Eli Clare

In this (dare I say) brilliant book, author Eli Clare examines the notion of "cure"--"the deeply held belief that body-minds considered broken need to be fixed" (back cover)--in the context of queer and disability theory. Well-written, relatable, and not too hard to read, despite the heavy subject matter.

However, I suspect the author engages with special pleading when he gives himself a pass for "fixing" his gender dysphoria (or attaining "body-mind rightness") by having his breasts removed.… (more)

I learned of this book from a friend over a decade ago, but for whatever reason, it has taken me awhile to pick it up.

Eli Clare is an activist and writer. He grew up in rural coastal Oregon, and is a survivor of sexual abuse. He has cerebral palsy, and is transgendered.

This book was first published in 1999. It explores the intersection of queerness, disability, and rural community.

As someone who grew up in a rural setting, and who has had many of my friends move away urban centers, the first thing that struck me about the book is the way Clare's diagnosis of demographic and political trends was prophetic and spot on in describing some of the deepest issues in the United States today. There are other scholars who have spoken to some of these trends, such as Colin Woodard in his "American Nations," which articulates that polarization has increased, rather than decreased, over the past century. But Clare does a much better job describing some of the ways this shift has occurred. Clare points out that, in rural communities, there are pressures to maintain basic human decency (although there are exceptions to this), because you're going to keep seeing your neighbors for years to come, and need to find ways to live with them. In urban communities, there isn't this pretext; rather, there is anonymity, so people can treat strangers terribly, resting assured that, in all likelihood, they will never see them again. Although the book doesn't get into this as it was written before the tech boom, this trend mirrors the disfunction of many online communities, and tensions around identity, pseudonymity, and anonymity.

On the other hand, Clare did spend a chunk of life in urban queer settings, as this queer community wasn't available to him in his rural home. Many of my childhood friends that have move away to urban centers have left for similar reasons, due to what they might call the parochial tendencies of rural places. But, as Anand Giridharadas spells out in his recent book, "The Persuaders," it has been exactly this attitude—move to where I can find like minded people, as opposed to making friends with the people of my place—that has resulted in a total breakdown of politics in the United States. Clare articulates these tensions.

When it comes to the disability theme of the book, this is something I know less about. Clare begins by articulating that disability is a condition in relationship with societal norms. Someone in a wheelchair is disabled if there are only stairs, but if there are ramps and elevators and the places they go are accessible, their condition is no longer a disability.

Clare also speaks about how he has known nothing other than his condition of cerebral palsy, and doesn't wish for a cure. Although, in this text, Clare doesn't get much deeper into the issue than this, such a sentiment pushes up against the mindset of efficiency in Western Culture. If we get a little further into the subject, we come around to the question, "what is the point of life?" From this perspective, it becomes more challenging to put someone that is differently abled at the bottom of a societal hierarchy, as these differences give them capacities that are different than others, and might actually add to the richness of perspective in a community. That said, I'm just starting to wrap my head around these issues, so I won't venture further on the topic at this moment.

In summary, "Exile and Pride" is a classic text, and has likely shaped the nature of the discourse on intersectionality over recent decades. If you're looking for a place to start with some of these issues, Clare provides an excellent entry point.… (more)

I'm leaving this without a star rating because I'm convinced I'll come back to it someday. I read a glowing review of this in an issue of "Seattle Gay News" and instantly placed it on hold. The review made this sound like a memoir, but it's an essay collection. The reviewer is comfortable with the book's style and use of language, but it went way over my head and didn't feel accessible to me. I was annoyed at myself for not being able to understand and engage with it. I'm a disabled Queer person too, who is poor, so I was determined to read this; woe is me that I couldn't. I highly recommend the review of it in the Seattle Gay News, though. The reviewer really connected with it and broke down the density of it. The book and the reviewer both made a lot of good points.… (more)

This was so, so, so fucking good. Clare does so much in such little space, drawing all these narratives and ways of thinking together, and it's so challenging to think about cure alongside all the tensions he highlights. He also delves into so many areas of thought to pull it all together--obviously disability studies and crip theory, but also environmental studies and history and all of it is so thoughtful and written with so much obvious care. I'm going to be chewing on this book for a long time, and definitely need a copy of my own so I can return to it as frequently as I want. It's also a book I want to share with so many other people. Just so, so good (and might be available through your local public library system--the copy I read was!)… (more)