Claire DeVoodgd’s “VIA”, Some Various Political Readings, and The United States V. Skrmetti

 Hey there Bookbaggers! I wanted to drop off my current reading list for you all (with the bonus of some strange tales and tidbits), as well as make you all aware of a vitally important Supreme Court case that is taking place. I’ll be talking about the court case first, as I really need to get this off my chest. I would like to add a pretty heavy trigger warning for any of you who are sensitive to topics of self-harm, gender dysphoria, eating disorders, or transphobia/homophobia. This might not be the one for you, and I love and respect you all the more if you need to give this one a pass.

As some of you may know, today, the Supreme Court of the United States is hearing the case of United States V. Skrmetti. This court case will decide whether Tennessee Bill 1 (a bill which prohibits all medical care allowing “a minor to identify with, or live as, a purported identity inconsistent with the minor’s sex”, or to treat “purported discomfort or distress from a discordance between the minor’s sex and asserted identity”) violates the equal protection clause under the 14th Amendment. Essentially, Srkmetti is fighting to protect gender-affirming healthcare for minors. Gender-affirming healthcare includes puberty blockers and hormone treatment, which are both life-saving for transgender children.

This isn’t something that I typically share online, as doing so puts me in a risky position. However, I feel that my story deserves to be shared. 

I am nonbinary. I have identified as such since I was ten years old when I first heard the phrase in my middle school’s GSA club. I received gender-affirming healthcare as a minor, and it saved my life. I would not be here, writing to all of you, if it weren’t for the support of my parents, doctors, and therapists who fought for me to receive this care. Though my gender expression has shifted over the years, I have never, not for a second, regretted receiving this care. 

When I was 13 years old, not long after my mother passed away, I came out to my dad and my step-mom as being a transgender individual, I expressed my desire to change my name, and to eventually go on Testosterone: hormone therapy administered to transmasculine (assigned female at birth, but identifying with being either male or some non-female gender, to put it simply) individuals. My father and my stepmom were immediately supportive of me. I remember my heart filling with relief, joy, and warmth, as my parents told me they would love me no matter who I was, and as we all walked to the basement to explain my coming out to my younger brother.

It was several years before I was able to receive hormone therapy in any form (to my chagrin at the time), and the journey was not easy. My dad, justifiably, was uneasy about the prospect of allowing me to make such a big decision at a young age. However, as I spent months, and then years, talking to therapists, psychologists, pediatricians, and endocrinologists about hormone therapy, the solution to easing my gender dysphoria became clearer.

When I was about 15 years old, I reached a point where my gender dysphoria (extreme discomfort with one’s sex assigned at birth) became nearly unbearable. I was miserable. Once a talkative kid, I struggled to speak, being unable to bear the sound of my voice when compared to the other boys my age. I showered in the dark. I struggled immensely with an eating disorder, using starvation to make my body appear more masculine. I over-exercised until I was so exhausted I could barely function. I had near-daily meltdowns due to my dysphoria. I developed a habit of hurting myself, a habit I would be unable to break free of until October of 2023. In other words: I could not continue like I was. 

My pediatrician, after watching me break down in tears for the umpteenth time, pulled my dad aside and explained to him that hormone therapy could change my life and that he and I could take the journey together, to do what was best for me. So, when I was 15, I was blessed to be able to start on a low-dose injection of testosterone. The first time I gave myself a “T-shot”, I felt that same sense of relief. There had been a weight sitting on my chest for so long, and I felt like I could breathe again. This feeling strengthened as I got stronger, listened to my voice drop, and watched some of the other effects of my medication kick in. For the first time since I was a kid, I felt at home in my body. Every kid, trans or not, queer or not, deserves to feel like their body is their own. I cannot fully explain how painful it was, before I was able to go on hormones, to not recognize my face in the mirror, or the voice in my throat. 

Because I’m nonbinary, and I don’t fully identify as male, I was only on testosterone for a year. I wanted the permanent vocal change, as well as some of the other, smaller effects that would make me feel more at home. Let me tell you: I have not, for even one second, felt any regret for receiving the care I did. My family, my friends, my teachers, and I, were all able to watch me grow into myself, becoming more open and comfortable with the person I was. I finally felt like I was able to grow up, to be in the same place as my peers. I felt like myself. I still do!

