Realizing he was a member of a tangled (a favorite word of the author) group of transsexuals, James felt himself trapped in a conundrum of gender (he felt and considered himself female) versus sex (he was genotypically and phenotypically male). “To me gender is not physical at all but is altogether insubstantial; it is soul, perhaps, it is talent it is the essentialness of oneself” (p.25).  

After some fruitless interactions with the medical profession, Morris travels to Casablanca in the summer of 1972 to undergo sex-changing surgery and becomes Jan Morris. Unlike many if not most transsexuals, post-operatively Morris fared quite well emotionally and was quite happy with the change.  

Jan Morris’s writing is as humorous and eloquent as James Morris’s was. She describes how magazines like Rolling Stone, publishers like Random House, and thousands of readers have never cared what gender or sex was holding the pen; how life changed in clubs, restaurants, and in taxicabs, where Jan met the first man to kiss her, post surgery, “in a carnal way” (p.151). Morris records that “all I did was blush.” 

As the chronicle of one sensitive and highly literate man’s journey from manhood to womanhood, Conundrum offers much commentary on the states of mind of a transsexual, a highly polished writer undergoing the humoral, mental, emotional, and cultural changes of such surgery.  

Prior to surgery, Morris writes about feeling deprived of an identity: “I realize now that the chief cause of my disquiet was the fact that I had none. I was not to others what I was to myself. I did not conform to the dictionary’s definition–‘itself and not something else’ ” (p.40-41). All Morris wanted “was liberation, or reconciliation–to live as myself, to clothe myself in a more proper body, and achieve Identity at last” (p.104). It took courage but it was worth it and Conundrum reads like nothing more, and nothing less, than a successful odyssey of the sexual soul. 

Jan Morris died in 2020, aged 94. 

Jan Morris: Journalist, Historian, ‘Writer About Place’ – Faculty of English

Conundrum
Jan Morris 
New York Review of Books Classics, paperback 2006: 176 pages 
Originally published by Faber and Faber, London, 1974 

Web image by medhum

Based on the novel of the same name by André Aciman, this multilingual film took the world by storm, using three languages (French, Italian, and English) in the first five minutes. The resulting language barriers add to feelings of yearning established by the musical score, whose key elements originate from Sufjan Stevens (Futile Devices; Mystery of Love; Visions of Gideon). Music, language, and literature carry the work’s primary themes, namely those of precocity and sexuality. Elio embodies all three—his main hobbies include transcribing music, playing the piano, and reading. These themes are further captured by the symbol of the apricot, its relationship to precocity and sexuality explicitly discussed in the film. Furthermore, the denouement of the film, arrives through a figuratively rich and overtly sensual scene involving Elio and the summer stand-in of the apricot, the peach, (1:34:30-1:40:24), beautifully capturing the relationship between Elio’s intellectual maturity and emotional naïveté.

Controversy surrounds Call Me by Your Name, primarily regarding consent and age statutes. Although Elio is over the 1983 age of consent in Italy and most United States jurisdictions, his relationship with Oliver evokes discomfort. This speaks to the historical Western perception of gay relationships as predatory. Nonetheless, their relationship warrants some skepticism, particularly regarding age-based power dynamics. The Perlmans support and watch over their son as the relationship progresses, frequently checking in and pointing him to literary passages as points of reference. In this way, the film navigates a complicated and loaded social topic, particularly in the queer community.

Further depth is added by considering the historical context of the early 1980s. By 1983, the AIDS epidemic had globally taken hold, the virus only identified in France the May prior to the events of the film. “Gay cancer” was a widely used term for a rare and defining symptom of AIDS, singling out the Western community hardest hit at that time. The merciless, viral specter of death overshadowed the gay liberation movement of the previous decade. HIV is never mentioned in the film, but its presence must be known by Oliver, adding to his own hesitations and fears about his and Elio’s sexualities. 1983 was also rife with relevant political fallout: Gerry Studds––the first openly gay member of Congress––became embroiled in a scandal involving a relationship with a 17-year-old, and Bettino Craxi was elected as Italian Prime Minister, eventually leading to the collapse of the modern Italian political machine. Craxi plays a central role in the peripheral events of the film, his influence appearing on television and in conversations with dinner guests.

