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Trombita
Hetvenéves korában meghal Joss Moody, a világhírű dzsessztrombitás. Ekkor derül csak ki, hogy a szerető férj, a gondos apa valójában nő volt. Jackie Kay könyve nem botránykrónika. Csak egy dísztelen, mégis szívhez szóló prózavers. Egységes, mégis kemény könyv. Szeretetről. Gyöngédségről. Hűségről. Önazonosságról. Toleranciáról. Gyermek és szülő viszonyáról. Igaz és hamis barátságról. És sírig tartó hitvestársi kapcsolatról. S közben a háttérben szól a trombita és szól a dzsessz.
262 pages, Paperback
First published August 21, 1998
181 people are currently reading
7453 people want to read
About the author
Jackie Kay
105 books434 followersBorn in Glasgow in 1961 to a Scottish mother and a Nigerian father, Kay was adopted by a white couple, Helen and John Kay, as a baby. Brought up in Bishopbriggs, a Glasgow suburb, she has an older adopted brother, Maxwell as well as siblings by her adoptive parents.
Kay's adoptive father worked full-time for the Communist Party and stood for election as a Member of Parliament, and her adoptive mother was the secretary of the Scottish Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND).
Initially harbouring ambitions to be an actress, she decided to concentrate on writing after encouragement by Alasdair Gray. She studied English at the University of Stirling and her first book of poetry, the partially autobiographical The Adoption Papers, was published in 1991, and won the Saltire Society Scottish First Book Award. Her other awards include the 1994 Somerset Maugham Award for Other Lovers, and the Guardian Fiction Prize for Trumpet, based on the life of American jazz musician Billy Tipton, born Dorothy Tipton, who lived as a man for the last fifty years of her life.
Kay writes extensively stage, screen, and for children. In 2010 she published Red Dust Road, an account of her search for her birth parents, a white Scottish woman, and a Nigerian man. Her birth parents met when her father was a student at Aberdeen University and her mother was a nurse. Her drama The Lamplighter is an exploration of the Atlantic slave trade. It was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 in March 2007 and published in poem form in 2008.
Jackie Kay became a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) on 17 June 2006. She is currently Professor of Creative Writing at Newcastle University. Kay lives in Manchester.
Jackie Kay was born and brought up in Scotland. THE ADOPTION PAPERS (Bloodaxe, 1991) won the Forward Prize, a Saltire prize and a Scottish Arts Council Prize. DARLING was a poetry book society choice. FIERE, her most recent collection of poems was shortlisted for the COSTA award. Her novel TRUMPET won the Guardian Fiction Award and was shortlisted for the IMPAC award. RED DUST ROAD, (Picador) won the Scottish Book of the Year Award, was shortlisted for the JR ACKERLEY prize and the LONDON BOOK AWARD. She was awarded an MBE in 2006, and made a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 2002. Her book of stories WISH I WAS HERE won the Decibel British Book Award.
She also writes for children and her book RED CHERRY RED (Bloomsbury) won the CLYPE award. She has written extensively for stage and television. Her play MANCHESTER LINES produced by Manchester Library Theatre was on this year in Manchester. Her new book of short stories REALITY, REALITY was recently published by Picador. She is Professor of Creative Writing at Newcastle University.
Kay's adoptive father worked full-time for the Communist Party and stood for election as a Member of Parliament, and her adoptive mother was the secretary of the Scottish Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND).
Initially harbouring ambitions to be an actress, she decided to concentrate on writing after encouragement by Alasdair Gray. She studied English at the University of Stirling and her first book of poetry, the partially autobiographical The Adoption Papers, was published in 1991, and won the Saltire Society Scottish First Book Award. Her other awards include the 1994 Somerset Maugham Award for Other Lovers, and the Guardian Fiction Prize for Trumpet, based on the life of American jazz musician Billy Tipton, born Dorothy Tipton, who lived as a man for the last fifty years of her life.
Kay writes extensively stage, screen, and for children. In 2010 she published Red Dust Road, an account of her search for her birth parents, a white Scottish woman, and a Nigerian man. Her birth parents met when her father was a student at Aberdeen University and her mother was a nurse. Her drama The Lamplighter is an exploration of the Atlantic slave trade. It was broadcast on BBC Radio 3 in March 2007 and published in poem form in 2008.
Jackie Kay became a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) on 17 June 2006. She is currently Professor of Creative Writing at Newcastle University. Kay lives in Manchester.
Jackie Kay was born and brought up in Scotland. THE ADOPTION PAPERS (Bloodaxe, 1991) won the Forward Prize, a Saltire prize and a Scottish Arts Council Prize. DARLING was a poetry book society choice. FIERE, her most recent collection of poems was shortlisted for the COSTA award. Her novel TRUMPET won the Guardian Fiction Award and was shortlisted for the IMPAC award. RED DUST ROAD, (Picador) won the Scottish Book of the Year Award, was shortlisted for the JR ACKERLEY prize and the LONDON BOOK AWARD. She was awarded an MBE in 2006, and made a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in 2002. Her book of stories WISH I WAS HERE won the Decibel British Book Award.
She also writes for children and her book RED CHERRY RED (Bloomsbury) won the CLYPE award. She has written extensively for stage and television. Her play MANCHESTER LINES produced by Manchester Library Theatre was on this year in Manchester. Her new book of short stories REALITY, REALITY was recently published by Picador. She is Professor of Creative Writing at Newcastle University.
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December 26, 2015
"When the love of your life dies, the problem is not that some part of you dies too, which it does, but that some part of you is still alive."
What makes up identity?
Is it your family?
You accent?
Where you're born?
Where you're raised?
Is it what you do?
Is it how you do it?
Is it the clothes you wear?
Is it your age?
Is your gender?
Is it who you fall in love with?
Is it who you respect?
Trumpet is a beautiful investigation into the question of how people derive a sense of identity under circumstances which seem to strip the members of the Moody family of all of the certainties they may have once held to be indestructible.
Jackie Kay wrote this poetic novel around Joss Moody, a fictional jazz musician, whose death leaves his family at a loss after a lifetime of constructing their own image of themselves in relation to Joss, their respective husband and father.
More than that, Kay beautifully describes how their grieving process helps them to figure out who they are.
"I was a traditional boy in an untraditional house. I was always going about the place freaked out and embarrassed. My parents were not like other people’s parents. Whenever they came to my school they stuck out like a sore thumb. I don’t know what it was. A different life makes people look different. Even their skin. Their clothes were more glamorous. They didn’t look like they worked a nine to five. I wanted parents that looked like they worked a nine to five. It was bad enough with all that jazz never mind this. My life was unconventional. A lot of my childhood was spent on the road. Touring. Place to fucking place. I’d have been happier at home watching Star Trek with a bowl of cornflakes. Too much, it was. All that razzamatazz. Other kids envied me and I envied other kids. That’s it."
What makes up identity?
Is it your family?
You accent?
Where you're born?
Where you're raised?
Is it what you do?
Is it how you do it?
Is it the clothes you wear?
Is it your age?
Is your gender?
Is it who you fall in love with?
Is it who you respect?
Trumpet is a beautiful investigation into the question of how people derive a sense of identity under circumstances which seem to strip the members of the Moody family of all of the certainties they may have once held to be indestructible.
Jackie Kay wrote this poetic novel around Joss Moody, a fictional jazz musician, whose death leaves his family at a loss after a lifetime of constructing their own image of themselves in relation to Joss, their respective husband and father.
More than that, Kay beautifully describes how their grieving process helps them to figure out who they are.
"I was a traditional boy in an untraditional house. I was always going about the place freaked out and embarrassed. My parents were not like other people’s parents. Whenever they came to my school they stuck out like a sore thumb. I don’t know what it was. A different life makes people look different. Even their skin. Their clothes were more glamorous. They didn’t look like they worked a nine to five. I wanted parents that looked like they worked a nine to five. It was bad enough with all that jazz never mind this. My life was unconventional. A lot of my childhood was spent on the road. Touring. Place to fucking place. I’d have been happier at home watching Star Trek with a bowl of cornflakes. Too much, it was. All that razzamatazz. Other kids envied me and I envied other kids. That’s it."
December 3, 2019
This isn’t a spoiler, it’s the premise, so, excitable ones, settle: famous trumpet player Joss Moody dies – and everyone discovers all this time HE’S really a SHE called Josephine Moore whaaaat!!!
Yeah, whatever.
Jackie Kay’s immensely tedious novel Trumpet is about gender and other lofty and utterly dreary things. It wasn’t published all that long ago – 1998 – but its central conceit of the shock of discovering that someone lived their life as someone of the opposite sex doesn’t seem at all shocking today in the age of 23989 genders, Caitlyn Jenner, etc. Every time a character expressed surprise that Joss Moody was a girl, I kept thinking “So. What.”
There’s a feeble attempt at a story – the journo Sophie wants to write a salacious potential bestseller on Moody and is using Joss’ adopted son Colman as her way of gathering information – but the lack of a plot is fine as this is meant to be a character study. Or something – I guess? But it’s not a terribly good study of any character.
The titular character’s motivations for changing sex aren’t exactly clear beyond the obvious: she was gay at a time when you couldn’t openly be that way so she chose to wear a disguise. The other characters are a dull bunch: the one-dimensional wife Millie, the spoilt brat of a brainless son Colman, the money-hungry Sophie, Joss’ doting old ma Edith – none are the least bit compelling to read about nor display any characteristics to stand out.
Colman has a predictable and very small arc (anger then acceptance) while most everyone putters about repeating their surprise that Joss Moody was a woman, over and bloody over again – it’s such a boring and pointless book! Here’s what I learned from the characters’ reactions upon discovering someone they thought they knew well was a different gender: they were surprised. What an imaginative take. Colour me unsurprised that a prize-winning, blatantly Literary novel turned out to be utterly overrated tripe!
Yeah, whatever.
Jackie Kay’s immensely tedious novel Trumpet is about gender and other lofty and utterly dreary things. It wasn’t published all that long ago – 1998 – but its central conceit of the shock of discovering that someone lived their life as someone of the opposite sex doesn’t seem at all shocking today in the age of 23989 genders, Caitlyn Jenner, etc. Every time a character expressed surprise that Joss Moody was a girl, I kept thinking “So. What.”
There’s a feeble attempt at a story – the journo Sophie wants to write a salacious potential bestseller on Moody and is using Joss’ adopted son Colman as her way of gathering information – but the lack of a plot is fine as this is meant to be a character study. Or something – I guess? But it’s not a terribly good study of any character.
The titular character’s motivations for changing sex aren’t exactly clear beyond the obvious: she was gay at a time when you couldn’t openly be that way so she chose to wear a disguise. The other characters are a dull bunch: the one-dimensional wife Millie, the spoilt brat of a brainless son Colman, the money-hungry Sophie, Joss’ doting old ma Edith – none are the least bit compelling to read about nor display any characteristics to stand out.
Colman has a predictable and very small arc (anger then acceptance) while most everyone putters about repeating their surprise that Joss Moody was a woman, over and bloody over again – it’s such a boring and pointless book! Here’s what I learned from the characters’ reactions upon discovering someone they thought they knew well was a different gender: they were surprised. What an imaginative take. Colour me unsurprised that a prize-winning, blatantly Literary novel turned out to be utterly overrated tripe!
