Raw, honest, and with a thread of wry humour, this memoir deals with an element of the trans experience that is often forgotten: forgiving and integrating your former self. With deep psychological insight and a knack for choosing the perfect life moments to illustrate his journey, the author draws a brutal yet compassionate portrait that moved me to tears.

Went into this book expecting a trans bear memior and got so. much more. As many people, I’ve been reading and researching about isreal and the conflict, and have never read a perspective of a trans person who was raised in that environment. I learned so much and was given some important new perspectives.. This book was so honest and open and makes the reader feel like they know the author authentically.
Wish this books marketing would lean more into the authors upbringing in isreal and his family history, it spoke on so many important current topics that I think are so important for more people to read.

Dr. Avi Ben-Zeev’s memoir, “Calling My Deadname Home”, is an extraordinary and heart wrenching journey through time to reconnect and let go of his former, female self, Talia. Growing up in a working-class family in Israel, Dr. Ben-Zeev only just finished high school, yet now holds a PhD in Cognitive Psychology, an expert in stereotype threat and implicit bias, he is a writer and professor.

This is a beautiful, heart wrenching gift of a book. There are books that enter our life and lodge themselves directly into our heart with their brevity, love, and honesty. This was one of those books. 

“Calling My Deadname Home” is told in three parts - early transition, later transition, and Talia’s story. There is a constant sense that Talia was in constant flight from the imprisonment of her self and her past and only when Avi reconciles this sense of imprisonment and the sacrifice that Talia is safely freed. 

At no point will Avi or Talia sacrifice their authenticity, the driving force within themselves to act in what seems to be a just way. We see this in Talia’s determination to avoid her mandatory service in the IDF. 

Their journey is one that shows us we are not just one aspect of our personality, one traumatic event, or one action we regret. We are all of these things and none of them at the same time as there’s always an opportunity for forgiveness and love. “Calling My Deadname Home” is as unflinchingly honest as its writer as he moves in the world. There are themes of self-loathing, particularly in regard to the sexual assaults of young Talia and the lasting traumas. 

Avi writes with such honesty that Talia’s loss of self and pain is palpable on the page. 

There is sex, some of it kinky, and I feel like straight vanilla folks will view the sex as “graphic” simply because the bodies doing it are not cisgender. There’s no need to clutch any pearls and they’re in fact written a lot better than most and most importantly, it’s between consenting adults. 

Definitely recommend to readers interested in gender studies, trans experience, and the non-Western experience. There are a lot of books in the world about cis white dude’s experience, “Calling My Deadname Home” is the brutally honest opposite of that and I’m better for having read it. We should all listen to more voice’s like Avi’s.

"Calling My Deadname Home" will be published 14 November 2024 by Muswell Press.

Avi's memoir was a very compelling read throughout, it had me feeling many emotions and gave me insight into relationships we have with ourselves and our past.

I have such a hard time rating memoirs but this was absolutely beautiful and important and I would recommend to everyone. It made me laugh, cry and feel an immense amount of compassion for the trans community. Absolutely amazing,