If it had not been for the support of my family, therapists, friends, and medical team, I would not have received this care. If I had been born into a state like Tennessee, I would not have received this care. If either of these misfortunes had been the case, I highly doubt I would be here today, writing to you all from this desk in my college dorm. I would never have experienced so many of the wonderful things that make up my life. The light in my best friend’s eyes when I see her after several days apart, the roar of laughter as I sit with my roommates and friends in the dorms, telling stupid jokes, the rush of emotion when I got to see my favorite band live for the first time, with some of my favorite people in the world, and of course the joy of discovering new books to read, and things to learn. There is so much laughter, and beauty, and joy. Queer joy, trans joy, is so so powerful, for we have Survived. 

There are so many trans and nonbinary kids who deserve to receive care in the way I did, I refuse to sit idly, with the comfort I have been afforded in my body, while these powerful young people are denied the same opportunities I was given: the opportunities to truly Live. All this to say: please write your senators, your local politicians, your representatives. Please get in their faces. Please sign petitions, donate to The Trevor Project or your local Queer advocacy groups (if you aren’t a broke college student, that is), take Action. Your actions, your words, and your power can and will inspire others. That’s all I have to say about US V. Srkmetti, and I hope you will carry my words with you as we collectively fight to protect the lives and well-being of trans and nonbinary youth in this country. 

In the spirit of uplifting queer joy, I would like to recommend you a wonderful YA novel I read a few years back: Aiden Thomas’ “Cemetery Boys” is a wonderful work of young-adult paranormal fiction. Written by a transgender author, and starring a transgender boy, the book can capture the trans experience wonderfully, without making the main character (Yadriel) centered around his transness. Yadriel, in this novel, is a “brujo”, practicing traditional witchcraft and religion in a practice central to Latin America and the West Indies (the religion: brujería, is a closed practice, meaning it is only allowed to be used by those who are born or invited into it). The plot of the book is twofold: both focusing on Yadriel and his accomplices’ mission to solve the mystery of their cousin- Miguel’s death, as well as the nuanced family dynamics that Yadriel encounters due to his Queerness. The book is incredibly realistic in its’ portrayal of nuanced issues, and every character involved in the story feels so tangible, with their own unique motivations and humanity. I would certainly give this one a read, as it is incredibly well-executed, and honestly, it's just fun!

My second book is one that I’m still annotating my way through, as there is just SO much to unpack. Howard Zinn’s “A People’s History of the United States” is one of the most important, evocative, and heartbreaking pieces of nonfiction I have encountered to date, and I cannot recommend this one enough. Expect to hear more from me about this one when I finish scribbling in the margins, but I’ll grace you with my thoughts on it so far. 

Zinn manages to capture the often-times stifled and honestly tragic history of minority groups in America, ranging from the “discovery” of our country into the period just before the Carter and Reagan eras. With heart-wrenching objectivity, he explains the stories that too frequently go untold in our history books. I managed to snatch a copy of this book from my favorite second-hand bookstore: The Eclectic Reader (which is certainly worth a visit if you find yourself in my neck of the woods), and I had a fascinating conversation with a fellow history buff. The older couple who owns the store are two of the most knowledgeable people I’ve had the pleasure of encountering since I moved out of my parent’s house, and being able to discuss this book with them was an experience I have long since bookmarked in my head. I would love to chat with other people who have read this awe-inducing work of non-fiction, so bear with me while I wrap this book up!

My final book recommendation comes with a rather strange story. My friends and I were hanging around outside “The Atrium” (a fun little underground bar and dance club that consistently hosts some of the best small artists in town), when we were approached by a strange man. Obviously, we all bristled a bit, as it was night-time, and he was a stranger, but he and I ended up having a brief and enjoyable conversation about literature. I told him that I write poetry on occasion, and he lit up with recommendations for me. 

After he left, my friends and I laughed, relieved that the encounter hadn’t turned sour or scary, and went back to chatting with the patrons of The Atrium. About two minutes later, I heard a window open and the same man, hanging out the window of the cafe that sits on the second floor of the building, called my name. I turned around as he wildly clambored out the window, and slid down the shingles of the roof towards the ground. He told me to hold out my hands, and I (albeit skeptically), obeyed. Into my open palms, he dropped a copy of Claire DeVoogd’s “VIA”. He had bookmarked a page for me, and I opened it to find a poem titled “Apocalypse (as the sun replies)”. He pointed to the poem, and exclaimed “That’s you! You’re the goddess of Apocalypse!”. 

This strange chance encounter not only won me a new book, but also one of my favorite compliments I have received to date. Prize in hand, my friends and I trekked back to the dorms, where I spent the rest of my evening reading through the book I had received. “VIA” is, in all honesty, one of the best poetry collections I have ever read. I adore the abstract horror that Claire paints when she references apocalypse again, and again, and again. Each poem in this book is striking, both in DeVoogd’s talent for writing and by essence alone. I cannot really convey the feelings that this art elicited from me, I can only recommend you check out Claire’s writing!