April 25, 2011
this is the story of joss moody, a fictional trumpet player with a west indian father and a white scottish mother; the story is inspired by billy tipton, a real-life sax and piano player. in fact, there are no similarities between these two men except for the fact that they both were prominent jazz musicians and both were biological women who lived as men.
the element of race is so important in Trumpet -- as important, really, as the element of gender -- that billy tipton, who was white, seems barely more than an inspiration. jackie kay fashions a new story entirely and her story plays deftly and lyrically with the issue of joss's identity -- an identity that is simultaneously very strong and very tortured -- and other people's perception of it after his death. there is no doubt that joss perceives himself as a man, just as there is no doubt that everyone perceives him as a man too, even when his biological femaleness is revealed upon his death. for some reason (this is something it would be interesting to discuss) his wife is less than protective of dead joss's masculinity and lets the doctor and the undertaker examine him alone. inevitably, the story gets out.
there is a lovely passage in which millie describes helping joss dress in the morning. as she carefully wraps and pins his bindings around his chest, she observes that she never touched his breasts. when joss inserts a pair of socks in his boxers, she delicately averts her gaze. on his part, joss dresses heavily, with two t-shirts over his bindings and a shirt and jacket on top. he's always dressed to the nines, very elegantly and formally, even in the hottest weather and the most casual circumstances. this is no problem for joss and millie, not something they discuss. another couple might choose to have endless conversations about this; this couple chooses not to. this is interesting too.
so in a way joss's masculinity is entirely unproblematic: he is simply a guy and there is nothing to talk about. in other ways, though -- in the ways in which this masculinity is relentlessly, physically constructed each morning and each night, by himself and his wife, and then carefully tended to by both through a lifelong system of deception, it's a huge problem.
unlike billy tipton, joss dies of heart attack (or so it's implied). bound under tight bandages of all kinds, his heart gives out.
the book is narrated by a number of voices, each given one or more chapters. the lion's share is given to colman, joss's and millie's adopted-at-birth son. colman's profound love for his father is seriously shaken by the discovery of his betrayal, but, as i said, this goes farther than gender. race permeates the novel in ways more subtle than gender but still very profound. both joss and colman have white mothers (colman's is of course adoptive); both, as it turns out, have little knowledge of their fathers. the racial lineage of these two men is confused, hidden, and broken: joss's father died when he was young and joss refuses to discuss him; colman's adoptive father, joss, is a famous man whom his son cannot but see as an idol. idols are hard to live with and colman is faced by his own inability to live up to his idea of his father every step of the way.
in the fact that joss's father is not present -- even in stories -- and colman's father is not a biological father in more senses than one lies the burden of these two black men. their black masculinity is literally orphaned. each one of them has to fashion it on his own, any way he can.
colman's rage and hurt are depicted beautifully, as are millie's simple and profound love for joss and her deep mourning. but the secondary characters are beautiful too. in particular i loved the undertaker and, in the last part of the novel, one of joss's childhood friend. her chapter is a real treat.
the element of race is so important in Trumpet -- as important, really, as the element of gender -- that billy tipton, who was white, seems barely more than an inspiration. jackie kay fashions a new story entirely and her story plays deftly and lyrically with the issue of joss's identity -- an identity that is simultaneously very strong and very tortured -- and other people's perception of it after his death. there is no doubt that joss perceives himself as a man, just as there is no doubt that everyone perceives him as a man too, even when his biological femaleness is revealed upon his death. for some reason (this is something it would be interesting to discuss) his wife is less than protective of dead joss's masculinity and lets the doctor and the undertaker examine him alone. inevitably, the story gets out.
there is a lovely passage in which millie describes helping joss dress in the morning. as she carefully wraps and pins his bindings around his chest, she observes that she never touched his breasts. when joss inserts a pair of socks in his boxers, she delicately averts her gaze. on his part, joss dresses heavily, with two t-shirts over his bindings and a shirt and jacket on top. he's always dressed to the nines, very elegantly and formally, even in the hottest weather and the most casual circumstances. this is no problem for joss and millie, not something they discuss. another couple might choose to have endless conversations about this; this couple chooses not to. this is interesting too.
so in a way joss's masculinity is entirely unproblematic: he is simply a guy and there is nothing to talk about. in other ways, though -- in the ways in which this masculinity is relentlessly, physically constructed each morning and each night, by himself and his wife, and then carefully tended to by both through a lifelong system of deception, it's a huge problem.
unlike billy tipton, joss dies of heart attack (or so it's implied). bound under tight bandages of all kinds, his heart gives out.
the book is narrated by a number of voices, each given one or more chapters. the lion's share is given to colman, joss's and millie's adopted-at-birth son. colman's profound love for his father is seriously shaken by the discovery of his betrayal, but, as i said, this goes farther than gender. race permeates the novel in ways more subtle than gender but still very profound. both joss and colman have white mothers (colman's is of course adoptive); both, as it turns out, have little knowledge of their fathers. the racial lineage of these two men is confused, hidden, and broken: joss's father died when he was young and joss refuses to discuss him; colman's adoptive father, joss, is a famous man whom his son cannot but see as an idol. idols are hard to live with and colman is faced by his own inability to live up to his idea of his father every step of the way.
in the fact that joss's father is not present -- even in stories -- and colman's father is not a biological father in more senses than one lies the burden of these two black men. their black masculinity is literally orphaned. each one of them has to fashion it on his own, any way he can.
colman's rage and hurt are depicted beautifully, as are millie's simple and profound love for joss and her deep mourning. but the secondary characters are beautiful too. in particular i loved the undertaker and, in the last part of the novel, one of joss's childhood friend. her chapter is a real treat.
December 31, 2019
خيالات عالم الجاز لا حدود لها ومن يقع في أسر هذه الآلة عزفا أو سماعا سوف يتفهم المغزى بشكل أوضح ... هذه الرواية استثنائية في عوالمها فهي آسرة بخيالات الحب والنستولوجيا والتضحية في سرد بوهيمي لا قرار له الا تلك الهالة التي سوف تحوم حول قارئها بما تتخلله من وقائع صادمة وشفافية أظهرت فيها الكاتبة الاسكتلندية براعة وحنكة...نص جميل
July 30, 2010
How in God's name I have missed this book is amazing. I devoured it in 2 days. I am not usually a fan of people who write like poets but I have to say Jackie Kay's trumpet is a very well written book. When I first heard of this book, I though that I would be reading about how Joss Moody decided to become a man, how he managed to pull it off, the challanges he might have met along the way. But NO, this book is a whole lot bigger than that.
This book is all about love. How you can love someone so much that whether they change sex, you still love them for who they are. It is about how it feels to lose the love of your life. Don't be mistaken into beliving it is just about a transvestite, it is about 2 people who love each other, the loss that is felt when you lose the love of your life.
Jackie Kay did a brillant job capturing the emotion of young Colman. I enjoyed reading his part and discovering at the end that despite his father and mother deceiving him, he still loved his father very much. That was extremely touching.
Overall I would highly recommend this book, it is beautiful pageturner with a steady moving plot.
This book is all about love. How you can love someone so much that whether they change sex, you still love them for who they are. It is about how it feels to lose the love of your life. Don't be mistaken into beliving it is just about a transvestite, it is about 2 people who love each other, the loss that is felt when you lose the love of your life.
Jackie Kay did a brillant job capturing the emotion of young Colman. I enjoyed reading his part and discovering at the end that despite his father and mother deceiving him, he still loved his father very much. That was extremely touching.
Overall I would highly recommend this book, it is beautiful pageturner with a steady moving plot.
August 29, 2016
Trumpet is the August pick for the Banging Book Club, an online, tweet-fuelled read of books about sex and sexuality hosted by Hannah Witton, Leena Norms, and Lucy Moon. This is a nice change of pace after a few months of non-fiction books. All of the fiction books so far have been excellent but in such different ways. The two previous novels (Asking For It and All the Rage) had similar topics but very different narrative and thematic approaches; each broke my heart, though. Trumpet is quite different in both topic and tone. It is Jackie Kay’s only novel, and her reputation for her poetry is understandable given the lyrical lilt of Trumpet. This is a complex and moving book, not so much outraging or heartwrenching as the other two Banging Book Club novels, but certainly just as emotional. Trigger warning, for the book and this review, with regards to transphobia and transphobic language. I can’t speak for how trans people will react to reading this; I think this book is a very interesting and eye-opening read for cisgender people who might not otherwise have questioned how they talk about and think about trans people, especially trans people who get “outed”.
I love the different perspectives in this. It’s so easy to write one-dimensional characters, especially when dealing with hatred like transphobia. Kay’s depiction is much more nuanced, balancing the influence of society with each character’s personality. Many characters who don’t interact with Joss directly or know him personally treat the revelation that he is transgender as an anomaly in their otherwise orderly life: the doctor has to correct a death certificate; the undertaker ponders how he could have mistaken the body for male; the registrar laments the ugliness of the corrected certificate but ultimately takes pity on Millie and enters “Joss Moody” in the register rather than his birth name.
Trumpet is not a book of grandstanding, of intense dialogues and Picard speeches for or against trans rights. Yes, there are moments of confrontation, of accusation, of recrimination. By and large, though, this is a book of reflection and rumination. The moments in here are small and unguarded and therefore they seem much more honest. Take, for example, the undertaker’s reaction:
I can understand his reaction. I imagine undertakers have a very interesting relationship with the nature of our embodiment. Kay captures some of this in her portrayal of him and his meditation on who people were before they come to him and how their personalities may or may not change after death. Confronted with the shell of Joss Moody, the undertaker has no understanding of who he was as a living person. He has only the physical archaeology to go on here. This is a deft way of commenting on the delicate balances that inform our identities. Biology may not determine or identities, gender or otherwise, but it certainly informs our behaviours and those of the people around us. Stripped of any other context, Joss’ biology is the only frame of reference the undertaker has.
The above quotation, and the undertaker’s chapter in general, also made me stop and think about the out-sized significance we place on gender performance and sex determination in our society. When you get right down to it, how often is your sex really an important factor in any given situation? So many forms, governmental or otherwise, want you to tick “M” or “F” so that they can crunch statistics and make assumptions about you. But humans are so diverse and so good at breaking out of boxes. Even in situations where it seems like biology should matter, there are better ways to take biology into account: when giving X-rays, perhaps “are you capable of getting pregnant?” rather than “are you a woman?” or “do you have testes?” when discussing testicular cancer awareness. Beyond mostly medical situations, though, a person’s sex should be largely irrelevant to how they move through the world. The fact that it isn’t, that we put so much emphasis on determining someone’s sex and remarking on when their sex doesn’t correspond with how they perform gender, is a shame.
The main characters reinforce and echo this, and their own relationships with their sex and gender colours their interpretations of Joss. Millie as a young woman struck me as being so confident in her own sexuality:
It’s 1955 and she is forward and forthright and knows what she wants and that she looks good. I love it. And she so clearly loves Joss; it’s her level of self-possession that allows her to discard immediately the shock of Joss’ revelation and declare that it is a non-issue.
