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Stone Butch Blues
Woman or man? This internationally acclaimed novel looks at the world through the eyes of Jess Goldberg, a masculine girl growing up in the "Ozzie and Harriet" McCarthy era and coming out as a young butch lesbian in the pre-Stonewall gay drag bars of a blue-collar town. Stone Butch Blues traces a propulsive journey, powerfully evoking history and politics while portraying an extraordinary protagonist full of longing, vulnerability, and working-class grit. This once-underground classic takes the reader on a roller-coaster ride of gender transformation and exploration and ultimately speaks to the heart of anyone who has ever suffered or gloried in being different.
308 pages, Hardcover
First published March 1, 1993
About the author
Leslie Feinberg
10 books799 followersLeslie Feinberg was a transgender activist, speaker, and author. Feinberg was a high ranking member of the Workers World Party and a managing editor of Workers World newspaper.
Feinberg's writings on LGBT history, "Lavender & Red," frequently appeared in the Workers World newspaper. Feinberg's partner was the prominent lesbian poet-activist Minnie Bruce Pratt. Feinberg was also involved in Camp Trans and was awarded an honorary doctorate from Starr King School for the Ministry for transgender and social justice work.
Feinberg's novel Stone Butch Blues, which won the Stonewall Book Award, is a novel based around Jess Goldberg, a transgendered individual growing up in an unaccepting setting. Despite popular belief, the fictional work is not autobiographical. This book is frequently taught at colleges and universities and is widely considered a groundbreaking work about gender.
Leslie Feinberg was Jewish, and was born female. Feinberg preferred the gender-neutral pronouns "hir" and "ze". Feinberg wrote: "I have shaped myself surgically and hormonally twice in my life, and I reserve the right to do it again."
Feinberg's writings on LGBT history, "Lavender & Red," frequently appeared in the Workers World newspaper. Feinberg's partner was the prominent lesbian poet-activist Minnie Bruce Pratt. Feinberg was also involved in Camp Trans and was awarded an honorary doctorate from Starr King School for the Ministry for transgender and social justice work.
Feinberg's novel Stone Butch Blues, which won the Stonewall Book Award, is a novel based around Jess Goldberg, a transgendered individual growing up in an unaccepting setting. Despite popular belief, the fictional work is not autobiographical. This book is frequently taught at colleges and universities and is widely considered a groundbreaking work about gender.
Leslie Feinberg was Jewish, and was born female. Feinberg preferred the gender-neutral pronouns "hir" and "ze". Feinberg wrote: "I have shaped myself surgically and hormonally twice in my life, and I reserve the right to do it again."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 3,240 reviews
February 16, 2008
i teach this novel to college students, and have taught it for about three years now. there is no other book, in my opinion, that divides a class so radically -- some students love this book and cant stop reading it, despite acknowledging that it is one depressing representation of americas history of hatred against those who live outside of the gender binary, and others hate it for the writing style, which is admittedly not the most sophisticated out there.
other students hate it because they simply refuse to believe that anyone can be treated in this manner in america, but that is an entirely different subject for another forum.
the brutality of the book is precisely why i teach it, because it is in the unflinching portrayal of jess and her various butches and femmes -- al, theresa, grant, and perhaps most critically ed -- as well as the integration of various historical moments -- stonewall, the rise of unions, vietnam -- that makes this a canonical work in sexuality and gender studies, and whatever flaws there are in feinbergs skill as a writer are nicely covered by the intense honesty she writes with.
it isnt an easy read, and it isnt a light one, either. the problem that ive run into with teaching this novel to a group of well-intentioned, wide-eyed undergrads is that too many of them want to believe that "things have gotten so much better now, and will and grace is on tv, so that means gays are accepted in our culture!" after reading the text, which presents me with an entirely different set of dilemmas, such as the commodification of "gay" culture, the rhetoric of "queer"ness, and why i now pronounce you chuck and larry is not a bastion of hope for gay people everywhere.
*sigh*
other students hate it because they simply refuse to believe that anyone can be treated in this manner in america, but that is an entirely different subject for another forum.
the brutality of the book is precisely why i teach it, because it is in the unflinching portrayal of jess and her various butches and femmes -- al, theresa, grant, and perhaps most critically ed -- as well as the integration of various historical moments -- stonewall, the rise of unions, vietnam -- that makes this a canonical work in sexuality and gender studies, and whatever flaws there are in feinbergs skill as a writer are nicely covered by the intense honesty she writes with.
it isnt an easy read, and it isnt a light one, either. the problem that ive run into with teaching this novel to a group of well-intentioned, wide-eyed undergrads is that too many of them want to believe that "things have gotten so much better now, and will and grace is on tv, so that means gays are accepted in our culture!" after reading the text, which presents me with an entirely different set of dilemmas, such as the commodification of "gay" culture, the rhetoric of "queer"ness, and why i now pronounce you chuck and larry is not a bastion of hope for gay people everywhere.
*sigh*
February 10, 2017
I had put off reading Stone Butch Blues for well over a decade. At first it was because I didn't think it was relevant to me, a young trans woman. Everyone framed it as "a lesbian novel" or meant for trans men. I couldn't see how I would relate to it, then. But people kept recommending it, or assuming I'd read it. Later, I resisted reading it because I didn't want to like the thing everyone else liked and assumed I would like.
Across those many years, a new canon had emerged: trans women's literature. A movement I was not only a fan of, but a small part of myself. This canon centred around its own iconic book, Nevada by Imogen Binnie. While I enjoyed Nevada, it couldn't reach me. It wasn't made for the type of trans woman I know. Nor were most of the other trans women's lit books coming out. They had a primary intended audience of lesbian/queer (mostly white) trans women - my own experiences as a trans woman primarily attracted to men didn't find a home there. Having dated mostly trans men and butches, I began to wonder about a trans men's literature - what would that look like? Would I find myself there, or my lovers?
I made several attempts to find the trans men's literature I was dreaming up - finding few fiction titles and among them most didn't grab me. Finally, I remembered Stone Butch Blues. Receiving a copy as a present from a masc, I quickly devoured the book in one sitting. While I don't think literature's primary goal should be representing "people just like me!" it was a powerful moment for me all the time. The mascs I dated, in all their complications and heart aches, were here on the page. These butches' stories, even separated by decades, were so close to the places I call home now. And here, too, were the "stone pros," drag queens, and trans women I could see myself in. And I could see those women I admire but, out of a sense of competition for masc attention, keep at arm's length.
Feinberg wrote about the people I knew, in the slice of community I exist in. It's perhaps not for everyone - no book should be burdened with the idea that it is for everyone - but it moved me. It did everything I want trans lit to do: it showed us, the real us, without explaining or apologizing for the benefit of cis people; it gave no false empowerment narrative or happy ending; and it communicated big ideas about what it means to be One of Us in the world, to us.
Praise aside, the novel's major problem is its repeated exoticization of Indigenous people and Two-Spirit identity. I can't say how this would've read in 1993, but in 2017 it's blatant and awkward - the kind of 'positive' racism white people do while stumbling over themselves to be allies. Feinberg's personal history of political commitment to the struggles of racialized peoples are laudable, but I'd be remiss to sweep aside this issue.
In all, the novel broke my heart, stitched it up, and then broke it again. I loved it. I so wish Feinberg were still alive so that I could tell hir that in person, but I know so many got the chance to. This book, in spite of its flaws, is the essence of what trans lit should be.
Across those many years, a new canon had emerged: trans women's literature. A movement I was not only a fan of, but a small part of myself. This canon centred around its own iconic book, Nevada by Imogen Binnie. While I enjoyed Nevada, it couldn't reach me. It wasn't made for the type of trans woman I know. Nor were most of the other trans women's lit books coming out. They had a primary intended audience of lesbian/queer (mostly white) trans women - my own experiences as a trans woman primarily attracted to men didn't find a home there. Having dated mostly trans men and butches, I began to wonder about a trans men's literature - what would that look like? Would I find myself there, or my lovers?
I made several attempts to find the trans men's literature I was dreaming up - finding few fiction titles and among them most didn't grab me. Finally, I remembered Stone Butch Blues. Receiving a copy as a present from a masc, I quickly devoured the book in one sitting. While I don't think literature's primary goal should be representing "people just like me!" it was a powerful moment for me all the time. The mascs I dated, in all their complications and heart aches, were here on the page. These butches' stories, even separated by decades, were so close to the places I call home now. And here, too, were the "stone pros," drag queens, and trans women I could see myself in. And I could see those women I admire but, out of a sense of competition for masc attention, keep at arm's length.
Feinberg wrote about the people I knew, in the slice of community I exist in. It's perhaps not for everyone - no book should be burdened with the idea that it is for everyone - but it moved me. It did everything I want trans lit to do: it showed us, the real us, without explaining or apologizing for the benefit of cis people; it gave no false empowerment narrative or happy ending; and it communicated big ideas about what it means to be One of Us in the world, to us.
