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Calling My Deadname Home: Trans Bear Diaries
In this extraordinarily compelling trans memoir, Avi, a bearish trans man and Psychology Professor, navigates sex and dating in a phallic-centric universe of men who love men. But something is missing. To become the man he aspires to be, he needs to reconnect with Talia, his hyper-feminine straight female past, and invite her back in. Growing up in a working-class right-wing Israeli family and barely finishing high school, he became involved in pro-Palestinian activism and escaped compulsory military service by faking madness. Despite poor schooling Avi went on to attain a PhD from Yale and change his life entirely. This memoir is the story of that journey and explores what it means to come home to oneself with brutal honesty, humour, and self-compassion. Told in three episodes, early transition, later transition and Talia's story, this memoir tackles contemporary gender and social issues. At its heart is a universal to become who we already are, we must integrate the past into the present
310 pages, Kindle Edition
Published November 14, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews
November 6, 2024
Disclaimer: I received an e-ARC from netgalley in exchange for a review.
There are four main things that drew me to this memoir: 1) the interesting approach of dealing with one’s past by interacting with them, 2) the mention of pro-Palestinian activism (now more important than ever), 3) the working-class-to-PhD-from-Yale story, and the fact that I hoped that this story would do something that I hadn’t encountered in any of the other trans memoirs I’ve read yet (not that I’ve read all of them. But some, and this is one of the more interesting ones I’ve encountered). And as you can probably tell from my rating this memoir fulfilled all my wishes and more.
It always feels a bit weird to rate a memoir. Those are always personal stories, so my rating is based on if I feel the memoir painted an intriguing picture of a life (it did), if the summary matches what I expected to find inside (again, it did), and whether the writing style worked for me or not. In this case it was immediately clear to me that the author has a very interesting way with words. He is a very talented writer and manages to dig deep, reveal and examine his past and analyze his own though processes without leaving the reader too far outside of it.
I found myself deeply drawn into his story, one that follows his first forays into gay sexuality, both before transitioning and most of it after, before catapulting us (and him) to a family reunion at first in Tel Aviv since he wasn’t allowed to enter Israel as they refused to change his passport and then at his uncles’ birthday. After that we were told about his childhood, growing up in a country and a family that espouses Zionism and militarism as the only means of survival against a dangerous threat from outside and the repercussions of being against that that the author faced. The retelling of his young school years where honestly quite shocking to me. One of my favorite things discussed here was the linguistic aspects as well, since Hebrew is a very gendered language the author spends some time explaining that. He also talked a bit about how Yiddish is devalued in Israel, seen as the language of week diaspora speak. He talks about how he got out of serving in the IDF and then managed to escape to America, finding himself in the last place he could see himself in: Academia.
This memoir made me laugh and it made me cry and it made me feel so happy for Avi for having gotten where he is, while also breaking my heart for Talia. Talking with your past self is something that some trans memoirs do, but rarely does an author delve so deeply into the ways you can hate your past self while still embracingcompassion, because after all, you know and understand why your past self acted in these ways. To me, that was something that rang true, broke my heart and mended it again.
All in all, this is a memoir that dissects a past and then embraces it and if you are trans or if you experienced trauma or if you’re interested in the story of a person who grew up in Israel to disavow Zionism or about the sex life of a gay trans man or if you sometimes think about your past self and think “Damn, you made some fucked up decisions. Now come here and let me hug you.”: I would recommend you read this book!
Some more of my favorite parts of this memoir in no particular order: talking to Lou Sullivan after an HIV-scare, Zionism as a safe word, a short story about fucking your old self and embracing the parts that brought you pain, the fact that this memoir fully embraces sex and erotica as a means of narrating something of import, the discussions of academia and research into the stereotype threat, the bonds of survival and yes, also hatred, we can form with other marginalized people of our own community.
Tw: past csa, incest, internalized victim blaming, rape, sexual harassment, mentions of suicide (as in with your transition you killed my X), non-accepting family, transphobia, institutionalized child abuse, racism (anti-Arab, anti-Palestinian, anti-rroma & sinti language), Zionism, cheating, lynchings, holocaust, health scares, STDs, choking
There are four main things that drew me to this memoir: 1) the interesting approach of dealing with one’s past by interacting with them, 2) the mention of pro-Palestinian activism (now more important than ever), 3) the working-class-to-PhD-from-Yale story, and the fact that I hoped that this story would do something that I hadn’t encountered in any of the other trans memoirs I’ve read yet (not that I’ve read all of them. But some, and this is one of the more interesting ones I’ve encountered). And as you can probably tell from my rating this memoir fulfilled all my wishes and more.
