58 pages • 1 hour read
Callie and her parents are staying at a rundown hotel in New York. The length of their visit is undetermined; the specialist, Dr. Luce, will know more once he examines Callie. Once they’re in his office, they realize that they’re in uncharted territory: Dr. Luce deals exclusively with “Sexual Disorders and Gender Identity,” as the plaque on his door reads (406). His office is filled with erotic materials. All of this is overwhelming to the Stephanides family, particularly Calliope.
The narrator provides some background: Dr. Peter Luce is “considered the world’s leading authority on human hermaphroditism” (409). He’s also something of a pop-psychology phenomenon, having written for Playboy magazine and appeared on Phil Donohue. His book, The Oracular Vulva, is considered a standard text with regard to addressing sexual issues. His primary contribution is the thesis that regardless of biological sex, gender identity is established and reinforced by nurture, not designated by nature.
In treating Callie, Dr. Luce’s goal is to determine how Callie sees herself. This is complicated by Callie’s own uncertainty about her identity, given that the Object of her first romance is a female, and by her being in adolescence, when the mind and body are in flux. Milton decides he must get back to work but gives Tessie and Callie a small fortune to spend. They eat fancy meals and shop at Bloomingdale’s, though this does little to ease Callie’s troubled mind.
Dr. Luce asks her questions about herself and encourages her to write her own psychological story. Callie discovers that she has a flair for fictionalizing people and events. She basically tells the doctor what she thinks he wants to hear: that she’s attracted to boys and enjoys being a girl. The doctor then shows Callie pornographic films to determine what arouses her; mostly, they just embarrass her. He has other doctors examine her too. She feels lost in the process.
Callie’s situation distresses her, and she’s unable to sleep. Milton returns for the appointment wherein Dr. Luce gives his final assessment. While the doctor has been careful not to use gendered language up to this point, he readily calls Callie their daughter when the parents sit down. Dr. Luce explains her condition: Every zygote has the capacity to develop into a male or a female; everyone has the same nascent parts. In Callie’s case, a chromosomal anomaly inhibits particular hormones, such as dihydrotestosterone. Thus, she’s a biological male who developed, in utero, genitals that appear female; at puberty, testosterone kicked in, which led to her increasingly male characteristics—the height, the voice, the mustache. In Dr. Luce’s opinion, though, Callie should be considered a girl, even though biology suggests otherwise. Because she was raised as a girl, and according to the answers she gave him, the doctor believes that surgery and hormone therapy will remedy her situation and allow her to live a fulfilling life as a woman. In addition, he informs Milton and Tessie that Callie will never be able to bear children.
While her parents meet with Dr. Luce, Callie is at the library. She recalls some of the terminology bandied about by Dr. Luce and his colleagues, and she wants to know what these terms mean. She looks up “hypospadias,” which eventually leads her to “hermaphrodite.” Under that entry, the dictionary suggests “monster” as an appropriate synonym. Callie is devastated.
When her father picks her up, she knows the news is bad, though he tries to downplay it. Dr. Luce wants to talk to her about the procedures moving forward. Callie’s mind is still reeling; she thinks of the word “monster,” and she thinks about her love for the Obscure Object. She realizes, however, that her parents want her to keep being Callie. Dr. Luce doesn’t want her to read his final report, but he’s called away from his desk during their appointment. She grabs the report and reads it. It describes her in stereotypical female terms and acknowledges that the corrective surgery will likely result in the loss of sexual sensation. It also clearly states that she’s biologically male, which Dr. Luce didn’t reveal to her.
Back at the hotel, Callie tells her parents that she doesn’t want to go to the Broadway play for which they have tickets because she’s tired. Once her parents leave, she takes her father’s suitcase and packs it full of her least feminine clothes. She leaves a note for them and tells them not to worry.
Cal reflects on his life in Berlin among the many Turkish immigrants there. He feels that his life contains echoes of his family history and thinks he might want to work in Turkey.
