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opossumble's review against another edition
adventurous
funny
hopeful
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
tdavidovsky's review against another edition
5.0
According to Ancient Greek and Roman myths. Tiresias lived as both man and woman at various points in his life. He later declared that sex was nine times more pleasurable as a woman. A couple thousand years later, Paul Polydoris has a similarly genderfluid life. He is a shapeshifter who likes to alter his sexual characteristics, and his gender seems to be loosely tied to these biological markers, though his actual identity is never pinned down.
Unlike Tiresias, Paul is entrenched in the American queer community of the 90s, which affords him the opportunity to engage in an array of gender and sexual experimentation. The book opens with his decision to find out what it’s like to have sex as a girl. (Afterward he doesn’t claim that it’s nine times better than sex as a man. He seems to enjoy almost any kind of sex.) From there, the story only gets more unapologetically queer and sexual. There is no boundary that isn’t at least discussed, no limits on what Paul can experience. Nothing is taboo.
In this modernization of the Tiresias myth, the story becomes more of a sexy and chaotic fairytale than the kind of epic that the Ancient World is famous for (and it’s probably not a coincidence that fairy is another word for gay.) It also takes explicit inspiration from other modern stories about genderfluidity. Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, for example, gets an early mention in the book.
Despite modern subversions, styles, and influences, the book leaves the impression that progress still awaits. The gay scene in the 90s isn’t a magical utopia. Paul is the one with magic, and he doesn’t fit in. Because he’s a shapeshifter, he can’t find a label that works for him, and he ends up being an infiltrator in every community he joins (though he usually refuses to apologize for it). He puts on a performance in many queer spaces in order to be included. While he’s aware that gender is a performance anyway, there are others in the community who aren’t ready to embrace this idea. Many would feel deceived or taken advantage of if they were to find out about his shapeshifting, which is why he engages in the deception in the first place. He wouldn’t have to deceive anyone if being a shapeshifter were an accepted identity.
Many queer people can relate. Being in the closet can feel like a deception, and widespread acceptance would reduce the need for closets. Paul seems only slightly bothered by the fact that he has to closet a part of himself. For him, hiding is part of the fun, a good challenge. Queerness doesn’t exist without being queer—different, other, strange, deviant. Paul is othered, partially closeted, and forced to consciously perform, so he embodies queerness more than most, and he is determined to enjoy it. He doesn’t always succeed at enjoying himself, but he tries his best by adopting a hedonistic lifestyle that involves parties, sex, romance, drugs, music, fashion, petty crime, and experimenting with gender and sexuality.
The book too is stylistically and narratively experimental. Brief fables and fairytales are sprinkled throughout, and there’s some transitioning—pun intended—between perspectives. The result is a fun and chaotic mess, much like Paul. The book doesn’t have a plot beyond a series of sexual and romantic escapades, and Paul doesn’t grow, learn, or change.
For readers in the twenty first century, it’s obvious that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for Paul, a chance for him to find the cathartic and satisfactory conclusion to his story that the book never gives him: He’s only a few years away from when nonbinary gender identities become popularized, which might help him find others like him. One other shapeshifter appears in the story. Paul variously chases after, pines for, thinks about, and catches glimpses of this shapeshifter, but he never fully finds what he’s looking for. The shapeshifter tells Paul that he's asking the wrong question, which is why Paul can't get answers about who or what he is. The promise of a better future is always just out of reach, but if he waits only a few years, he might get the clarity he wants. His own identity is never revealed, but had it been set a few years after the 90s, he—like author Andrea Lawlor—would probably use gender neutral pronouns. It seems like parts of this book are autobiographical, so it’s not a stretch to make this assumption.
However, as tempting as is to assume, Paul’s identity doesn’t matter. It's not necessarily a questions that needs to be answered. Perhaps Lawlor’s biography can offer modern insights and interpretation of Paul’s story (in the same way that Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl is a reinterpretation and reimagining of the Tiresias myths), but maybe not. At times, Paul wants a label, but he doesn’t need one. He also doesn’t owe anyone an explanation of his identity. Though he is fictional, he resembles enough nonfictional individuals, author included, to make too much speculation about him feel intrusive.