It always feels a bit weird to rate a memoir. Those are always personal stories, so my rating is based on if I feel the memoir painted an intriguing picture of a life (it did), if the summary matches what I expected to find inside (again, it did), and whether the writing style worked for me or not. In this case it was immediately clear to me that the author has a very interesting way with words. He is a very talented writer and manages to dig deep, reveal and examine his past and analyze his own though processes without leaving the reader too far outside of it.
I found myself deeply drawn into his story, one that follows his first forays into gay sexuality, both before transitioning and most of it after, before catapulting us (and him) to a family reunion at first in Tel Aviv since he wasn’t allowed to enter Israel as they refused to change his passport and then at his uncles’ birthday. After that we were told about his childhood, growing up in a country and a family that espouses Zionism and militarism as the only means of survival against a dangerous threat from outside and the repercussions of being against that that the author faced. The retelling of his young school years where honestly quite shocking to me. One of my favorite things discussed here was the linguistic aspects as well, since Hebrew is a very gendered language the author spends some time explaining that. He also talked a bit about how Yiddish is devalued in Israel, seen as the language of week diaspora speak. He talks about how he got out of serving in the IDF and then managed to escape to America, finding himself in the last place he could see himself in: Academia.
This memoir made me laugh and it made me cry and it made me feel so happy for Avi for having gotten where he is, while also breaking my heart for Talia. Talking with your past self is something that some trans memoirs do, but rarely does an author delve so deeply into the ways you can hate your past self while still embracingcompassion, because after all, you know and understand why your past self acted in these ways. To me, that was something that rang true, broke my heart and mended it again.
All in all, this is a memoir that dissects a past and then embraces it and if you are trans or if you experienced trauma or if you’re interested in the story of a person who grew up in Israel to disavow Zionism or about the sex life of a gay trans man or if you sometimes think about your past self and think “Damn, you made some fucked up decisions. Now come here and let me hug you.”: I would recommend you read this book!
Some more of my favorite parts of this memoir in no particular order: talking to Lou Sullivan after an HIV-scare, Zionism as a safe word, a short story about fucking your old self and embracing the parts that brought you pain, the fact that this memoir fully embraces sex and erotica as a means of narrating something of import, the discussions of academia and research into the stereotype threat, the bonds of survival and yes, also hatred, we can form with other marginalized people of our own community.
Tw: past csa, incest, internalized victim blaming, rape, sexual harassment, mentions of suicide (as in with your transition you killed my X), non-accepting family, transphobia, institutionalized child abuse, racism (anti-Arab, anti-Palestinian, anti-rroma & sinti language), Zionism, cheating, lynchings, holocaust, health scares, STDs, choking
November 19, 2024
Went into this book expecting a trans bear memior and got so. much more. As many people, I’ve been reading and researching about isreal and the conflict, and have never read a perspective of a trans person who was raised in that environment. I learned so much and was given some important new perspectives.. This book was so honest and open and makes the reader feel like they know the author authentically.
Wish this books marketing would lean more into the authors upbringing in isreal and his family history, it spoke on so many important current topics that I think are so important for more people to read.
Wish this books marketing would lean more into the authors upbringing in isreal and his family history, it spoke on so many important current topics that I think are so important for more people to read.
March 12, 2025
[Digital copy provided by Netgalley]
This was such a surprising book, a true breath of fresh air. I've read quite a few memoirs buy trans men but none so unflinching and complex as this one. Stunning and raw writing mixed with eroticism alongside grief and a fascinating personal history. You never knew where the author would take you next, but it was always thought-provoking and filled with liveliness. Bravo!
This was such a surprising book, a true breath of fresh air. I've read quite a few memoirs buy trans men but none so unflinching and complex as this one. Stunning and raw writing mixed with eroticism alongside grief and a fascinating personal history. You never knew where the author would take you next, but it was always thought-provoking and filled with liveliness. Bravo!
November 19, 2025
3.5
A life I enjoyed getting a peak into.
Avi has one of those stories that captures you instantly and makes you want to ask all sorts of questions about acceptance from others and oneself. I appreciated an insight into such foreign cultures.
I feel as though a few major things were missed or skipped over - top surgery being one of them. This is a huge step in Avis life and we didn’t get an insight into this at all. I respect that it is his memoir but I do feel this isn’t something to miss.
A life I enjoyed getting a peak into.