In contrast, Sophie’s obsession with Joss is far more voyeuristic; she serves as an avatar for the prurient curiosity we are now all familiar with thanks to social media (but this is 1997 so the web is a very different place):
Kay really captures the ignorance here: the idea that an event or series of events “turns” someone trans, similar to the idea that people get “turned” gay; the use of words like pretending to show that Sophie views Joss’ gender identity as a sham; the use of such loaded words like tranny and perv; and the idea that Joss has to “pull it off” as if being trans is some kind of magic trick.
I find Sophie so interesting because she seems like she should be a one-dimensional character: she is shallow, amoral, caring only about the potential for profit and reputation from her collaboration with Colman. Yet she isn’t one-dimensional. Kay is careful to explore the motives that have made Sophie this way, from her inferiority complex in relation to her slimmer, more competent sister to her obsession with how people see her. The paragraph I quoted above ends with this:
Yes, Sophie is narrating and talking about herself in the third person here. That’s the type of person she is. She is self-absorbed and offensive, but she is as much a product of our society as anyone else. When she thinks about how she is just using Colman to make a name for herself, she says:
So in Sophie Kay gives us an example of a woman who “leans in” and thinks the best way to get ahead is to internalize the oppressiveness of the patriarchy. This is so sad yet entirely understandable, and it makes Sophie a sympathetic if, at times, annoying antagonist. Colman is absolutely right when he belatedly declares, “You wouldn’t know a moral if it slapped you in the face”. While Sophie’s stance towards Joss is transphobic, it’s a casual kind of transphobia born more of apathy than hatred. This is important, because this transphobia is more pernicious and probably more common than people who are openly out and about slurring trans people and committing hate crimes. It’s haters who launch the bathroom bills, but it’s the apathy that gets them passed.
And then we come to Colman. I want to call him my favourite character, but I feel like I’ve said that, maybe not in so many words, for Millie and Sophie. The character game in this book is just so strong, people! Anyway, in the beginning it seems like Colman is going to be a huge jackass. And it turns out … he really is a huge jackass. But he’s a huge jackass who loves his father. In particular, he continues to use masculine pronouns when referring to Joss, even going so far as to correct Sophie when she uses feminine pronouns. His attitude towards Joss is very proprietary and becomes even more so as the book progresses.
The rift between Colman and his father, it should be noted, existed prior to Joss’ death and is far more complicated than the fact that Joss was performing gender as a man. Colman, like most of us, is a complex bundle of issues: he is adopted, he is Black, he is nominally Scottish but doesn’t feel Scottish, etc. He has memories of his father that are variously happy, sad, and awkward, and if any of the latter were influenced by Joss being trans, none of the experiences are so strange that they wouldn’t happen with a cis father. Kay reminds us that there is seldom any one reason for the way we feel about or remember someone.
It’s not just what Trumpet includes that makes it so interesting as what Kay omits. We don’t get as complete an ending as one might like—in particular, I’m sure I’m not alone in yearning for that reconciliation scene between Colman and Millie, and I respect the hell out of Kay for denying us that easy resolution in favour of making us imagine it. We don’t learn exactly what transpires between Colman and Edith. And while Joss Moody is unquestionably the central character of this book, he remains in many ways a cipher. Although we do hear a little from him, thanks to flashbacks and letters posthumously read, for the most part he does not have a voice except through the reminiscences of the other characters. Trumpet, in this sense, is not so much about Joss’ experience as a biracial, trans musician as it is about other people’s grief and attempt to process the news that he was trans. This last part is obviously important; however, let’s not ignore the book’s wider themes on the difficulty of truly knowing someone and the fact that even after they are gone, your relationship with them goes on.
I love the different perspectives in this. It’s so easy to write one-dimensional characters, especially when dealing with hatred like transphobia. Kay’s depiction is much more nuanced, balancing the influence of society with each character’s personality. Many characters who don’t interact with Joss directly or know him personally treat the revelation that he is transgender as an anomaly in their otherwise orderly life: the doctor has to correct a death certificate; the undertaker ponders how he could have mistaken the body for male; the registrar laments the ugliness of the corrected certificate but ultimately takes pity on Millie and enters “Joss Moody” in the register rather than his birth name.
Trumpet is not a book of grandstanding, of intense dialogues and Picard speeches for or against trans rights. Yes, there are moments of confrontation, of accusation, of recrimination. By and large, though, this is a book of reflection and rumination. The moments in here are small and unguarded and therefore they seem much more honest. Take, for example, the undertaker’s reaction:
It had never happened to him before. He had never had a man turn into a woman before his very eyes. He felt it to be one of those defining moments in his life that he would be compelled to return to again and again.
I can understand his reaction. I imagine undertakers have a very interesting relationship with the nature of our embodiment. Kay captures some of this in her portrayal of him and his meditation on who people were before they come to him and how their personalities may or may not change after death. Confronted with the shell of Joss Moody, the undertaker has no understanding of who he was as a living person. He has only the physical archaeology to go on here. This is a deft way of commenting on the delicate balances that inform our identities. Biology may not determine or identities, gender or otherwise, but it certainly informs our behaviours and those of the people around us. Stripped of any other context, Joss’ biology is the only frame of reference the undertaker has.
The above quotation, and the undertaker’s chapter in general, also made me stop and think about the out-sized significance we place on gender performance and sex determination in our society. When you get right down to it, how often is your sex really an important factor in any given situation? So many forms, governmental or otherwise, want you to tick “M” or “F” so that they can crunch statistics and make assumptions about you. But humans are so diverse and so good at breaking out of boxes. Even in situations where it seems like biology should matter, there are better ways to take biology into account: when giving X-rays, perhaps “are you capable of getting pregnant?” rather than “are you a woman?” or “do you have testes?” when discussing testicular cancer awareness. Beyond mostly medical situations, though, a person’s sex should be largely irrelevant to how they move through the world. The fact that it isn’t, that we put so much emphasis on determining someone’s sex and remarking on when their sex doesn’t correspond with how they perform gender, is a shame.
The main characters reinforce and echo this, and their own relationships with their sex and gender colours their interpretations of Joss. Millie as a young woman struck me as being so confident in her own sexuality:
I have on a pale green slinky dress…. My dress shows my cleavage. I look sexy and my four brothers and Joss are all staring at me with similar expressions in their eyes.
It’s 1955 and she is forward and forthright and knows what she wants and that she looks good. I love it. And she so clearly loves Joss; it’s her level of self-possession that allows her to discard immediately the shock of Joss’ revelation and declare that it is a non-issue.
In contrast, Sophie’s obsession with Joss is far more voyeuristic; she serves as an avatar for the prurient curiosity we are now all familiar with thanks to social media (but this is 1997 so the web is a very different place):
What I want Colman Moody to find out is this: what made Joss Moody into a transvestite? What was the real reason for pretending she was a man? She is different, I’m quite sure, from other transvestites. Joss Moody only returned to being a woman in death. The rest of the time she dressed like a man, lived her life as a man, her own son believed her to be a man. No, this isn’t a straightforward tranny…. Was she just a perv or what? Which came first? What’s the story? How did she manage to pull it off?
Kay really captures the ignorance here: the idea that an event or series of events “turns” someone trans, similar to the idea that people get “turned” gay; the use of words like pretending to show that Sophie views Joss’ gender identity as a sham; the use of such loaded words like tranny and perv; and the idea that Joss has to “pull it off” as if being trans is some kind of magic trick.
I find Sophie so interesting because she seems like she should be a one-dimensional character: she is shallow, amoral, caring only about the potential for profit and reputation from her collaboration with Colman. Yet she isn’t one-dimensional. Kay is careful to explore the motives that have made Sophie this way, from her inferiority complex in relation to her slimmer, more competent sister to her obsession with how people see her. The paragraph I quoted above ends with this:
I look at Sophie in the mirror. I pull my hair up and put some pins in. I look clever with myhair up. I knew I had it in me. Clever Sophie.
Yes, Sophie is narrating and talking about herself in the third person here. That’s the type of person she is. She is self-absorbed and offensive, but she is as much a product of our society as anyone else. When she thinks about how she is just using Colman to make a name for herself, she says:
Why should I have scruples when men have been using me for years? As long as it takes to make good copy. He’s playing the same game, isn’t he?
So in Sophie Kay gives us an example of a woman who “leans in” and thinks the best way to get ahead is to internalize the oppressiveness of the patriarchy. This is so sad yet entirely understandable, and it makes Sophie a sympathetic if, at times, annoying antagonist. Colman is absolutely right when he belatedly declares, “You wouldn’t know a moral if it slapped you in the face”. While Sophie’s stance towards Joss is transphobic, it’s a casual kind of transphobia born more of apathy than hatred. This is important, because this transphobia is more pernicious and probably more common than people who are openly out and about slurring trans people and committing hate crimes. It’s haters who launch the bathroom bills, but it’s the apathy that gets them passed.
And then we come to Colman. I want to call him my favourite character, but I feel like I’ve said that, maybe not in so many words, for Millie and Sophie. The character game in this book is just so strong, people! Anyway, in the beginning it seems like Colman is going to be a huge jackass. And it turns out … he really is a huge jackass. But he’s a huge jackass who loves his father. In particular, he continues to use masculine pronouns when referring to Joss, even going so far as to correct Sophie when she uses feminine pronouns. His attitude towards Joss is very proprietary and becomes even more so as the book progresses.
The rift between Colman and his father, it should be noted, existed prior to Joss’ death and is far more complicated than the fact that Joss was performing gender as a man. Colman, like most of us, is a complex bundle of issues: he is adopted, he is Black, he is nominally Scottish but doesn’t feel Scottish, etc. He has memories of his father that are variously happy, sad, and awkward, and if any of the latter were influenced by Joss being trans, none of the experiences are so strange that they wouldn’t happen with a cis father. Kay reminds us that there is seldom any one reason for the way we feel about or remember someone.
It’s not just what Trumpet includes that makes it so interesting as what Kay omits. We don’t get as complete an ending as one might like—in particular, I’m sure I’m not alone in yearning for that reconciliation scene between Colman and Millie, and I respect the hell out of Kay for denying us that easy resolution in favour of making us imagine it. We don’t learn exactly what transpires between Colman and Edith. And while Joss Moody is unquestionably the central character of this book, he remains in many ways a cipher. Although we do hear a little from him, thanks to flashbacks and letters posthumously read, for the most part he does not have a voice except through the reminiscences of the other characters. Trumpet, in this sense, is not so much about Joss’ experience as a biracial, trans musician as it is about other people’s grief and attempt to process the news that he was trans. This last part is obviously important; however, let’s not ignore the book’s wider themes on the difficulty of truly knowing someone and the fact that even after they are gone, your relationship with them goes on.
February 13, 2014
Thank fuck that's done. Not because it was bad - the opposite - because it was unrelenting, heart-breaking and brutal. Reading it's like being in a car crash, with you going through the windscreen in the first few chapters and the rest just the grind of the miles of asphalt against your face as you're carried forward by your own momentum.