Call Me by Your Name is an evocative masterpiece, one of the few movies that I can watch repeatedly (cf. Heated Rivalry). Despite my inherent preference for novels, this film, far and away, manifests a beauty missing from its literary inspiration. The actors perform splendidly, the music deepens the emotional journey, and the cinematography transports the audience perfectly to the setting. Every time I watch it, I discover greater depth and fall in love with it more, even if I can never look at a peach the same way.

Call Me by Your Name 
Director: Luca Guadagnino 
Screenplay: James Ivory 
Awards: Best Adapted Screenplay (Critics’ Choice Awards); Best Male Lead [Chalamet] & Best Cinematography (Independent Spirit Awards); Outstanding Film-Wide Release (GLAAD Media Awards); Best Editing (Nastro d’Argento Awards & Golden Ciak Awards); Breakout Actor [Chalamet] (Gotham Independent Film Awards & Hollywood Film Awards)
Year 2017 
Studio Sony Pictures Classics 
Running Time (in minutes) 132 
Based on Call Me by Your Name by André Aciman 

Web image from Sony Pictures.

Frimbo is an admirable erudite, reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes, while the “closed room” scenario with a handful of characters evokes Agatha Christie. The writing is accessible, the rendering of Harlem accents remarkable, and the accurate references to state-of-the art forensic medicine, using anatomy and chemistry, are engaging. The conversations between Archer and Frimbo explore the nature of science, faith, and psychology. 

Some passages contain philosophical observations: ‘Pure faith in anything is mysticism. Our very faith in reason is a kind of mysticism’ (p. 214).  
 
Fisher was an African-American physician-author whose clever novel contains only African-American characters, including the physician and the detective. Specialized in radiology, he lived most of his life in Harlem, but he had studied medicine at Howard University. The author of many short stories and plays, he was also a gifted musician and composer. He at died at the age of 37 from an abdominal cancer attributed to his work with X-Rays.   

The Conjure-Man Dies: A Mystery Tale of Dark Harlem
Rudolph Fisher  

Miscellaneous Original edition 1932  
Publisher University of Michigan Press 
Place Published Ann Arbor MI 
Edition 1992 
Page Count 316 

A previous version of this review was published in the NYU Literature, Arts, and Medicine Database.   
Web image by Salah Ait Mokhtar 

At age 18, Frida Kahlo suffered a catastrophic accident that had lifelong consequences. The school bus in which she was a passenger collided with a trolley. Her spinal column was broken in three places, as were her collarbone, two ribs, her right leg and foot. The treatment was to lie on her back for one month, enclosed in a plaster cast. In addition, Kahlo had polio as a child, and one leg was shorter and thinner than the other.

This stunning portrait demands the viewer’s attention. A woman, Frida Kahlo, looms in the foreground, central to the painting, facing the viewer fully frontal, a few tears spilling down her face. She is nude, except for a sheet that is wrapped around her foreshortened lower body, and the widely spaced straps of an upper-body corset. On the one hand, the figure is passive, gazing at us almost without expression, completely still, acceptant of the scattered nails and rigid column that penetrate her body. On the other hand, the beauty of her perfectly formed breasts and well-formed upper body, the eyes that engage the viewer, subtly convey the energy of the figure’s spirit and will. At this point in Kahlo’s life, the painful physical problems that had plagued her on and off for years were becoming unrelenting. Doctors prescribed a variety of orthopedic corsets to support her degenerating spine. The portrait seems to personify pain and simultaneously some level of tolerance for pain.