Praise aside, the novel's major problem is its repeated exoticization of Indigenous people and Two-Spirit identity. I can't say how this would've read in 1993, but in 2017 it's blatant and awkward - the kind of 'positive' racism white people do while stumbling over themselves to be allies. Feinberg's personal history of political commitment to the struggles of racialized peoples are laudable, but I'd be remiss to sweep aside this issue.
In all, the novel broke my heart, stitched it up, and then broke it again. I loved it. I so wish Feinberg were still alive so that I could tell hir that in person, but I know so many got the chance to. This book, in spite of its flaws, is the essence of what trans lit should be.
June 1, 2023
So basically what if I died
November 27, 2021
In a lesbian's life there's a before reading Stone Butch Blues and after you close the book holding it close to your heart
March 14, 2009
I sometimes forget that there was a time when we were not safe. It is good to be reminded. Each kiss on the street corner tastes sweeter with freedom.
October 13, 2019
4.5 stars
One of the best queer novels I have ever read, Stone Butch Blues takes us back to the 1950s, a time replete with police raids, union riots, the Vietnam war, Stonewall, and more. The novel follows Jess, a butch lesbian, as she progresses through her teen years to her adulthood. The first-person narration puts us right up and close with Jess, so we see her find herself and her identity as a teen, to when she falls in love with her first femme, to when she works in factories and starts to unionize. I had to finish this book on deadline to discuss it with one of my feminist book clubs, but even without that deadline I would have speeded through given how immersive Jess’s perspective felt after 75 pages or so.
I liked this book because of how honest, painful, and raw it felt. There are a lot of graphic scenes in Stone Butch Blues, including sexual assault and physical beatings, so be warned. However, I appreciated this content because Leslie Feinberg writes those scenes in such a way that honors the true homophobia, heterosexism, and transphobia that queer and trans people experienced (and still experience) in the United States. Feinberg approaches the brutality of the queer experience with refreshing truthfulness, as well as the solidarity and resilience of queer and trans people. From a writing perspective, I loved the dialogue in this novel – it showcased Jess and her relationships to the many butches and femmes she found community and conflict with throughout her life so well. The characters felt alive and distinct and I enjoyed that so much. I did not even feel that bothered by the many, many romantic relationships Jess went through, given how Feinberg still emphasized the importance of queer community overall as well as had a little section where Jess read books and worked on herself without a romantic partner, too.
This book reinvigorates me to fight for queer liberation in any way I can. Feinberg does an excellent job showing how Jess’s experience of sexual assault and trauma affects her relationships, and as someone in the mental health field I feel a renewed inspiration to provide compassionate and gender-affirming care for those who have faced similar experiences of marginalization. Through this book, Feinberg also touches on racism in the queer community, the rise of trans-exclusionary radical feminism, and other divisive topics that still play out today. When I finished Stone Butch Blues, I felt so grateful for Leslie Feinberg and other activists who have made my life as a queer person so much easier than it would have been than if I had lived several decades ago. Recommended for those interested in queer narratives and social justice.
One of the best queer novels I have ever read, Stone Butch Blues takes us back to the 1950s, a time replete with police raids, union riots, the Vietnam war, Stonewall, and more. The novel follows Jess, a butch lesbian, as she progresses through her teen years to her adulthood. The first-person narration puts us right up and close with Jess, so we see her find herself and her identity as a teen, to when she falls in love with her first femme, to when she works in factories and starts to unionize. I had to finish this book on deadline to discuss it with one of my feminist book clubs, but even without that deadline I would have speeded through given how immersive Jess’s perspective felt after 75 pages or so.
I liked this book because of how honest, painful, and raw it felt. There are a lot of graphic scenes in Stone Butch Blues, including sexual assault and physical beatings, so be warned. However, I appreciated this content because Leslie Feinberg writes those scenes in such a way that honors the true homophobia, heterosexism, and transphobia that queer and trans people experienced (and still experience) in the United States. Feinberg approaches the brutality of the queer experience with refreshing truthfulness, as well as the solidarity and resilience of queer and trans people. From a writing perspective, I loved the dialogue in this novel – it showcased Jess and her relationships to the many butches and femmes she found community and conflict with throughout her life so well. The characters felt alive and distinct and I enjoyed that so much. I did not even feel that bothered by the many, many romantic relationships Jess went through, given how Feinberg still emphasized the importance of queer community overall as well as had a little section where Jess read books and worked on herself without a romantic partner, too.
This book reinvigorates me to fight for queer liberation in any way I can. Feinberg does an excellent job showing how Jess’s experience of sexual assault and trauma affects her relationships, and as someone in the mental health field I feel a renewed inspiration to provide compassionate and gender-affirming care for those who have faced similar experiences of marginalization. Through this book, Feinberg also touches on racism in the queer community, the rise of trans-exclusionary radical feminism, and other divisive topics that still play out today. When I finished Stone Butch Blues, I felt so grateful for Leslie Feinberg and other activists who have made my life as a queer person so much easier than it would have been than if I had lived several decades ago. Recommended for those interested in queer narratives and social justice.
June 29, 2018
Thank you, Twitter, for this one. Have you ever opened a book and just knew it was something meant for you to read? This is one.
I'd only heard of this book in passing, being that I was vaguely familiar with Leslie Feinberg. So, on the day of the NYC Pride parade, I saw an article about how this is one of the greatest books of our time. Then, picture my excitement when I find out its pdf is free on Feinberg's site. If we're being candid, I'm sorry it took me so long to read hir (Feinberg preferred genderless pronouns) stuff because I wish I could shoot off an email to hir personally. Leslie Feinberg died in 2014.
The writing style affects me. I wouldn't go as far as calling it simple, but Jess, the main character, has a very straight-to-the-point way of expressing herself. I warn in advance that this book has quite a few triggering situations, like . It caught me off guard, but it wasn't egregiously used. Plus, it all made sense. It wasn't like some entertainment (some that I enjoy) that really milks its scenes like that for shock value alone. I hurt for Jess' character. I hurt for a lot of the characters. I hurt so much for this book and yet, it was so beautifully crafted (I hightlighted SO MUCH) that I kept on at it. Seeing a glimmer of light at the end of this long, depressing tunnel.
I'm not selling it well, am I? I'll say that early on, as the character realizes she's not like the other girls, I was swept with a sense of an epic self journey. This could easily be a prestige series on HBO or Netflix or Hulu. Anything that can put a lot of money and research into it, really. The character faces a heinous (and believable) amount of abuse from the cops, supposed loved ones, and general public--cis men, especially. As well as financial ups and downs and the little things that bind us as human. There's romance, too!
I don't want to spoil much, but there's a character we're hinted to early. So, I couldn't wait for her to pop up and when she does, she's a dream. Political, outspoken, caring, intelligent, fierce in her high heels: she had it all. I had a major crush on this certain character. I'll leave the "will they last?" question for anyone who actually reads it. Actually...there are two character crushes in this. A femme cis woman and a small-town femme trans woman. Simply, two amazing women.
I can see someone getting weary after the numerous tragedies. Sometimes, it seems like whatever bad could happen, happened.
This book tackles lesbian and trans topics as well as race and the treatment of femme characters. See, as a femme (who loves femmes), I was put off by the how men treated them and sometimes how the butch women treated them, too. It was a mixed bag. While I respect anyone's right to have the relationship dynamic they prefer, I found the whole "every butch needs a femme" thought process of Jess to be quite antiquated. And lo and behold, the book turns that on its head, too! I've read relationships I've never seen on TV. I reiterate, this should be on TV.
Another thing! Generally, the sex worker characters were held up as the beautiful, real women they are. And when the main character gets out of line there, she's corrected. This really should occur more often.
I've rambled enough, I guess. I'm just so affected. We live our everyday lives, at times forgetting the sacrifices those before us (and those unlike us) have endured for our lives to feel...everyday. Now, I won't deny LGBT people are still in grave danger in many places (even NYC!), but I can feel the progress. 'Neither dusk nor dawn' type people should thrive, not just exist on the sidelines. This is most certainly a should-be-6-stars novel.
I'd only heard of this book in passing, being that I was vaguely familiar with Leslie Feinberg. So, on the day of the NYC Pride parade, I saw an article about how this is one of the greatest books of our time. Then, picture my excitement when I find out its pdf is free on Feinberg's site. If we're being candid, I'm sorry it took me so long to read hir (Feinberg preferred genderless pronouns) stuff because I wish I could shoot off an email to hir personally. Leslie Feinberg died in 2014.