This book is about the revelation after his death that Joss Moody was a trans man, given the name at birth of Josephine Moore. The book focuses largely on the massive transphobic reaction that this revelation meets with in the press and from his son, while Joss's widow Millie struggles to survive overwhelming feelings of grief and loss in isolation in a small Scottish village.
I found this book almost unbearable. The unrelenting transphobia this book portrays made my blood fucking boil. Maybe in a world where such a thing is a sad relic of a distant past reading this book might be bearable. Might be enjoyable. But not in this world where Lucy Meadows was hounded to her death by shit-eating tabloid hacks (may they burn in Hell). Not here, not now. This book is almost 15 years old. And the horror of how little has changed in how trans people are treated is sickening. Every time Joss was referred to as "she", as "pretending", it just set my teeth on edge and made me feel sick. How fucking hard is it? His name was Joss, if he wanted you to call him Josephine, he would have told you to call him Josephine, he would have given that as his name. If he wanted you to refer to him as "her" or "she", he would have mentioned it in his nearly-70-odd years of life. He didn't so don't. It's not hard. There's no giant book of political correctness you have to consult. It's basic fucking manners. The same courtesy you'd extend to anyone. If someone doesn't like what you're calling them, and you don't actually want to be a dick, you stop. Basic playground ethics, people. How fucking hard is that?
I'm not trans, I'm cis, but as a woman it was so depressingly and identifiably awful in watching it play out - we have found a fanny therefore all else is invalid. It doesn't matter who you were, or what you did, or what your achievements are, or what you were like - we have found your fanny, now that is what you are, all you are. Jesus, how often have you seen that in the press? From the way Olympic athletes are criticised or ridiculed for not being sexy or feminine enough, or that the ones that have passed the sex-object-test have their entire achievements boiled down to how to "yeay for you, you're doable". Jesus, even negative shit - look at Amanda Knox - the actual serious, life-and-death horrors you can do, and it all boils down to "what a pretty cunt". We found your fanny, all else is irrelevant. Reading this story was like watching someone wash away Joss Moody's entire life. They found his cunt, all else was irrelevant. His jazz career, his friends, his marriage, his role as a strong, black father to his son. Gone. Blotted out. Awful.
The other, almost as bad, strand to this story, apart from the transphobia, is what it is like to raise a child who is a shit. Not in the big dramatic We Need To Talk About Kevin way, but in the small, quiet, everyday way of raising a kid who is just a shit. We all know people like that. Know people who are good parents, raise their kids right, and at the end of the day are left with giant selfish shits who give not a fuck about them. People who you look at and think, "God, what did they ever do to deserve a wean like that?", knowing it's nothing at all. Colman Moody is giant, selfish wean, a child of man, someone who has never wanted for anything - money, love, support - and he is no good to anyone. His father dies and his mother is grieving, and rather than, in her time of need, support her, or talk to her about his shock at finding out his father was trans, or even listening to her when she tries to talk to him about it, he rallies the gutter press to hound her from her home, to destroy his father's memory, to cash-in on his long-held but now vindicated sense of sullen self-entitlement and self-pity. His mother is an elderly woman. She has just lost her husband of 30-odd years. She wants to die and go into her husband's grave with him, but has chosen to stay strong for her child. And what does he do? He does everything he can to drive her to it. To tear up her whole life so she will not even have her memories. All will be tainted with salacious gossip and implied perversion. Imagine, pouring your whole life, all your love into a child like that, and then in your old age, when you really need them, all you get back is betrayal and bitterness and their self-centred indifference to you. That's the thing about having kids, they are not like spouses that can be divorced if things don't work out. Children are as large in their absence as their presence, and once had are there for life. For good or ill. Strangers you bring into your family never knowing who they will turn out to be. Regardless of how they are brought.
Millie Moody broke my heart, a small, dignified, warm and caring woman, about the same age as my gran, trying desperately to cope with grief that she cannot share with anyone else. She's tragic. I could have wept for her.
Seriously, this is a great book but it's not a light read. If you have any humanity at all this book will be a hard read.
This book is about the revelation after his death that Joss Moody was a trans man, given the name at birth of Josephine Moore. The book focuses largely on the massive transphobic reaction that this revelation meets with in the press and from his son, while Joss's widow Millie struggles to survive overwhelming feelings of grief and loss in isolation in a small Scottish village.
I found this book almost unbearable. The unrelenting transphobia this book portrays made my blood fucking boil. Maybe in a world where such a thing is a sad relic of a distant past reading this book might be bearable. Might be enjoyable. But not in this world where Lucy Meadows was hounded to her death by shit-eating tabloid hacks (may they burn in Hell). Not here, not now. This book is almost 15 years old. And the horror of how little has changed in how trans people are treated is sickening. Every time Joss was referred to as "she", as "pretending", it just set my teeth on edge and made me feel sick. How fucking hard is it? His name was Joss, if he wanted you to call him Josephine, he would have told you to call him Josephine, he would have given that as his name. If he wanted you to refer to him as "her" or "she", he would have mentioned it in his nearly-70-odd years of life. He didn't so don't. It's not hard. There's no giant book of political correctness you have to consult. It's basic fucking manners. The same courtesy you'd extend to anyone. If someone doesn't like what you're calling them, and you don't actually want to be a dick, you stop. Basic playground ethics, people. How fucking hard is that?
I'm not trans, I'm cis, but as a woman it was so depressingly and identifiably awful in watching it play out - we have found a fanny therefore all else is invalid. It doesn't matter who you were, or what you did, or what your achievements are, or what you were like - we have found your fanny, now that is what you are, all you are. Jesus, how often have you seen that in the press? From the way Olympic athletes are criticised or ridiculed for not being sexy or feminine enough, or that the ones that have passed the sex-object-test have their entire achievements boiled down to how to "yeay for you, you're doable". Jesus, even negative shit - look at Amanda Knox - the actual serious, life-and-death horrors you can do, and it all boils down to "what a pretty cunt". We found your fanny, all else is irrelevant. Reading this story was like watching someone wash away Joss Moody's entire life. They found his cunt, all else was irrelevant. His jazz career, his friends, his marriage, his role as a strong, black father to his son. Gone. Blotted out. Awful.
The other, almost as bad, strand to this story, apart from the transphobia, is what it is like to raise a child who is a shit. Not in the big dramatic We Need To Talk About Kevin way, but in the small, quiet, everyday way of raising a kid who is just a shit. We all know people like that. Know people who are good parents, raise their kids right, and at the end of the day are left with giant selfish shits who give not a fuck about them. People who you look at and think, "God, what did they ever do to deserve a wean like that?", knowing it's nothing at all. Colman Moody is giant, selfish wean, a child of man, someone who has never wanted for anything - money, love, support - and he is no good to anyone. His father dies and his mother is grieving, and rather than, in her time of need, support her, or talk to her about his shock at finding out his father was trans, or even listening to her when she tries to talk to him about it, he rallies the gutter press to hound her from her home, to destroy his father's memory, to cash-in on his long-held but now vindicated sense of sullen self-entitlement and self-pity. His mother is an elderly woman. She has just lost her husband of 30-odd years. She wants to die and go into her husband's grave with him, but has chosen to stay strong for her child. And what does he do? He does everything he can to drive her to it. To tear up her whole life so she will not even have her memories. All will be tainted with salacious gossip and implied perversion. Imagine, pouring your whole life, all your love into a child like that, and then in your old age, when you really need them, all you get back is betrayal and bitterness and their self-centred indifference to you. That's the thing about having kids, they are not like spouses that can be divorced if things don't work out. Children are as large in their absence as their presence, and once had are there for life. For good or ill. Strangers you bring into your family never knowing who they will turn out to be. Regardless of how they are brought.
Millie Moody broke my heart, a small, dignified, warm and caring woman, about the same age as my gran, trying desperately to cope with grief that she cannot share with anyone else. She's tragic. I could have wept for her.
Seriously, this is a great book but it's not a light read. If you have any humanity at all this book will be a hard read.
June 30, 2021
Moderniosios klasikos pavyzdys, nemažai apdovanojimų ir pripažinimo sulaukusi išleista 1998aisiais, man buvo visiškai negirdėta. Atsitiktinai radau knygų namelyje su Ali Smith įžanga ir interviu su autore.
Joss Moody juodaodis, legendinis jazzo muzikantas miršta savo namuose. Jo mirtis sulaukia didelio susidomėjimo ir atskleidžia niekam nežinomą faktą. Joss Moody buvo moteris. Šia paslaptimi dešimtmečius jis dalinosi tik su savo žmona. Labiausiai atradimas paveikia jų įvaikintą sūnų Colman. Kuris niekaip negali susitaikyti su melu ir sutinka su žurnaliste rašyti skandalingą knygą atskleidžiančią kas gi buvo tas tikrasis Moody.
Kas buvo paslaptngasis Moody? Puikus tėvas, genialus muzikantas, mylintis vyras, geras žmogus. Ar svarbiausia jo gyvenime, kad jis transvestitas? Istorija mus nukelia ir į 60uosius, jo jaunystę, pažintį su žmona, karjeros pradžią. Ar tikrai Moody būdamas savimi būtų pasiekęs tiek kiek dabar? Ar moteris jazzo muzikantė gali tikėtis tokio pripažinimo? Manau, atsakymas aiškus
Knyga parašyta skyriais, bet neprimityviai suskirtytais kaip dabar gana dažna. Yra “spauda”, “namai”, “sūnus”,“žmonės”- pvz Moody namų tvarkytoja, grupės muzikantai. Juos visus persekioja žurnalistai su skandalingomis antraštėmis.
Keliai daug klausimų kokia yra privatumo riba? Kodėl skandalingas faktas yra daug svarbiau už muzikanto talentą? Nemažai rasizmo ir to laikmečio geltonosios spaudos žiaurumo vaikanti sensacijos. Ar visos anotacijos ir staipsniai bus ne apie muziką, o apie lytį? Ir kodėl tai yra svarbiausia?
Puikaus jautraus stiliaus, skaudi knyga, tikrai verta būti perskaityta.
Autorė Jackie Kay, poetė, Salford universiteto dėstytoja. Visus darbus kuria remdamasi savo asmenine patrtimi. Gimusi Edinburge tėčiui iš Nigerijos ir baltaodei mamai, užaugo įvaikinta škotų politikų šeimoje.
Knyga neišgalvota, remiasi tikra muzikanto Billy Tipton istorija. Tai nėra biografija, tiesiog įkvepimas. Billy Tipton (1914- 1989) jazo muzikantas apie kurio lytį sužinota tik jam mirus. Netgi 3 “žmonas” turėjo! Ir įvaikintus vaikus.
Gerokai savo laikmetį pralenkęs kūrinys. Ypač aktuali dabar. Tuo pačiu ir liūdna, kad per 30 metų nelabai kas pasikeitė. Tiksliau, beveik niekas.
Imkit ir skaitykit, žinau buvo nemažai ieškančių kuo papildyti LGBT literratūs sąrašą
Ir galui jums truputis Billy Tipton muzikos
https://youtu.be/t7EQDEamf18
June 24, 2023
What makes you, you?