There are four main things that drew me to this memoir: 1) the interesting approach of dealing with one’s past by interacting with them, 2) the mention of pro-Palestinian activism (now more important than ever), 3) the working-class-to-PhD-from-Yale story, and the fact that I hoped that this story would do something that I hadn’t encountered in any of the other trans memoirs I’ve read yet (not that I’ve read all of them. But some, and this is one of the more interesting ones I’ve encountered). And as you can probably tell from my rating this memoir fulfilled all my wishes and more.
It always feels a bit weird to rate a memoir. Those are always personal stories, so my rating is based on if I feel the memoir painted an intriguing picture of a life (it did), if the summary matches what I expected to find inside (again, it did), and whether the writing style worked for me or not. In this case it was immediately clear to me that the author has a very interesting way with words. He is a very talented writer and manages to dig deep, reveal and examine his past and analyze his own though processes without leaving the reader too far outside of it.
I found myself deeply drawn into his story, one that follows his first forays into gay sexuality, both before transitioning and most of it after, before catapulting us (and him) to a family reunion at first in Tel Aviv since he wasn’t allowed to enter Israel as they refused to change his passport and then at his uncles’ birthday. After that we were told about his childhood, growing up in a country and a family that espouses Zionism and militarism as the only means of survival against a dangerous threat from outside and the repercussions of being against that that the author faced. The retelling of his young school years where honestly quite shocking to me. One of my favorite things discussed here was the linguistic aspects as well, since Hebrew is a very gendered language the author spends some time explaining that. He also talked a bit about how Yiddish is devalued in Israel, seen as the language of week diaspora speak. He talks about how he got out of serving in the IDF and then managed to escape to America, finding himself in the last place he could see himself in: Academia.
This memoir made me laugh and it made me cry and it made me feel so happy for Avi for having gotten where he is, while also breaking my heart for Talia. Talking with your past self is something that some trans memoirs do, but rarely does an author delve so deeply into the ways you can hate your past self while still embracingcompassion, because after all, you know and understand why your past self acted in these ways. To me, that was something that rang true, broke my heart and mended it again.
All in all, this is a memoir that dissects a past and then embraces it and if you are trans or if you experienced trauma or if you’re interested in the story of a person who grew up in Israel to disavow Zionism or about the sex life of a gay trans man or if you sometimes think about your past self and think “Damn, you made some fucked up decisions. Now come here and let me hug you.”: I would recommend you read this book!
Some more of my favorite parts of this memoir in no particular order: talking to Lou Sullivan after an HIV-scare, Zionism as a safe word, a short story about fucking your old self and embracing the parts that brought you pain, the fact that this memoir fully embraces sex and erotica as a means of narrating something of import, the discussions of academia and research into the stereotype threat, the bonds of survival and yes, also hatred, we can form with other marginalized people of our own community.

Tw: past csa, incest, internalized victim blaming, rape, sexual harassment, mentions of suicide (as in with your transition you killed my X), non-accepting family, transphobia, institutionalized child abuse, racism (anti-Arab, anti-Palestinian, anti-rroma & sinti language), Zionism, cheating, lynchings, holocaust, health scares, STDs, choking

4.5 stars. Really enjoyed this memoir that had an unusual but very effective structure in that it jumped around timeline wise and was partly written as if it was about the author, a trans man's, pre-transition (i.e. using a deadname and misgendering pronouns). At first I was a little nervous of how this would be done and if it would potentially be upsetting to trans readers who definitely need more memoirs and representation, especially from "elder" trans people, but I don't think it was confusing or disturbing. While this book is a memoir about a trans man, and yes, is as much about Talia (his deadname) as it is Avi, it was also so much more than a trans auto-biorgaphy. It's about family, about found family, about queerness, about culture and childhood and trauma (content warning for SA). I definitely feel like this was a therapeutic book for the author to write and I hope this would translate to others reading it. I also found the chapters about his life growing up in Israel very interesting in light of current devastating events in Palestine.

Thanks to NetGalley for the eARC.

A really interesting, thoughtful narrative, unlike any other memoir I've ever read on the subject of transition (and I've read a few!)

There's a lot to unpack in this one: in particular, I enjoyed the chapters about Talia, and found it interesting that Avi chose to write these chapters in third person (she/her) whereas the rest of the memoir is in first person. It suggests a degree of distance from his past self; Talia haunts the rest of the sections, a spectre of the author's own past, interjecting her thoughts on his recollections and challenging him over his memories of her, but in her own portion of the memoir, she's a very distinct character. I thought this worked well. Talia and Avi are only a hair's breadth apart, but there's always going to be a necessary separation there.

I also found the way that Avi writes about the joys and pitfalls of dating as a gay trans man to be super interesting. I would actually read a whole memoir based on that premise. Some of these chapters felt a little incongruous - there are moments where the narrative breaks off into fairly lengthy sex scenes, which I have no problem with, but which felt a bit gratuitous and perhaps untruthful to the landscape of memory; the author is also an erotica writer, and it shows here.

Thoroughly recommended for its nuanced conversation with what it means to transition away from an identity, and holding space for a plurality of the self.