Therefore, if Paul wants to be directionless and uncategorizable for the rest of his life, he can be. While it goes against capitalistic sensibilities about achievement, Paul does not need or want to be fettered by capitalism. The semiautobiographical nature of his story means he isn’t even fettered by the pages themselves, but the author’s biography does not need to determine what his life looks like in the future. The world that Lawlor lives in, while more aware of nonbinary gender identities, is no more of a utopia than the 90s. (The world that birthed the Tiresias myths tolerated homosexuality and genderfluidity more than many modern societies, and it does well to remember that the future does not imply progress.) The book lacks a satisfying closing, which almost compels readers to invent one. The easy answer is to treat the page with the author’s biography as an epilogue, but readers can challenge themselves to envision something better—to invent a future that is a radically improved version of the real world.
Unlike Tiresias, Paul is entrenched in the American queer community of the 90s, which affords him the opportunity to engage in an array of gender and sexual experimentation. The book opens with his decision to find out what it’s like to have sex as a girl. (Afterward he doesn’t claim that it’s nine times better than sex as a man. He seems to enjoy almost any kind of sex.) From there, the story only gets more unapologetically queer and sexual. There is no boundary that isn’t at least discussed, no limits on what Paul can experience. Nothing is taboo.
In this modernization of the Tiresias myth, the story becomes more of a sexy and chaotic fairytale than the kind of epic that the Ancient World is famous for (and it’s probably not a coincidence that fairy is another word for gay.) It also takes explicit inspiration from other modern stories about genderfluidity. Virginia Woolf’s Orlando, for example, gets an early mention in the book.
Despite modern subversions, styles, and influences, the book leaves the impression that progress still awaits. The gay scene in the 90s isn’t a magical utopia. Paul is the one with magic, and he doesn’t fit in. Because he’s a shapeshifter, he can’t find a label that works for him, and he ends up being an infiltrator in every community he joins (though he usually refuses to apologize for it). He puts on a performance in many queer spaces in order to be included. While he’s aware that gender is a performance anyway, there are others in the community who aren’t ready to embrace this idea. Many would feel deceived or taken advantage of if they were to find out about his shapeshifting, which is why he engages in the deception in the first place. He wouldn’t have to deceive anyone if being a shapeshifter were an accepted identity.
Many queer people can relate. Being in the closet can feel like a deception, and widespread acceptance would reduce the need for closets. Paul seems only slightly bothered by the fact that he has to closet a part of himself. For him, hiding is part of the fun, a good challenge. Queerness doesn’t exist without being queer—different, other, strange, deviant. Paul is othered, partially closeted, and forced to consciously perform, so he embodies queerness more than most, and he is determined to enjoy it. He doesn’t always succeed at enjoying himself, but he tries his best by adopting a hedonistic lifestyle that involves parties, sex, romance, drugs, music, fashion, petty crime, and experimenting with gender and sexuality.
The book too is stylistically and narratively experimental. Brief fables and fairytales are sprinkled throughout, and there’s some transitioning—pun intended—between perspectives. The result is a fun and chaotic mess, much like Paul. The book doesn’t have a plot beyond a series of sexual and romantic escapades, and Paul doesn’t grow, learn, or change.
For readers in the twenty first century, it’s obvious that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for Paul, a chance for him to find the cathartic and satisfactory conclusion to his story that the book never gives him: He’s only a few years away from when nonbinary gender identities become popularized, which might help him find others like him. One other shapeshifter appears in the story. Paul variously chases after, pines for, thinks about, and catches glimpses of this shapeshifter, but he never fully finds what he’s looking for. The shapeshifter tells Paul that he's asking the wrong question, which is why Paul can't get answers about who or what he is. The promise of a better future is always just out of reach, but if he waits only a few years, he might get the clarity he wants. His own identity is never revealed, but had it been set a few years after the 90s, he—like author Andrea Lawlor—would probably use gender neutral pronouns. It seems like parts of this book are autobiographical, so it’s not a stretch to make this assumption.