The novel returns to Cal fleeing New York. Cal takes a bus to Scranton and cuts his hair short. Thinking of his immigrant grandparents, he decides to go as far from home as possible: California. Along the way, he’ll reinvent himself. He discards the girlish underpants and colored socks, exchanging them for boxer shorts and tube socks. He dresses like a man and learns to walk like one. He hitches rides from strangers—which Callie would never have done—and uses the men’s restroom, even though he’s horrified by the unsanitary habits of men. He admits to himself that one of the main reasons he refused to stay was that he didn’t want to lose “this private ecstasy between [his] legs” (453). After he’s nearly assaulted by a predatory driver who gets him drunk, he manages to stumble away and finds his last ride all the way to California.
Cal lies to the driver, Bob Presto, that he’s headed toward California to attend Stanford. Presto quickly catches him out on the lie, asking Cal where Stanford is. He doesn’t know. Presto starts ask Cal a lot of questions that make him uncomfortable. He wants to know if Cal is gay or if he’s a transvestite. Cal asks to get out of the car, but Presto insists on taking Cal all the way to California. He keeps quiet the rest of the way, however. Once there, Presto hands him a business card as Cal decides to make his own way in San Francisco.
Meanwhile, his parents are devastated. Tessie believes that Callie is alive; she can feel her daughter’s presence out there. However, they don’t know where to look. Friends and family gather to support them. Chapter Eleven comes home, as well, and he and Milton begin to repair their relationship. Milton grooms him to take over the Hercules Hot Dogs business.
Cal lives among the other runaway teens in Golden Gate Park. He’s not a Deadhead like they are, but there’s safety in numbers. The older homeless men are often violent. One evening Cal is left to guard the camp alone. He falls asleep and is awakened by the sounds of men invading the camp. They assault Cal and take off his clothes, discovering his secret, and beat him to the point of unconsciousness. When Cal wakes up, he calls Bob Presto.
Presto owns a club, Sixty-Niners, where Cal takes a job as a performer. He’s christened Hermaphroditus and shows his genitals to customers who watch as he dives into a pool in Octopussy’s Garden. The other performers include a transgender woman and a person who has androgen insensitivity—meaning they have XY chromosomes but in all other ways are indistinguishable from other people assigned female at birth (though they are usually infertile). Zora plays Melanie the Mermaid, and she and Cal form a friendship. Cal learns a lot about the community of people who don’t identify as either male or female for various reasons. He’s not alone. The lifestyle is hard, though. He and Zora remain slightly drunk and high the entire time they perform to separate themselves from the unsavory voyeurism that helps them pay their bills.
Cal’s disappearance initially brings Milton and Tessie closer. However, as time passes and their hope flags, they begin to drift apart again. Milton begins receiving mysterious phone from a male telling him he knows where Callie is.
Cal begins to think that playing the role of Hermaphroditus has been somewhat healing. He’s coming to terms with who he is: a man, though not typically male, raised as a girl but not a woman. He begins to accept himself. In addition, he’s able to relinquish his obsession with the Obscure Object.
As was common in 1975, the club is raided by local police. Cal is forced, finally, to call home. When Chapter Eleven answers the phone, he informs Cal that Milton has died.
In the Berlin timeline, Cal runs into Julie Kikuchi at an art-museum gala. He’s smoking a cigar, and she teases him about it. They lean in close to one another, and he says he wants to tell her why he stopped calling.
Back in mid-1970s Detroit, Milton has gone out to drop off the ransom that the mysterious caller demanded in exchange for Callie. He’s to drop the money in a garbage can near the train station where his parents arrived in the city 50 years earlier. However, once he leaves the money, he starts to doubt the veracity of the caller’s story, wondering if maybe he should leave only half until he can ensure that Callie is safe. As he thinks about walking back to the drop site, he sees Father Mike leaving with the money. Milton snaps, and a slow-motion car chase ensues. Father Mike heads for the Canadian border, however, and the chase becomes serious. Father Mike’s smaller economy car can maneuver in traffic, while Milton’s El Dorado is less agile, though faster.