The writing style affects me. I wouldn't go as far as calling it simple, but Jess, the main character, has a very straight-to-the-point way of expressing herself. I warn in advance that this book has quite a few triggering situations, like . It caught me off guard, but it wasn't egregiously used. Plus, it all made sense. It wasn't like some entertainment (some that I enjoy) that really milks its scenes like that for shock value alone. I hurt for Jess' character. I hurt for a lot of the characters. I hurt so much for this book and yet, it was so beautifully crafted (I hightlighted SO MUCH) that I kept on at it. Seeing a glimmer of light at the end of this long, depressing tunnel.
I'm not selling it well, am I? I'll say that early on, as the character realizes she's not like the other girls, I was swept with a sense of an epic self journey. This could easily be a prestige series on HBO or Netflix or Hulu. Anything that can put a lot of money and research into it, really. The character faces a heinous (and believable) amount of abuse from the cops, supposed loved ones, and general public--cis men, especially. As well as financial ups and downs and the little things that bind us as human. There's romance, too!
I don't want to spoil much, but there's a character we're hinted to early. So, I couldn't wait for her to pop up and when she does, she's a dream. Political, outspoken, caring, intelligent, fierce in her high heels: she had it all. I had a major crush on this certain character. I'll leave the "will they last?" question for anyone who actually reads it. Actually...there are two character crushes in this. A femme cis woman and a small-town femme trans woman. Simply, two amazing women.
I can see someone getting weary after the numerous tragedies. Sometimes, it seems like whatever bad could happen, happened.
This book tackles lesbian and trans topics as well as race and the treatment of femme characters. See, as a femme (who loves femmes), I was put off by the how men treated them and sometimes how the butch women treated them, too. It was a mixed bag. While I respect anyone's right to have the relationship dynamic they prefer, I found the whole "every butch needs a femme" thought process of Jess to be quite antiquated. And lo and behold, the book turns that on its head, too! I've read relationships I've never seen on TV. I reiterate, this should be on TV.
Another thing! Generally, the sex worker characters were held up as the beautiful, real women they are. And when the main character gets out of line there, she's corrected. This really should occur more often.
I've rambled enough, I guess. I'm just so affected. We live our everyday lives, at times forgetting the sacrifices those before us (and those unlike us) have endured for our lives to feel...everyday. Now, I won't deny LGBT people are still in grave danger in many places (even NYC!), but I can feel the progress. 'Neither dusk nor dawn' type people should thrive, not just exist on the sidelines. This is most certainly a should-be-6-stars novel.
August 15, 2018
This book destroyed me. Even when I put it down, I felt like I was still inside it. The narrator's pain and isolation are painted so vividly and with so much care that reading it is like being lovingly shot in the face. If there's a sadder, more heartbreaking, more powerful book than this, I honestly don't want to know about it.
September 8, 2020
“Never underestimate the power of fiction to tell the truth.”
This novel is painful and raw and vulnerable, but easily one of the most important things I’ve ever read. I think, if I grew up when Feinberg or Jess did, we would’ve been very similar. Lesbian history is beautiful, trans history is beautiful, and I wish more people recognized how common it is for them to intertwine. I don’t think this story will ever fall out of relevancy.
This novel is painful and raw and vulnerable, but easily one of the most important things I’ve ever read. I think, if I grew up when Feinberg or Jess did, we would’ve been very similar. Lesbian history is beautiful, trans history is beautiful, and I wish more people recognized how common it is for them to intertwine. I don’t think this story will ever fall out of relevancy.
July 10, 2022
no matter what i say about this book, it won’t be enough. it is difficult to read, not because the writing style is dense or circuitous but because the sheer amount of violence and hatred the characters are subjected to is at best overwhelming and at worst nauseating. i would not necessarily call it graphic because the violence (sexual and physical) is not overly descriptive but it is explicit and unflinching in its portrayal of homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and racism--in a way you kind of have to be to respect the severity of these realities, which, of course, leslie feinberg either experienced or witnessed first-hand.
yet as much as my heart broke reading this, it was never treated carelessly. this is not a violent story. it is a story of resilience and hope and resistance and forgiveness and, more than anything, love. it is still somehow gentle. i once said that a story had never felt as kind as linda hogan’s Solar Storms. i feel similarly about stone butch blues. the narrator jess, despite her flaws, has such a pure heart and a strong, poetic voice. i was constantly enveloped in her kindness and the love she receives from characters like ruth, ed, and duffy. but my favorite part of this book was definitely the relationship she formed with kim and scotty, her old co-worker’s children. there is nothing more special than the malleable hearts of children and the ease with which they extend their kindness and acceptance--how simple it is for them to love, free of conditions and judgments. but i also got very weepy about ruth and jess and all of the characters in this novel who show each other genuine, stubborn love.
it has some of the sweetest, most heart-warming scenes i have ever read. i would share them here but then this review would be miles long. i feel like we may overuse the word tender but this book truly is tender. the famous line of this book, “Nature held me close and seemed to find no fault with me,” which is impactful on its own but so much more so with context, is perfectly attuned to how this book made me feel. it held me close. and i will cling to everything it taught me and made me feel for years to come, or perhaps even the rest of my life!
i’m also a sucker for last lines. and this book has a really good one.
trigger warnings: implied rape, explicit gang rape, sexual assault and harassment, police brutality, character death by suicide, underage sex, injury, racism, transphobia, homophobia/lesbophobia, referenced CSA
-
‘“Frankie, I’ve got no words for feelings that are tearing me apart. What would our words sound like?’ I looked up at the sky. ‘Like thunder, maybe.’
Frankie pressed her lips against my hair. ‘Yeah, like thunder. And yearning.’
I smiled and kissed the hard muscle of her biceps. ‘Yearning,’ I repeated softly. ‘What a beautiful word to hear a butch say out loud.’"
-
‘“Ruth, if we lived in a world where we could be anything we wanted to be, what would you do with your life?’
Ruth smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, I’d still sew. I’d dress people in their dreams so they could walk proudly down the street. And I’d cook for all the people who had ever been hungry. I wouldn’t be afraid to leave my house. Oh, I’d love to explore the world. What about you, Jess?’
I leaned my head against the brick. ‘I think I’d be a gardener in a woods just for children, and when they came by I’d sit and listen to their wonderings. And the ocean would be nearby. I’d live in a little house on the shore. At dawn I’d strip off all my clothes and swim. At night I’d sing a song about the way life used to be. It would be such a sad song it would make the grownups nod and the children cry. But I’d sing every night so that no one would ever confuse nostalgia with wanting to return.’”
-
“As yellow as leaves give way
to the gentle insistence of the green
you touched my loneliness
and my crisp, brown husks
yielded to a tender newness.”
yet as much as my heart broke reading this, it was never treated carelessly. this is not a violent story. it is a story of resilience and hope and resistance and forgiveness and, more than anything, love. it is still somehow gentle. i once said that a story had never felt as kind as linda hogan’s Solar Storms. i feel similarly about stone butch blues. the narrator jess, despite her flaws, has such a pure heart and a strong, poetic voice. i was constantly enveloped in her kindness and the love she receives from characters like ruth, ed, and duffy. but my favorite part of this book was definitely the relationship she formed with kim and scotty, her old co-worker’s children. there is nothing more special than the malleable hearts of children and the ease with which they extend their kindness and acceptance--how simple it is for them to love, free of conditions and judgments. but i also got very weepy about ruth and jess and all of the characters in this novel who show each other genuine, stubborn love.
it has some of the sweetest, most heart-warming scenes i have ever read. i would share them here but then this review would be miles long. i feel like we may overuse the word tender but this book truly is tender. the famous line of this book, “Nature held me close and seemed to find no fault with me,” which is impactful on its own but so much more so with context, is perfectly attuned to how this book made me feel. it held me close. and i will cling to everything it taught me and made me feel for years to come, or perhaps even the rest of my life!
i’m also a sucker for last lines. and this book has a really good one.
trigger warnings: implied rape, explicit gang rape, sexual assault and harassment, police brutality, character death by suicide, underage sex, injury, racism, transphobia, homophobia/lesbophobia, referenced CSA
-
‘“Frankie, I’ve got no words for feelings that are tearing me apart. What would our words sound like?’ I looked up at the sky. ‘Like thunder, maybe.’
Frankie pressed her lips against my hair. ‘Yeah, like thunder. And yearning.’
I smiled and kissed the hard muscle of her biceps. ‘Yearning,’ I repeated softly. ‘What a beautiful word to hear a butch say out loud.’"
-
‘“Ruth, if we lived in a world where we could be anything we wanted to be, what would you do with your life?’
Ruth smiled wistfully. ‘Oh, I’d still sew. I’d dress people in their dreams so they could walk proudly down the street. And I’d cook for all the people who had ever been hungry. I wouldn’t be afraid to leave my house. Oh, I’d love to explore the world. What about you, Jess?’