Avi has one of those stories that captures you instantly and makes you want to ask all sorts of questions about acceptance from others and oneself. I appreciated an insight into such foreign cultures.
I feel as though a few major things were missed or skipped over - top surgery being one of them. This is a huge step in Avis life and we didn’t get an insight into this at all. I respect that it is his memoir but I do feel this isn’t something to miss.
October 4, 2025
Avi Ben-Zeev’s memoir is less a personal reckoning than a manifesto of ideological flight. Structured in three movements—early transition, later transition, and a surreal reconciliation with his pre-transition self, Talia—the book refuses closure, refuses allegiance, and refuses accountability. It’s raw, sexually explicit, and intellectually dense, but what it offers in candor, it lacks in moral coherence.
Ben-Zeev’s writing is emotionally precise but ethically evasive. He dissects relationships with the detachment of a psychologist, turning intimacy into theory. The most provocative scenes—sexual, philosophical, and often self-congratulatory—are framed as acts of liberation. But liberation from what? From duty, from community, from consequence.
The memoir’s most glaring fault is its selective empathy. Ben-Zeev demands compassion for his own trauma, his own marginalization, his own journey. Yet he offers none for the communities he abandons. He proudly recounts faking mental illness to evade Israeli military service, positioning desertion as a moral triumph. This isn’t subtext—it’s centerpiece. He vilifies his origins, rejects his family, and cloaks it all in academic theory. The message is clear: betrayal is virtue, as long as it’s dressed in progressive language.
And here’s the deeper hypocrisy: Ben-Zeev could have applied for conscientious objector status, a legal route available in Israel—albeit difficult and often reserved for religious objectors. Others have taken that path and faced prison for it. But he didn’t. He chose deception over protest, manipulation over principle. And perhaps—just perhaps—he chose it because it makes a better story. Faking madness, being cast out, reinventing oneself in exile: it’s narratively rich, morally ambiguous, and far more dramatic than a bureaucratic petition. But it’s also dishonest. Not just to the system he rejected, but to the reader he expects to applaud.
This is not courage—it’s posturing. Ben-Zeev weaponizes identity to shield himself from critique. He casts himself as victim, prophet, and radical all at once, while refusing to engage with the real-world consequences of his choices. His rejection of Israeli identity is not nuanced—it’s total. He moves from a working-class, right-wing family to elite academic circles in the U.S., and never looks back. The memoir gestures at class and displacement, but never truly reckons with them. It’s not a confrontation—it’s an escape.
As a parent, this is the nightmare—not because of trans identity, but because of ideological rot. If my child turned out to be someone who celebrated desertion, vilified their origins, and wrapped it all in self-serving theory, I’d question whether parenthood was worth it. Not because of who they are—but because of what they stand for.
Stylistically, the book is uneven. Its intellectual density risks opacity, especially when touching on politics and cultural identity. The prose demands engagement but offers little warmth. It’s a book that implicates the reader, but never itself.
Still, Calling My Deadname Home will be praised—for its rawness, its complexity, its refusal to conform. But beneath the surface lies a troubling ethos: one that confuses abandonment with courage, and self-erasure with moral clarity. For those willing to read past the applause, it’s not a memoir of healing—it’s a blueprint for ideological theatre.
Ben-Zeev’s writing is emotionally precise but ethically evasive. He dissects relationships with the detachment of a psychologist, turning intimacy into theory. The most provocative scenes—sexual, philosophical, and often self-congratulatory—are framed as acts of liberation. But liberation from what? From duty, from community, from consequence.
The memoir’s most glaring fault is its selective empathy. Ben-Zeev demands compassion for his own trauma, his own marginalization, his own journey. Yet he offers none for the communities he abandons. He proudly recounts faking mental illness to evade Israeli military service, positioning desertion as a moral triumph. This isn’t subtext—it’s centerpiece. He vilifies his origins, rejects his family, and cloaks it all in academic theory. The message is clear: betrayal is virtue, as long as it’s dressed in progressive language.
And here’s the deeper hypocrisy: Ben-Zeev could have applied for conscientious objector status, a legal route available in Israel—albeit difficult and often reserved for religious objectors. Others have taken that path and faced prison for it. But he didn’t. He chose deception over protest, manipulation over principle. And perhaps—just perhaps—he chose it because it makes a better story. Faking madness, being cast out, reinventing oneself in exile: it’s narratively rich, morally ambiguous, and far more dramatic than a bureaucratic petition. But it’s also dishonest. Not just to the system he rejected, but to the reader he expects to applaud.
