Into the Undergrowth
5:35 p.m. -- 2008-10-06
Back in 1967, Gillian Freeman wrote �The Undergrowth of Literature�, a �serious attempt to analyse the whole range of publications devoted to sexual fantasy in the English-speaking world.� It�s a book that I have mentioned several times during my previous articles, and I have increasingly felt that it was time to discuss the book directly. That�s not made easy by the fact that it has been out of print for a long, long time. You will struggle to buy it.
I acquired my copy from among the personal effects of a dead relative. If I was a little surprised to find some really quite �racy� titles among the books in his library, I was more surprised by the collection of porno mags I found in one of the spare rooms. We were clearing out the house, which mostly involved vast quantities of old newspapers, empty bottles and jam jars. (Old people, eh?) I was embarrassed to discover two small suitcases full of �tits and bum� magazines. Not the kind of thing we generally discuss in my uptight family. Still, the guy had been a widower for a decade or more, so what the hell? None of my business.
I dumped the mags at the recycling centre, but I kept �The Undergrowth of Literature�, having ascertained that it included a chapter about my kind of people: transvestites.
I wonder if Freeman�s study of human sexuality was one that could only really have been performed by a woman. Few men - especially back then - could have survived the damage their reputation would have suffered, as the �research material� was built up. A non-combatant insofar as is possible, Freeman doesn�t appear to subscribe to any of the fetishes that are described. She doesn�t apologise for what she finds, but she manages (in places) to be quite compassionate about what she discovers.
The 1967 view of alternative sexuality is still a little prudish, however. It seems that people bought the book to get a glimpse into the world of those who (according to the foreword by Dr David Stafford-Clark) are �a significant section of the human race, who are literate and yet in no way emotionally mature, to be able to deal with love and sex in ways which preserve respect for the person.�
Yeah. If you haven�t guessed it, we�re in for a rough ride. Forty years ago, the world wasn�t quite as easy-going as it is nowadays. There was still disbelief that �all this muck� (Stafford-Clark again) really existed, and questions as to whether by its very existence, it had the potential to lead people astray, who might otherwise have stayed on the straight and narrow.
Freeman addresses the whole gamut of dodgy literature, as it existed four decades ago, over twelve chapters. In each one (with the possible exception of a misguided foray into children�s comic books and the bondage themes concealed therein) we�re treated to an entertaining read that seeks to explain the attraction of that particular �kink�, and provide examples of the printed material that panders to it. The chapters are...
- Phantasma-orgia.
- Mums and Lovers
- Wink, Kink & Co.
- Mein Camp
- The Fladge Market (1)
- The Fladge Market (2)
- TV Times (1)
- TV Times (2): Trans Everything
- Our Fettered Friends
- Having a Rubber Ball
- Woman�s Only
- Minor Tendencies
Given my proclivities, I�ll be concentrating on �TV Times (1)�. It�s quite a long chapter, at twenty-four pages, so I�ll be devoting several articles to this project. Freeman�s text is in blue.
TV Times
Some years ago the body of a young man was found in a bombed cellar in the City of London. Near to him were a pair of high-heeled shoes and a woman�s plastic handbag containing underwear. At first, police believed that the man, a printer ages about twenty-four, married with his wife expecting a first child, had been murdered, but it was subsequently discovered that he had gone alone, down into the damp, dark subterranean passages, in order to put on the female underwear and shoes. He had fallen and broken his leg and died of exposure and starvation. He was a transvestite.
At this point, I can hear Eddie Izzard saying, �Yeah... a f_cking weird transvestite!� Actually, we don�t know if the deceased was weird, as such, but it�s very sad. I�ve written about this kind of behaviour myself. Cross-dressing in dark, creepy places, as if it�s a dark, disgusting secret. Where does that get fun? Of course, we have to make allowances for the passage of time. I hope nobody is behaving like that anymore. Back to Gillian...
Contrary to the general view, transvestites are not necessarily homosexual. According to Kinsey and others, only about five percent actually are, and a homosexual camping in drag to amuse his friends is experiencing something quite different from the compulsion felt by transvestites. The homosexual might pretend to be a woman, but at an extreme stage the transvestite loses his personal identity and becomes (to himself) the woman he desires but, probably because of physical or psychological difficulties, cannot attract or possess. A girl in love may try to imagine the feelings of her lover in order to experience greater closeness. Many people pretend to themselves they are celebrities, and although they don�t feel the urge to dress up, they like to project themselves mentally into situations in which they appear sexually desirable or powerful, to compensate for the lack of these attributes in reality. This is the kind of projection experienced by transvestites, only they need certain clothes to take the deception further, to convince themselves. In Alfred Hitchcock�s film Psycho, the character played by Anthony Perkins had to dress in his dead mother�s clothes to become her. When he wore them he was no longer the son.
Okay, that�s annoying. Why does any discussion of transvestic motivations always end up naming characters who were mad? I�m surprised she didn�t mention J Edgar Hoover...
This is a problem for those folks who are pondering how to tell their wife or girlfriend... her first mental image is going to be something from Hollywood, and it isn�t going to be pretty. Anyway, never mind all that. We�re used to it. Carry on, Gillian...