Many who view the painting are reminded of images of Christ on the cross. Kahlo was certainly long-suffering and represented the physical and emotional aspects of her condition in many of her works (for example, “Tree of Hope” and “Henry Ford Hospital“), but the energy and originality of her personality and artistic vision shine through. For interesting commentary on “The Broken Column,” see Hayden Herrera. Frida Kahlo: The Paintings (New York: Harper Perennial) 2002, pp. 180-183. Also useful is Gannit Ankori’s commentary in her book, Imaging Her Selves: Frida Kahlo’s Poetics of Identity and Fragmentation (Westport, Connecticut and London: Greenwood Press, 2002, pp. 114-119). Ankori points out that the vertical fissure of Kahlo’s body and the fissures in the earth surrounding her evoke violation — consistent with Kahlo’s statement that a metal rod had entered her hip and penetrated her vagina.

Web image from Wiki Commons

In this poem of high irony, 21 stanzas of couplets brilliantly spin out stereotypes of Indigenous people promulgated by white American culture. Among the stereotypes that Alexie develops: the tragic Indian; Indian women as sexual objects for white men; Indian men secretly desirable to white women; Indians as violent, alcoholic, childlike, mystical,” and members of a “horse culture.” But in addition, Alexie emphasizes how American whites have co-opted Indian culture: “white people must carry an Indian deep inside themselves” until finally, “all of the white people will be Indians and all of the Indians will be ghosts.” The poem is a painful reminder of how the United States has at one and the same time decimated indigenous people and their culture while exploiting those people and that culture for its own gain. It is a commentary on stereotyping, loss of identity, and loss of a people.

Sherman Alexie is a poet, novelist, short story writer, essayist, and film writer. He is a Spokane/Coeur d’Alene Indigenous person and grew up on a reservation in Washington state. His work focuses on relationships between Indigenous people and white Americans and on life within a white power structure. Alexie’s writing is consistently humorous and ironic.

How to Write the Great American Indian Novel
Sherman Alexie
https://fallsapart.com

Source The Summer of Black Widows, pp. 94-95
Publisher Hanging Loose Press
Edition 1996
Place Published Brooklyn, New York
Alternate Source Native American Songs and Poems, pp. 28-29
Alternate Publisher Dover Thrift Editions
Alternate Edition 1996
Alternate Editors Brian Swann
Place Published New York

A previous version of this review was published in the NYU Literature, Arts, and Medicine Database (Litmed).
Web image created by Medhum.org

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Dégas’ brilliant rendering of perspective pulls the viewer into the mystery of what has taken place in what appears to be a woman’s bedroom. At the foot of the single-width bed, a coat is thrown over the metal bedpost frame. In the right foreground a bearded man leans against a closed door. His shadow looms behind him, large against the door. His shadow is generated by the single small lamp set upon a small round table near the center of the room. On the floor next to the table lies a piece of cloth or clothing (said to be a corset, p.674 of reference below). 

Turned, bent away from the man, partially kneeling on the floor at the other side of the room, is a young woman whose left shoulder and upper back are bare. The short sleeve of her white dress (nightgown?) hangs off her shoulder. She clutches to her body a blanket or drape. In contrast to the man, who stands in semidarkness, the woman’s back is bathed in the light of the nearby lamp. 

Clothing strewn on the floor and the looming man posted against a door suggest an assault. Although early 20th century critics did indeed perceive the painting as depicting the aftermath of a rape, that interpretation is not a foregone conclusion. The Philadelphia Museum of Art notes that Dégas referred to this work as “my genre picture” (a picture showing everyday life). The museum states further that “an annotation in a notebook used by Degas in this period provides a clue as to his intentions: ‘Work a great deal on nocturnal effects, lamps, candles, etc. The fascinating thing is not always to show the source of light but rather its effect.’ ” For another discussion of this painting, see Body, Place, and Self in 19th-Century Painting, by Susan Sidlauskas (Cambridge University Press, 2000). 

Web image from wikicommons

The Eye in the Door, the second in the trilogy, turns its attention to the Home Front, and more specifically describes the rampant paranoia during the war, as the government targets two groups:  homosexuals and “conchies,” or conscientious objectors.  While it too is tethered to historical fact, it is more of a fictional narrative concentrating on the state-sponsored witch-hunt, refracted through the story of Billy Prior, a patient of Dr. Rivers.  Billy is bisexual; he also grew up with childhood friends who became pacifists and objectors, and who may or may not have been involved in a plot to assassinate the Prime Minister, and so he moves in both of these marginalized and persecuted worlds.  He also has fallen in love with a woman whom he wants to marry.  During his ongoing treatment of Billy, Rivers confronts his own repressed childhood memories.   