And after ALL of that, I have a couple of song recommendations for you all, before I relieve you of my ranting. As Spotify Wrapped just came out, I thought I would share some of my most-listened-to songs from this year!

The song I listened to the most this year is entirely unsurprising if you know me off of the internet, or have ever stalked my Spotify playlists. “Groan” by Dazey and the Scouts is by far my favorite song of all time, and I listen to it at least once a day. This year, I listened to the song a total of 533 times, which, I suppose, is why my friends are so sick of hearing it. I, however, am not. “Groan” is a power ballad of a song that makes me feel like I’m ascending to another place of being. I scream it in the car at every chance I get, and it always elicits a passion in me that I try to harness at every opportunity. Not to mention, the song is the opening track for (in my opinion) one of the best albums of all time. Dazey and the Scouts released their first (and only) album: maggot in 2018, and didn’t really see their songs gain mainstream popularity until the 2020 pandemic. I was introduced to Dazey in 2019, with their most popular song: “Wet”, which is a beautiful, angry, heartfelt song about the intensity of young love and heartbreak. Every song on the album is incredible in its own right, and Dazey manages to perfectly capture the emotions that run through many queer youth. No wonder it was the backtrack to my high school career!

The second song is one that was shared with me by someone pretty special to me. “American Beauty” by Biig Piig is a gorgeous, slow, and powerful song that I have had on repeat all year long. Not only are the lyrics incredible, but the melody of the song managed to capture my mind and my heart to the point I find myself humming the song under my breath as I go about my day. Go give it some love! 

The last song is another slower song, and it is one that I got to see live this Halloween! “Piedmont” by Destroy Boys has been my go-to “cry in the shower” song since I was a Junior in High School, and I am not ashamed to admit that I broke down in tears when I finally heard it performed live. This song truly had my high-school heart captured, and it’s one I brought with me to college without hesitation. When I hear the intro to this song, I will always feel “nostalgic for memories I haven’t had”. I would recommend not only listening to this song but diving into the whole Destroy Boys discography, as they are truly one of the most incredible bands I’ve found. 

And with that, I would like to thank you, dear bookbagger, for reading this LONG post, for sticking with me, and for valuing my opinions enough to devote time to reading them. Thank you, and I hope you have a very happy Holiday season! I’ll see you soon, if not in the new year! 

- J.M

The passing of a torch, featuring my review of Mary L. Trump’s “Too Much, Never Enough”

 When my mother died in June of 2019, I was twelve years old. I won’t burden you with the extent of my experience, as that is not the point of this blog. However, I was unaware of “Bookbaggin it” until the weeks after she passed. I remember spending several months, pouring through her blog (this one as well as Dr.J Life This Way), hoping I could, at my young age, find solace in her words and carry her grace with me. 

I come to you now, as a college student. I’ve now observed five Christmases, birthdays, and holidays without the presence of my mom, as well as two major elections, and her absence still weighs heavily on my heart. I find myself craving just one more conversation with her, as she always had an uncanny ability to know what to say and when (not to mention how brilliant she was). 

I remember, after my mother’s passing, having nearly everyone in my life compare me to her: telling me that I was her spitting image, not only in appearance, but in spirit. As a preteen, trying to fill the shoes of one of the most exceptional women I had (and have) ever met, was overwhelming, and created a resentment within me that took years to shake. 

Having shed the resentment towards being like my mother, these days I find myself, ironically, becoming more like her than ever before. As my features have grown into a more adult state, I can catch her face in the mirror. While I sit in my college library, late at night, writing papers on topics she introduced me to so many years ago, I can see her voice in my words. 

I love my mom. I adore her writing, and I want to restart this blog, not only to continue her legacy, but to show you all that our lives are more than the sum of their parts. Her passion for knowledge, which I have been delighted to inherit, is something worth displaying. Worth continuing. 

My name is Jay Martin, and I may not be my mother, but dear god, I hope I can capture this part of her. 

As a political science student (minoring in American History), I seldom find myself pouring over fiction the way I did as a child. I still read voraciously, but I now throw myself into journals, dissertations, and autobiographical writings that help to illuminate perspectives on not only this country, but the workings of humanity as a whole. I hope I can entrance you, as I have been entranced, with the reality of this crazy world!

