A review by clemrain
I'm Afraid of Men by Vivek Shraya

challenging dark informative fast-paced

3.0

At the beginning of I’m Afraid of Men, I wasn’t impressed. Because when picking up a feminist piece from a trans author, I was expecting a trans perspective. A lot of what was being said, wrote like cliches of a cis women’s experience. We eventually did dive into the Trans experience, which was emphasized as a unique experience of Shraya. What I was looking for in this book. When we reach the end of the book, I was challenged as a feminine reader to also reflect on myself. The potential to create fear that I hold, and what rolling my eyes on the cliche of the beginning of this book means.

I wanted to see how the world shifts when living like and being seen as a man changes to accepting and being a woman. The answer is, from what I take from Shraya, it doesn’t change much. If you’re a woman at heart, you entire existence is exposed to the little misogynies in the world. And even as a man, you still experience the fall out. Because though the hatred stems from the stereotype built around femininity, the hurt is intended for anyone that partakes in it.

Race also blending into misogyny is a valid point, though I think this point took the back burner in this story. We had a small call back to it at the end, of reclaiming the goddesses and feminine spaces. However, the point wasn’t strong and fell apart as preaching rather than a firm conclusion and concept.

I think the story could’ve tightened itself to specifics. So that the ideas that were presented would’ve had more structure. The writing needed an edit on redundancy and purple prose. I want to give the melodrama of it a pass, because after all it’s such a personal piece. But I when the melodrama takes over the point, we get caught up in the nothingness rather than be delivered the point. I found myself asking a lot, what’s the point? Though I found the answer, it often needed a lot of a work from me. And then the lesson in this books doesn’t work for those who need it. It just works for those that already agree with it.

The vulnerability of this is astounding. There’s a balance of what should be shameful and the presentation of its regularity. Being open about the shaping of sexuality is difficult to read and I’m sure harder to write. There was no asking for pity or empathy. Just a presentation of thoughts, actions and a question of origin. These qualities make the memoir easy to read and only helps what is being said. This is normal, and it’s born from so much more than just us. 

I like the poetics of You and Me. And the conclusion of “us”.

Do I think this book had anything new to say to me? Not every page did. Those that did, gave me new thought. In the details. That doesn’t make this a worthless read. But that’s me. Though if you’re well versed in feminist literature, it might not be a necessary read.

For those that are new to understanding this book’s message and have the patience for it—this is a good start.
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