Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness, and Liberation (original 1999; edition 2015)

by Eli Clare (Author), Dean Spade (Afterword), Aurora Levins Morales (Foreword)

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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. (

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willszal | Nov 12, 2022 |

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willszal | Nov 12, 2022 |

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.

iszevthere | Jun 20, 2022 |

Clearly a seminal work for a reason; Clare is so insightful, and so doggedly determined to hold onto and sit in places of tension in ways that are really productive and honestly also inviting. The first half, focusing on the sites of his childhood and the tensions between environmental protection and economic possibility for those living there, is insightful and has been foundational I'm sure for thinking about the binaries of queer life. The second half is similarly productive as Clare explores the lines and boundaries of his own life, and where pride and witness overlap and rub together. There's obviously a lot to chew on here, and the work is so insightful and thoughtful; every part has been clearly worked over with a lot of care.

I will say I think if you've read other stuff around crip culture and queerness, you may feel like there's not much new here; Clare's work has been so heavily cited (for good reason!) that ymmv on how familiar all of this feels/if it truly feels new. I think obviously you should still read it if you haven't, but it's something to keep in mind when you're approaching the text. (

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aijmiller | Oct 12, 2019 |

This was not exactly what I was expecting. I am not sure what I was -- the focus on environmentalism took me by surprise, that's one thing -- and that's not to say this is a bad book. It isn't; it's a thoughtful, incisive dissection of the intersection of class, disability, and sexuality, against a backdrop of the Pacific Northwest. But I was expecting something more powerful, I guess; this didn't leave me shaken and blinking as my world broke apart and reformed afresh. (

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cricketbats | Apr 18, 2013 |

Loved half the book. Hated half the book. Part II is excellent. Clare brings up the social stigmas and assumptions revolving around sexuality and disability, the portrayal of disabled people, and how sexism, racism, homophobia, and violence can shape a child's identity. (

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ametralladoras | Feb 24, 2010 |

This is a great memoir / set of essays. Clare provides a fascinating glimpse into the intersection of disability, class and gender throughout hir life and ties it in to issues as diverse as higher education, clear-cutting old growth forests and finding a community you can call home. (

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lemontwist | Jan 7, 2010 |

In Exile & Pride, Eli Clare explores the political and emotional terrain of disability, class, and sexual orientation by means of personal narratives deeply rooted in specific places and times. As someone who feels in her own joints the intersection of oppressions, Clare brings together issues that appear separate but are in fact part of a unified field of danger and pain: environmental destruction and the sexual exploitation of children, homophobic violence and the economic exploitation of workers, conscious racism and the unthinking exploitation of natural resources.

Some of us are more scarred than others by these things, but none of us are unscathed. As Clare points out, our bodies can be and are “stolen, fed lies and poison, torn away from us.... Stereotypes and lies lodge in our bodies as surely as bullets.” But Clare is not content to simply catalog the damage. She insists that “the stolen body can be reclaimed.”

This gravid hope within grave danger is Eli Clare’s gift to her readers. In return, readers are asked to join Clare in grappling with complex and difficult issues. Clare eases the way by writing in an engaging and readable style and by mixing anecdotes and recollections with more abstract political reflections.

One of the best aspects of this book is that Clare’s political reflections really are reflections, not just restatements of all that has been said and written before. That fact alone more than justifies the cost of the book. While there is some benefit to repeating and reframing basic insights, progressive activists will never move forward by endlessly repeating what we have already established. We need to figure out what we don’t already know; rethink stances that may turn out to be wrong; and generate new ideas about what to do next. In other words, we need to learn from leftist history, not just repeat it, hoping things will turn out better this time.

Exile & Pride makes a significant contribution in part because Clare is willing to think through, and then rethink, her own experiences as a disabled working class lesbian and as a feminist activist. Anyone who reads this book will probably end up thinking too. The process may not be plesant, but it will certainly be worthwhile.

pattricejones | Dec 9, 2007 |

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