And with that, I’ll spare you anymore of my waxing poetical about my life. I recently finished a book, lent to me by my grandmother. The book is appropriately titled “Too Much, Never Enough- How My Family Created the World’s Most Dangerous Man”. Written by the only niece of now Presidential Elect Donald Trump, Mary shares her devastating insights into her and her uncle’s family history. 

Mary, a PhD holder and certified psychologist is qualified enough that she could have simply rattled off a list of potential diagnoses for her uncle. However, her book goes much deeper than that. She begins the book by describing a terse family celebration that took place shortly after Donald was sworn into office in 2017, taking care to describe both the visible stress her uncle was under, and the casual disregard for the well-being of their family members. She points out that in order to be transported to the white house, the Trump family was awkwardly placed into vans (causing discomfort for her older relatives), when more comfortable options were readily available and accessible. 

This is barely the tip of the iceberg that Mary tackles in her book. Focusing not only on Donald’s blatant cruelty, but the devastating generational trauma he and his siblings were subjected to in order to get to that point. 

Mary spends nearly the first half of the book explaining in-depth about Donald’s father: Fred Trump. Fred, as illustrated by Mary, was a deeply flawed man who held little regard for the emotional well-being of his children. The anecdote opening the first chapter describes Maryanne (one of Donald’s older sisters), finding her mother nearly dead in the bathroom. Fred’s response to the incident was cold, helping his wife as he could, but making no moves to comfort his daughter: sending her to school the next day with only the assurance he would “call her if something happens”. He would call her if her mother died. 

Mary, Fred’s Wife (not to be confused with the author of this book), did not die that night. She did, however, spend the rest of her children’s lives being emotionally and physically absent. Much of the focus of the book is on Fred, and the ways in which he systematically broke down his children, their self-worth, and their ideas of what it meant to be successful. Donald’s mother, however, is worth mentioning, as she and her husband both neglected to fulfill the essential roles of a parent of a young child. Mary (the author), explains that this early childhood neglect likely robbed the Trump children (particularly Donald and Robert, as they were the youngest) of their ability to identity and empathize with the emotions of others.

Mary also spends a significant portion of the book focusing on Fred Sr.’s relationship with his oldest son Freddy (Mary’s father). Freddy spent his whole childhood being told, verbatim, that he was inherently inferior to his brother Donald. Freddy’s interests, emotions, and reactions were under constant ridicule by not only his father, but by extension, his younger brother. Freddy is described as being anxious and sensitive in his youth, and it was devastating to watch his daughter illustrate his transition into abuse and alcoholism due to his father’s manipulation. 

As for Donald, Mary outlines his childhood traits, describing his cruelty towards his younger brother, his defiance, and the unusual favoritism he received from Fred due to the traits they shared. She explains in goosebump-inducing detail the coping mechanisms he developed due to the neglect he faced, and gives us an ominous warning for the future of our country. 

I don’t want to spoil too much of this book, as I feel Mary’s words will sink deeper into you than mine ever could. However, I cannot recommend this book enough. In the wake of the recent election, I fear that her work is more relevant than ever. Mary’s grief is not only reserved for herself and her family, but for all the Americans who have been betrayed and harmed by her uncle’s policies, as well as for those who have (weather directly as a result of his presidency or not) fallen at his hands. Her remorse and pain is tangible, as she laments the cycles that were not broken, and the horror of her family that has now been reflected onto the American constituency. 

I, personally, spent the morning after the election sobbing until I made myself sick. This book captures that feeling of terrifying betrayal with a softness and an accuracy that can barely be described. Mary left me with one haunting question: “What have we done?”

Lastly, in the spirit of giving this blog my own personal touch: I would like to share with you all a couple of songs that have been giving me some much-needed strength in my moments of despair over the state of our world. 

The first is “Flower of Blood” by Big Thief. The song is simultaneously haunting and comforting, and captures the same feeling for me as thinking back to my days of storytelling to myself at recess. If you need to feel like you can breathe, even when your throat is closing, I would advise you to turn this one on, close your eyes, and just be. 

The second is one that I stole from my roomate: “AUS MEIN KOPF” by Yung Hern is a bite-sized song that simply radiates joy. I cannot understand more than a couple words of this song, but it just elicits a need to boogie down in the sunshine. I’d give it a listen :)

Thank you so much for reading, and though I apologize for the darker tone of this article, I hope you know that there is unquantifiable beauty in this world. That’s why I’m here, writing to you under the name of a woman who I loved so dearly, continuing her work. Please do not lose hope, we have faced bigger monsters with less weaponry. The death of complacency calls for a rebirth of unity. 

Until next time,

-J.M