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A review by caris96
Herculine Barbin: Being the Recently Discovered Memoirs of a Nineteenth-Century French Hermaphrodite by Michel Foucault
4.0
*Content Warning: sexual abuse, suicide*
Alexina Barbin, as she referred to herself, was an intersex woman who lived in the mid-1800’s (before the term ‘intersex’ emerged). She studied in a convent in Southwestern France from a young age, and eventually became a teacher there. She was assigned female at birth, but in her early twenties, she was legally reassigned male and forced to live in society as such. Upon her death in 1868, she left behind memoirs, which Michel Foucault discovered in the 1970’s and republished with an introduction. Alongside these memoirs, this volume includes a dossier of medical reports from the physicians who subjected her to invasive medical examinations both before and after her death. Throughout her life she went by many names and labels, understandably, though most of them were imposed by those around her.
This is a difficult book to review. I’m going to do so briefly in three parts: Alexina’s memoirs, the medical reports, and finally Foucault’s commentary.
The memoirs themselves are eloquently written, and Alexina just excelled at expressing emotions through her writing. Few memoirs move me the way this did. As she is forced to live in poverty in Paris, she articulates fears of being brought to the attention of the police, the abandonment by those she knew who might have otherwise assisted in her livelihood, and her isolation as she became separated from the social class of other women. Due to the pain, despair, and desperation she endured having to leave everything she knew behind her and live as male, Alexina died by suicide at 29 years old.
Then there are the doctors… honestly, this part fills me with anger, and it brought me close to tears. The physicians who came in contact with Alexina throughout her life were despicable people, and the abuse she suffered at the hands of the medical and religious establishments in France was unforgivable. They dehumanized and objectified her with invasive examinations, against her consent, and the reports in this volume are simply pages of grotesque descriptions of her body that none of us have a right to read. Consequently, I couldn’t read them. As other readers have noted, reading these portions of text feels intrusive and their very publication is an act of violence.
While Foucault provides great context in his introduction, he inconsistently genders Alexina, while simultaneously dramatizing her life as “an unfortunate hero of the quest for identity” (pp. xii). One of the most upsetting things about the conversations about Alexina has been the degree of carelessness, apathy, almost playful attitude with which people refer to her. Foucault’s commentary in particular has certainly been criticized from several angles; honestly, I don’t think it would honour Alexina’s life to provide my own opinion on this. I think even the way Foucault presents his insights, regardless of their validity, is in itself insensitive.
I’m not intersex. I’m a transgender woman, and the identities and worlds Alexina and I have inhabited are starkly different. Yet, so much of her story resonates with me on a deeply personal level, so much so that I’m not going to expand here. I have nothing but contempt for society’s abuse of non-conforming bodies, and the archaic practice of sex assignment. I think listening to intersex voices today—those who have the choice to be publicized—is a more productive form of allyship, and one that we need to engage with more.
Alexina Barbin, as she referred to herself, was an intersex woman who lived in the mid-1800’s (before the term ‘intersex’ emerged). She studied in a convent in Southwestern France from a young age, and eventually became a teacher there. She was assigned female at birth, but in her early twenties, she was legally reassigned male and forced to live in society as such. Upon her death in 1868, she left behind memoirs, which Michel Foucault discovered in the 1970’s and republished with an introduction. Alongside these memoirs, this volume includes a dossier of medical reports from the physicians who subjected her to invasive medical examinations both before and after her death. Throughout her life she went by many names and labels, understandably, though most of them were imposed by those around her.
This is a difficult book to review. I’m going to do so briefly in three parts: Alexina’s memoirs, the medical reports, and finally Foucault’s commentary.
The memoirs themselves are eloquently written, and Alexina just excelled at expressing emotions through her writing. Few memoirs move me the way this did. As she is forced to live in poverty in Paris, she articulates fears of being brought to the attention of the police, the abandonment by those she knew who might have otherwise assisted in her livelihood, and her isolation as she became separated from the social class of other women. Due to the pain, despair, and desperation she endured having to leave everything she knew behind her and live as male, Alexina died by suicide at 29 years old.
Then there are the doctors… honestly, this part fills me with anger, and it brought me close to tears. The physicians who came in contact with Alexina throughout her life were despicable people, and the abuse she suffered at the hands of the medical and religious establishments in France was unforgivable. They dehumanized and objectified her with invasive examinations, against her consent, and the reports in this volume are simply pages of grotesque descriptions of her body that none of us have a right to read. Consequently, I couldn’t read them. As other readers have noted, reading these portions of text feels intrusive and their very publication is an act of violence.
While Foucault provides great context in his introduction, he inconsistently genders Alexina, while simultaneously dramatizing her life as “an unfortunate hero of the quest for identity” (pp. xii). One of the most upsetting things about the conversations about Alexina has been the degree of carelessness, apathy, almost playful attitude with which people refer to her. Foucault’s commentary in particular has certainly been criticized from several angles; honestly, I don’t think it would honour Alexina’s life to provide my own opinion on this. I think even the way Foucault presents his insights, regardless of their validity, is in itself insensitive.
I’m not intersex. I’m a transgender woman, and the identities and worlds Alexina and I have inhabited are starkly different. Yet, so much of her story resonates with me on a deeply personal level, so much so that I’m not going to expand here. I have nothing but contempt for society’s abuse of non-conforming bodies, and the archaic practice of sex assignment. I think listening to intersex voices today—those who have the choice to be publicized—is a more productive form of allyship, and one that we need to engage with more.