I leaned my head against the brick. ‘I think I’d be a gardener in a woods just for children, and when they came by I’d sit and listen to their wonderings. And the ocean would be nearby. I’d live in a little house on the shore. At dawn I’d strip off all my clothes and swim. At night I’d sing a song about the way life used to be. It would be such a sad song it would make the grownups nod and the children cry. But I’d sing every night so that no one would ever confuse nostalgia with wanting to return.’”
-
“As yellow as leaves give way
to the gentle insistence of the green
you touched my loneliness
and my crisp, brown husks
yielded to a tender newness.”
February 5, 2013
Leslie Feinberg's novel is one of those books that pops up on lists of influential or otherwise 'Must Read' books over and over again. In nearly all of its reviews, people praise it for being groundbreaking and representing the first real voice transgendered people had in the world of literature. Indeed, Stone Butch Blues is a groundbreaking and monumental accomplishment.
But that doesn't mean it's any good.
There's a nice twist of irony in that every other character in the book is an over the top cliché. A wise, elderly Indian woman gives Jess a silver and turquoise ring which is meant to protect her. Later, it's the Indians again in the workplace who understand and sympathize with her plight and, of course, the police are uniformly racist, sexist and abuse both their power and their prisoners to wild extremes. It could be argued that's all intentional – that Feinberg wanted to paint what is meant to be a rich and cliche-shattering character against a backdrop of two dimensional, poorly scripted caricatures of racial, cultural and social stereotypes but I somehow doubt that was the case.
I think the real problem was simply that the author wanted to cover too much ground. Stone Butch Blues came out at a time when people weren't talking about transgendered people and the mainstream view of them was limited to Ed Wood's Glenn or Glenda and pulp fiction books that focused more on transvestism than transgender issues. Feinberg clearly wanted to give every transgendered woman a voice but, in the process, her character comes off as a perpetual one-upper. Every hackneyed and tired tragedy that could befall someone in this position falls squarely on Jess' poor shoulders. From parents who distance themselves from her physically and emotionally to being institutionalized, raped, harassed, abused and, of course, ultimately only understood by mystical Native American Indians and prostitutes (all of whom are classic Hooker With a Golden Heart types) Jess checks all the boxes. Almost no stone is left unturned and the end result isn't a character anyone can truly identify with but instead a grossly overshot character that is spread too thin.
The same problem comes through in dialogue between Jess and every other character in the book. The characters themselves have no real depth and so their dialogue reads as stiff, wooden and completely unnatural. Two-bit characters are picked up, forgotten and then reintroduced later as if they were important. Worst of all, despite all that happens to Jess there's really very little in terms of any sort of plot development. It's just episode after tiresome episode – vignettes that are apparently meant to be some sort of coming of age story but read like nothing more moving than a litany of poorly written, overly dramatic scenes from Jess' life. It makes it hard to care about what happens and even more difficult to see Jess as a real person which is, perhaps, the ultimate irony.
So we'll give it a point for being groundbreaking at the time – that's always worth something in my book. If you're interested in reading something that has a historical significance to the LGBT / feminisim / gender movement, then absolutely this is worth your time. If you're looking for a well written book about gender identity and stories of transgender people coming to terms with their lives there are better books out there.
I'll throw in another half-star for the unintentional irony and bump it up to a full two stars as the book does come in with a built in drinking game. Take a shot every time she uses the phrase 'so damn much' and you might get drunk enough to think the book is better than it actually is.
But that doesn't mean it's any good.
There's a nice twist of irony in that every other character in the book is an over the top cliché. A wise, elderly Indian woman gives Jess a silver and turquoise ring which is meant to protect her. Later, it's the Indians again in the workplace who understand and sympathize with her plight and, of course, the police are uniformly racist, sexist and abuse both their power and their prisoners to wild extremes. It could be argued that's all intentional – that Feinberg wanted to paint what is meant to be a rich and cliche-shattering character against a backdrop of two dimensional, poorly scripted caricatures of racial, cultural and social stereotypes but I somehow doubt that was the case.
I think the real problem was simply that the author wanted to cover too much ground. Stone Butch Blues came out at a time when people weren't talking about transgendered people and the mainstream view of them was limited to Ed Wood's Glenn or Glenda and pulp fiction books that focused more on transvestism than transgender issues. Feinberg clearly wanted to give every transgendered woman a voice but, in the process, her character comes off as a perpetual one-upper. Every hackneyed and tired tragedy that could befall someone in this position falls squarely on Jess' poor shoulders. From parents who distance themselves from her physically and emotionally to being institutionalized, raped, harassed, abused and, of course, ultimately only understood by mystical Native American Indians and prostitutes (all of whom are classic Hooker With a Golden Heart types) Jess checks all the boxes. Almost no stone is left unturned and the end result isn't a character anyone can truly identify with but instead a grossly overshot character that is spread too thin.
The same problem comes through in dialogue between Jess and every other character in the book. The characters themselves have no real depth and so their dialogue reads as stiff, wooden and completely unnatural. Two-bit characters are picked up, forgotten and then reintroduced later as if they were important. Worst of all, despite all that happens to Jess there's really very little in terms of any sort of plot development. It's just episode after tiresome episode – vignettes that are apparently meant to be some sort of coming of age story but read like nothing more moving than a litany of poorly written, overly dramatic scenes from Jess' life. It makes it hard to care about what happens and even more difficult to see Jess as a real person which is, perhaps, the ultimate irony.
So we'll give it a point for being groundbreaking at the time – that's always worth something in my book. If you're interested in reading something that has a historical significance to the LGBT / feminisim / gender movement, then absolutely this is worth your time. If you're looking for a well written book about gender identity and stories of transgender people coming to terms with their lives there are better books out there.
I'll throw in another half-star for the unintentional irony and bump it up to a full two stars as the book does come in with a built in drinking game. Take a shot every time she uses the phrase 'so damn much' and you might get drunk enough to think the book is better than it actually is.
January 25, 2024
The first 120 pages or so are so visceral and vulnerable and hard to read I wondered how I was going to make it to page 389. As I continued reading, and now that I have finished, I see that the book takes you on the journey of butchness from the intimate and lonely perspective of being a butch. We live with Jess through her first busts, heartbreaks, and utter lows and as a reader, I wretched. But the series of elations, joys, moments of reprise, peace, and beautiful prose always kept me wanting to keep going no matter what hard material laid before me. Butch lives are worth living and worth knowing and loving. As a high femme, this novel is very important and close to me. I hope Leslie can feel my gratitude and love from heaven.
February 23, 2019
[read for gay and lesbian literature] like...... holy fucking shit
April 3, 2008
I do not give many 5-star ratings just because I consider a 5-star rating to be hard to attain by anyone. But I HAD to give 5-stars to this book. I almost feel as if it is cliche to say this book is AMAZING since so many people feel the same way. But I suppose that is just an attestment to the fine work that Leslie Feinberg has done in presenting Jess Goldberg's story and the struggle and oppression that she went through. Utterly heartbreaking at times, this book will take you through the entire rainbow of emotions as you read it. I consider this book to be a must-read for everyone. I feel like if everyone were to read this book, so many things could be different in our world that is far to run by the gendered binaries and heteronormativity that exist within our society. I would HIGHLY recommend this book to anyone and everyone!
June 26, 2021
Rep: Jewish butch lesbian mc, lesbian side characters, Black side characters, trans side characters
CWs: implied rape (ch 1, 3), police violence (ch 1, 3, 5), institutionalisation (ch 2), gang rape (ch 4), lesbophobic slurs, antisemitism, transphobia, rape (ch 5), sexual harassment (ch 7), injury (ch 9), homophobic violence (ch 10, 23), suicide
CWs: implied rape (ch 1, 3), police violence (ch 1, 3, 5), institutionalisation (ch 2), gang rape (ch 4), lesbophobic slurs, antisemitism, transphobia, rape (ch 5), sexual harassment (ch 7), injury (ch 9), homophobic violence (ch 10, 23), suicide
November 12, 2011
This one was difficult to rate. I give you a complicated review for a complicated book.
This is a coming-of-age novel of sorts about a transgendered/gender queer person.
To be honest, I wasn't that into the first half of the book. The writing feels really unpolished and forced, the characters lack any depth or description, and a lot of the narrative seems like a cold retelling of historical facts. I'm also totally unfamiliar with the lingo involved in the trans movement of the 50s and 60s, so I often couldn't tell exactly what was going on. The world portrayed by Feinberg seems very rule-based. Ironically, it seemed to have its own really unrelenting binary (you're either a butch or a femme!). But since I wasn't totally familiar with the phrases going in, I felt lost for a lot of the action in the first half.
And the narrator never really describes what made hir feel more male. Ze just describes wanting to wear hir father's clothes instead of hir mother's clothes. But there's no feeling, no explanation, behind it. Obviously, there was more to hir identity than a style preference, and I would have loved to see that described.
