Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl's Confabulous Memoir

At the conclusion of her “memoir,” the narrator seems to have finally achieved everything she had hoped for and more. She has a handsome boyfriend (who also happens to be trans) and they are planning to live together in a luxurious apartment. She can move beyond her precarious existence on the Street of Miracles and integrate into the City beyond. The narrator initially believes this outcome is what any trans woman who has been marginalized and ostracized should want. She acknowledges, in fact, that she does want it on a deep and visceral level: “I want it so, so bad. So bad I want to put it on a plate and stab it with a fork and stuff it in my mouth and down my throat until I hit that place deep down inside that has never, ever been full” (179).

At the same time, the narrator recognizes that this visceral desire for material comfort and safety may not align with her long-term needs. As she is packing to leave, she questions whether this new life will simply nourish her hunger, or if it will allow her to really experience love. Kimaya reminds her that in the end it comes back to Storytelling as a Means of Identity Building. The narrator must consider the story that she wants for herself, not simply the story that seems to be the best. Kimaya tells the narrator that her current life is “just the story [she was] given,” and cautions her: “You can’t get stuck in that. Don’t get stuck in any one story, not even your own” (179). This advice causes the narrator to reflect more deeply on the story she would like to create for herself.

In the end, the narrator rejects her new life in favor of forging her own path. She is also, therefore, rejecting the aspirational conventions common to the genre of memoir. Rather than adhering to societal expectations about acceptance and upward mobility, the narrator writes her own unique story. Importantly, she explains, “It is not the story of how I ran away from home like a little trans baby princess Cinderella, got rescued by a handsome transgender prince, and vanished happily into the vast palace of the middle class” (185). Although that is the most palatable story, one that would appeal to most audiences, it does not serve the narrator well or help with her own self-actualization. From her perspective, she needs to create a new, alternative story in order to become the best version of herself and, therefore, learn to love others as well as she can. In doing so, the narrator calls into question the very purpose of the memoir genre, particularly with regard to its reliance on hope and truth. Indeed, the narrator’s storytelling in the final section of the novel showcases the tension between what is “real” and what is fiction, asking whether the distinction really matters. As she explains to her sister in her final letter, “[M]aybe what really matters isn’t whether something is true or false, maybe what matters is the story itself: what kind of doors it opens, what kind of dreams it brings” (187). It is more significant for the narrator that the story she shares provides meaning for other trans women and girls, pushing them to consider other possibilities for their lives than what society has presented to them. As Kimaya suggests, she wants her story to take her, and others in her community, somewhere completely new.

The narrator’s departure from societal norms, and her move toward independence, is symbolized in the final letter to her sister. In it, she gifts her sister the pocketknife that she carried with her during her entire adventure in the City of Smoke and Lights. Through this act, she acknowledges the significance of her knife even as she lets it go. It protected her and others, while also signifying the hurt and trauma she has been carrying with her. By passing it on to her sister, she is freeing the knife from the burden of this meaning. She is also allowing it to help another girl became more independent and more “dangerous” and to create her own story.