Praise for Man Alive
Thomas McBees Man Alive hurtled through my life. I read it in a matter of hours. Its a confession, its a poem, its a time warp, its a brilliant work of art. I bow down to McBeehis humility, his sense of humor, his insightfulness, his structural deftness, his ability to put into words what is often said but rarely, with such visceral clarity and beauty, communicated. Heidi Julavits, author of The Vanishers and The Uses of Enchantment
Man Alive is a sweet, tender hurt of a memoir. Thomas Page McBee deftly recounts what has shaped him into the man he has become and howfrom childhood trauma to a mugging in Oakland where he learned of his bodys ability to save itself. This is a memoir about forgiveness and self-discovery, but mostly its about love, so much love. McBee takes us in his capable hands and shows us what it takes to become a man who is gloriously, gloriously alive.Roxane Gay, author of Bad Feminist and An Untamed State
Thomas Page McBees story of how he came to claim both his past and his future is by turns despairing and hopeful, exceptional and relatable. To read it is to witness the birth of a fuller, truer self. I loved this book.Ann Friedman, columnist, New York Magazine
Reading Man Alive is like sitting with someone uncurling his hands, then holding them out to you, open, so that you can behold all the hard-won strength, insight, agility, and love to be found there. Whoevers child I am, my body belongs to me, McBee writes, and his book is an elegant, generous transcription of the journey toward this incandescent, non-aggrandized, life-sustaining form of self-possessionthe kind that emanates from dispossession, rather than running from it.Maggie Nelson author of Bluets and The Art of Cruelty: A Reckoning
Following a twisty course marked by multiple switchbacks, Man Alive picks its path through a life pocked by abuse, yearning, violence, danger and desire. The book refuses to cleave to the conventions of other narratives of transition and makes uncertainty the hallmark not only of the past but of the present and the future as well. Exquisitely written and bristling with emotion, this important book reminds us of how much vulnerability and violence inheres to any identity. A real achievement of form and narrative.Jack Halberstam, author of The Queer Art of Failure
Man Alive isnt just a story about a transgender man. Its a story about self-discovery. Its a story about patience, forgiveness, kindness and bravery. Its a story told so beautifully and clearly that you cant help but see your own journey in these pages. With this book, Thomas Page McBee has done exactly what we should all strive for: to tell our stories in ways that humanize rather than sensationalize.Lauren Morelli, writer, Orange Is the New Black
MAN ALIVE
A True Story of Violence, Forgiveness
and Becoming a Man
Thomas Page McBee
City Lights Books | San Francisco
Copyright 2014 by Thomas Page McBee
All Rights Reserved
Cover art: Beefcake Paperdoll, a painting by Xavier Schipani
This book is also available in an e-edition: 978-0-87286-624-9
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McBee, Thomas Page.
Man alive : a true story of violence, forgiveness and becoming a man / Thomas Page McBee.
pages cm (City lights/sister spit)
ISBN 978-0-87286-624-9 (paperback)
1. McBee, Thomas Page. 2. TranssexualsUnited StatesBiography. 3. Transgender peopleUnited StatesBiography. 4. Female-to-male transsexualsUnited States--Biography. 5. Gender identityUnited States. I. Title.
HQ77.8.M385A3 2014
306.76'8092dc23
[B]
2014022173
This is a work of nonfiction, but it relies on memory and, as such, its attendant illusions, specters, and plays of light. It is the truth as Ive lived it. Many names have been changed.
City Lights Books are published at the City Lights Bookstore
261 Columbus Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133
www.citylights.com
For you, whoever you are.
Prologue South Carolina
August 2010 29 years old
What makes a man?
Its not that I havent studied them: their sinew, their slang, their beautiful bristle; but before I was held at gunpoint on a cold April day, I couldnt have told you .
A real man, a family man, the Marlboro man, man up.
The man in the mirror.
I loved that Michael Jackson song, growing up. Used to forget my girl-hips, used to sing it to my best imagination of myself.
What makes a man? The need to know led me to my fathers hometown in hot-damp South Carolina. The story starts there because thats where I went when I could no longer afford to leave the question alone, to let it rear up every few years, when Id had too much to drink and it was just me and my reflection and my hungry ghosts. And so I steered my rental through the swampy South with my cap pulled low. I had that teen-boy swagger, scars like smiles across my chest, and a body I was just beginning to love.
But the story also begins the night I almost died, back in April of 2010. And in 1985, when my father became a monster, and in 1990 when my mom found out he was one.
Men, shed said then. And Id learned to say it the same way, a lemon in my mouth.
In South Carolina I could smell it through my open window: alligators and secrets; the embers of Shermans march, the Klu Kux Klan, my fathers farm, burning. It smelled like my animal fear and the spicy deodorant I used to cover it.
Men , I thought with that old bitterness, but I already knew my body was shifting. In fact thats why I was there.
A good man is hard to find.
The windshield blurred; the road was inky, the rain biblical. The cheap motel off the highway seemed like not such a hot idea after I passed my fifth gun-racked pick-up, but there wasnt any turning back.
Once a body is in motion, it stays in motion. My moms a physicist; she told me that.
The truth is, this is a ghost story. No, this is an adventure story.
This is an adventure story about how I quit being a ghost.
I Freeze
1 Oakland
April 2010 29 years old
Heres what you need to know about Parker: she hummed with a magic that vibrated her long strides, her quick-wit, her dressings-down. Though softened by Southern manners, her mood could turn sharp as a knifes edge, and it wasnt too hard to find yourself on the sticking side of it. Id seen her make a cat-caller wither and call a real dick of a roommate a piece of shit, repeatedly, until he just sort of disappeared, his stuff packed and gone within the month.
It was like loving a hurricane.
That night she was wound-up, the plastic bag with a new pair of shoes tossed over her shoulder. Wed spent the day in San Francisco, bumming around and seeing a play neither of us cared much forsomething about three generations of womenit felt like those sorts of plays were always about three generations of women. As we left the BART station and headed to our neighborhood in Oakland, Parker outlined her issue with associating women with domesticity in the sort of hilariously acidic free-association tirade shed go on just for kicks.
She was in her French New Wave phase, and it suited her: short hair, shirts thick with nautical stripes. She looked like Jean Seberg in Breathless , her blue eyes big as saucers. She could be merciless in her assessments, but beneath that lay a kindness so clear it was almost painful to observe. I squeezed her hand, and she startled into holding my gaze.