The Regeneration Trilogy has much to recommend it in considering works of literature in the area of medical humanities.  First—and obviously—it is about the psychological damage suffered by young men pressed into military service during wartime, and the way in which medicine approaches their resultant illness with the tools it has at hand.  Each one of these soldiers has a story, each one has a trauma, and there are no pharmacological options. Much like Freud (a contemporary whose work was well-known to him), Rivers felt that the way to treat the shell-shocked soldiers was a “talking cure,” making the traumatic events unrepressed and having the patients recognize and address them.  The stories of the soldiers’ treatments are engaging, Rivers’ warmth and compassion for his charges is unmistakable, and the nature of physician-patient interaction during treatment is explored.   

Barker also poses questions about gender; more specifically, about the nature of manhood and the role of women in a male-dominated society turned upside down by a cataclysm.  Being a man in England during the war means being in uniform and preferably fighting in France; the conchies and the gay men are seen by many, including many women, as being “less than” men, and in their otherness, as subversive.  Women, for their part, have had to step up and assume the roles in the workforce that men have vacated to go off to fight.   It is supposedly the love of their fellow men that allows the soldiers to fight as a unit, to want to enlist and to want to re-up after they are wounded, and this comradeship is trumpeted by those in command.  But it is crucial that everyone understand that this must be the right kind of love; the wrong kind of love is ferreted out and made example of. 

There are many paradoxes, and many instances of doubling or of opposites, in the novels.  Rivers wants to cure his patients, although curing them will render them fit to be sent back to combat and likely be killed.  Several bisexual men lead bifurcated lives.  And underlying all of it is a society rigidly divided along class lines, with the WC’s—the working classes—distinguished not only by their living and working conditions but also by the idiomatic speech put into their mouths by the author.   The war may be in some ways a great “we’re all in this together” moment, but it can’t erase class distinctions.   

It is worth noting that Barker’s style can range over to the gritty and realistic, as well as the graphic, whether describing the events occurring on a battlefield in Picardy or in a bedroom (or back alley) in London. The writing style is crisp, and the narrative moves along nicely.  The author’s characterizations are on point, especially William Rivers and Billy Prior.  Barker has a great feel for language, although some of the words and expressions several of the characters use are distinctly British and may be unfamiliar to American ears.  She conveys an England—or at least, a segment of England—tired of war, tired of being bombed, often living hand to mouth in cold water flats with faded wallpaper and trying gamely to carry on despite being ground down. 

And underlying it all, The Great War—its idealization, its senselessness.  The three volumes of this trilogy are beautifully written, hold the attention, and move quickly, and its relatively spare language has a lot to say. 

The Eye in the Door
Pat Barker 
Dutton: 1994, 288 pages 

Photo of Chester from  The Cleveland Museum of Art 

As The Ghost Road begins, Prior has been cured of shell shock and is preparing to return to the front in France. Rivers takes care of his patients and his invalid sister, amid memories of his experience ten years earlier on an anthropological expedition to Melanesia (Eddystone Island). He befriended Nijiru, the local priest-healer who took Rivers on his rounds to see sick villagers and also to the island’s sacred Place of the Skulls.

Rivers entertains very un-British thoughts about the morality of these headhunting people, and about the power of symbolic healing. As these thoughts intrude upon his consciousness, Rivers is himself in the process of curing by suggestion a soldier with hysterical paralysis. Meanwhile, Billy Prior returns to the front. It is the autumn of 1918 and the last inhuman spasms of the war are in progress. In a futile battle that takes place a few days before the Armistice, Billy and his friend Wilfred Owen are killed.

To me The Ghost Road, which won the Booker Prize in 1995, is the most gripping and fastest paced of Pat Barker’s trilogy. The first two novels are Regeneration (1991) and The Eye in the Door (1993). As W. H. R. Rivers reflects on the culture of death on Eddystone Island, World War I, a culmination of the culture of death in Europe, grinds to a close, taking with it the poet Wilfred Owen. Of course, the characters in The Ghost Road are unaware of the new heights (or depths) that the culture of death will attain later in the 20th Century.