The narrator speculates about what drove Father Mike to such actions. His life as a priest has been disappointing. His wife doesn’t respect him. The woman he really loved—Milton’s wife, Tessie—jilted him.
Father Mike rear-ends the car in front of him, while Milton suddenly imagines himself airborne. He thinks about the car flying above the river and begins to cry because he hasn’t saved Callie. The newspaper reports that he died in a 10-car pileup on the bridge.
Cal notes that, while the event itself was tragic, perhaps Milton was saved unnecessary grief back home. He doesn’t have to see his oldest son mismanage his business into bankruptcy or accept that his daughter is now a man.
In the Berlin timeline, Julie Kikuchi and Cal Stephanides consider their relationship: Maybe this is the last stop for both of them.
Back in 1975, Chapter Eleven retrieves Cal from San Francisco and brings him home. Father Mike survived the crash and has confessed to the ransom scheme. The funeral for Milton will be held later that day. Cal insists that Chapter Eleven first drive him around Detroit. He wants to remember his home.
Chapter Eleven accepts Cal’s transformation with little comment or consternation. Tessie, though, is a different matter. She has lost not only a daughter but also an ally, she thinks. However, Cal can see in her eyes that she’ll eventually accept him for who he is. As the narrator, Cal notes that he’ll still fulfill all the traditional duties of the daughter, based on his upbringing.
Cal asks about Desdemona and learns that she’s still alive, all these years later, though she has dementia. She doesn’t remember that Milton is dead, and when she sees Cal, she thinks that he’s her long-dead husband, Lefty. When he gently corrects her, she looks at him closely. Then she declares that her silver spoon was right all along. She also tells Cal her terrible secret: that Lefty was, in fact, her brother. Cal promises not to say anything until after Desdemona’s death.
Cal decides to skip his father’s funeral; it will be too much for everyone to adjust to his appearance during this moment of grief. Instead, he stays behind to look after his grandmother. He stands in the doorway at Middlesex, impeding the reentry of disgruntled spirits, just as his ancestors did in the old country, and thus helping his father’s spirit ascend unimpeded.
Cal’s journey toward becoming himself begins with a terrifying trip to New York, where his physical status is shrouded in mystery and silence. His parents are too afraid and confused themselves to discuss the matter. The family heads into uncharted territory, much like their immigrant forebears embarking on their ocean journey, emphasizing the theme of Middlesex Boulevard: The Liminality of Experience. In addition, Cal’s condition is medicalized, as if he has something worrisomely wrong with him: “The endocrinologist tapped a vein in my arm, filling an alarming number of vials with my blood. Why all this blood was needed he didn’t say. I was too frightened to ask” (403). Cal interprets his parents’ silence as proof that his “situation, whatever it was, was a crisis of some kind” (405). He envisions himself as “a person with a terminal illness” (405). His condition isn’t only medicalized but rendered as disease. The sign on the specialist’s office gives no comfort: This is a place for “Sexual Disorders” (406). Cal himself is erased by pathologizing his body. He’s a specimen, an object of curiosity, and a problem to be solved: “I was a living experiment dressed in white corduroys and a Fair Isle sweater” (408). His perceived abnormality supplants his personhood.
Moreover, this objectification quickly turns into exploitation. Cal describes the experience in tortured terms: The exams are painful, and the questions are leading. To him, it seems endless: “‘Almost finished,’ he said. But he was only getting started” (413). Not only does he nonconsensually expose Cal to pornography, violating medical ethics, to gauge his reaction, but he also invites other practitioners to examine Cal’s case. They discuss him as if he weren’t present, alternately dehumanizing and patronizing him. He notes Dr. Luce’s habit of placing his hand on Cal’s back, like many men: “They touch your back as though there’s a handle there, and direct you where they want you to go. Or they place their hand on top of your head, paternally” (420). The sexism seems ingrained and designed to point to his own diagnostic conclusions: Cal is a girl, he decides, and therefore he condescendingly treats her as such. The visiting doctors discuss other cases wherein they’ve seen Cal’s particular condition, noting that it’s common among distant tribes in Papua New Guinea, for example. Thus, Cal becomes an object of exoticism, too, a vehicle for their voyeuristic racial bias.