A clever novel that made me think hard about what makes us, who we are!
Joss is a famous jazz musician, he has a wife that loves him, a son that he gets on with and a career that would make any musician envious. But when he passes away instead of his secrets dying with him, they become available to all.
A clever novel that made me think hard about what makes us, who we are!
Joss is a famous jazz musician, he has a wife that loves him, a son that he gets on with and a career that would make any musician envious. But when he passes away instead of his secrets dying with him, they become available to all.
February 1, 2015
Beautifully written and extremely poignant, Trumpet explores issues of gender, race and identity in the modern world. The story is told through a series of short vignettes written from the perspective of people who knew or encountered Joss Moody, a world famous jazz musician who, it was found after his death, had been assigned female gender at birth.
Particularly moving are the pictures of the grief felt by Joss' wife after his death, the sense of betrayal experienced by his adoptive son and the general bafflement or indifference of other people who encountered him and later found out his secret. The vulture-like tabloid hack is particularly well portrayed - she is the only character to refer to Joss as 'she'and sets her sights on writing a bigoted expose on Joss Moody the 'pervert'. She was one of the best baddies I've read in a long time.
The book was written and set in the late 1990s in the UK and while reading it, it struck me just how much our society has moved on in terms of LGBT issues in less than 20 years. So in a sense it felt oddly dated, but this in itself was quite uplifting.
Despite the stunning prose, the story did feel a bit slow at times, particularly in the first half. The ending was brilliant though. I would recommend to anyone who is interested in race or gender issues.
Particularly moving are the pictures of the grief felt by Joss' wife after his death, the sense of betrayal experienced by his adoptive son and the general bafflement or indifference of other people who encountered him and later found out his secret. The vulture-like tabloid hack is particularly well portrayed - she is the only character to refer to Joss as 'she'and sets her sights on writing a bigoted expose on Joss Moody the 'pervert'. She was one of the best baddies I've read in a long time.
The book was written and set in the late 1990s in the UK and while reading it, it struck me just how much our society has moved on in terms of LGBT issues in less than 20 years. So in a sense it felt oddly dated, but this in itself was quite uplifting.
Despite the stunning prose, the story did feel a bit slow at times, particularly in the first half. The ending was brilliant though. I would recommend to anyone who is interested in race or gender issues.
January 9, 2020
"I tell myself I had a life, a family, family holidays. I tell myself to hold on to it. Not to let anybody make me let it go. Not even my son."
"The girl I was has been swept out to sea. She is another tide entirely. Way back in the distance. I can’t imagine what she’d think of my life now, whether she’d think it was the life she was expecting to have or not. She always wanted marriage, I remember. Marriage, children. She wouldn’t have been surprised at that. I married a man who became famous. He died before me. He died recently. Now what am I? Can I remember? Joss Moody’s widow. That’s what I am, Joss Moody’s widow. She never imagined being a widow, did she? Of course she didn’t. What little girl ever imagines becoming a widow?"
The 20th Century began as a binary world: You were female or male; you were straight or gay; you were single or married; etc. That is not today’s world (nor was the narrative really accurate for that time and place). So what should be made of Kay’s character, Millie, and her retrospective of her experiences during and after the period of the U.K.’s recovery from World War II. Why should we care about her spouse, Joss Moody (the fictionally famous jazz trumpeter), and the rest of Kay’s cast of characters?
This book gives us many points of view that start with Joss Moody’s widow and include the son, the reporter and others.
Coleman asks: "If the jazz world was so ‘anything goes’ as my father claimed, then why didn’t he come clean and spit it out, man? The 1960s were supposed to be cool. Flower people. Big joints. Afghans. Long hair. Peace. Why not a woman playing a fucking trumpet, man, what was wrong with that?"
The female journalist (Sophie) asks: "How come none of the smart journalists that have interviewed and re-interviewed her over the years never noticed?"
In essence, even though Kay gives us a journalist, she has put herself in that role as well. She gives us “interviews,” albeit ones that include the thoughts of the interviewees, and we “readers” can determine who to believe and what it all means. In the main, it is an adequate approach, but easier on the author than the readers who may be frustrated by the confusion and multiple points of view.
I am inclined to side with the drummer, Big Red, as he is being harassed by the journalist:
"‘But, come on,’ Sophie says again. ‘Naw, you come on. Away and write yir stupit book. It won’t tell us anything aboot Moody. If you want my advice, you’ll drop it. It ull only upset his family."
If Jackie Kay was a better writer with a more nuanced cast of characters this would have been a better book. She gives us an “interesting” opening and a mostly satisfying closing, but what is sandwiched in between isn’t very tasty.
2.5*
"The girl I was has been swept out to sea. She is another tide entirely. Way back in the distance. I can’t imagine what she’d think of my life now, whether she’d think it was the life she was expecting to have or not. She always wanted marriage, I remember. Marriage, children. She wouldn’t have been surprised at that. I married a man who became famous. He died before me. He died recently. Now what am I? Can I remember? Joss Moody’s widow. That’s what I am, Joss Moody’s widow. She never imagined being a widow, did she? Of course she didn’t. What little girl ever imagines becoming a widow?"
The 20th Century began as a binary world: You were female or male; you were straight or gay; you were single or married; etc. That is not today’s world (nor was the narrative really accurate for that time and place). So what should be made of Kay’s character, Millie, and her retrospective of her experiences during and after the period of the U.K.’s recovery from World War II. Why should we care about her spouse, Joss Moody (the fictionally famous jazz trumpeter), and the rest of Kay’s cast of characters?
This book gives us many points of view that start with Joss Moody’s widow and include the son, the reporter and others.
Coleman asks: "If the jazz world was so ‘anything goes’ as my father claimed, then why didn’t he come clean and spit it out, man? The 1960s were supposed to be cool. Flower people. Big joints. Afghans. Long hair. Peace. Why not a woman playing a fucking trumpet, man, what was wrong with that?"
The female journalist (Sophie) asks: "How come none of the smart journalists that have interviewed and re-interviewed her over the years never noticed?"
In essence, even though Kay gives us a journalist, she has put herself in that role as well. She gives us “interviews,” albeit ones that include the thoughts of the interviewees, and we “readers” can determine who to believe and what it all means. In the main, it is an adequate approach, but easier on the author than the readers who may be frustrated by the confusion and multiple points of view.
I am inclined to side with the drummer, Big Red, as he is being harassed by the journalist:
"‘But, come on,’ Sophie says again. ‘Naw, you come on. Away and write yir stupit book. It won’t tell us anything aboot Moody. If you want my advice, you’ll drop it. It ull only upset his family."
If Jackie Kay was a better writer with a more nuanced cast of characters this would have been a better book. She gives us an “interesting” opening and a mostly satisfying closing, but what is sandwiched in between isn’t very tasty.
2.5*
April 7, 2014
I read this one pretty fast--it's a quick read in general, but you just don't want to stop. The writing style perfectly winds all these characters and their reactions together in a way that is so sympathetic and believable that it is hard to understand how this is fiction.
The most important characters of this novel is, sadly, fictional--Joss Moody is a mixed-race Scottish jazz trumpet player who chose to live his life identifying as male, despite that fact that he was born female and lived much of his childhood as such. Joss is dead at the beginning of the novel and we see his life unfold through the eyes of his loving wife Millicent (who of course knew of his secret), his son Coleman (who did not), a nosy and insensitive journalist, and several old friends, family members, band-mates, and caretakers. The way Joss' identity affects people in different ways is the greatest part of the story--the fact that he is transgender (a term not used in the novel but may be applicable to Joss) brings about rage, sadness, shock, and even a few I'm not surprised reactions. It's often heartbreaking and enraging to read.
This is a really great story. The ending is satisfying. I actually think it could've been a bit longer, but it's still an amazing, original, and topical piece of fiction.
The most important characters of this novel is, sadly, fictional--Joss Moody is a mixed-race Scottish jazz trumpet player who chose to live his life identifying as male, despite that fact that he was born female and lived much of his childhood as such. Joss is dead at the beginning of the novel and we see his life unfold through the eyes of his loving wife Millicent (who of course knew of his secret), his son Coleman (who did not), a nosy and insensitive journalist, and several old friends, family members, band-mates, and caretakers. The way Joss' identity affects people in different ways is the greatest part of the story--the fact that he is transgender (a term not used in the novel but may be applicable to Joss) brings about rage, sadness, shock, and even a few I'm not surprised reactions. It's often heartbreaking and enraging to read.
This is a really great story. The ending is satisfying. I actually think it could've been a bit longer, but it's still an amazing, original, and topical piece of fiction.
July 27, 2021
3/5
Kokio gerumo istorija atsidūrė Jackie Kay rankose! Nu žiū: buvo toks žymus džiazo pianistas, kuriam mirus paaiškėjo, kad jiedu su žmona nuo visų sugebėjo nuslėpti faktą, kad biologiškai jis buvo moteriškos lyties. Pasiėmusi šitą istoriją kaip įkvėpimą, Jackie Kay sukūrė trimitininką Džosą Mūdį, kuris iš tiesų 20 a pradžioje gimė kaip Džosefina. Įdomu? Žiauriai įdomu. Tik viršelis toks, kad gyvenime į rankas be rekomendacijos nepaimčiau, o ir iš pačios knygos, kai istorijoje tiek potencialo, tikėjausi šiek tiek daugiau.
Autorė pasirenka istoriją pasakoti iš visų pusių ir perspektyvų, apart velionio. Pasirinkimas neblogas – tiek Džoso žmona, tiek sūnus, tiek kūnui mirtį konstatavusi gydytoja, istorija susidomėjusi žurnalistė, laidotuvių namų darbuotojas – visi turi ką pasakyti ir minčių jiems kyla įvairių. Visgi, pasakojimas neįtraukia taip, kaip tikėčiausi: trūko man tiek Džoso gyvenimo detalių, tiek, galiausiai, skyrių iš jo paties perspektyvos. O ir veikėjai, apart gal skandalistės žurnalistės ir literatūriškojo laidotuvių namų darbuotojo, tokie gana klišiniai ir nuspėjami, plokšti ir be gyvybės – netgi našlė. Ir sūnus. O gi jiems ir skiriama daugiausiai dėmesio. Todėl ir knyga nuo manęs tarsi nuteka lyg vanduo, neprasibrauna gylyn: trikdė ir knygoje esančios korektūros klaidos (neabejoju, kad originalo kalba viskas suskambėtų kur kas geriau), tiek nuklydimas nuo temos – per daug man tuščių užpildų apie orą ir alkoholį, kurie atrodė niekaip nei su Džoso istorija, nei su bendru pasakojimu susiję. Maniau, kad atrasiu tokį netikėtą perliuką, kurį norėsis visiems kokybiškos ir ne klišinės LGBTQ+ literatūros ištroškusiems rekomenduoti, bet ne šį kartą. Įtikinta nelikau. Labiausiai todėl, kad Džoso Mūdžio taip pažinti ir nepasisekė.
