Reviews with content warning for Child abuse - Confessions of the Fox

This book was recommended to me by a comment on my Goodreads Review of For Today I Am A Boy. As I said in that review, we need more trans people telling trans stories. Confessions of the Fox is exactly that: author Jordy Rosenberg is a trans man, the frame story protagonist is a trans man, and the protagonist of the inner story is a trans man. More incredibly, however, this book does something For Today I Am A Boy could never do: it offers a thoughtful and compassionate meta-narrative on the struggle to create a continuity of trans community and identity despite the attempts to erase us from history.

Dr. R. Voth is a literature professor at an unnamed university. At a sale of manuscripts and books from the university’s library (throughout the story, Rosenberg parodies how universities these days are increasingly becoming public–private partnerships focused more on generating revenue than generating or safekeeping knowledge), Voth discovers a manuscript purporting to be the true story of 18th-century thief Jack Sheppard. Sheppard, aka “Honest Jack,” is a real person about whom some literature has already been written, and Voth mentions these other depictions in his annotations. The book we’re reading, then, is supposedly this manuscript, with footnotes coming to us from the voice of Voth. The major revelation early in the book is that this manuscript is the only one that even hints that Jack is a trans man. For Voth, also a trans man, this is a big deal. But the motif of connection and community doesn’t stop there….

You could just read the story within (“the manuscript” if you will) straight through, skipping the footnotes, as if it were an accurate representation of the life of Jack Sheppard. The manuscript is a fun tale all of its own right, tracing Jack’s life from his indenture with a cabinetmaker all the way to a spectacular confrontation with Jack Wild, a thief-turned-thiefcatcher. There’s resourceful, smart-talking sex workers and credulous constables and all sorts of characters to keep you entertained. Moreover, Rosenberg openly challenges the whitewashing of this period of London. His London is historically accurate in that it includes many people of colour from all over the world while also acknowledging the presence of racism.

However, the power of this book comes from how Rosenberg uses intertextual and meta-fictional conceits to create a conversation in which the reader is a silent yet integral participant. Each layer of the story has its own, unique voice. The main story, the manuscript itself, is chock full of 18th-century vocabulary. (Indeed, when I first picked it up, I was nervous its verisimilitude would be too daunting—fortunately, Rosenberg knows how to strike a balance.) As a professor of 18th-century literature himself, Rosenberg is spectacularly positioned to write such a manuscript. He has Voth chime in to interpret for us, sometimes with just one-word translations of slang, but just as often with longer explanations or references to other (real) scholarship. In this way, the conversation begins.

The manuscript is earnest, humorous, and very sexually explicit (albeit in an 18th-century mode). That last part actually made me a bit uncomfortable, not really my cup of tea, but if you are looking for 18th-century descriptions of making out and having intercourse, then yeah, you need this book. (There are also some fairly oblique references, both in the manuscript and the footnotes, to how testosterone affects the size of the clitoris; I like how Rosenberg drops in these little touches that a cis person might overlook but a trans person is likely to notice right away.) Voth’s annotations, in contrast, are the voice of a harried and cynical university prof at the end of his rope, both financially and emotionally. When Sullivan, the enigmatic representative of a pharmaceutical research company, joins Voth in the footnotes in ALL CAPS to harangue the professor as he works, this adds yet another layer to the conversation: the reader gets the sense that every word here is being surveilled by a third party, and in a way, we too feel under surveillance.

This interplay among Voth, the manuscript, Sullivan, the reader—it creates a unique third layer to the story, one that exists in the liminal space between manuscript and annotation. The crux is simple: all of our narrators are unreliable. The original author(s) of the manuscript could be lying to us, or mistaken, about anything—and indeed, Voth speculates a few times that parts of what he’s reading were added later, in the 19th century or even far more recently. Voth’s annotations are unreliable—I don’t think he’s intentionally misleading us, but his verbose oversharing makes it clear that his emotional stability is in question. Any annotations of a work are bound to be subjective, and Voth’s will be particularly subjective. Add to this the pressure created by the surveillance from Sullivan—there are moments in the text where Voth deliberately obfuscates details from the manuscript or withholds information from Sullivan, from us, or from both Sullivan and the reader.

In this way, Rosenberg replicates for lay readers what scholars like himself and his fictional avatar must grapple with on the regular: the harried and scattered nature of archival research. Reading Confessions of the Fox is as close as most of us will get to trying to piece together the truth from a series of damaged, edited manuscripts of suspect provenance while a dean and a private corporation breathe down our necks, wondering what profit is to be found in the deed.