However, as tempting as is to assume, Paul’s identity doesn’t matter. It's not necessarily a questions that needs to be answered. Perhaps Lawlor’s biography can offer modern insights and interpretation of Paul’s story (in the same way that Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl is a reinterpretation and reimagining of the Tiresias myths), but maybe not. At times, Paul wants a label, but he doesn’t need one. He also doesn’t owe anyone an explanation of his identity. Though he is fictional, he resembles enough nonfictional individuals, author included, to make too much speculation about him feel intrusive.
Therefore, if Paul wants to be directionless and uncategorizable for the rest of his life, he can be. While it goes against capitalistic sensibilities about achievement, Paul does not need or want to be fettered by capitalism. The semiautobiographical nature of his story means he isn’t even fettered by the pages themselves, but the author’s biography does not need to determine what his life looks like in the future. The world that Lawlor lives in, while more aware of nonbinary gender identities, is no more of a utopia than the 90s. (The world that birthed the Tiresias myths tolerated homosexuality and genderfluidity more than many modern societies, and it does well to remember that the future does not imply progress.) The book lacks a satisfying closing, which almost compels readers to invent one. The easy answer is to treat the page with the author’s biography as an epilogue, but readers can challenge themselves to envision something better—to invent a future that is a radically improved version of the real world.
ronbert's review against another edition
adventurous
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.25
trin's review against another edition
4.0
What a book! Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl is a powerful, explicit, surprisingly moving exploration of lust and love, sex and gender, as well as a nostalgic – but not rose-colored – look back at the queer scene(s) of the ‘90s.
Paul is a person who can change his body to take the form of a man or a woman – with some further alterations in physical composition within those two types – and who uses this to pursue a rich variety of sexual pleasures. He likes to think of himself as a predator, a shark – pursuing his sexual conquests like prey. But over the course of the novel, his vulnerability is exposed to both himself and the reader, as he falls in love and tries to maintain a relationship with a woman, mourns his lost first love, and seeks out a person he once encountered who he feels might be like him.
It’s funny, obnoxious, sexy, and tragic to spend all these pages in Paul’s head – because he is himself all of those things – but it’s also consistently fascinating. His pretentious college-boy takes – both internally, and in some hilarious stretches of dialogue – on sex, gender, feminism, and queer culture are a sharply portrayed evocation, and also parody, of various early ‘90s scenes, as Paul travels through night clubs, sex clubs, musical festivals, and bookstores in New York, Iowa City, Provincetown, and San Francisco. Lawlor balances sendup and affection really well; the characters’ actions and attitudes may seem a little backwards and ridiculous by modern standards, but there’s an almost noble optimism to them at times too. It’s a really interesting portrait of this time and these places.
Paul, too, is a shifty character in more ways than one: I think most readers will want to smack him one minute and pull him into a hug the next. I love the lightness, the stumbling grace, with which Lawlor dances Paul from one situation to another. He just builds very beautifully as a character; as the pages pass, you figure out more and more about what makes him tick, and what the cost of his ceaseless searching is. It’s easy to imagine this novel without the literal genderbending, but its presence adds a richness, a magical quality, that really enhances and distinguishes the book. I wouldn’t call this a sexy novel – in spite of all the graphically described sex, the mood is not very sensual – but it is a beguiling one.
This book is that increasingly rare thing: one not quite like anything I’ve ever encountered before. And I just didn’t want to put it down. There’s a rawness to it that, despite the book’s occasional imperfections, lend it a powerful and lasting effect. Having read it, I would instantly snap up whatever Lawlor produces next.
Paul is a person who can change his body to take the form of a man or a woman – with some further alterations in physical composition within those two types – and who uses this to pursue a rich variety of sexual pleasures. He likes to think of himself as a predator, a shark – pursuing his sexual conquests like prey. But over the course of the novel, his vulnerability is exposed to both himself and the reader, as he falls in love and tries to maintain a relationship with a woman, mourns his lost first love, and seeks out a person he once encountered who he feels might be like him.
