When Kaikeyi was mad, I was mad. When she was happy, I was happy. When she felt comforted, worried, scared-- all of it. Patel wrote out Kaikeya's narration for us to not only follow along her story but feel it with her.

And that had me stressed af.

The sexism she faces is incredibly degrading and... unfortunately, relatable. Many of these encounters were triggering.

Also, because readers open the book already knowing that Kaikeyi will eventually be considered as a villain in Ramayana's epic-- this stress looms over you as you read. We're all waiting for the ball to drop.

But! Despite the painful inevitability, there's so much beauty in the relationships she forms along the way. There's also a sense of peace (and pride in our girl!) knowing the positive influence she had on the lives of women everywhere.

This book took me on a rollercoaster of emotions and, now that it's done, I find myself missing Kaikeyi.

Before We Were Trans … hm. In the words of my father every time my mother tells him “we have to [fix the car, mow the lawn, cook dinner, etc.],” “What exactly do you mean by ‘we’?” I have to admit, the audience Heyam seems to be addressing with this book is a) broadly general and b) hasn’t already done a ton of reading or participating in the discourse about the intersections of race, gender identity, and the impact of colonialism on gender. I appreciated how often Heyam gestured to the issues of white trans folks of appropriating identities outside of their own, and how difficult it was to try and tangle out the idea of trans/queer icons outside of our currently defined language. I suppose I’m somewhat cynical about this approach at all, because in the close to thirty years since I’ve come out (...whew), I’ve already seen language and attitudes change so much. I appreciate that Heyam acknowledges the idea of shifting identity as part of a larger trans history, but it felt, to me, like it put too much of a spotlight on individually recorded individuals and how others perceived them. I understand the necessity of things (often there are few other records of ‘us’ describing ‘ourselves’), but for a book that seemed poised to construct some specific narrative, it did not. It was more of a collection of disparate essays, some stronger than others.

Despite admitting that there is a tendency to speak of identities that were marginalized by colonialism as an artifact of the past and not current, lived existence, there were chapters I felt focused too much on these ‘past’ figures as a framework for other, more modern trans folks, usually European, without bringing those narrative back around to where they sit in the present. For all of the discussion of colonialism and appropriation in the intro, I did feel that Heyam did occasionally come off as speaking for other marginalized folks. There was room in this book for several hundred words of a direct quote from Ursula le Guin, but most of this other work was quotes in shorter bursts or summary. I do think in trying to create something more accessible and connected to current (at the time of writing) concerns, that the writing came off as a bit unfocused. Mind you, this is coming from someone whose last few forays into nonfiction outside of memoir were far more academic in nature, and who is used to reading that kind of work. It is entirely possible someone who simply reads nonfiction for pleasure or uses this as a jumping off point would feel differently about this approach.

That being said, the compilation of research here is absolutely invaluable. I would recommend anyone who wanted to engage in a research project about current trans discourses to check out this book (in concert with others) if only to farm its research. A class around this subject would be great with the book as an outline or guide post, with Heyam serving as a more of a guide or lecturer than the only source. Their conclusions and the work they’ve done would read better to those who also engaged deeply in the same research. I understand at times the paper gets written to justify the research, and I do think this amount of work is extremely praise-worthy.

Heyam’s epilogue in which they oddly connect being anti-cop to being anti-academia is a choice I think a lot of people could take out of context and really run with. I understand their desire, specifically as an academic who needs the support of the system that will enable their work, to support the idea of ‘changing from within,’ but this was an odd spot to come out as pro-establishment. Historians do radical work in their own way, or at least they can, and I believe that Heyam is already engaging in this by challenging how all of the queer figures they discuss in this book were read.

Hungerstone by Kat Dunn arrived in my life at the right moment. I devoured almost 400 pages in under two days. That kinda says everything, doesn’t it?

The gothic tone hits immediately and never lets up 🕯️ It’s dark, it’s atmospheric, and it builds something unsettling without ever tipping into gimmick. Dunn knows how to hold a mood!

Then there’s Carmilla. Mysterious, sapphic, dripping with female rage. The moment she appears on the page, something shifts. The energy of the whole novel changes.

The mass hysteria element genuinely disturbed me! The writer handles it with real care and real menace.

And the prose! The storytelling style is gorgeous. I definitely need to read more by Kat Dunn.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 4.5 stars from me!