What exactly does “gender fuck” mean? Author and photographer Susan Kuklin profiles six transgender young adults in her new book, Beyond Magenta .
Via Susan Kuklin/Candlewick Press
What exactly does "gender fuck" mean?
According to Cameron, an aspiring doctor and activist, "Gender fuck is blending stuff, having something girl and something boy and something neither."
Well, now you know.
Cameron and the five other transgender young adults who are profiled in Susan Kuklin's newest nonfiction work for teens, Beyond Magenta, have to create new gender terms. The old ones won't work for them. They must grapple with stuff as seemingly arbitrary as pronoun usage as well as the complexities of sexuality, gender, and identity.
Gender fuck, indeed.
At the same time, Jessy, Christina, Mariah, Cameron, Nat, and Luke are like so many other boys and girls their ages. They doubt. They feel uncomfortable in their bodies and that adults don't understand them. They worry about relationships and looking good and dream of glittery, beautiful futures. "Transition? Everyone goes through one kind of transition or another," said Mariah. "We go through transitions every day. Except mine is maybe a little more extreme."
Author and photographer Kuklin has a history of tackling weighty topics in her books for teenagers. In No Choirboy, she wrote about adolescents on death row. What Do I Do Now covers teen pregnancy. She has published volumes on child slavery, AIDS, and the American justice system. With Beyond Magenta, she joins the small circle of authors who have written about transgender concerns or characters for a young adult audience. Within that tiny community, her book offers something new. Using a combination of photos and words, it allows readers to glimpse into the lives of real teens who must negotiate transitioning in the real world. Beyond Magenta is Kuklin's most ambitious work to date and the one with the most of her in it. "This is my story too," Kuklin said. "To pretend that I'm not there didn't seem as honest."
Nat
Via Susan Kuklin/Candlewick Press
Beyond Magenta, which will be published Feb. 11, 2014, could be mistaken for a coffee-table book. The glossy cover features a fashionable young person wearing a bright pink button-up, black bow tie, rainbow belt, and baggy jeans. The interior is clean, bright, and carefully designed. However, this is not a book to browse. It is one to take in.
Each chapter is told from the first-person perspective of one of the teens. Their experiences have similarities: Many were bullied, many were confused, and many felt trapped in bodies that did not belong to them. But their stories are also as different as their photographs. Some had supportive families and friends. Some did not. Some have arrived at a peaceful place of self-acceptance. Some are still searching. "I've always been interested in limitations," said Kuklin. "What about the wall when you're in your own body?"
The veteran author, who lives in New York City with her husband, wanted to assemble a group of introspective young people to profile in Beyond Magenta. With the help of the Callen-Lorde Community Health Center in Manhattan and the Wisconsin-based Proud Theater (a nonprofit group composed of LGBT kids and their allies), she met six individuals who were willing to sit through multiple interviews and long photo shoots.
As a group, they are racially diverse and come from a wide range of economic, religious, and social backgrounds. Mariah (who asked not to have her picture in the book "because I'm not comfortable with my body") was raised by her grandmother in a poor neighborhood. Jessy is Thai; he and his family moved to the U.S. for his diplomat dad's job. Christina grew up in a Catholic household. At home, Nat's family spoke Spanish and English. Cameron is from Westchester County, but "not one of the rich, white Westchester towns you hear about." And Luke lives in Wisconsin with his two parents and older sister.
Each teen has a reason (some many) to be wary of adults.
Christina, who began her transition while at an all-boys Catholic school, had problems with her high school teachers and was punched by a man in her neighborhood. Mariah's mother once "almost killed" her by throwing beer bottles at her head.
So why did these six young people trust Kuklin? What did she do that allowed them to feel safe enough to speak openly about painful memories, sex, mental illness, violence, and heartache?
"There's just one word," she said. "And that's 'listen.' I listened to them. I didn't challenge them. I didn't judge them. I just listened to them."
Kuklin made it a point to call me back after our initial conversation to further explain. "They know in advance that I am not out to do an exposé." It also helped that adults whom the teens did trust recommended Kuklin and that she asked for their input as the project progressed. When it came time to finalize the title, they offered their opinions. Cameron didn't like the original, but Beyond Magenta, a concept from one of Luke's poems, received a universal "yes."