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A review by brice_mo
Frighten the Horses by Oliver Radclyffe
3.5
Thanks to NetGalley and Roxane Gay Books for the ARC!
Oliver Radclyffe’s Frighten the Horses is a reflective and effective memoir on the author’s journey from cishet-presenting housewife to lesbian to trans man. It’s a complicated story in the simplest of terms, and that is its greatest strength.
Radclyffe resists so many memoirish tropes, avoiding existential drama in favor of experiential detail. He is less concerned with the hand-wringing of becoming a capital-S “Self” and more preoccupied with the handholding people need to be themselves. The book is richly shaded by his excellent ability to depict mundane anxieties—Is the Amazon algorithm going to be overtly queer if he searches for lesbian books? Or, as his parents wonder, Will he be sent to a men’s prison if he’s arrested post-transition?
There are, of course, some complex themes, such as reflections on what it means to be a man—the distinction between violence and strength, and what it means to choose gentleness in the face of that ambiguity. Similarly, Radclyffe’s descriptions of dysphoria are really effective, focusing primarily on simple physicality and the discomfort of phantom limb sensations.
I suspect the writing style found in Frighten the Horses will be divisive. Radclyffe’s prose is characterized by the same kind of solid, workmanlike masculinity that he seeks to embody throughout his life, which makes the writing both approachable and—perhaps to its detriment—unaffected. Gender and sexual identity are often such volatile topics, particularly in memoir, so there’s something entrancing about the author’s pragmatic, almost methodical, journey to understanding himself, even if it precludes dramatic narrative turns.
Most admirably, this is just such a generous book. I think memoirs often depict an untouchable narrator, steamrolling the people around them to discover their truest self, but Radclyffe never does that. He never demonizes anybody, and he’s very compassionate in his understanding of the cost of coming out. For example, he’s forthright about his ex-husband’s cruelty, but he also seems attuned to the insecurities that animate it. Elsewhere, we read some very pointed and painful conversations, but there’s rarely—if ever—a dichotomy between who is “right” and who is “wrong.” Instead, the author gracefully depicts these moments as unfortunate timing—a shame that this is where these lives intersect. So many memoirs fail from a lack of perspective, but Radclyffe brings it in spades.
I have a feeling Frighten the Horses will fly under the radar, but Oliver Radclyffe has written a memoir that will resonate with the readers who find it, and I hope it signals an authorial future filled with many more books.
Oliver Radclyffe’s Frighten the Horses is a reflective and effective memoir on the author’s journey from cishet-presenting housewife to lesbian to trans man. It’s a complicated story in the simplest of terms, and that is its greatest strength.
Radclyffe resists so many memoirish tropes, avoiding existential drama in favor of experiential detail. He is less concerned with the hand-wringing of becoming a capital-S “Self” and more preoccupied with the handholding people need to be themselves. The book is richly shaded by his excellent ability to depict mundane anxieties—Is the Amazon algorithm going to be overtly queer if he searches for lesbian books? Or, as his parents wonder, Will he be sent to a men’s prison if he’s arrested post-transition?
There are, of course, some complex themes, such as reflections on what it means to be a man—the distinction between violence and strength, and what it means to choose gentleness in the face of that ambiguity. Similarly, Radclyffe’s descriptions of dysphoria are really effective, focusing primarily on simple physicality and the discomfort of phantom limb sensations.
I suspect the writing style found in Frighten the Horses will be divisive. Radclyffe’s prose is characterized by the same kind of solid, workmanlike masculinity that he seeks to embody throughout his life, which makes the writing both approachable and—perhaps to its detriment—unaffected. Gender and sexual identity are often such volatile topics, particularly in memoir, so there’s something entrancing about the author’s pragmatic, almost methodical, journey to understanding himself, even if it precludes dramatic narrative turns.
Most admirably, this is just such a generous book. I think memoirs often depict an untouchable narrator, steamrolling the people around them to discover their truest self, but Radclyffe never does that. He never demonizes anybody, and he’s very compassionate in his understanding of the cost of coming out. For example, he’s forthright about his ex-husband’s cruelty, but he also seems attuned to the insecurities that animate it. Elsewhere, we read some very pointed and painful conversations, but there’s rarely—if ever—a dichotomy between who is “right” and who is “wrong.” Instead, the author gracefully depicts these moments as unfortunate timing—a shame that this is where these lives intersect. So many memoirs fail from a lack of perspective, but Radclyffe brings it in spades.
I have a feeling Frighten the Horses will fly under the radar, but Oliver Radclyffe has written a memoir that will resonate with the readers who find it, and I hope it signals an authorial future filled with many more books.