But the second half. Oh man, the second half. This is where Feinberg really found what ze was looking to say. What the narrator makes perfectly clear is how possible it is for someone to exist in the space between (outside of?) male and female. Really, really. The isn't some inkling self-doubt or whimsical notion. Our gender binary is doing some serious damage to a lot of people.
I have studied this stuff before, I have learned from biology books about all the different ways a person can be intersex, I've been sympathetic and interested for a long time. But this book helped me get it in a way I didn't before. It is so easy to write off gender-queer folks. Conservatives say, "You're perverting how God wanted you to be. You are confused." Liberals say, "You are letting yourself be indoctrinated by the social constructs that tell you what gender should mean to you. You are confused."
But really. It is refreshing to read something that shows so beautifully that hey, this is real, this is not just something in someone's head. People aren't sick or wrong or messed up. Before, I got it, on an abstract intellectual level. Now I feel like I get it better, on a more emotional, experiential level.
I also super-loved the analysis of how the economic struggles of workers are so interconnected with the struggle for gender queer folks to be safe and integrated.
I think we have definite cause to celebrate the progress we've made on opening up space within that binary. Lots of work has been done to highlight that space that is neither male nor female, but is "that moment of infinite possibility that connects them." (p. 270)
But damn, we still have a LONG way to go on making our society safe for gender-queer people.
The importance of this book, despite its pretty weak writing, earns it four stars.
This is a coming-of-age novel of sorts about a transgendered/gender queer person.
To be honest, I wasn't that into the first half of the book. The writing feels really unpolished and forced, the characters lack any depth or description, and a lot of the narrative seems like a cold retelling of historical facts. I'm also totally unfamiliar with the lingo involved in the trans movement of the 50s and 60s, so I often couldn't tell exactly what was going on. The world portrayed by Feinberg seems very rule-based. Ironically, it seemed to have its own really unrelenting binary (you're either a butch or a femme!). But since I wasn't totally familiar with the phrases going in, I felt lost for a lot of the action in the first half.
And the narrator never really describes what made hir feel more male. Ze just describes wanting to wear hir father's clothes instead of hir mother's clothes. But there's no feeling, no explanation, behind it. Obviously, there was more to hir identity than a style preference, and I would have loved to see that described.
But the second half. Oh man, the second half. This is where Feinberg really found what ze was looking to say. What the narrator makes perfectly clear is how possible it is for someone to exist in the space between (outside of?) male and female. Really, really. The isn't some inkling self-doubt or whimsical notion. Our gender binary is doing some serious damage to a lot of people.
I have studied this stuff before, I have learned from biology books about all the different ways a person can be intersex, I've been sympathetic and interested for a long time. But this book helped me get it in a way I didn't before. It is so easy to write off gender-queer folks. Conservatives say, "You're perverting how God wanted you to be. You are confused." Liberals say, "You are letting yourself be indoctrinated by the social constructs that tell you what gender should mean to you. You are confused."
But really. It is refreshing to read something that shows so beautifully that hey, this is real, this is not just something in someone's head. People aren't sick or wrong or messed up. Before, I got it, on an abstract intellectual level. Now I feel like I get it better, on a more emotional, experiential level.
I also super-loved the analysis of how the economic struggles of workers are so interconnected with the struggle for gender queer folks to be safe and integrated.
I think we have definite cause to celebrate the progress we've made on opening up space within that binary. Lots of work has been done to highlight that space that is neither male nor female, but is "that moment of infinite possibility that connects them." (p. 270)
But damn, we still have a LONG way to go on making our society safe for gender-queer people.
The importance of this book, despite its pretty weak writing, earns it four stars.
August 16, 2024
Semi-autobiographical novel by transgender activist Leslie Feinberg, who joins a long tradition of women, particular Jewish women, writing about class struggle and considers the roles of Jewish identity, feminism, and sexuality in their writing.
Stone Butch Blues follows the story of Jess, a "he-she" from a working class Jewish family. When she tries to dress in a way that feels natural for her—in a man’s shirt and pants—her parents forcibly admit her to a mental hospital. At school she is raped by the football team trying to "cure" and the crime is dismissed by the school, who suspend her for attempting to talk about her identity problems with a black friend.
She runs away at 16 and makes a found family in the the butches and femmes who frequent the gay bars of Buffalo, New York. Jess’s journey of self-discovery takes her down a dangerous road. The bars and clubs she frequents in order to connect with other gender outsiders are repeatedly raided by the police with occasional rapes and beatings, also by the lgbtq community. Her own girlfriend persecuting her for being transgender.
At pride parades, the younger participants seems so happy-go-lucky, but the older ones, those who lived through the AIDS epidemic of the 80s, and persecutive violence of the 90s. It's one thing to know of it academically, it's another to feel the angry glint in their eyes and feel it at a deeper level.
I had to put it down a few times. That's rare, even with Holocaust accounts.
On a writing note, the taught me is about queer life outside of urban centers. Many narratives of Queer geography escaping for a gay mecca in a large urban center where coming out somehow solves all your problems. Instead, Feinberg mapped queer lives that originate outside of big cities. Being from the rust belt, Buffalo feels immensely relatable, a city where unions once thrived and people worked with dignity, a city where labor created an economy that served a wide range of people with a brutally honest rendition of the awkward intersection of identities, and the ways they overlapped or widely differed.
Certainly navigating the nuance of the place is difficult, particularly for natural outsiders in sexuality and gender, but life is still possible.
What stands out to me is that Feinberg refuses to offer an easy happiness or a redemption narrative unlike many authors. Life is about struggle both for Jess as a butch but also for all working people, it left me both enthralled. Especially the interesting Leslie euphoria about successfully passing as a man, not purely because it conformed to her identity, but because she felt safe.
That said, nothing is free of its flaws. The author acknowledged and even welcomed the inevitability that her work would become outdated and possibly no longer even needed. To modern ears some parts may seems culturally insensitive, (the 'Magical Indian' stereotype, to name one) it would mostly be because of a product of the environment. Stone Butch Blues is an American Landmark work that covers both important true history that many are attempting to actively erase.
Stone Butch Blues follows the story of Jess, a "he-she" from a working class Jewish family. When she tries to dress in a way that feels natural for her—in a man’s shirt and pants—her parents forcibly admit her to a mental hospital. At school she is raped by the football team trying to "cure" and the crime is dismissed by the school, who suspend her for attempting to talk about her identity problems with a black friend.
She runs away at 16 and makes a found family in the the butches and femmes who frequent the gay bars of Buffalo, New York. Jess’s journey of self-discovery takes her down a dangerous road. The bars and clubs she frequents in order to connect with other gender outsiders are repeatedly raided by the police with occasional rapes and beatings, also by the lgbtq community. Her own girlfriend persecuting her for being transgender.
At pride parades, the younger participants seems so happy-go-lucky, but the older ones, those who lived through the AIDS epidemic of the 80s, and persecutive violence of the 90s. It's one thing to know of it academically, it's another to feel the angry glint in their eyes and feel it at a deeper level.
I had to put it down a few times. That's rare, even with Holocaust accounts.
On a writing note, the taught me is about queer life outside of urban centers. Many narratives of Queer geography escaping for a gay mecca in a large urban center where coming out somehow solves all your problems. Instead, Feinberg mapped queer lives that originate outside of big cities. Being from the rust belt, Buffalo feels immensely relatable, a city where unions once thrived and people worked with dignity, a city where labor created an economy that served a wide range of people with a brutally honest rendition of the awkward intersection of identities, and the ways they overlapped or widely differed.
Certainly navigating the nuance of the place is difficult, particularly for natural outsiders in sexuality and gender, but life is still possible.
What stands out to me is that Feinberg refuses to offer an easy happiness or a redemption narrative unlike many authors. Life is about struggle both for Jess as a butch but also for all working people, it left me both enthralled. Especially the interesting Leslie euphoria about successfully passing as a man, not purely because it conformed to her identity, but because she felt safe.
That said, nothing is free of its flaws. The author acknowledged and even welcomed the inevitability that her work would become outdated and possibly no longer even needed. To modern ears some parts may seems culturally insensitive, (the 'Magical Indian' stereotype, to name one) it would mostly be because of a product of the environment. Stone Butch Blues is an American Landmark work that covers both important true history that many are attempting to actively erase.
