Norah steals my breath and makes me miss those who feel the same

I just finished the book Self-Made Man by Norah Vincent. It was amazing--both the book and the experience of reading something that had nothing to do with medical school. Norah conducted a social experiment. She spent a year and a half living as a man named Ned. Ned joined a bowling league and a men's support group, visited strip clubs, dated women, spent weeks in a monastery, and worked as a salesman. Norah's writing about these experiences (and her subsequent mental breakdown) is utterly fascinating.

I studied masculinity a bit in college. I had an incredibly patient English professor, Dr. Cynthia Richards, who let me create an independent study course called The Image of the Warrior. I read about masculinity in the context of war, trying to understand what motivated men to fight and die for their countries and queens. It was definitely one of my more interesting academic pursuits.

I was drawn to Norah's book as a way to revisit the subject of masculinity, this time with someone else doing all the work. And, I have to say, her work is incredible. As I read, I was bowled over by her bravery--not the bravery it took to head to the woods for a weekend men's retreat (although that was quite the feat), but the bravery it took to write with such honesty. I am always inspired by people who in talking about experiences can admit to seeing and feeling things they did not expect to see and feel. That is nothing if not brave.

One of my very favorite moments in the book came as Norah was revealing her true identity to a monk with whom Ned had been cloistered. The monk said that he had suspected that Ned was gay. He said, "Well, your mannerisms are pretty effeminate."

Norah, who is generally regarded as a fairly masculine woman, said, "This was rich. As a woman, no one had ever accused me of being effeminate. Here was another of Ned's tricks. Dress as a man, and thereby emphasize the woman. Reveal the truth under the rubric of a lie."

The last line stole my breath. I know that's cliche, but it perfectly describes how I felt as I read it.

At moments like this, I miss the English department of my undergrad years. In those halls, I could find kindred spirits who would understand what it was like to have your breath stolen by someone's writing--what an incredibly delicious feeling that is. I certainly don't have those comrades in medical school. Reading Robbins Pathologic Basis of Disease doesn't provide those moments. And, sadly, medical students are not, generally speaking, the least bit interested in those books that do.

I want to discuss Norah's work--not with uninterested med students, but with her. I looked on the back cover, and it seems the publisher neglected to include her cell phone number. My dad works for the IRS, but always refuses to get people's personal contact information for me, even when I explain that I really just want to meet them for coffee. So...I am resigned to the fact that Norah and I will probably never get together at Starbucks to talk about her writing. Damn.

I also want to discuss the book with a man. I'm interested in his perspective on all of this. There are many things about which I want to ask, "Is that how this feels for you as well?" And this, again, makes me miss college. There, I could have taken this book to another of my favorite professors, Dr. Bob Davis, and said, "Hey, if you get a chance, read this over the weekend. I'll see you during your office hours on Monday to talk about it." He would have laughed at bit at the request, but I have no doubt he would have indulged me.

I'm actually thinking of sending him the book with a note asking him to read it and then get in touch with me so we can discuss.

Now, though, I'm off to continue reading. Up next...Carson McCullers' The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. This is a book that I'm really quite embarrassed to say I've never read. Tomorrow, I won't have to say that.