GLR September-October 2025

only because they were caught, institutionalized, or sensation alized. More Butch Heroes , Ria Brodell’s sequel to their 2018 book Butch Heroes , uncovers and memorializes historical gen der-nonconforming figures, affirming that queer and trans lives today are not new but the continuation of a once-hidden legacy. Claiming this lineage is at the heart of Brodell’s project, which began fifteen years ago with a self-portrait of the artist imagined as a 13th-century nun or monk—decidedly butch re gardless of monastic label. The project soon grew into an archive of more than two dozen “butch heroes” that Brodell, who was raised Catholic, subversively transformed into religious icons. The main criterion for inclusion in the first book was that the figures resonated with the artist’s own experience. They sought out people assigned female at birth who had documented rela tionships with women and whose gender presentation was more masculine than feminine. More Butch Heroes adds fifteen new portraits styled as Catholic prayer cards to the deck. More Butch Heroes continues Brodell’s visual storytelling but broadens the first volume’s strict research criteria. The new figures are not well-documented but instead people whose sto ries have survived despite being obscured in the historical record due to racism, sexism, or colonialism. The portraits fea ture Indigenous people, heretics, miners, cross-dressers, artists, singers, parents, thieves, curators, and formerly enslaved peo ple whose names were never recorded. These figures include Gregoria, aka laMacho , who was ar rested in Mexico City in 1796 for the sacrilege of taking Com munion while dressed as a man. They’re depicted mid-crime, smirking over their right shoulder, holding the shining Eucharist aloft in front of a statuette of the Virgin Mary. Their expression is mischievous: the viewer is either meant to be in on the prank or scandalized by their insolence. “Name Unrecorded,” aka Papa, is documented in a brief 1879 newspaper article describ ing “a colored woman here who was raised as a boy,” dressed as a man, and was caring for a small child. Their names are not recorded and their lives are lost to history. The only personal fact shared is particularly intimate: the child called them Papa. In Brodell’s illustration, Papa stands proudly but defensively,

J OHN R. K ILLACKY UNFURL: Survivals, Sorrows, and Dreaming by Eli Clare Duke University Press. 192 pages, $23.95 A vivals, Sorrows, and Dreaming , is a balm amid the Trumpian obliteration of diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives and trans identities. His writing is infused with a passion for social justice. Clare has previously written two books of essays and a col lection of poetry, in addition to being published in dozens of jour nals and anthologies. His award-winning Brilliant Imperfection: Grappling with Cure (2017) challenged the medicalized disabil ity narrative of defective brokenness, and he debunked the ableist “inspiration” porn objectifying people with disabilities through the adept use of historical research, memoir, and poetry. The new book’s journey began eight years ago when Clare was commissioned to write text for a performance by the Ki netic Light disability arts ensemble. In the intervening years, the deaths of family members and friends, along with Covid, affected his work. In 2020 he was awarded an unrestricted grant of $50,000 as a Disability Futures Fellow funded by the Ford and Mellon foundations, which allowed him to concentrate fully on writing for more than a year. Unfurl continues his interweaving of creative nonfiction prose, poetry, memoir, history, and advocacy. Topics are ever shape-shifting: painful flashbacks of childhood abuse inter spersed with dreamscapes engulfed by gorgeous environmental metaphors, as well as erudite critiques of classifications and nomenclature. Resiliency and healing are central to his per spective. Tender ruminations of stumbling strides and crawling across forest floors invite other people with disabilities to break normative strictures and “scoot, slide and crawl” with him. GENDERQUEER PERSON living with cerebral palsy, Eli Clare uses writing as a bully pulpit against trans and disability oppression. His newest book, Unfurl: Sur Francisco’s Mandarin Theater in the background. Eng’s experi ence is almost normalized—she never hid her relationships with women and found success as a Cantonese-language filmmaker and restaurateur in the mid-20th century. Although the stories of these figures are short and some end in punishment, imprisonment, or death, their lives still inspire hope. In their way, these butch martyrs are a miracle: a reminder that despite gaps in the records, we have always existed. More Butch Heroes reminds me of Sappho’s poetry—only fragments of the original lesbian’s writing survived antiquity, but those remnants inspired Oscar Wilde’s aestheticism, Renée Vivien’s romanticism, and generations of queer artists, writers, and his torians. Reading More Butch Heroes , I can only imagine whom Brodell’s work will one day inspire. _________________________________________________________________ Joan Ilacqua is a public historian and executive director of The His tory Project, Boston’s queer community archives. Shape-Shifting Memories

with his hands on his hips and feet planted wide, while the child peeks out from behind his leg. Johnny Williams, a rogu ish Black tomboy born in South Africa around 1930, flashes a cocky smile while wearing a handsomely tai lored blue suit. Though he ap pears confident, his story reveals deep anxiety about his gender—he longed for God’s intervention to “become a whole man,” and feared he would never marry or raise children after his partners dis covered his sex. Esther Eng, aka Brother Ha, smiles widely at the viewer while standing beside her camera with San

Johnny Williams. More Butch Heroes .

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