April 11, 2023
i'm re-writing this review so that i may add things to it, as i feel my previous review didn't encapsulate how much this book makes me feel.
oh, leslie feinberg. how i adore you. this book saved my life, truly. i mean it. for years and years i struggled with being a transgender lesbian. my gender was always hard to explain, and felt like too much. so much so, that i stopped talking about it altogether. i only felt represented, or truly seen—in history. by older butches.
this book helped me solidify my identity. i read it for the first time in 2020, and i don't think i finished it until early 2021. i remember having to put it down multiple times because i felt so much for jess. i wept for jess. i saw myself in jess. i cried, and cried, and remembered, and kept quotes, and cried, until i got to the last page, and then cried some more.
i love how this book deals with pain, and how leslie writes it. leslie feinberg makes me feel so seen and understood with hir work. this book taught me so much, and i left feeling more than i had before i read it. this book became a part of me. an integral part of my identity, and who i am today.
i hope to read more of leslie's works, again and again. thank you for helping me learn how to be myself. thank you for creating a story where i can feel seen, and learn to understand all at the same time.
oh, leslie feinberg. how i adore you. this book saved my life, truly. i mean it. for years and years i struggled with being a transgender lesbian. my gender was always hard to explain, and felt like too much. so much so, that i stopped talking about it altogether. i only felt represented, or truly seen—in history. by older butches.
this book helped me solidify my identity. i read it for the first time in 2020, and i don't think i finished it until early 2021. i remember having to put it down multiple times because i felt so much for jess. i wept for jess. i saw myself in jess. i cried, and cried, and remembered, and kept quotes, and cried, until i got to the last page, and then cried some more.
i love how this book deals with pain, and how leslie writes it. leslie feinberg makes me feel so seen and understood with hir work. this book taught me so much, and i left feeling more than i had before i read it. this book became a part of me. an integral part of my identity, and who i am today.
i hope to read more of leslie's works, again and again. thank you for helping me learn how to be myself. thank you for creating a story where i can feel seen, and learn to understand all at the same time.
December 31, 2022
i lost track of how many times i wept reading this. every single emotion in here is a gutpunch - the pain, the grief, the recognition, the catharsis, the enduring hope. reading something while actively feeling how deeply formative it is for you is insane and an incredible gift and theres no way i can properly express how grateful i am that this book exists.
March 16, 2024
jesus fucking christ this book. holy shit. god damn. shakespeare could never.
ETA: i'm sure i originally rated this 4 stars because the writing style isn't always my favorite, but. come on, past max. this is a book i read annually. this is a book i think about once per week. this is a book i'm going to read again as soon as i get off school and have time. leslie feinberg is a constant inspiration and the way this book brings together the story of one person with the stories of lesbianism and communism and LGBT joy and grief and power in america is so. it's so. no one is doing it like this & no one ever will
--
2024 reread: yeah, if i were asked which books have most influenced my life, this would be in the top five, maybe top three. i went in at 14 to learn more about butch lesbianism and i came out anti-cop and changed as a person. the characters in this book suffer cruelty so horrific that stone butch blues would be impossible to read if the love in it didn’t shine out so clearly—the love for dykes and queens and he-shes, the love for stone women in all their painful beautiful glory, the love for everyone organizing to make the world just a little more livable.
ETA: i'm sure i originally rated this 4 stars because the writing style isn't always my favorite, but. come on, past max. this is a book i read annually. this is a book i think about once per week. this is a book i'm going to read again as soon as i get off school and have time. leslie feinberg is a constant inspiration and the way this book brings together the story of one person with the stories of lesbianism and communism and LGBT joy and grief and power in america is so. it's so. no one is doing it like this & no one ever will
--
2024 reread: yeah, if i were asked which books have most influenced my life, this would be in the top five, maybe top three. i went in at 14 to learn more about butch lesbianism and i came out anti-cop and changed as a person. the characters in this book suffer cruelty so horrific that stone butch blues would be impossible to read if the love in it didn’t shine out so clearly—the love for dykes and queens and he-shes, the love for stone women in all their painful beautiful glory, the love for everyone organizing to make the world just a little more livable.
June 19, 2016
This entire story is so important, but before I get into that, I just want to share the most important words in this novel which come at the end in Feinberg's own Acknowledgements:
Leslie Feinberg died in the fall of 2014, so was not alive to see the legalization of same-sex marriages in all 50 states in the United States. I would have loved to have read her words on that topic, or seen her reaction. She married her longtime partner in 2011, but I like to imagine that the she would have loved to have seen what happened on June 26, 2015. She would be proud.
However, she also was not alive to witness the massacre that occurred just last weekend in an Orlando gay nightclub, Pulse. The death of 49 innocent people who just wanted to dance is heartbreaking still to so many of us, and not just those who identify as gay. It was a wake-up call for many people, though it should never have come to this in the first place. Massacres like this should not happen, and while I could now go on to talk about the ease of purchasing semi-automatic firearms, I will not right now - the point I make is that there is still too much fucking hate and intolerance.
I was reading this book last weekend and after hearing about Orlando and reading article after article about the updates that followed, I had to put this book on hold. The story is about Jess Goldberg, a masculine-appearing girl growing up in America during the McCarthy era. She identified as a butch lesbian before the Stonewall Riot of 1969, at a time where there was even less tolerance and more disgust and hatred directed at anyone who identified as something other than what they were born. I had to put this book on the back burner last weekend because what happened in Orlando was so similar to what Jess was experiencing in the book, though instead of semi-automatic firearms, Jess was beaten regularly just for going to a bar, often by cops, and she was threatened to be raped. (Others Jess knew, other lesbians, were raped, because they needed to be put in their place. Shaking my fist.)
I realized though that I wasn't helping anyone (myself least of all) by putting this book on hold. I wanted to know what happened to Jess, I wanted to be there for her, and for everyone else who just wants to be accepted and understood for who they are. It is not my place to question anyone's identification, and my heart breaks for everyone who still has to experience that just while walking down the street.
This is not an easy book to read, but it is so important for everyone. I doubt there is anyone who has ever felt 100% comfortable in their environment, or within their body. For some it is even harder. And for many their very lives are on the line because someone or a group of someones believe they know what is "right" for everyone else.
This is not a perfect novel. The writing is clunky and it's not always well-written, but the experiences Jess has, and her struggle to find her place in the world, and to make her place in the world, and to keep her place in the world is really powerful.
"I am typing these words as June 2003 surges with pride. What year is it now, as you read them? What has been won? What has been lost? I can't see from here; I can't predict. But I know this: You are experiencing the impact of what we in the movement take a stand on and fight for today. The present and past are the trajectory of the future. But the arc of history does not bend towards justice automatically - as the great abolitionist Frederick Douglass said, without struggle there is no progress.
I can say this with certainty: If your life is being ground up in economic machinery and the burden of oppression is heavy on your back, you hunger for liberation, and so do those around you. Look for our brightly colored banners coming up over the hill of the past and into your present. Listen for our voices - our protest chants drawing nearer. Join us in the front ranks. We are marching toward liberation.
That's what the characters in Stone Butch Blues fought for. The last chapter of this saga of struggle has not yet been written."
Leslie Feinberg died in the fall of 2014, so was not alive to see the legalization of same-sex marriages in all 50 states in the United States. I would have loved to have read her words on that topic, or seen her reaction. She married her longtime partner in 2011, but I like to imagine that the she would have loved to have seen what happened on June 26, 2015. She would be proud.
However, she also was not alive to witness the massacre that occurred just last weekend in an Orlando gay nightclub, Pulse. The death of 49 innocent people who just wanted to dance is heartbreaking still to so many of us, and not just those who identify as gay. It was a wake-up call for many people, though it should never have come to this in the first place. Massacres like this should not happen, and while I could now go on to talk about the ease of purchasing semi-automatic firearms, I will not right now - the point I make is that there is still too much fucking hate and intolerance.
I was reading this book last weekend and after hearing about Orlando and reading article after article about the updates that followed, I had to put this book on hold. The story is about Jess Goldberg, a masculine-appearing girl growing up in America during the McCarthy era. She identified as a butch lesbian before the Stonewall Riot of 1969, at a time where there was even less tolerance and more disgust and hatred directed at anyone who identified as something other than what they were born. I had to put this book on the back burner last weekend because what happened in Orlando was so similar to what Jess was experiencing in the book, though instead of semi-automatic firearms, Jess was beaten regularly just for going to a bar, often by cops, and she was threatened to be raped. (Others Jess knew, other lesbians, were raped, because they needed to be put in their place. Shaking my fist.)
I realized though that I wasn't helping anyone (myself least of all) by putting this book on hold. I wanted to know what happened to Jess, I wanted to be there for her, and for everyone else who just wants to be accepted and understood for who they are. It is not my place to question anyone's identification, and my heart breaks for everyone who still has to experience that just while walking down the street.
This is not an easy book to read, but it is so important for everyone. I doubt there is anyone who has ever felt 100% comfortable in their environment, or within their body. For some it is even harder. And for many their very lives are on the line because someone or a group of someones believe they know what is "right" for everyone else.
