Sam Elkin’s memoir encompasses the politics of the queer community and the realities of gender transition.

Sam Elkin has written an intriguing memoir which encompasses his transition to a transmasculine male and his work for the pilot queer legal service set up within the St Kilda Legal Service. The decision to transition comes just as Elkin is beginning a relationship with another woman:

I shook Gemma awake and told her my decision. After this dramatic disclosure, I felt strangely calm, like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. But my news seemed to elicit the very opposite reaction in Gemma. She began to cry. She was still getting used to being in her first same-sex romance, and now had to grapple with a whole new set of issues. It was a lot of pressure to put on a brand-new relationship.

Elkin accepts the challenge of establishing a new legal service – a lower-paid job with only a two-year contract – because he wishes to begin his transition in a smaller organisation. When asked about his previous experience with the queer community, he declines to disclose his trans status – Elkin figures it would make him look complicated.

When he starts the job, a front desk volunteer for the building housing the legal service tells him he doesn’t think gays and lesbians need special privileges. Elkin wonders what he will think when he starts growing a moustache.

After Elkin’s first day, he goes to the Mind Equality Centre, which had been established post marriage equality to meet the needs of the queer community. Elkin is there for a first appointment with a gender counsellor, as he needs a letter from a clinical psychologist to get top surgery. For Elkin this interview is an excruciating experience as he outlines the milestones in his gender journey.

It was at this point that I began to appreciate Elkin’s understated approach as he amiably strolls through his story. He notes the irony of academic queer theory reducing man-ness to placing crosses on a line. When asked what kind of toys he played with as a child, Elkin laments, ‘I was basically a walking transmasculine cliché.’

The story of Elkin’s transition wraps nicely around his experience in setting up the queer legal service, working with other queer organisations and ultimately the politics of which groups would end up in the Pride Centre. He comments from a personal and legal perspective on many of the stress points of the gender debate and ethical questions including participation in sports and religious freedoms. His ambivalence about his own transition reflects those of the LGBTA+ community as well as society in general.

The process of transitioning is complicated, intense and painful. As Elkin takes us through his journey, it is clear that his feelings are ambiguous and he is anxious about the process. I admired his vulnerability and openness in discussing the mental trauma and physical pain of his transition.

On the plane on the way home, a man sat behind me with his rowdy three-year-old son.

‘Rex, don’t kick the seat, my love, the man in front of you might not like that,’ he said.

The boy stopped kicking, and there was a brief pause.

‘Daddy, is that man a boy or a girl?’

My heart stopped. I didn’t want to know what would happen next.

‘Does it matter?’ the father replied.

‘I guess not,’ replied the child.

Then there are the politics within the queer community. Being a member of the community and reasonably aware, I was still disheartened by the turf wars (no pun intended) between organisations that should be working together. It was particularly galling to read Chapter 14, ‘TERF Wars’, which looks at the rise of the LGB movement that fought to exclude trans women from the new Pride Centre in St Kilda.

One of the reasons this is such a successful read is because Sam Elkin has told his story so sincerely. Yet the process he has gone through, as we know, has become so political. I have always wondered why male to female transition is so much more politicised than female to male. I learned that some TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical feminists) believe that trans men are escaping misogyny by masquerading as men!

In assessing this memoir it is hard to ignore the cover and the title. The reaction on social media when I posted the cover, with its crocheted penis and scrotum, was mixed. Some people were horrified; others thought it was hilarious. I wondered whether the cover image and title were too in-your-face, but there is a valid context. As Elkin becomes obsessed with his dickless body and whether he will be able to afford genital surgery, he searches for a packer and orders a beige ‘Mr Limpy’. When it arrives he is horrified and hides it in his sock drawer. But he continues searching.

One day, I spotted a petite crochet penis and testicles on Instagram hand-stitched by a crafty bear called Brett. Each package was made-to-order, so I could choose everything from the shaft length to colour and testicle size. I could’ve even added ball hair …

After a mailing mishap, Brett has to make a new one for Sam and they meet a month later outside Sam’s flat for hand delivery.

‘I truly hope this gives you joy,’ Brett said as he handed me mine, artfully wrapped in the Star Observer, Melbourne’s gay street magazine

Carol Hanisch’s 1970 essay ‘The Personal is Political’ posited that women’s personal experiences were based on their position within society and political systems. Elkin’s personal story is by its nature political and an important piece of writing in the canon of transgender literature.

I have read this book very personally as it has been written by a member of the community I identify with and the politics of trans acceptance are important to me. Pronouns are such a totem. When Elkin begins his journey, the world sees him as a woman but his gender identity is male, so I have used male pronouns to refer to him throughout this review.

If this memoir was a novel it would be categorised as the hero’s journey: Elkin leaves a familiar world to venture into the unknown, is tested, and finally returns, bringing the boon of his quest back for the benefit of his community. I have enjoyed this journey very much and been enlightened and entertained by this nuanced and significant story.

Sam Elkin Detachable Penis: A queer legal saga Upswell Publishing 2024 PB 224pp $29.99

Michael Jongen is a librarian and you can find him as @larrydlibrarian on Instagram and Threads.

You can buy Detachable Penis from Abbey’s at a 10% discount by quoting the promotion code NEWTOWNREVIEW.

You can also check if it is available from Newtown Library.

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Tags: gender transition, memoir, Mind Equality Centre, Pride Centre, queer community, Sam | Elkin, St Kilda Legal Service, transmasculine male


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