Yet by leaning into the unreliability of his narratives, Rosenberg also creates a space in which to explore the possibilities of trans history and community. As I mentioned earlier, Rosenberg makes references will escape the notice of all but the most careful, astute cis readers even as they wave red flags at trans readers. This starts at the end of Voth’s editor’s note that functions as a prologue:

I took the manuscript because I could not help but take it once I realized it was trying to communicate something. Something just for us. And if you are reading this, then you know who I mean.… Even if I were saying … that this is a code, they will never be able to read it. There are some things you can see only through tears.

The moment I read those lines, I knew the “us” was referring to trans people. This is not just a book with trans characters and by a trans author; it is a text that comments on the need for a sense of community among trans people that acknowledges our existence throughout history. Voth believes the manuscript is a message to other trans people; he in turn attempts to find a way to safeguard and preserve that message.

The interaction between Voth and Sullivan underscores why Voth believes the manuscript needs safeguarding—Sullivan’s company is interested in a pharmaceutical secret they believe the manuscript can reveal. This secret happens to be related to Jack’s trans-ness. In this way, Rosenberg underscores an anti-capitalist theme that runs throughout the novel in a variety of ways but basically boils down to you can’t trust the Man, because the Man will use you up and spit you out for profits. For us trans people, we know this acutely in the fascination society has with medical transition—when we aren’t erased, we are portrayed as spectacle, poked and prodded and asked about our genitals and surgeries. The visibility of trans people under capitalism is desirable only when that visibility can be commodified for cis consumption or benefit. Rosenberg reifies this in the manuscript in Voth’s hands, and Voth’s decisions towards the end of the novel are based entirely on pushing back against this idea.

Put it simply, Confessions of the Fox is a story for us. For trans people. Yes, cis readers, you can still enjoy this book! There is a lot of entertaining stuff in here. But this book speaks to trans people, and it does it not through the standard narrative of transphobia and cissexism that often permeates the portrayals of trans stories in our media but rather through a rich set of storytelling devices that invite the reader to participate in this conversation. I was just asking for books with trans protagonists by trans authors, and optionally, that weren’t focused on being trans! I thought some trans historical fiction sounded like a great idea. Did I ever get more than I asked for here!

This is a smart book. Sometimes, smart books are designed to show off an author’s erudition at the expense of reader’s ego. Confessions of the Fox doesn’t do this. This is one of those rare gems of a novel that is incredibly clever in its construction and deep in its philosophy yet doesn’t rub the reader’s nose in those things. Rather than running ahead and insisting we keep up, it joyfully lifts us up and carries us along. The journey it takes us on is not always a happy one, but it is incredibly worthwhile.

Originally posted at Kara.Reviews.

Content Warnings

jameslyons's review against another edition

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adventurous challenging dark emotional funny hopeful informative inspiring mysterious reflective sad tense fast-paced

Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? It's complicated
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.75

This is not a fun historical romp and those approaching this book with any expectation of a Nice Time will be disappointed/horrified. It's visceral, confronting, disgusting, and uncomfortable; romantic, riotous, hilarious, and very fucking trans.

Ambitious and almost overwhelming at times. It took a lot of faith in the author for me to get through the wilder parts that didn't make sense until everything Did. Thank god it all pulled together in the end. I remain annoyed at the heavy academic bent, but that's a personal pet peeve, and scholarly sycophants will likely adore that aspect. Everyone else, my advice is to just ignore and skim at will. The rest of the story contains So Much aside from that.

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booksthatburn's review against another edition

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dark informative mysterious reflective tense fast-paced

Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

5.0

Confessions of the Fox explores longing and desire, juggling visceral descriptions with contemplations of various theoretical frameworks in an informative and evocative blend.

The “Editor’s Note” is part of the story, don’t skip it (it’s not very long). The way the footnotes weave through the story creates some artful and subtle shifts in tone and pacing, with pauses created by reading some bit of the meta-story before returning to the main narrative. The text plays with desire and euphoria and it’s so beautiful; euphoria from simple happiness, joy from sex, bliss from finally feeling right in one’s skin by way of craft, mastery, or gender expression. The counterpoint to this desire is longing; waiting for those golden moments when everything just fits, and taking measures to make that happiness more permanent, more stable. The narrator’s understanding of the text is filled with longing and tempered with discontent, balanced so it’s not quite the same emotional note as the main text (that would be too neat), but something complimentary and frequently wry. It’s also a narrative of heists, escapes, and close calls, an exhilarating tale which was wholly absorbing.