All of this serves to support Luce’s theories—mainly, his central thesis “that gender identity is established very early on in life” (411)—and his decision that Cal’s condition is merely a problem that must be corrected. As he tells his parents, “Callie is a girl who has a little too much male hormone. We want to correct that” (428). Rather than consult Cal or reassure him that his lived experience is legitimate regardless of cultural constrictions, Dr. Luce believes he knows what’s best. His parents, though they love him deeply, can’t conceive of a different outcome: Their child has always been their daughter. The money that Milton gives his wife and child, as he’s compelled to leave town (or needs to run away), feels like compensation in both senses of the word. He tries to buy their happiness in order to compensate for his own emotional failings. He can’t face the potential changes, which would read like challenges to his own identity as well as Cal’s. Cal himself seems to recognize this as he confronts his father’s death near the novel’s end: “With respect to my father I will always remain a girl. There’s a kind of purity in that, the purity of childhood” (512). This echoes the purity with which Desdemona asserted one must handle silkworms. However, purity can’t prevail over experience—and the dehumanization of Cal at the hands of the medical system remains a deep source of trauma throughout the narrative.
Indeed, the final section of the book reveals how Cal, in finding himself, also finds his voice—and, ultimately, a vocation. Dr. Luce encourages Call to write a psychological journal, and the exercise leads him to discover his talent for fiction: “I quickly discovered that telling the truth wasn’t nearly as much fun as making things up” (418). These writings serve as another diagnostic tool for Luce, as he’s “interested in the gender giveaways of my prose, of course” (418). Dr. Luce bio-essentializes gender by associating “Victorian flourishes” with some sense of innate womanhood. Cal’s invocations of the Muse throughout the book are in a sense an entreaty invoking his younger self: Calliope, the muse of poetry. By invoking his original namesake, Cal explicitly defies this delineation of writing into “male” writing and “female” writing, wedding his narration style to his self-identity as a “hermaphrodite.”
Dr. Luce’s overly simplistic gender binary is important in understanding Cal’s journey toward authenticity. The two are one and the same; their existence is predicated on the other. As even Dr. Luce knows, every fertilized egg possesses the characteristics of both sexes; the clitoris isn’t dramatically different from the penis in the beginning. Callie’s decision to become Cal isn’t a rejection of Callie but an embracing of Cal. He recognizes later that, as with many a cultural consensus, trends change: “For a little while during the seventies it seemed that sexual difference might pass away. But then another happened. It was called evolutionary biology” (478). During Luce’s time, nurture was more significant in determining gender. However, under the auspices of evolutionary biology, science began to accept that nature was dominant; men behaved as hunters, and women as gatherers (a fact since disproven by current science). These are merely shifting sands within the changing cultural winds. As Cal emphasizes, “I don’t fit into any of these theories”—and he implies that neither does anyone else (479). Indeed, he suggests, “[F]ree will is making a comeback. Biology gives you a brain. Life turns it into a mind” (479). In this way, gender determinism is rendered moot, and words such as “monster” (431) are relegated to the trash heap of history.
Near the end of the book, Cal questions his metamorphosis: “Did Calliope have to die in order to make room for Cal?” (520). The answer, though, seems self-evident: Calliope only dies in order to be reborn as Cal; they’re one and the same. Calliope is as much a part of Cal as his ancestors are: “The wind swept over the crusted snow into my Byzantine face, which was the face of my grandfather and of the American girl I had once been” (529). Now, he stands at the threshold of his old home, Middlesex, and thinks about the future. He knows who he is and is proud of both his heritage and his life, resolving the theme of The Burden of Inheritance: Family History and Personal Identity. His inheritance is no longer a burden, and he embraces his identity.
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