VOICE OF THE FISH

Shaped like a discursive, commonplace book, this is memoir as creative process.

“How does one write of a self that is fundamentally displaced? Of a self that, for decades, has seen and not recognised its own body?” In Horn’s first book, winner of the Graywolf Press Nonfiction Prize, they seek to answer this question, weaving together erudite and personal essays to create a shimmering, watery mosaic of trans autobiography richly infused with literature, science, history, and myth: “I have always enjoyed a more haphazard, more crustacean zigzag through the past,” writes Horn. In the first piece, “In Water Disjointed From Me,” the author grapples with the pronoun I and their sense of gender in physical and linguistic terms: “Nonbinary, transmasculine—my gender exists, for the most part, as unseen, unworried, unintelligible.” Horn’s “mother gave me her strange love of aquariums,” and the author “wished to not be human, to slip from this world, turn saline.” When they were a child, she took performance piece photos of young Lars in a bathtub filled with dead squid, next to a shark, or, starting at 4, in painful full-body plaster casts, “curated, articulated and placed.” While living in Russia, “one of the world’s most homophobic countries, my sexuality, always snarling to the side of me, finally caught up. Bit into this body until it showed itself raw, bloodied.” Writing about a huge aquarium in Atlanta, Horn writes about how, regarding the concept of a gender spectrum, “I just feel like a soul in a strange craft.” They also recount in searing detail being attacked and nearly raped as well as an “aborted suicide.” A severe injury to Horn’s back oddly resulted in the inability to speak, read, or write, so “I tattooed my body with text.” In “some strange, gilled sense,” the author writes ruefully, “my body finally breathed.” Though the narrative sometimes wanders, Horn’s story sparkles with emotional intensity.

A promising literary debut.