It’s funny, obnoxious, sexy, and tragic to spend all these pages in Paul’s head – because he is himself all of those things – but it’s also consistently fascinating. His pretentious college-boy takes – both internally, and in some hilarious stretches of dialogue – on sex, gender, feminism, and queer culture are a sharply portrayed evocation, and also parody, of various early ‘90s scenes, as Paul travels through night clubs, sex clubs, musical festivals, and bookstores in New York, Iowa City, Provincetown, and San Francisco. Lawlor balances sendup and affection really well; the characters’ actions and attitudes may seem a little backwards and ridiculous by modern standards, but there’s an almost noble optimism to them at times too. It’s a really interesting portrait of this time and these places.
Paul, too, is a shifty character in more ways than one: I think most readers will want to smack him one minute and pull him into a hug the next. I love the lightness, the stumbling grace, with which Lawlor dances Paul from one situation to another. He just builds very beautifully as a character; as the pages pass, you figure out more and more about what makes him tick, and what the cost of his ceaseless searching is. It’s easy to imagine this novel without the literal genderbending, but its presence adds a richness, a magical quality, that really enhances and distinguishes the book. I wouldn’t call this a sexy novel – in spite of all the graphically described sex, the mood is not very sensual – but it is a beguiling one.
This book is that increasingly rare thing: one not quite like anything I’ve ever encountered before. And I just didn’t want to put it down. There’s a rawness to it that, despite the book’s occasional imperfections, lend it a powerful and lasting effect. Having read it, I would instantly snap up whatever Lawlor produces next.
captlychee's review against another edition
2.0
This is an utter hack job of writing. The only thing that mitigates it is the extensive research [a:Andrea Lawlor|1048542|Andrea Lawlor|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1501188560p2/1048542.jpg] seems to have done into all things gay, trans, queer and whatever other euphemisms are currently vogue. If these books continue to be published, no one will eve realise that gay sex and the lifetyle thereof is not as interesting as the LGBTQIA+ 'community' wants us to think it is.
The realisation that people have lives that don't revolve around sex is something so unpopular that no one will ever publish a book about it, so this is the best we can get, a vapid meandering of a caricature through the strata of American urban life, which only ends when the author ran out of pages or something.
The juvenile writing style, full of short sentences, no metaphors, and with very little in the way of cahpter divisons (there's a letter 'x' separating one sordid encounter from another) gave me the idea that the book is aimed at grooming tweens, but this may be a slight exaggeration as what is described concentrates on the dirty pragmatics of sex rather than the good parts—but if semen-crusted T-shirts are your thing…
If you can tolerate this, you might like some [a:Holden Sheppard|16317887|Holden Sheppard|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1649983451p2/16317887.jpg]—more exciting tales of concealed homosexuality that cannot stop screaming about itself from the rooftops…public parks, shopping malls, sports arenas, billboards and probably this cup of tea I'm currently drinking.
(It shoudn't be necesary to say this in 2022, but I fear I have to. I'm not down on QAGBILT+ people or their lifestyle, just this 'literary' exploration of it.)
The realisation that people have lives that don't revolve around sex is something so unpopular that no one will ever publish a book about it, so this is the best we can get, a vapid meandering of a caricature through the strata of American urban life, which only ends when the author ran out of pages or something.
The juvenile writing style, full of short sentences, no metaphors, and with very little in the way of cahpter divisons (there's a letter 'x' separating one sordid encounter from another) gave me the idea that the book is aimed at grooming tweens, but this may be a slight exaggeration as what is described concentrates on the dirty pragmatics of sex rather than the good parts—but if semen-crusted T-shirts are your thing…
If you can tolerate this, you might like some [a:Holden Sheppard|16317887|Holden Sheppard|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1649983451p2/16317887.jpg]—more exciting tales of concealed homosexuality that cannot stop screaming about itself from the rooftops…public parks, shopping malls, sports arenas, billboards and probably this cup of tea I'm currently drinking.
(It shoudn't be necesary to say this in 2022, but I fear I have to. I'm not down on QAGBILT+ people or their lifestyle, just this 'literary' exploration of it.)
smass10's review against another edition
adventurous
funny
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.75
A coming of age with girl failure vibes. Paul wanders through life, remaining on the fringe of any queer community they attempt to join. Everything happens while also not much at all. Liked the magical realism but did not exactly enjoy all the throwaway side characters.
no_fun_jon's review against another edition
emotional
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
angd's review against another edition
adventurous
lighthearted
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0