The Ghost Road
Pat Barker
Dutton, 1995
New York, 256 pages

Web image by  Claudio Carrozzo 

Mental Cases by Wilfred Owen

Carol Donley Aug 11, 2025

Owen’s stark poem portrays shell-shocked soldiers haunted by war, exposing both their torment and society’s complicity in their suffering.

Actor Clark Middleton wrote this autobiographical dramatic monologue in collaboration with Robert Knopf. Stricken with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis at age four, Middleton enacts his early painful experience — painful physically and emotionally. He takes us through an adolescence complicated by physical difference, his interaction with medical professionals over the years, and his craving to become an actor. Middleton struggles with the medical establishment, the pain and humor of coming-of-age, and ultimate self acceptance. Eventually, he was able to have both hip replacement surgery and a career in theater and film. The play is funny, poignant, and instructive.

Miracle Mile was performed in New York City in Fall, 1997 at Theater Row. The New York Times review called the play, “an enriching chronicle of a man who refuses to let the world take him at face value.” Middleton performed his monologue at New York University School of Medicine and at other institutions. Clips of a videotape of the theater performance are available at this web site.

Archive Videos from the Play

Actor Information
Clark Middleton (actor/author) performed MIRACLE MILE Off-Broadway in the fall of 1997. He has appeared in Sam Shephard’s CURSE OF THE STARVING CLASS as well as Mr. Shephard’s CHICAGO at the Signature Theatre Company. Clark was in William Hoffman’s AFTER THE ORCHARD and performed MIRACLE MILE at the Invaluable Cape Cod Theater Project. He began his professional career performing with the late Geraldine Page in productions of THE MADWOMAN OF CHAILLOT, PARADISE LOST, and VIVAT VIVAT REGINA. Since that time he has appeared in more than 40 NYC productions, most notably at the New York Shakespeare Festival, The Public Theatre, LaMaMa and Circle Rep, where he appeared with Olympia Dukakis in THE HOPE ZONE. In NYC Clark has directed LONE STAR, OUR DALY BREAD, DOMINO COURTS, CALL IT CLOVER and KIDNAPPED. He also directed MARVIN’S ROOM at The Wayside Theatre in Virginia. Clark can be seen in the films BAIL JUMPER, STORIES FROM NEW YORK, THE CONTENDERS and DON’T SHOOT DARLING. Clark plays the forensics expert Ellis on NBC-TV’s LAW & ORDER. He is a native of Tucson, Arizona and a member of both the Lab Theater Company and the 42nd Street Workshop.

Clark died on October 4, 2020. He was 63 years old.

Director Michael Warren Powell
Leading Actors Clark Middleton
Video Courtesy of Michelle Bouchard
Original Date of Entry 07/12/06

An earlier version of this review was published in the NYU Literature, Arts, and Medicine Database (Litmed).

Web Photo by Alex Radelich 

What makes The Magician so unique as a novel is its depiction of writing as an all-encompassing creative activity that consumes the author’s full psychic energy and that emerges out of his personal struggles as an individual. It would be impossible to affix The Magician to the back cover of all editions of Buddenbrooks or The Magic Mountain. Tóibín offers more than a page of scholarly references to help a reader gain background knowledge about Mann, his life, and the times. But if you are interested in what it might have been like for Thomas Mann to compose these monumental works, Tóibín’s book might offer the best entry point into Mann’s artistic mind and his creative persona.  

The novel covers the full panorama of Mann’s life, from his somewhat pampered childhood in Lübeck, Germany, to his final years spent in the German expatriate community of Los Angeles. The writer’s camera is laser focused on ground level details and refuses to zoom out to the big picture and lose its granular tone. The texture of the bourgeois lifestyle of the Mann family is captured in all its minutia including rowdy family meals, community engagements, and professional insults. One can almost feel the temperature rise and the climate change as Mann and his family move from Munich to Princeton and finally to Pacific Palisades. Mann exerted very tight control over his daily routine and one senses his absence on the page as he withdraws to his private study every morning after breakfast to write without any interruptions. We are excluded from this sanctuary just like his wife and children as they waited for him to emerge after lunch for his afternoon walk and some playtime with them.