This is not a perfect novel. The writing is clunky and it's not always well-written, but the experiences Jess has, and her struggle to find her place in the world, and to make her place in the world, and to keep her place in the world is really powerful.
December 31, 2019
I've been trying to cop to the real reason I didn't read this book for so long. I think when I was younger, and first self-identifying as genderqueer and learning about gender difference and theory, this book felt really dated; I wasn't interested in history, I was interested in the cutting edge. But later and lately that changed and I'm very interested in queer history. I really relished reading a book of poems, Crime Against Nature, published in 1989 by Minnie Bruce Pratt, who is Leslie Feinberg's partner.
Finally I was complaining / commiserating with a transmasc friend about the dearth of trans masc subjectivity in general and in literature and memoir in particular. I realized there was really no excuse that I had never read this classic.
Stone Butch Blues came out in 1993 but primarily deals with the butch experience in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. It is quite sad, and full of trauma and loneliness, as one might imagine. It's more beautifully written and plotted and much more subtle and poetic than I expected; but that is probably my own prejudices showing - I think I had low expectations from an author who primarily identified later in life as an organizer and revolutionary communist, and whose follow-up works to this one are unknown. In the end, it's hard for me to actually wrap my mind around what a work of singular creative bravery this is. It's a very frank and detailed book, about an identity that the world tried (and still tries) to destroy, that still manages to be so rich in the particulars - in the particulars of pretty sexy sex scenes, or working class life in factories and unions, or cheap shitty apartments in New York City in the 80s, or -- of course -- bathrooms and locker rooms. I can only imagine the process of getting this published by a small independent press, probably with no expectation it would ever be read beyond the LGBT subculture or would become more or less canonical as queer studies rose to prominence in academia.
This book is proto-intersectional in that it only sees butch identity as it is shaped by race and class. There is so much struggle for so long for the main character, and where she finally finds hope and light is in intersectional organizing, though it wouldn't have been called that at the time.
Sometimes it seems to me that the identity of "butch" is disappearing... that's certainly a story that people are telling in 2019. Discourse about trans masculinity has changed quite a lot since this book was published, that is for sure. But reading the story that unfolds here really paints a picture of how the trans man of 2019 and the butch of 1960 cannot be separated; they are historically and spiritually intertwined. The most compelling page-turning for me happened when Jess made her decision to take hormones and pass as male. Her reasoning about it as a very practical choice felt all too familiar to me. So much of gender is just kind of a practical matter, but I don't feel like that's a story we hear often. Rather, we hear about gender about something that is known deep inside and felt (and it is that, too).
Are young kids today interested in butch identities? I'm not sure. But I know there are people like Grover Wehman-Brown (of Masculine Birth Ritual) who still claim the word "butch." Bearing witness to the incredible bravery of these characters and this author made me want to continue to find a place for the term, to not leave it behind.
Finally I was complaining / commiserating with a transmasc friend about the dearth of trans masc subjectivity in general and in literature and memoir in particular. I realized there was really no excuse that I had never read this classic.
Stone Butch Blues came out in 1993 but primarily deals with the butch experience in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. It is quite sad, and full of trauma and loneliness, as one might imagine. It's more beautifully written and plotted and much more subtle and poetic than I expected; but that is probably my own prejudices showing - I think I had low expectations from an author who primarily identified later in life as an organizer and revolutionary communist, and whose follow-up works to this one are unknown. In the end, it's hard for me to actually wrap my mind around what a work of singular creative bravery this is. It's a very frank and detailed book, about an identity that the world tried (and still tries) to destroy, that still manages to be so rich in the particulars - in the particulars of pretty sexy sex scenes, or working class life in factories and unions, or cheap shitty apartments in New York City in the 80s, or -- of course -- bathrooms and locker rooms. I can only imagine the process of getting this published by a small independent press, probably with no expectation it would ever be read beyond the LGBT subculture or would become more or less canonical as queer studies rose to prominence in academia.
This book is proto-intersectional in that it only sees butch identity as it is shaped by race and class. There is so much struggle for so long for the main character, and where she finally finds hope and light is in intersectional organizing, though it wouldn't have been called that at the time.
Sometimes it seems to me that the identity of "butch" is disappearing... that's certainly a story that people are telling in 2019. Discourse about trans masculinity has changed quite a lot since this book was published, that is for sure. But reading the story that unfolds here really paints a picture of how the trans man of 2019 and the butch of 1960 cannot be separated; they are historically and spiritually intertwined. The most compelling page-turning for me happened when Jess made her decision to take hormones and pass as male. Her reasoning about it as a very practical choice felt all too familiar to me. So much of gender is just kind of a practical matter, but I don't feel like that's a story we hear often. Rather, we hear about gender about something that is known deep inside and felt (and it is that, too).
Are young kids today interested in butch identities? I'm not sure. But I know there are people like Grover Wehman-Brown (of Masculine Birth Ritual) who still claim the word "butch." Bearing witness to the incredible bravery of these characters and this author made me want to continue to find a place for the term, to not leave it behind.
May 27, 2022
genuinely life changing. maybe the best book i’ve ever read. my heart is heavy and full and i wish it didnt end. jess’s story and each character is going to stay with me forever. i felt fully inside of this book and this has opened my eyes about the way my brain is and how i can start to get better this book is so incredible and should be read by everyone (but please pay attention to trigger warnings this book is super intense). i love you leslie feinberg you amazing human being.
September 4, 2021
Wow. Just wow. Definitely read this.
January 9, 2023
For years I struggled finding the right name for myself. Being a preteen/teen during the internet age and being on tumblr really makes you feel like you have to have the right labels down to the micro-bits of your identity. In recent years, I struggled to find the right words for my gender. Lesbian was perfect, but I knew I was different from the femmes in the media, in my life, who I was attracted to. I saw hesbians on twitter and knew that was the right fit for me. But it wasn’t enough. Only very recently did “butch” fall out of the sky into my lap and did I feel something finally, deeply resonate with me.
I can’t say for sure if finding “Stone Butch Blues” earlier would have helped me on the road to my identity or if a lesbian just has a time in their life when “Stone Butch Blues” finds them, but I can say that this book can make a butch feel like they’re in the bar right beside their elders. My experience with butches has been slim in my life; only brief interactions in public. Never have I even met a butch my age. Reading this has made me feel a real camaraderie with the butches who paved the road I walk on now. It can feel damn isolating being the only butch in your own life, but through the pages, Feinberg grabbed my baby butch face and stared right into my soul as she spilled her own.
I’ve read reviews on this book about the “unsophisticated” style of writing, but I think this book is written exactly as it should be. It’s not meant to be high literature, with convoluted, big words and metaphors. Feinberg wrote exactly to who this book was meant for; the butches, the working class, the queers who had to settle in the streets and factories.
I don’t have much else to say on this book. It was meant for exactly who it was about and I think every lesbian, even every queer, should sit down and read it once. Life isn’t sunshine and rainbows for lesbians or gays or trans people since we could marry or we got more Netflix originals. Reading where we came from is important and we have to realize that things still need to change. The reality is, many of us are still facing this; prostitution is still heavy with trans women who have no other resort for money, lesbians are still being raped to be “corrected”, and young queers are still being booted from their own parents to the streets, to institutions, to conversion camps. Don’t leave the stories in this book to waste on your shelf when this is still the experience of millions of queers on Earth. Especially take the last chapter, the hope Jess holds in herself, and keep it close to you too. Life isn’t perfect for us but we can claw and tear our way a bit closer.
I can’t say for sure if finding “Stone Butch Blues” earlier would have helped me on the road to my identity or if a lesbian just has a time in their life when “Stone Butch Blues” finds them, but I can say that this book can make a butch feel like they’re in the bar right beside their elders. My experience with butches has been slim in my life; only brief interactions in public. Never have I even met a butch my age. Reading this has made me feel a real camaraderie with the butches who paved the road I walk on now. It can feel damn isolating being the only butch in your own life, but through the pages, Feinberg grabbed my baby butch face and stared right into my soul as she spilled her own.
I’ve read reviews on this book about the “unsophisticated” style of writing, but I think this book is written exactly as it should be. It’s not meant to be high literature, with convoluted, big words and metaphors. Feinberg wrote exactly to who this book was meant for; the butches, the working class, the queers who had to settle in the streets and factories.
I don’t have much else to say on this book. It was meant for exactly who it was about and I think every lesbian, even every queer, should sit down and read it once. Life isn’t sunshine and rainbows for lesbians or gays or trans people since we could marry or we got more Netflix originals. Reading where we came from is important and we have to realize that things still need to change. The reality is, many of us are still facing this; prostitution is still heavy with trans women who have no other resort for money, lesbians are still being raped to be “corrected”, and young queers are still being booted from their own parents to the streets, to institutions, to conversion camps. Don’t leave the stories in this book to waste on your shelf when this is still the experience of millions of queers on Earth. Especially take the last chapter, the hope Jess holds in herself, and keep it close to you too. Life isn’t perfect for us but we can claw and tear our way a bit closer.
