Lou
Despite the title, this book isn't really about transness at all, though the author's transness certainly informs it. The best way I can describe it is a retrospective on the Covid-era through a revolutionary leftist lense, written as a mixture of essays, poems, and autobiographical narrative. Which in itself is interesting, since I had yet to come across a retrospective on the pandemic with genuinely novel points to make, not the same tired cliches (it was "unprecedented", etc. etc.) I've also noticed a certain unwillingness in myself to engage with writing about the Covid-era, because I'd prefer to pretend it had no effect on my life whatsoever and simply move on. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Dysphoria Mundi, despite it's heavy focus on the Covid era, didn't bring out those feelings of avoidance and memories of the rhetoric of the time. It felt like the kind of retrospective that can only happen once a certain amount of time has passed.
Now for the bad. I didn't care at all for the writing style. I found that the author's copius use of deliberately provocative and badly defined terms like "pharmacopornographic" and "petrosexoracial" to describe anything and everything was both annoying and heavily obfuscated his meaning. I'm all for making up terminology to better communicate a point, but this wasn't it. My favourite chapters were either the more autobiographical ones, or the ones where he made narrower and more pointed arguments, like the one on historical monuments. Unfortunately, this was not the majority, and as a result there were several points where I just gave up and skipped ahead to the start of the next chapter. The author also clearly likes to make philosophical observations out of wordplay, which at times felt clever, and at times made me roll my eyes. This book is clearly intended for a particular audience, and even as a university educated trans person with leftest views, I don't seem to be that audience. Which makes me wonder what the point of this book is in a revolutionary sense. I don't think I'd dissuade someone who's interest this book piques from giving it a try, but for me it was mostly a slog.
Despite the title, this book isn't really about transness at all, though the author's transness certainly informs it. The best way I can describe it is a retrospective on the Covid-era through a revolutionary leftist lense, written as a mixture of essays, poems, and autobiographical narrative. Which in itself is interesting, since I had yet to come across a retrospective on the pandemic with genuinely novel points to make, not the same tired cliches (it was "unprecedented", etc. etc.) I've also noticed a certain unwillingness in myself to engage with writing about the Covid-era, because I'd prefer to pretend it had no effect on my life whatsoever and simply move on. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Dysphoria Mundi, despite it's heavy focus on the Covid era, didn't bring out those feelings of avoidance and memories of the rhetoric of the time. It felt like the kind of retrospective that can only happen once a certain amount of time has passed.
Now for the bad. I didn't care at all for the writing style. I found that the author's copius use of deliberately provocative and badly defined terms like "pharmacopornographic" and "petrosexoracial" to describe anything and everything was both annoying and heavily obfuscated his meaning. I'm all for making up terminology to better communicate a point, but this wasn't it. My favourite chapters were either the more autobiographical ones, or the ones where he made narrower and more pointed arguments, like the one on historical monuments. Unfortunately, this was not the majority, and as a result there were several points where I just gave up and skipped ahead to the start of the next chapter. The author also clearly likes to make philosophical observations out of wordplay, which at times felt clever, and at times made me roll my eyes. This book is clearly intended for a particular audience, and even as a university educated trans person with leftest views, I don't seem to be that audience. Which makes me wonder what the point of this book is in a revolutionary sense. I don't think I'd dissuade someone who's interest this book piques from giving it a try, but for me it was mostly a slog.
This book isn't really about transness at all, as the title seems to imply, though the author's transness certainly informs it. The best way I can describe this book is as a leftist retrospective on the Covid-era. Which in itself is interesting, since I had yet to come across writing about Covid with genuinely novel points to make and not filled with cliches (it was "unprecedented", etc. etc.) I've also noticed a certain unwillingness in myself to engage with writing about the Covid-era, presumably because I'd prefer to pretend it had no effect on my life whatsoever and move on. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Disphoria Mundi, despite it's heavy focus on the Covid era, didn't bring out those feelings of avoidance and memories of the rhetoric of the time in me. It felt like the kind of retrospective that can only happen once a certain amount of time has passed.
Now for the bad. I didn't care at all for the writing style. I found that the author's copius use of made up, deliberately provocative terms like "pharmacopornographic" to describe anything and everything was both annoying and heavily obfuscated his meaning. My favourite chapters were either the more autobiographical ones, or the ones where he made narrower and more pointed arguments. Unfortunately, this was not most chapters, and as a result there were many points where I just gave up and skipped ahead. The author also clearly likes to derive philosophical observations from wordplay, which at times worked, and at times felt like a stretch. Overall this book has some interesting things to say, but was mostly a slog.
This book isn't really about transness at all, as the title seems to imply, though the author's transness certainly informs it. The best way I can describe this book is as a leftist retrospective on the Covid-era. Which in itself is interesting, since I had yet to come across writing about Covid with genuinely novel points to make and not filled with cliches (it was "unprecedented", etc. etc.) I've also noticed a certain unwillingness in myself to engage with writing about the Covid-era, presumably because I'd prefer to pretend it had no effect on my life whatsoever and move on. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Disphoria Mundi, despite it's heavy focus on the Covid era, didn't bring out those feelings of avoidance and memories of the rhetoric of the time in me. It felt like the kind of retrospective that can only happen once a certain amount of time has passed.
Now for the bad. I didn't care at all for the writing style. I found that the author's copius use of made up, deliberately provocative terms like "pharmacopornographic" to describe anything and everything was both annoying and heavily obfuscated his meaning. My favourite chapters were either the more autobiographical ones, or the ones where he made narrower and more pointed arguments. Unfortunately, this was not most chapters, and as a result there were many points where I just gave up and skipped ahead. The author also clearly likes to derive philosophical observations from wordplay, which at times worked, and at times felt like a stretch. Overall this book has some interesting things to say, but was mostly a slog.