Mann was more than a prominent novelist. He was a winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1929, globally recognized and one of the most famous personalities of his time. He hobnobbed with dignitaries and the leading figures of the pre-World War II era, including Einstein and FDR. They parade across the pages of the novel with all their foibles and idiosyncrasies. Tóibín details Mann’s tempestuous relationship with Agnes Meyer, a leading figure in high society along the New York-Washington DC corridor. I had to look her up to learn that she was a well-known journalist and civil right activist and Katherine Graham’s mother to appreciate her impact on the world during the 1930s and 40s. 

The most striking feature of the book is the intimate recounting of Mann’s tortured struggles with his sexual orientation, which infiltrated his fiction from the very beginning of his career. He never denied his homoerotic longings and Tóibín delicately describes the many occasions during his long life when Mann was overwhelmed with desire for a particular man and his secretive attempts to act on his cravings. But he was a man of his era and was forced to submerge his identity as a gay man most of the time. The emotional cost of a life lived closeted on the one hand, and as the married father of six children on the other, is readily apparent. Reading The Magician motivated me to reread Death in Venice and made me realize the courage it must have taken for Mann to portray Aschenbach’s tragic story in such complex but precise prose, to reify his own emotional turmoil without sanctimony or defensiveness. Tóibín’s prose is the ideal conduit to channel the roiling interface between the Mann of the larger world and the inner literary mind of a flesh and bones historical human being. 

The Magician is an engrossing reading experience that also has special salience for followers of the MedHum website, which explores the role of the individual in a changing society. A key element that drives the narrative forward is Mann’s engagement with the political developments in Germany over the long period spanning from the lead-in to World War I, to the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914 and again in September 1939 and the devastating war years, and ending with the rebuilding of his native country. At the start, Mann saw himself as heir to a tradition of German intellectual excellence and nobility. He took great pride in his country and patriotically defended the decision to go to war against France, Britain, and Russia in August 1914. However, he recognized the dangers posed by the Nazi seizure of power and openly decried the degradation of public life. Mann felt the Nazi destruction of the German cultural heritage as a personal betrayal. Mann recognized early on the brutality of the antisemitic legislation and the attacks on his Jewish colleagues. He was forced to weigh loyalty to country against the defense of universal humanistic principles and he struggled to find a path forward between these competing ideals.  

As Hitler rose to power, were Mann’s instincts right that this would bring calamity to Germany, or should he have had trust in his fellow citizens that things would right themselves? How much could Mann rely on his interpretation of unfolding political events and his prediction of what the future would look like? Once the Nazis consolidated their dictatorial control of the Reich and set out on a course for total war and extermination of the Jews, should Mann have been a strident and outspoken opponent of the regime or should he have worked more discreetly behind the scenes? Should he have remained in Germany and risked his own life and the safety of his family, especially his wife’s Jewish relatives, or sought refuge in America, where he could serve as a champion of cultural enlightenment and world peace? How does one weigh the facts and decide on an effective course of moral action? How does one choose among imperfect options? 

Like all of us, Mann was forced to anticipate events and make painful decisions—decisions that would play out over time and have consequences for others– in real time and with only partial or inaccurate data. Much like the case with physicians and other health care professionals, most of these decisions will work out well, some will be imperfect, and a few will even be wrong. Tóibín’s novel, history as fiction, vividly illustrates the human predicament of living while moving forward with uncertainty and anxiety because full clarity only comes in retrospect — something that doctors understand because they experience it nearly every day in encounters with their patients.  

The Magician – Reading by Colm Tóibín & Conversation with Friedhelm Marx at the Thomas Mann House 

The Magician: A Novel 
Colm Tóibín 
New York: Scribner, 2021, 512 pages  

Photo of Thomas Mann generated from Wikicommon Photos