This is not courage—it’s posturing. Ben-Zeev weaponizes identity to shield himself from critique. He casts himself as victim, prophet, and radical all at once, while refusing to engage with the real-world consequences of his choices. His rejection of Israeli identity is not nuanced—it’s total. He moves from a working-class, right-wing family to elite academic circles in the U.S., and never looks back. The memoir gestures at class and displacement, but never truly reckons with them. It’s not a confrontation—it’s an escape.
As a parent, this is the nightmare—not because of trans identity, but because of ideological rot. If my child turned out to be someone who celebrated desertion, vilified their origins, and wrapped it all in self-serving theory, I’d question whether parenthood was worth it. Not because of who they are—but because of what they stand for.
Stylistically, the book is uneven. Its intellectual density risks opacity, especially when touching on politics and cultural identity. The prose demands engagement but offers little warmth. It’s a book that implicates the reader, but never itself.
Still, Calling My Deadname Home will be praised—for its rawness, its complexity, its refusal to conform. But beneath the surface lies a troubling ethos: one that confuses abandonment with courage, and self-erasure with moral clarity. For those willing to read past the applause, it’s not a memoir of healing—it’s a blueprint for ideological theatre.
November 11, 2024
This is a beautiful, heart wrenching gift of a book. There are books that enter our life and lodge themselves directly into our heart with their brevity, love, and honesty. This was one of them.
“Calling My Deadname Home” is told in three parts - early transition, later transition, and Talia’s story. There is a sense that Talia was in constant flight from the imprisonment of her self and her past and only when Avi reconciles this sense of imprisonment and the sacrifice that Talia is safely freed.
At no point will Avi or Talia sacrifice their authenticity, the driving force within themselves to act in what seems to be a just way. We see this in Talia’s determination to avoid her mandatory service in the IDF.
Their journey is one that shows us we are not just one aspect of our personality, one traumatic event, or one action we regret. We are all of these things and none of them at the same time as there’s always an opportunity for forgiveness and love. “Calling My Deadname Home” is as unflinchingly honest as its writer as he moves in the world. There are themes of self-loathing, particularly in regard to the sexual assaults of young Talia and the lasting traumas.
Avi writes with such honesty that Talia’s loss of self and pain is palpable on the page.
There is sex, some of it kinky, and I feel like straight vanilla folks will view the sex as “graphic” simply because the bodies doing it are not cisgender. There’s no need to clutch any pearls and they’re in fact written a lot better than most sex you encounter in current books and most importantly, it’s between consenting adults.
Definitely recommend to readers interested in gender studies, trans experience, and the non-Western experience. There are a lot of books in the world about cis white dude’s experience, “Calling My Deadname Home” is the brutally honest opposite of that and I’m better for having read it. We should all listen to more voice’s like Avi’s.
“Calling My Deadname Home” is told in three parts - early transition, later transition, and Talia’s story. There is a sense that Talia was in constant flight from the imprisonment of her self and her past and only when Avi reconciles this sense of imprisonment and the sacrifice that Talia is safely freed.
At no point will Avi or Talia sacrifice their authenticity, the driving force within themselves to act in what seems to be a just way. We see this in Talia’s determination to avoid her mandatory service in the IDF.
Their journey is one that shows us we are not just one aspect of our personality, one traumatic event, or one action we regret. We are all of these things and none of them at the same time as there’s always an opportunity for forgiveness and love. “Calling My Deadname Home” is as unflinchingly honest as its writer as he moves in the world. There are themes of self-loathing, particularly in regard to the sexual assaults of young Talia and the lasting traumas.
Avi writes with such honesty that Talia’s loss of self and pain is palpable on the page.
There is sex, some of it kinky, and I feel like straight vanilla folks will view the sex as “graphic” simply because the bodies doing it are not cisgender. There’s no need to clutch any pearls and they’re in fact written a lot better than most sex you encounter in current books and most importantly, it’s between consenting adults.
Definitely recommend to readers interested in gender studies, trans experience, and the non-Western experience. There are a lot of books in the world about cis white dude’s experience, “Calling My Deadname Home” is the brutally honest opposite of that and I’m better for having read it. We should all listen to more voice’s like Avi’s.
October 29, 2024
(Review of an ARC via Netgalley)
A really interesting, thoughtful narrative, unlike any other memoir I've ever read on the subject of transition (and I've read a few!)