Being a transvestite, in all its aspects is a solitary affair. Not a real woman but a mirror-image responds in the way the transvestite wants, dominating or gentle, provocative, sensual, reticent at his will.
Perhaps that was true, back in the Sixties. �In all its aspects a solitary affair�? Gillian never went to the Way Out Club, or Sparkle. Or one of the many �wholesome� activities organised by the well-meaning Tranny Mafia.
Maybe it used to be a solitary business, but watch out world: the trannies are getting organised. They�ve all got blogs, Flickr photo sites and more... and they�re making up for lost time. Trannying may once have been sad and lonely, but it isn�t anymore.
Er, sorry Gillian, I interrupted. Carry on.
The looking-glass partner plays as important a part in transvestite ritual as the clothes themselves, in the the meticulous, detailed descriptions of dress and make-up techniques in transvestite literature, and the visual effects to be achieved, are more numerous, more lovingly described than in any traditional woman�s magazine. The total identity which is involved is demonstrated by this short essay which appears in a publication called Turnabout (American, as are virtually all transvestite magazines, fulfilling for the transvestite the function of Mattachine or Tangent for the homosexual; only less well or intelligently written. Are there no literary transvestites who are able to write professionally?)
Okay, here I will agree... to a certain point. I�ve written previously about how naff almost all tranny fiction is. (An unexpected benefit of my rants against transvestite fiction is that my blog gets a lot of seach engine traffic as a result... so it ain�t all bad.)
In fact, Gillian almost stung me into trying my hand at writing something classier, while still erotic in nature. I was tempted! But it wouldn�t belong here if I did. In the end, I decided not to try, in case it comes out just as appallingly naff as so many other efforts have. As for �able to write professionally�... I guess not. Don�t look at me, anyway. I�m an engineer! But this isn�t just about fiction. It�s saying that all literature produced by the transvestite subculture of the day was sub-standard. That certainly can�t be said nowadays. There�s still a lot of crap... but some of those �girls� can write!
Back to Gillian, describing Turnabout...
It contains serious feature articles, poems, and essays as well as advice on dress. I quote the extract for its sentiment rather than its literary value.
�What a great depth of being!
�She is a pillar whose base is founded firmly in the far-reaching depths of eternity. She is the wings by whose means I can fly above the multitude--set apart, as it were, from the murky ocean of conformity below. Through her I am an outside one--one who cannot enter into or be absorbed by the purgatory of daily life.
�She holds an infinitisimal me upon a velvet pillow, and we soar together above the minerets and spires. She is all things wonderous and beautiful--and yet this paragon can become a demonic force that can wilt the spiney shaft of masculinity. It can deride, shame, shock, and even destroy itself--if not tolerated.
�She is everpresent, sweet and persistant. She is in my thoughts most of the time. Her sorrow brings tears to my eyes, and I try not to let them fall for fear of betrayal. She is repressed and she knows it.
�But whom can I tell that would not say I am mad?
�They cannot know even me, so how could they know her in the fullness of her being? How could they know the peace of mind and body--and the supreme tranquility?
�There is an aura of bliss in her presence, and yet she must remain locked in the innermost passageways of my mind--a phantom to be released when, perchance, it is her turn. In her presence I no longer exist. There is no place for me. I leave no void. There is no me.�
"Whom can you tell?" Not me. I�m a tranny, and I think you�re mad.
Once again, I can do little more than quote the wisdom of Saint Edward: �F_cking weird transvestite!� I mean... seriously: is this the best that Gillian Freeman could come up with, after an extensive literature search? It�s like aliens visiting planet Earth, and assuming that Peter Mandelson constitutes a representative sample of human beings in general. It leaves you feeling annoyed, and maligned. Is that the best representation we can manage?
Incidentally, all the spelling errors are in the original Turnabout article. I feel compelled to point out that it�s not my dodgy typing or spelling skills!
That still doesn�t explain the writing style. Perhaps, back then, some folks felt the need to wring their vocabulary through a mangel, in an effort to seem more worthy of publication. I have no idea... it seems more like the way American presidents back before Abraham Lincoln used to speak. Anyway, that was 1967. I was still a twinkle in the milkman�s eye, so I wasn�t available to write for the tranny mags of the day. So it stands... probably the most weird, pathetic and creepy bit of tranny writing you�ll ever find... although... hold on: we�ve got poetry coming up in a few pages! Ew...
Anyway, I�m sure you want to know what Gillian had to say about the essay in Turnabout. She continues:
No me! Transdressing does, for a time, bring complete acceptance of the role. This can be understood by anyone who has attended a fancy-dress party, and seen how the effect of costume and disguise makes the shy become extrovert, the timid courageous, and the woman who is normally priggish become overtly sexual in black net tights.
I think Gillian was entirely right when she said that the article in question wasn�t well or intelligently-written... but I think she pushes a little too hard with her implicit claims that she understands what�s going on inside the transvestite�s mind. For one thing, there never seems to be any acknowledgement that people who cross-dress are individuals, and each might experience it differently. Thus far, we have one low-grade extract from a magazine you�d have bought in a plain wrapper, in a sex shop... and a lot of theorising from the author.
More to come. When I can face another copy-typing marathon (and that bloody awful tranny poetry) I�ll continue this review of a review of literature, and how things have perhaps changed for the better in the last forty years.
To be continued.
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