January 5, 2023
when i was younger and my feelings for women first started showing up, it never even crossed my mind that there could openly and happily be “people like me”. i’ve been taught that i was wrong, “people like me” deserved the punishments the world gave us and i should never end up like that because if i did, whatever i got would be my own fault. whenever i heard about how much “people like me” have suffered, i thought it proved what everyone else was saying was correct. the only way i can escape this was by marrying a man and being exactly what God ‘intended’ me to be.
but i could never imagine that among all that suffering, there was a history of resilience and most importantly, hope. don’t get me wrong, it’s not a magical, wonderland story where if you just stick to it, the world is better. “people like me” were forced to be resilient. we had no choice but to have hope and persist on in secret. our fight is far from even being close to over. it doesn’t just end with gay marriage or being able to see “representation” on the screen. but the fact that i can say that people before me have taught, lived, found happiness and loved despite it all, in hopes that someday, some random girl like me could live in a world that’s better than theirs fills me with so much hope and drive to continue on.
this book was not an easy read, there were moments where i felt utterly miserable and filled with an unspeakable amount of rage (i cannot stress this enough how much i despise cops) but i would not take back reading this for the world. i’m just truly unable to put together a coherent review on this book. at the end, i feel connected with people that will never know i existed and that’s fine but the fact that i’m able to thank them for building my identity and for showing me what true resilience looks like, is enough for me.
but i could never imagine that among all that suffering, there was a history of resilience and most importantly, hope. don’t get me wrong, it’s not a magical, wonderland story where if you just stick to it, the world is better. “people like me” were forced to be resilient. we had no choice but to have hope and persist on in secret. our fight is far from even being close to over. it doesn’t just end with gay marriage or being able to see “representation” on the screen. but the fact that i can say that people before me have taught, lived, found happiness and loved despite it all, in hopes that someday, some random girl like me could live in a world that’s better than theirs fills me with so much hope and drive to continue on.
this book was not an easy read, there were moments where i felt utterly miserable and filled with an unspeakable amount of rage (i cannot stress this enough how much i despise cops) but i would not take back reading this for the world. i’m just truly unable to put together a coherent review on this book. at the end, i feel connected with people that will never know i existed and that’s fine but the fact that i’m able to thank them for building my identity and for showing me what true resilience looks like, is enough for me.
July 22, 2011
I have had this book sitting on my bedside table for literally three years. It took me that long to read it. This is not because I don't believe what Jess and Jess's friends and co-workers went through is true; to the contrary, I am quite certain it is. It's also not because it was too depressing or too sad or too much of a downer. I'm not that kind of a reader/person. My problem with Stone Butch Blues is that it is not very well written. I dunno. Maybe a nicer way to explain it is that the writing doesn't appeal to me.
Really, it's not that I am out of touch with the realities of queer life and labor atrocities (to me, as a working class queer person, this book is as much for the working class as it is for queers- that aspect of the book is glossed over a LOT in discussions!). I'm from a region of the country that's a good 10 or 20 years behind everyone else. I don't just believe this book, I KNOW this book. I dunno, maybe that's why I felt comfortable critiquing the writing? I wasn't stunned by Stone Butch Blues, so I could dig a little deeper than I would've been able to if it were about something that isn't so familiar to me.
One star for the writing itself. Five stars for relevance and importance as documentation of intersecting struggles. Three stars average.
(Sorry. Please don't kill me.)
Really, it's not that I am out of touch with the realities of queer life and labor atrocities (to me, as a working class queer person, this book is as much for the working class as it is for queers- that aspect of the book is glossed over a LOT in discussions!). I'm from a region of the country that's a good 10 or 20 years behind everyone else. I don't just believe this book, I KNOW this book. I dunno, maybe that's why I felt comfortable critiquing the writing? I wasn't stunned by Stone Butch Blues, so I could dig a little deeper than I would've been able to if it were about something that isn't so familiar to me.
One star for the writing itself. Five stars for relevance and importance as documentation of intersecting struggles. Three stars average.
(Sorry. Please don't kill me.)
September 11, 2021
A powerful novel about working class lesbian and trans life in the 60s to the 80s. Jess Goldberg, the protagonist, drops out of high school and begins working a series of temp blue collar jobs in the Buffalo area, finding community among the ‘butches’ and ‘femmes’ at the local underground gay bar. She and her friends and lovers are constantly in danger of being attacked on the street or by police. Over time, Jess further explores gender identity through passing as a man, and comes to re-evaluate the value of community, collective action, and truly disrupting rigid divisions.
I found the first half or so incredibly hard to read because of the periodic, intense sexualized violence. But I also felt I had to persist rather than look away, and I’m glad I did. There’s so much to think about here. For example, Jess and her friends struggle to break free of divisions and binaries within the queer community, as when Jess rejects a butch friend for partnering with another butch rather than a femme, or Jess and her girlfriend know they are unwelcome among campus lesbians. Despite some clumsy prose and dialogue and a datedness to aspects of the writer���s approach, it was an important and moving read. Leslie Feinberg her/hirself sounds like she/zie was quite an amazing and interesting individual as well.
I found the first half or so incredibly hard to read because of the periodic, intense sexualized violence. But I also felt I had to persist rather than look away, and I’m glad I did. There’s so much to think about here. For example, Jess and her friends struggle to break free of divisions and binaries within the queer community, as when Jess rejects a butch friend for partnering with another butch rather than a femme, or Jess and her girlfriend know they are unwelcome among campus lesbians. Despite some clumsy prose and dialogue and a datedness to aspects of the writer���s approach, it was an important and moving read. Leslie Feinberg her/hirself sounds like she/zie was quite an amazing and interesting individual as well.
October 22, 2023
This book is so important to me... I will never forget the first time I read it. "I didn't believe I could exist in anyone's memory but my own" is one of my favorite book moments ever 💔💔💔
August 26, 2022
someone recently asked me my opinion on this book— I don’t know if I have an opinion on it, per say. to me, it was a book about male violence and the ways it affects women, the way we attempt to emulate it ourselves, the ways we deny it, the ways we try and fail to escape it. it made me cry. it made me sick to my stomach. at the time I read it, I was desperately trying to make sense of my experiences with male violence while “transcending” my womanhood. in some ways, this desire was reflected in the main character. the writing is heartbreakingly tender. in other ways, the book was nauseating, frustrating, and very flawed. i have really complicated feelings for this book.
**EDIT** Coming back to this to add an excerpt of Janice Raymond’s review of SBB, which was published in the introduction to The Transsexual Empire:
“It is significant that the only woman in this novel who offers any real political challenge to the role-defined world of butch-femme is Theresa. Stone Butch Blues begins with a letter to Theresa and ends with the acknowledgment that she is the woman who “I [Jess] “still carry around in my heart.” In the early 1970s, it was Theresa, Jess’s femme lover, who, after becoming active in feminist groups and activities at the campus where she worked, attempted to persuade Jess that “Anything that’s good for women is good for butches” (p. 138); and that anytime Jess disparages or disidentifies with other women, she is wounding herself. And when Jess makes the final decision to begin hormone treatment, Theresa responds, “Jess, I can’t go out with you in the world and pretend that you’re a man. I can’t pass as a straight woman and be happy” (p. 152).
One gets a sense in these passages of the tensions between the old and the new gender-challenging worlds of two people who love each other but who have radically disparate ideas and thresholds of what it means to exist, or to reject existence, as women in a gender-defined society and how best to take on that society… Stone Butch Blues is a personally moving but politically disappointing book.”
**EDIT** Coming back to this to add an excerpt of Janice Raymond’s review of SBB, which was published in the introduction to The Transsexual Empire:
“It is significant that the only woman in this novel who offers any real political challenge to the role-defined world of butch-femme is Theresa. Stone Butch Blues begins with a letter to Theresa and ends with the acknowledgment that she is the woman who “I [Jess] “still carry around in my heart.” In the early 1970s, it was Theresa, Jess’s femme lover, who, after becoming active in feminist groups and activities at the campus where she worked, attempted to persuade Jess that “Anything that’s good for women is good for butches” (p. 138); and that anytime Jess disparages or disidentifies with other women, she is wounding herself. And when Jess makes the final decision to begin hormone treatment, Theresa responds, “Jess, I can’t go out with you in the world and pretend that you’re a man. I can’t pass as a straight woman and be happy” (p. 152).
One gets a sense in these passages of the tensions between the old and the new gender-challenging worlds of two people who love each other but who have radically disparate ideas and thresholds of what it means to exist, or to reject existence, as women in a gender-defined society and how best to take on that society… Stone Butch Blues is a personally moving but politically disappointing book.”
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