Kokio gerumo istorija atsidūrė Jackie Kay rankose! Nu žiū: buvo toks žymus džiazo pianistas, kuriam mirus paaiškėjo, kad jiedu su žmona nuo visų sugebėjo nuslėpti faktą, kad biologiškai jis buvo moteriškos lyties. Pasiėmusi šitą istoriją kaip įkvėpimą, Jackie Kay sukūrė trimitininką Džosą Mūdį, kuris iš tiesų 20 a pradžioje gimė kaip Džosefina. Įdomu? Žiauriai įdomu. Tik viršelis toks, kad gyvenime į rankas be rekomendacijos nepaimčiau, o ir iš pačios knygos, kai istorijoje tiek potencialo, tikėjausi šiek tiek daugiau.
Autorė pasirenka istoriją pasakoti iš visų pusių ir perspektyvų, apart velionio. Pasirinkimas neblogas – tiek Džoso žmona, tiek sūnus, tiek kūnui mirtį konstatavusi gydytoja, istorija susidomėjusi žurnalistė, laidotuvių namų darbuotojas – visi turi ką pasakyti ir minčių jiems kyla įvairių. Visgi, pasakojimas neįtraukia taip, kaip tikėčiausi: trūko man tiek Džoso gyvenimo detalių, tiek, galiausiai, skyrių iš jo paties perspektyvos. O ir veikėjai, apart gal skandalistės žurnalistės ir literatūriškojo laidotuvių namų darbuotojo, tokie gana klišiniai ir nuspėjami, plokšti ir be gyvybės – netgi našlė. Ir sūnus. O gi jiems ir skiriama daugiausiai dėmesio. Todėl ir knyga nuo manęs tarsi nuteka lyg vanduo, neprasibrauna gylyn: trikdė ir knygoje esančios korektūros klaidos (neabejoju, kad originalo kalba viskas suskambėtų kur kas geriau), tiek nuklydimas nuo temos – per daug man tuščių užpildų apie orą ir alkoholį, kurie atrodė niekaip nei su Džoso istorija, nei su bendru pasakojimu susiję. Maniau, kad atrasiu tokį netikėtą perliuką, kurį norėsis visiems kokybiškos ir ne klišinės LGBTQ+ literatūros ištroškusiems rekomenduoti, bet ne šį kartą. Įtikinta nelikau. Labiausiai todėl, kad Džoso Mūdžio taip pažinti ir nepasisekė.
October 1, 2021
did u guys know that he was a she, a woman, a female, girlie with a vagana and no pee pee... did u understood that... did you?
let's just say that it's not a very good character study
let's just say that it's not a very good character study
July 4, 2018
Jackie Kay is the current Scots Makar, Scotland’s national poet. She dedicated this book to Carol Ann Duffy, her ex partner and currently Britain’s Poet Laureate. With credentials such as these, I had high expectations.
‘Trumpet’ is a book of its time. It was written in the 1990s.
The nineties love the private life. The private life that turns suddenly and horrifically public. The sly life that hides pure filth and sin. The life of respectability that shakes with hypocrisy. ... The upper-class English movie star who has been caught [being] sucked by a Hollywood prostitute. Love it. The respectable ‘family values’ MP who sucked on the toe of a bimbo. Love it. All of it. The dirtier the better. The more famous, the better. [The ghost writer’s voice]
In this climate Joss Moore, internationally famous jazz trumpeter, dies and is discovered to be a woman. His wife and he have lived with this secret for over 40 years. The son they adopted didn’t know that his father was a woman. He found out from the undertaker when he went to pay his respects. The book listens to each voice in turn. His widow, Millicent, who fell in love with Joss before finding out he was a woman. It didn’t matter to her. She loved him. His son, Colman, bitter and upset with his father and ready to sell his story to a hack journalist seeking her fame and fortune by ghost writing a sensationalist book about Joss. Fellow musicians, their old cleaner, an old school friend, his mother. Headlines screamed that Joss had been ‘living a lie’.
They found people who claimed to be Joss’s friends who said things like, ‘He fooled us completely’. But it didn’t feel like that. I didn’t feel like I was living a lie. I felt like I was living a life. Hindsight is a lie.’ [Millicent's voice]
Jackie Kay writes lyrically, almost poetically at times, about love. Joss was loved by his parents, his wife, his son, his friends and admirers. He had hidden his gender because he wanted to be a jazz trumpeter and that just wasn’t going to happen living as a woman in the 1950s. He became famous in the jazz world and achieved the life he’d dreamt about, except that he had to studiously avoid being ‘found out’ by anyone other than his wife for the rest of his life.
‘Trumpet’ is a love story, moving and full of compassion, with a fair dose of bitterness as we follow the painful journey of the bereaved towards acceptance. It will stay with me for a long while yet.
PS Joss was from Greenock and so there’s a fine smattering of the West of Scotland expressions that Jackie Kay so loves. I have to thank her for reminding me of some I’d forgotten, especially ‘Away and raffle yourself’!
‘Trumpet’ is a book of its time. It was written in the 1990s.
The nineties love the private life. The private life that turns suddenly and horrifically public. The sly life that hides pure filth and sin. The life of respectability that shakes with hypocrisy. ... The upper-class English movie star who has been caught [being] sucked by a Hollywood prostitute. Love it. The respectable ‘family values’ MP who sucked on the toe of a bimbo. Love it. All of it. The dirtier the better. The more famous, the better. [The ghost writer’s voice]
In this climate Joss Moore, internationally famous jazz trumpeter, dies and is discovered to be a woman. His wife and he have lived with this secret for over 40 years. The son they adopted didn’t know that his father was a woman. He found out from the undertaker when he went to pay his respects. The book listens to each voice in turn. His widow, Millicent, who fell in love with Joss before finding out he was a woman. It didn’t matter to her. She loved him. His son, Colman, bitter and upset with his father and ready to sell his story to a hack journalist seeking her fame and fortune by ghost writing a sensationalist book about Joss. Fellow musicians, their old cleaner, an old school friend, his mother. Headlines screamed that Joss had been ‘living a lie’.
They found people who claimed to be Joss’s friends who said things like, ‘He fooled us completely’. But it didn’t feel like that. I didn’t feel like I was living a lie. I felt like I was living a life. Hindsight is a lie.’ [Millicent's voice]
Jackie Kay writes lyrically, almost poetically at times, about love. Joss was loved by his parents, his wife, his son, his friends and admirers. He had hidden his gender because he wanted to be a jazz trumpeter and that just wasn’t going to happen living as a woman in the 1950s. He became famous in the jazz world and achieved the life he’d dreamt about, except that he had to studiously avoid being ‘found out’ by anyone other than his wife for the rest of his life.
‘Trumpet’ is a love story, moving and full of compassion, with a fair dose of bitterness as we follow the painful journey of the bereaved towards acceptance. It will stay with me for a long while yet.
PS Joss was from Greenock and so there’s a fine smattering of the West of Scotland expressions that Jackie Kay so loves. I have to thank her for reminding me of some I’d forgotten, especially ‘Away and raffle yourself’!
Read
August 10, 2020I saw this book on @frenchflaps_and_deckleedges page in June, with a beautiful review from Apurva. Then a few weeks later, when my local Oxfam Books reopened, I went for a browse and what did I find? Trumpet sitting on the shelf as if waiting for me! I snapped it up and read it in July and wow. Consider me a Jackie Kay fan now. You can find me with my nose pressed up against my library's window, waiting for THAT to reopen so I can read more of her work.
.
Trumpet is the story of Joss Moody, a well-loved and talented trumpet player in the jazz world. Upon his death, a secret is revealed which rocks his family, especially his son Colman. Kay flits between past and present, opening up Joss's life through the eyes of those who loved him and knew him. I did wish that we could have had a glimpse through Joss's eyes, but that's likely the point. We don't really know the real Joss, we can only see him through the eyes of others.
.
The main thing that struck me about Trumpet is how contemporary it feels, when it was published over 20 years ago in 1998. Kay's commentary on issues such as gender and racism unfortunately still ring true for today's society. Kay is excellent at evoking emotions in the reader, especially anger through the despicable character of Sophie Stones. Stones is a hack journalist, intent on penning a book that will turn Joss's life into the scandal of the century. She represents everything that is terrible about the media, particularly rags such as The Daily Mail.
.
There's so much going on in this book, all deftly and sensitively handled. There were depictions of Joss and Millie's marriage that were so beautifully tender, as well as conversations around fatherhood, adoption, race and masculinity. I really can't wait to read more of Jackie Kay's work!
.
Trumpet is the story of Joss Moody, a well-loved and talented trumpet player in the jazz world. Upon his death, a secret is revealed which rocks his family, especially his son Colman. Kay flits between past and present, opening up Joss's life through the eyes of those who loved him and knew him. I did wish that we could have had a glimpse through Joss's eyes, but that's likely the point. We don't really know the real Joss, we can only see him through the eyes of others.
.
The main thing that struck me about Trumpet is how contemporary it feels, when it was published over 20 years ago in 1998. Kay's commentary on issues such as gender and racism unfortunately still ring true for today's society. Kay is excellent at evoking emotions in the reader, especially anger through the despicable character of Sophie Stones. Stones is a hack journalist, intent on penning a book that will turn Joss's life into the scandal of the century. She represents everything that is terrible about the media, particularly rags such as The Daily Mail.
.
There's so much going on in this book, all deftly and sensitively handled. There were depictions of Joss and Millie's marriage that were so beautifully tender, as well as conversations around fatherhood, adoption, race and masculinity. I really can't wait to read more of Jackie Kay's work!
January 4, 2021
Trumpet is basically just trans panic the book.
This book is riddled with transphobia and misery for seemingly no purpose, it doesn't help to serve the various characters and their limited one dimensional character arcs. And while I understand "this book was written in the 90s" and "the 90s were a different time" this book is still incredibly dehumanizing.
I also don't understand why many cis book influencers were recommending this book in 2020 for its trans representation. The trans character is dead the entire book and is constantly deadnamed, misgendered, and viewed as a woman. There are no new or interesting discussions on what gender is or what role gender plays in various relationships. I don't understand how anyone who calls themselves a trans ally would choose this book to recommend for trans representation when there are so many books written by trans people themselves that are incredible reads.
I would not recommend this book to any trans or queer people, it's a really dreary story chalked full of transphobia and homophobia for no reason. And I also don't recommend this book to any cis straight people who are picking this up to try to be a better ally, there are far better stories and resources out there.
This book is riddled with transphobia and misery for seemingly no purpose, it doesn't help to serve the various characters and their limited one dimensional character arcs. And while I understand "this book was written in the 90s" and "the 90s were a different time" this book is still incredibly dehumanizing.
I also don't understand why many cis book influencers were recommending this book in 2020 for its trans representation. The trans character is dead the entire book and is constantly deadnamed, misgendered, and viewed as a woman. There are no new or interesting discussions on what gender is or what role gender plays in various relationships. I don't understand how anyone who calls themselves a trans ally would choose this book to recommend for trans representation when there are so many books written by trans people themselves that are incredible reads.
I would not recommend this book to any trans or queer people, it's a really dreary story chalked full of transphobia and homophobia for no reason. And I also don't recommend this book to any cis straight people who are picking this up to try to be a better ally, there are far better stories and resources out there.
