Thanks Nutty and Dani.

The surreal thing about Middlesex was that there was no gender dysmorphia at all -- just a change in clothes, hair and walking, switch up some language, but he wasn't a girly boy or a boyish girl. Okay, maybe not the surreal thing, but one that made me wonder about the reality of it all.

Actually, Dani, that is precisely what I'm interested in -- what makes a boy feel like a boy, and a girl like a girl. How did he know he was wrong?

I think I've seen a TV show on that case, and had forgotten the name of the book.

ita, I'd recommend Anne Fausto-Sterling's Sexing the Body as an introduction to both the biological and the psychic/cultural sides of this whole area; the author is trained in both biology and (iirc) sociology, so she's one of the rare people who's able to talk across the usual disciplinary boundaries.

ita, have you read Trans-sister Radio? I can't remember if I got it from you or Kat (?).

I finished reading The Time Traveller's Wife yesterday and I was a mess of tears by the end. I agree with a former poster that it is probably a book with massive b.org appeal.

So put in on the rec list for book club, Megan.

I would if I thought I'd have time to participate in the book club thread but I've been working 60 hour weeks with no end in sight. It would make for a good discussion though.

No need for a commitment Megan. If you think we'd enjoy it just throw it on the list. And that way if it's picked, you don't have to read it to pop in and post about it during discussion.

t /shameless shilling

Something a little different, a request to help me identify a poem I remember from high school. I just tried to Google the last line but came up empty.

The poem tells the tale of a young woman's whose lover convinces her to join him in a suicide pact and they'll meet in hell and love forever. Of course, she believes him and he goes on to marry a rich girl. The girl tells the devil that she is in hell under false pretenses and begins walking across the firey plain towards heaven, and all the damned stop to watch her go. There's something about daffodils or something springing up around her feet, and I *thought* the last line was "And Hell raised a ragged cheer," but that brought me no joy. Oh, and the resolution not to use the phrase "ragged cheer" anywhere in my writing.

It's not world-shattering poetry, but I'd like to find it again.

Is this it?

Davidson, John, 1857-1909: A BALLAD OF HELL [from Ballads & Songs (1894)]

1 'A letter from my love to-day! 2 Oh, unexpected, dear appeal!' 3 She struck a happy tear away, 4 And broke the crimson seal.

5 'My love, there is no help on earth, 6 No help in heaven; the dead-man's bell 7 Must toll our wedding; our first hearth 8 Must be the well-paved floor of hell.'

9 The colour died from out her face, 10 Her eyes like ghostly candles shone; 11 She cast dread looks about the place, 12 Then clenched her teeth and read right on.

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13 'I may not pass the prison door; 14 Here must I rot from day to day, 15 Unless I wed whom I abhor, 16 My cousin, Blanche of Valencay.

17 'At midnight with my dagger keen, 18 I'll take my life; it must be so. 19 Meet me in hell to-night, my queen, 20 For weal and woe.'

21 She laughed although her face was wan, 22 She girded on her golden belt, 23 She took her jewelled ivory fan, 24 And at her glowing missal knelt.

25 Then rose, 'And am I mad?' she said: 26 She broke her fan, her belt untied; 27 With leather girt herself instead, 28 And stuck a dagger at her side.

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29 She waited, shuddering in her room, 30 Till sleep had fallen on all the house. 31 She never flinched; she faced her doom: 32 They two must sin to keep their vows.

33 Then out into the night she went, 34 And stooping crept by hedge and tree; 35 Her rose-bush flung a snare of scent, 36 And caught a happy memory.

37 She fell, and lay a minute's space; 38 She tore the sward in her distress; 39 The dewy grass refreshed her face; 40 She rose and ran with lifted dress.

41 She started like a morn-caught ghost 42 Once when the moon came out and stood 43 To watch; the naked road she crossed, 44 And dived into the murmuring wood.

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45 The branches snatched her streaming cloak; 46 A live thing shrieked; she made no stay! 47 She hurried to the trysting-oak--- 48 Right well she knew the way.

49 Without a pause she bared her breast, 50 And drove her dagger home and fell, 51 And lay like one that takes her rest, 52 And died and wakened up in hell.

53 She bathed her spirit in the flame, 54 And near the centre took her post; 55 From all sides to her ears there came, 56 The dreary anguish of the lost.

57 The devil started at her side, 58 Comely, and tall, and black as jet. 59 'I am young Malespina's bride; 60 Has he come hither yet?'

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61 'My poppet, welcome to your bed.' 62 'Is Malespina here?' 63 'Not he! To-morrow he must wed 64 His cousin Blanche, my dear!'

65 'You lie, he died with me to-night.' 66 'Not he! it was a plot.' 'You lie. 67 'My dear, I never lie outright.' 68 'We died at midnight he and I.'

69 The devil went. Without a groan 70 She, gathered up in one fierce prayer, 71 Took root in hell's midst all alone, 72 And waited for him there.

73 She dared to make herself at home 74 Amidst the wail, the uneasy stir. 75 The blood-stained flame that filled the dome, 76 Scentless and silent, shrouded her.

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77 How long she stayed I cannot tell; 78 But when she felt his perfidy, 79 She marched across the floor of hell; 80 And all the damned stood (continued...)