Calliope Helen Stephanides is born in January 1960, in Detroit, to a prosperous Greek-American family. Milton and Tessie are so eager to have a daughter that they perform the necessary act 24 hours prior to ovulation — just as advised in an article in the Scientific American magazine. Calliope spends the initial years of her life as a girl — before being reborn as Cal in 1974. And all this due to some kind of genetic freak called the 5-alpha-reductase deficiency syndrome. As Cal/Calliope, the central character of Middlesex, the novel by Jeffrey Eugenides that has sold most briskly in the year just past, explains: ‘‘My genitals have been the most important things that ever happened to me… Some people inherit houses; others paintings or highly insured violin bows… I got a recessive gene on my fifth chromosome and some very rare family jewels indeed.’’
Middlesex, the Pulitzer Prize winning second novel by Eugenides and coming ten years after his explosive debut The Virgin Suicides, is, then, about hermaphroditism, but this is only one of the themes of this dense and textured tale. It is a quirky and awkward coming of age story, as well as a grand sweeping family saga of the Stephanides as they incestuously create their lineage and move from Turkey to Greece to New York to Detroit. It is that rare thing in these times, a contemporary epic.
As Cal informs us fairly early in the story, her paternal grandparents Lefty and Desdemona were siblings and her parents were second cousins. The narrative travels back to the Greek village of Bithynios where Lefty and Desdemona grow up as brother and sister. They escape the village, a raging fire in Smyrna and get on a boat to New York, where they pretend to be strangers and manage to convince the others and themselves that they are just-met lovers.
Flash forward then to Detroit in the late 1930s where we see their son Milton, the future hot-dog king of suburban America, seduce his cousin Tessie with his clarinet.
And then there is the present. Where Cal, a 41-year-old State Department employee, tries to gather enough courage to explain himself to his new girlfriend, the reclusive Julie.
En route, we meet the vulnerable and intelligent Calliope as she grows up in sixties-seventies Detroit, complete with race riots in which Milton is nearly killed. When Milton asks a coloured neighbour, ‘‘What’s the matter with you people?’’ only to be answered, ‘‘The matter with us is you.’’
During her time at Middlesex, the Stephanides family residence in Grosse Pointe, Detroit, Calliope has to cope with her unusual sexuality. These days are described with kindness, empathy and a rare sense of humour (‘‘I did cramps the way Meryl Streep does accents’’). Though nurtured as a girl for the first 14 years of her life, the discovery of her true identity in a Sexual Orders and Gender Identity Clinic in New York makes Calliope choose nature. And Cal is born as the culmination of this tale of the modern day Tiresias.
Euginedes covers a wide canvas in this big book: he covers the generations with the expertise of an Alex Haley, and handles the complexities of physical and genetic freakishness with the dexterity of John Irving. Fortunately for us, his writing style is better than both Haley and Irving. Middlesex, then, is that rare commodity that brings together family, society and the personal in a heady brew. A sprawling and expansive read that unfolds with languid control as one goes along, it is the kind of book that makes you feel glad that there is lots more of the story to go.