September 28, 2011
I don't know how I had never heard of this book before my dear friend recommended it to me a few months back. How could I have missed such a literary masterpiece? I feel like this novel should be counted among the great and groundbreaking novels to date.
Jackie Kay really analyzed how prurient the world can be. Joss Moody is the main character, but does not narrate at all, and is actually dead from the first page to the last. Joss Moody, the famous Jazz Artist has a secret. How this secret affects family, friends and others is so interesting to read about.
Jackie Kay's language is very visual and stimulating: "I go out into the wind. It slaps me on the face, stinging my cheeks. The weather is changing again. It is suppose to be summer. The trees sway about like drunks in the wind, cursing." (25)
Jackie Kay must have gone through something traumatic in her life to be able to write so flawlessly about mourning. Also, I find it important that Kay, brings to her writing a pretty unique background. From Wikipedia:
Jackie Kay was born in Glasgow in 1961 to a Scottish mother and a Nigerian father. She was
adopted by a Scottish white couple Helen and John Kay and brought up in Bishopbriggs, a suburb
of Glasgow.
(Check out the article for more interesting things about her!) You can totally find palpable remnants of these beginnings in "Trumpet".
Really, really impressed. I kind of want to read it again, before starting a new book. But we shall see. :)
Jackie Kay really analyzed how prurient the world can be. Joss Moody is the main character, but does not narrate at all, and is actually dead from the first page to the last. Joss Moody, the famous Jazz Artist has a secret. How this secret affects family, friends and others is so interesting to read about.
Jackie Kay's language is very visual and stimulating: "I go out into the wind. It slaps me on the face, stinging my cheeks. The weather is changing again. It is suppose to be summer. The trees sway about like drunks in the wind, cursing." (25)
Jackie Kay must have gone through something traumatic in her life to be able to write so flawlessly about mourning. Also, I find it important that Kay, brings to her writing a pretty unique background. From Wikipedia:
Jackie Kay was born in Glasgow in 1961 to a Scottish mother and a Nigerian father. She was
adopted by a Scottish white couple Helen and John Kay and brought up in Bishopbriggs, a suburb
of Glasgow.
(Check out the article for more interesting things about her!) You can totally find palpable remnants of these beginnings in "Trumpet".
Really, really impressed. I kind of want to read it again, before starting a new book. But we shall see. :)
April 26, 2020
/ TW abuse, homophobia and transphobia/
Tbh I really tried to read this book, I picked it up multiple times wondering if maybe I was being too narrow minded.
But as a trans person myself this book really hurt my sensibility on many levels.
First, since when once gender is supposed to be the subject of a book if the person has not decided to share the story themselves ? Second, gathering all of these testimonies in order to make an account of someone's life after their death on something that has been clearly explained as wanting to stay private is so wrong.
When the book began with the fact that Joss "slapped" Millie I was wondering if this was just supposed to be metaphorical. When Joss was misgendered multiple times in the book by his son and other characters I wondered if it was to prove a point or something. But finally when Joss called his father "a fucking lesbian" I couldn't have it anymore. You do not have a "right" on someone else's past because you are part of their life now. Joss' past and intimacy is his business and having his son claim that he had the "right to know" is just unbearable.
No trans person should ever be misgendered, the past of a trans person (or any person for all that matters) belongs to them and they get to decide who they want to share it with.
This is exactly why cis people should not ever write about what it is to be trans.
Tbh I really tried to read this book, I picked it up multiple times wondering if maybe I was being too narrow minded.
But as a trans person myself this book really hurt my sensibility on many levels.
First, since when once gender is supposed to be the subject of a book if the person has not decided to share the story themselves ? Second, gathering all of these testimonies in order to make an account of someone's life after their death on something that has been clearly explained as wanting to stay private is so wrong.
When the book began with the fact that Joss "slapped" Millie I was wondering if this was just supposed to be metaphorical. When Joss was misgendered multiple times in the book by his son and other characters I wondered if it was to prove a point or something. But finally when Joss called his father "a fucking lesbian" I couldn't have it anymore. You do not have a "right" on someone else's past because you are part of their life now. Joss' past and intimacy is his business and having his son claim that he had the "right to know" is just unbearable.
No trans person should ever be misgendered, the past of a trans person (or any person for all that matters) belongs to them and they get to decide who they want to share it with.
This is exactly why cis people should not ever write about what it is to be trans.
January 31, 2025
موضوع مُثير للجدل خصوصاً في مجتمعاتنا المحافظة، الكاتبة اسكتلندية وكتبت هذه الرواية سنة 1998 يعني تقريباً مر 27 سنة عليها والموضوع بالنسبة للعالم إلى الآن مثير للجدل
عن زوجة فقدت زوجها المشهور عازف الترومبيت "البوق/الجاز" ذو البشرة السوداء، كان الزوجان متبنين طفل، حين مات الأب اكتشف العالم والولد السر الدفين وهو أن هذا الأب كان امرأة، يعني بالأصح متحول جنسي. الزوجة فقط هي التي تعلم بهذا الأمر.
وبس هذه هي الرواية وللعلم القارئ سيعرف القصة من البداية يعني ماكان سر.
- ما غاية هذه الرواية؟ لا أعلم حيث التكرار والحشو كان بزيادة، يعني عرفنا هذا كله من خلال الصفحات الأولى.
- ثيم الموسيقى والعزف عليها ما كان طاغي أو واضح، كان ممكن أستمتع بالعمل أكثر لكن الله المُستعان.
- الكاتبة استكلندية ذات بشرة سوداء، جعلت الشخصية والابن المُتبنى ذات بشرة سوداء أيضاً، أرادت تسليط الضوء عليهم في المجتمع الاستكتلندي. لم يكن زواج البيض والسمر مقبول كثيراً " وأضافت إنه لا بد من أن يتزوج كل شخص ممن يشبهونه."
" لكنهم مخطئون لم أشعر أبداً أنني كنت أعيش في كذبة أو في وهم. كنت أشعر بأنني أعيش حياة حقيقية. الإدراك بعد فوات الأوان هو الكذبة."
عن زوجة فقدت زوجها المشهور عازف الترومبيت "البوق/الجاز" ذو البشرة السوداء، كان الزوجان متبنين طفل، حين مات الأب اكتشف العالم والولد السر الدفين وهو أن هذا الأب كان امرأة، يعني بالأصح متحول جنسي. الزوجة فقط هي التي تعلم بهذا الأمر.
وبس هذه هي الرواية وللعلم القارئ سيعرف القصة من البداية يعني ماكان سر.
- ما غاية هذه الرواية؟ لا أعلم حيث التكرار والحشو كان بزيادة، يعني عرفنا هذا كله من خلال الصفحات الأولى.
- ثيم الموسيقى والعزف عليها ما كان طاغي أو واضح، كان ممكن أستمتع بالعمل أكثر لكن الله المُستعان.
- الكاتبة استكلندية ذات بشرة سوداء، جعلت الشخصية والابن المُتبنى ذات بشرة سوداء أيضاً، أرادت تسليط الضوء عليهم في المجتمع الاستكتلندي. لم يكن زواج البيض والسمر مقبول كثيراً " وأضافت إنه لا بد من أن يتزوج كل شخص ممن يشبهونه."
" لكنهم مخطئون لم أشعر أبداً أنني كنت أعيش في كذبة أو في وهم. كنت أشعر بأنني أعيش حياة حقيقية. الإدراك بعد فوات الأوان هو الكذبة."
December 7, 2021
Joss Moody is a famous trumpet player; in 1995, at seventy, he is nursed at home by his wife until he dies of an unspecified illness. After his death, doctors and undertakers examine his body, and realise that he has the primary and secondary sexual characteristics of a woman. This is a novel about bodily autonomy after death, about the ways our bodies can be examined and misinterpreted after we die. It reminds me of the case of Dr James Barry, whose body was examined after his death against his express wishes, and who the world retrospectively decided was a woman. It's also a novel about grief in the wake of society's misgendering of a beloved person: Millie grieves her husband's death, while being hounded by the press, and feeling betrayed by her son. This is obviously an important book: not only is it an honest and careful account of a transgender man's life, it's also a story about ethnicity, and what it means to be Black in Britain, especially in Scotland. It breaks new ground.
However, despite this book being relatively short, I struggled to read it: firstly, I found Jackie Kay's decision to enter the thoughts of many different characters led to the book feeling fragmentary and unfinished. The main characters, Millie and Colman, Joss's wife and son, are both interesting, and I wish Kay had remained with them, rather than also entering the mind's of journalists, undertakers, doctors, neighbours, etc. These chapters felt like a distraction, and didn't serve the novel. I also kept being tripped up by the extreme horror Kay describes every character, aside from Millie, having over the idea of a transgender body. While I'm well aware that some people react with horror to trans bodies, I felt that having so many characters, many of whom had encountered all sorts of different people, react with such fear and surprise at the idea of a trans person to be counterproductive and unintuitive. Surely an undertaker, who has seen thousands of bodies, would not be so sickened and terrified by a body that happened to have breasts. There are so many different kinds of bodies, and ways to inhabit a body, and the fear and horror Kay described did not seem warranted, or productive within the context of this narrative.
However, despite this book being relatively short, I struggled to read it: firstly, I found Jackie Kay's decision to enter the thoughts of many different characters led to the book feeling fragmentary and unfinished. The main characters, Millie and Colman, Joss's wife and son, are both interesting, and I wish Kay had remained with them, rather than also entering the mind's of journalists, undertakers, doctors, neighbours, etc. These chapters felt like a distraction, and didn't serve the novel. I also kept being tripped up by the extreme horror Kay describes every character, aside from Millie, having over the idea of a transgender body. While I'm well aware that some people react with horror to trans bodies, I felt that having so many characters, many of whom had encountered all sorts of different people, react with such fear and surprise at the idea of a trans person to be counterproductive and unintuitive. Surely an undertaker, who has seen thousands of bodies, would not be so sickened and terrified by a body that happened to have breasts. There are so many different kinds of bodies, and ways to inhabit a body, and the fear and horror Kay described did not seem warranted, or productive within the context of this narrative.
August 17, 2019
This is a masterful piece that I think will definitely be a top contender for my favourite book of the year. Reading this as a transgender man, this was an extremely personal read, that at times gutted me and at others greatly moved me. Jackie Kay's prose is utterly gorgeous; it almost reads like jazz, which is obviously very fitting for this novel. Kay handles her characters with such love and care that even the most spiteful ones can't quite be pinned down as villains. She spreads her time and attention widely, from the people closest to Joss (his wife and son), to those most distant (the undertaker and journalist), and it is time well spent. The emotions in this book flooded through me and I feel a lot of love for this. It's an incredibly brave piece that looks at relationships, gender, biological sex, the media, age, loss, anger, love--it's a poignant novel that I am incredibly grateful for.
November 13, 2017
Everybody must read this.
