberal tolerance. They seem to be mirrored most by the central narrator of the story, Carly, who as a young liberal believes that Dana is weird but tolerates her. Dana’s story is sensational and must be shared, not only for the readers of Bohjalian’s book, but also for the listeners of NPR in the book. In the course of writing a book for liberal sensibilities, Bohjalian has domesticated trans issues as much possible: it is a private issue, and conservatives are wrong to make it public (no one in this book questions how romance, privacy, and heterosexuality are publicly mediated). Dana is portrayed as normatively and domestically as possible for a transwoman; in fact, she writes that she is “domestic as a balloon shade or a perennial garden. And just as harmless†(page unsure).
Of course, a good story that means to portray trans as somewhat normative wouldn’t be complete without a reinforcement of heterosexuality: now that Dana is a woman and on hormones, she begins to feel attracted to Will and they begin to date and might move together to New Mexico. In the end of the book, the most heterosexual get the last word: After Allison’s last chapter, Carly gets a chapter, then Dana, then Will, and finally closing with Carly. Carly is confident that her mom will find someone some day, but Allison is unable to speak for herself at this point, and her potential future is portrayed by her young, budding heterosexual daughter who has forgotten all about questioning her own gender and sexuality. Despite a few moments where biology and romance are queered, ultimately, this is another story about heterosexual love.
My question: If we take this book, as well as Two or Three Things I Know for Sure, as a starting point, how might we begin to formulate an ethics of representation, particularly when subaltern positions are represented in and by mainstream/dominant culture?
One thing to consider in working toward an ethics of representation is how a story like this {haven’t read it} might serve as a bridge, as a conduit through which subaltern positions can become accepted within mainstream/dominant culture. Is acceptance within mainstream culture desirable? That’s a different question.
That is a different question, PS. I think Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore’s take on this is important here: Being accepted by society means accepting society, to paraphrase.
There are many, many writings about this from the point of view of the African American community, women and all Others who have long been represented by the dominant culture. We benefit from reading what people have to say about their own experiences.
Thanks, Lani. I was generally aware that this body of writing existed, but hadn’t read anything specific to the topic. I was pointed to the 1995 book Who Can Speak, which looks good. I’ll try to pick it up.