After a heartfelt and contemplative Editor’s note, Confessions of the Fox starts out with some delightfully antiquated erotic descriptions by way of describing The Fox’s crimes. This book weaves sexual and/or erotic content into every chapter and most scenes, in such a way that anyone who will be uncomfortable with frequent coy and not so coy references to anatomy and discussions of sex and sexual desire would be better to skip this one. But if all that sounds great to you, this book is amazing and I hope you‘ll love it as much as I do. This is apparently a somewhere between historical fiction and a retelling of a folk tale about a probably real person, I didn't come to this knowing any of that and still enjoyed it immensely. It's grounded enough to be completely comprehensible without any of that background knowledge, and I love how it turned out. The characterization is excellent, even secondary characters who only exist as references in the footnotes feel like they have an appropriate level of presence and vivacity. The perspective and contemplation by the Narrator in the footnotes balances the rawness of the MC.

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ned_reading's review

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adventurous hopeful informative inspiring medium-paced

Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

3.5

Loved almost every part, the second half kind of unraveled a bit though.

Content Warnings

caidyn's review

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emotional medium-paced

Plot- or character-driven? A mix
Strong character development? Yes
Loveable characters? Yes
Diverse cast of characters? Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

4.0

On a reread, I was able to appreciate this book more. It's a very good read and I loved both stories with how they intertwined.

ORIGINAL

CW: racism, sex work, graphic sex scenes, surgery, and gender dysphoria

All at once, this book was made for me but also not. It was a hard book for me to read and rate. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about it, so welcome to me rambling about the book.

While reading this, I was under a lot of stress. (Still am stressed but a lot less than I was.) When I’m stressed, I don’t always pay attention to books I’m reading. I just, well, can’t focus. And this book takes a lot of focus to read. I couldn’t dedicate my mind to it as much as it deserved. So, this is kind of on me.

So, what is this book about?

It’s told in two ways. One through the actual story of Jack Sheppard and Bess, a thief and a sex worker in 18th century England. The other through Dr. Voth, a college professor. Dr. Voth finds a manuscript in the library and takes it home, reading it and finding that it’s another work about Jack Sheppard, an infamous thief. But, this document isn’t like the others. Like Dr. Voth, Jack Sheppard is a transman. And his accomplice (usually a man) is an Indian or South East Asian sex worker.

Obviously, it’s super diverse right off the bat. Even better, it’s ownvoices. Rosenberg is a transman writing a story with two transmale MCs. I mean, that’s amazing. I’ve talked about it before, but transmen get forgotten. We’re the invisible ones in the world. It’s not always bad, but it’s hard when you’re trying to find a role model.

Dr. Voth tells his story — both his life story as a transman and his journey annotating this work — through footnotes. Now, I don’t like footnotes in fiction stories. I can barely tolerate them in nonfiction. Footnotes annoy me because they pull me out of the story in the middle of a sentence or paragraph. I can handle footnotes that are one word or a quick sentence, but the ones in this book can be pages long. I think I counted three pages one time. And I hated that. So, not only was I stressed, but I was reading a story told in a way that pulls me out of the story.

It was also hard to read because Jack Sheppard’s story is written in 18th century English. Not easy to read at all, although it was easier to keep track of when there were no footnotes.

This is also a very literary story. Dear Rosenberg is a professor of 18th-century literature and queer/trans theory. That’s what this book is largely about, too. I found it overwhelming because I don’t have any expertise. I actually recommended this book to my friend who studied queer/gender theory because I thought she might get more out of the story than I did. As a layman, it was overwhelming, though. A lot of it went over my head, admittedly.

I also wasn’t crazy about the ending, although how much I liked the message.

And that’s what it comes down to. I love the message but not the carry-out. I want to own the book to reread it at my leisure later, but the message is amazing.

I actually texted myself something I thought of while I was reading the ending. And the ending got me a bit emotional, at least from Dr. Voth’s perspective. Jack’s, I wasn’t crazy about, but I liked what Dr. Voth got out of the story because it was what I thought of.

But, here’s what I texted myself:

We are here. We have always been here. It is you who have denied our existence and our humanity. But we have always been here. We have always been normal.

Throughout history, queer and non-white stories have been suppressed and denied. As a transman, it’s like I’m some “new” and “radical” thing when, really, people AFAB (Assigned Female At Birth) but don’t fit the “normal” gender roles have always been there. I wouldn’t exactly call them transmen, but people who feel more comfortable in male roles have always been around. Same with non-white people.

And that’s what this book is about at its heart. We have always been here. It’s just that the masses have tried ignoring us.

In short, this book was one I thought I would love and give five stars to. But, due to life circumstances, the way the story was told, and the direction the story took, I didn’t love it. However, I think that if you want to read a very affirming ownvoices story about transmen throughout history, I highly suggest it.

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