July 19, 2023
Trumpet is an exquisitely written novel about grief, death, and being trans. I read it all in one go on a Sunday afternoon, which I don't recommend as it left me in an odd headspace. The plot revolves around Joss Moody, a famous jazz trumpeter who has recently died. During his life only his wife knew he was trans. After his death his friends, son, and the public find out and react in a variety of ways. The narrative ranges across different points of view, including his son, his wife, a journalist writing a sensationalist book about him, his cleaner, and the registrar who signs his death certificate. These perspectives built up a rich picture of Joss' life and death. I found the funeral director's chapter particularly powerful and unsettling. I hadn't read anything else by Jackie Kay and am very impressed that this was her first novel. It is deftly structured, deeply evocative, and emotionally resonant. The characters, living and dead, are vividly drawn and the depiction of grief is utterly convincing:
I dry my hands and pour the water down the sink. I must remember things. I look out of the kitchen window. It has been raining. Tiny beads of rain have been painted on the window pane when I wasn't looking. It is a fine Impressionists' rain. Next door's rowan tree is still quite still, not at all flamboyant; it is not the season for flamboyance. I can see Elsa at her kitchen window peeling potatoes. The intimacy startles me. Seeing me staring, she waves at me. I wave back, suddenly glad of the human contact. If I pin myself down and remember the ordinary things, I will be able to manage. To get up each day and get washed and eat and sleep. To live a life without my companion. To live this life where I am exhausted with my own company, terrible thoughts spinning morning to night in my head. Maybe this is what people mean when they say they are lonely. Maybe they mean they are exhausted even with their own company. If I could just say I am lonely how lovely and ordinary that sounds.
October 19, 2025
رواية ترومبيت لجاكي كاي، عملٌ عن الهوية والحب والموسيقى، يذكّرنا بأن لكل إنسان لحنه الخاص في مواجهة العالم.
هذه الرواية من الأعمال التي تترك أثرها بهدوء، كما تفعل نغمة جاز في نفس المتلقي. بعد موت عازف الجاز الشهير جوس مودي، تنكشف حقيقة تغيّر نظرة الجميع إليه، لكن ما تكشفه الرواية في أعمق من مجرد سرّ؛ إنها تسائل فكرة الهوية، وكيف نعيش حقيقتنا وسط تصنيفات العالم وضجيجه وأحكامه المسبقة علينا.
أُعجبت كثيراً بأسلوب جاكي كاي، فهو موسيقي بامتياز — اللغة تنساب بإيقاع يشبه عزف الترومبيت نفسه، مزيج من الحزن والحنين وأيضاً الارتجال. السرد شاعري دون مبالغة، بسيط لكنه عميق في ما يلمسه من مشاعر وشكوك. أما الترجمة إلى العربية فجاءت جميلة وأمينة، نقلت روح النص وأجواءه بحسّ أدبي رفيع.
ترومبيت بالنسبة لي رواية عن الشجاعة في أن تكون نفسك، وعن الحب الذي لا تحدّه ولا تؤطره التعريفات. عمل إنساني، صادق، ومليء بالعذوبة والألم في آنٍ واحد.
بشكل عام، رواية ترومبيت هي رواية أنيقة ومؤثرة، تُذكّر بأن الهوية ليست قالباً ثابتاً، بل لحنٌ نعزفه بطريقتنا الخاصة.
March 21, 2017
3.5 stars rounded up. The story of a transvestite black jazz trumpet player, a woman who bound her breasts in bandages and stuffed socks in her/his pants, married a woman and adopted a son. As told by the people affected (mainly the wife and son, but also the reporter writing a book, the undertaker, schoolfriends etc.) I enjoyed a lot of it, some great writing, but felt the characters of the son and the tabloid journalist edged into stereotype. I preferred Kay's stories I think. Still well worth reading.
June 29, 2021
So there are books that you read that are good, and then there are these rarer creatures: books that pull you down in to their own gravity full of awe and pain and wonder, books that charm and push and comfort. Kay's skill is in defining something so ripe and poignant through so many lenses; the novel serves not only as unpretentious clarity of the transgender experience but also as a direct view of the complex brutality of grief. Essential reading.
June 7, 2021
at the risk of sounding pretentious ..... this shit was beautiful
Read
June 7, 2022left me conflicted but in a good way? and because of this i'm not rating it, i just Can't.
sophie can choke, her chapters were probably some of the most triggering stuff i've read in a while and i'm still on the fence on how necessary some aspects of her narration, especially the language, were but then again i do realize it's a late 90s book and i guess i understand how the aspect of sensationalizing joss' death was crucial in this case but then again i just don't like seeing trans characters being disrespected like that; ultimately, her parts (and others, but hers especially) are just a one, huge tw for transphobia so if you don't wanna deal with that then definitely give it a pass. coleman's journey felt a little unfinished to me and left me wanting to see him reflect on his father and their relationship even more,especially at the end of the novel after he decided to ditch the book. but then millie's narrative was beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking in the best way possible. that's where jackie kay's poetry got to shine through the most and it was so lovely. you could truly see and feel the love between millie and her husband; not gonna lie, a bunch of her parts made me tear up
tough to read at times but also kinda worth it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 28, 2015
(Original review posted on my livejournal account: http://intoyourlungs.livejournal.com/...)
Why I Read It: Assigned for my Religious Themes in Literature class.
Like Mootoo Shati's Cereus Blooms at Night, Jackie Kay's Trumpet explores the complexity of sexuality and gender. The novel follows the aftermath of the great jazz trumpeter Joss Moody, and follows his wife as she deals with the grief that comes with losing him. We also follow his son Colman, as he struggles with the revelation that his father was in fact born with a female body.
What Kay addresses beautifully in this novel is how people have the tendency to conflate sexuality and gender identity. Joss' wife Millicent knew from before they were married that Joss had a female body bu she didn't care. She loved JOSS, who identified as a man and thus they both still identified as straight. But in the aftermath of Joss's death and the revelation of the gender he was born with, people assume that Millie is a lesbian. This lack of understanding, or willingness to understand drives Millie crazy and she's forced to retreat to her summer home to get away.
Colman was interesting character because despite his disgust at his father's choices he was still a sympathetic character, even when HE himself wasn't making the best choices. It's understandable that he would question his own gender identity when he identifies as male and modeled his masculinity after someone who turns out to NOT be biologically male. That's got to be mind-boggling, especially when you're not expecting and you're already reeling from grief. His reactions to his father's death also displayed an incredible level of complexity with the exploration of his grief and anger.
Reading Sophie's bits were easily the hardest parts to read as she was easily the most frustrating and unlikable character (though she's obviously meant to be). Her desperate search for the REASON for Joss's choice of identifying as male was angering: she pegged it on Joss's wanting to be a famous trumpeter and not being able to do it as a female, on the death of Joss's father at a young age, and on the fact that Joss was obviously just a pervert who got a kick out of tricking people. We as readers KNOW this is all bullshit of course, but unfortunately it's the attitude a lot of people adopt when it comes to transgendered people which is really sad.
Kay's writing is also worth noting; along with addressing very complex issues, she's an incredibly talented and crafty writer. Throughout the novel, she utilizes several points-of-view from several different characters and uses them all to great effect: We have a first-person POV of Colman when he's being interviewed by Sophie, one where he's NOT being interviewed by her, a third-person POV from him, a first-person POV from Millie, first-person from Sophie, as well as at least three more first-person POVs from other adjacent characters. In under 300 pages that's A LOT of POVs and when written down like that, it sounds like way too much. But Kay pulls it off. Each different POV draws out something different from the story and it never comes off as messy.
Oh, and I don't want to reveal too much, but I also loved the ending. Essentially, you're lead to believe that it's going to be one thing, but it ends being something completely different, and for that I was really happy -- it could have taken the obvious route, but then it would have undermined everything it had set out to do. Again, Kay is a great writer who obviously knows what's she doing.
Final Verdict: I loved this book and thinks it's a wonderful example of GLBTQ lit with a focus on transgendered people. Kay explores the complexities of gender identity and sexuality with a deft hand and this is a book I think I could read over and over again and get more out of it every time. The psychology of the characters is spot-on and they are just as complex as the subject matter of the book. The writing was also excellent and Kay displays an incredible handle on POV as she uses A LOT throughout the course of this relatively short novel and pulls it off magnificently.
Why I Read It: Assigned for my Religious Themes in Literature class.
Like Mootoo Shati's Cereus Blooms at Night, Jackie Kay's Trumpet explores the complexity of sexuality and gender. The novel follows the aftermath of the great jazz trumpeter Joss Moody, and follows his wife as she deals with the grief that comes with losing him. We also follow his son Colman, as he struggles with the revelation that his father was in fact born with a female body.
What Kay addresses beautifully in this novel is how people have the tendency to conflate sexuality and gender identity. Joss' wife Millicent knew from before they were married that Joss had a female body bu she didn't care. She loved JOSS, who identified as a man and thus they both still identified as straight. But in the aftermath of Joss's death and the revelation of the gender he was born with, people assume that Millie is a lesbian. This lack of understanding, or willingness to understand drives Millie crazy and she's forced to retreat to her summer home to get away.
Colman was interesting character because despite his disgust at his father's choices he was still a sympathetic character, even when HE himself wasn't making the best choices. It's understandable that he would question his own gender identity when he identifies as male and modeled his masculinity after someone who turns out to NOT be biologically male. That's got to be mind-boggling, especially when you're not expecting and you're already reeling from grief. His reactions to his father's death also displayed an incredible level of complexity with the exploration of his grief and anger.
Reading Sophie's bits were easily the hardest parts to read as she was easily the most frustrating and unlikable character (though she's obviously meant to be). Her desperate search for the REASON for Joss's choice of identifying as male was angering: she pegged it on Joss's wanting to be a famous trumpeter and not being able to do it as a female, on the death of Joss's father at a young age, and on the fact that Joss was obviously just a pervert who got a kick out of tricking people. We as readers KNOW this is all bullshit of course, but unfortunately it's the attitude a lot of people adopt when it comes to transgendered people which is really sad.
Kay's writing is also worth noting; along with addressing very complex issues, she's an incredibly talented and crafty writer. Throughout the novel, she utilizes several points-of-view from several different characters and uses them all to great effect: We have a first-person POV of Colman when he's being interviewed by Sophie, one where he's NOT being interviewed by her, a third-person POV from him, a first-person POV from Millie, first-person from Sophie, as well as at least three more first-person POVs from other adjacent characters. In under 300 pages that's A LOT of POVs and when written down like that, it sounds like way too much. But Kay pulls it off. Each different POV draws out something different from the story and it never comes off as messy.
Oh, and I don't want to reveal too much, but I also loved the ending. Essentially, you're lead to believe that it's going to be one thing, but it ends being something completely different, and for that I was really happy -- it could have taken the obvious route, but then it would have undermined everything it had set out to do. Again, Kay is a great writer who obviously knows what's she doing.
Final Verdict: I loved this book and thinks it's a wonderful example of GLBTQ lit with a focus on transgendered people. Kay explores the complexities of gender identity and sexuality with a deft hand and this is a book I think I could read over and over again and get more out of it every time. The psychology of the characters is spot-on and they are just as complex as the subject matter of the book. The writing was also excellent and Kay displays an incredible handle on POV as she uses A LOT throughout the course of this relatively short novel and pulls it off magnificently.
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