There's a lot to unpack in this one: in particular, I enjoyed the chapters about Talia, and found it interesting that Avi chose to write these chapters in third person (she/her) whereas the rest of the memoir is in first person. It suggests a degree of distance from his past self; Talia haunts the rest of the sections, a spectre of the author's own past, interjecting her thoughts on his recollections and challenging him over his memories of her, but in her own portion of the memoir, she's a very distinct character. I thought this worked well. Talia and Avi are only a hair's breadth apart, but there's always going to be a necessary separation there.
I also found the way that Avi writes about the joys and pitfalls of dating as a gay trans man to be super interesting. I would actually read a whole memoir based on that premise. Some of these chapters felt a little incongruous - there are moments where the narrative breaks off into fairly lengthy sex scenes, which I have no problem with, but which felt a bit gratuitous and perhaps untruthful to the landscape of memory; the author is also an erotica writer, and it shows here.
Thoroughly recommended for its nuanced conversation with what it means to transition away from an identity, and holding space for a plurality of the self.
A really interesting, thoughtful narrative, unlike any other memoir I've ever read on the subject of transition (and I've read a few!)
There's a lot to unpack in this one: in particular, I enjoyed the chapters about Talia, and found it interesting that Avi chose to write these chapters in third person (she/her) whereas the rest of the memoir is in first person. It suggests a degree of distance from his past self; Talia haunts the rest of the sections, a spectre of the author's own past, interjecting her thoughts on his recollections and challenging him over his memories of her, but in her own portion of the memoir, she's a very distinct character. I thought this worked well. Talia and Avi are only a hair's breadth apart, but there's always going to be a necessary separation there.
I also found the way that Avi writes about the joys and pitfalls of dating as a gay trans man to be super interesting. I would actually read a whole memoir based on that premise. Some of these chapters felt a little incongruous - there are moments where the narrative breaks off into fairly lengthy sex scenes, which I have no problem with, but which felt a bit gratuitous and perhaps untruthful to the landscape of memory; the author is also an erotica writer, and it shows here.
Thoroughly recommended for its nuanced conversation with what it means to transition away from an identity, and holding space for a plurality of the self.
November 3, 2024
4.5 stars. Really enjoyed this memoir that had an unusual but very effective structure in that it jumped around timeline wise and was partly written as if it was about the author, a trans man's, pre-transition (i.e. using a deadname and misgendering pronouns). At first I was a little nervous of how this would be done and if it would potentially be upsetting to trans readers who definitely need more memoirs and representation, especially from "elder" trans people, but I don't think it was confusing or disturbing. While this book is a memoir about a trans man, and yes, is as much about Talia (his deadname) as it is Avi, it was also so much more than a trans auto-biorgaphy. It's about family, about found family, about queerness, about culture and childhood and trauma (content warning for SA). I definitely feel like this was a therapeutic book for the author to write and I hope this would translate to others reading it. I also found the chapters about his life growing up in Israel very interesting in light of current devastating events in Palestine.
Thanks to NetGalley for the eARC.
Thanks to NetGalley for the eARC.
December 31, 2025
Reviewing and rating this book is hard. It's someone's life. A person I don't know, and still I feel kinda connected to Avi after reading his memoir.
Reading this as a queer trans guy myself, this felt like a punch in the gut and a warm hug at the same time.
I struggle to find words for this because there were times when I hated reading it. I hated reading about the times Talia cheated and how carelessly Avi sometimes played with the feelings of others. But I can also not really be at them because I understand why they did. That's what I hated most. I didn't want to sympathize with someone who did awful things.
And I'm not trying to shame Avi. As I said, I understand why he did what he did, and I truly believe that he is a kind-hearted person who just made big mistakes.
Thank you to NetGalley, the publisher, and the author, Avi Ben-Zeev, for the opportunity to receive an ARC of this book.
Reading this as a queer trans guy myself, this felt like a punch in the gut and a warm hug at the same time.
I struggle to find words for this because there were times when I hated reading it. I hated reading about the times Talia cheated and how carelessly Avi sometimes played with the feelings of others. But I can also not really be at them because I understand why they did. That's what I hated most. I didn't want to sympathize with someone who did awful things.
And I'm not trying to shame Avi. As I said, I understand why he did what he did, and I truly believe that he is a kind-hearted person who just made big mistakes.
Thank you to NetGalley, the publisher, and the author, Avi Ben-Zeev, for the opportunity to receive an ARC of this book.
January 23, 2026
Ho letto oramai molte autobiografie "queer" ma questa è stata una lettura molto gradevole.
Una narrazione non lineare nel tempo, che non si focalizza in modo univoco sul processo di consapevolezza o di autocoscienza. Una autobiografia a tutto tondo che affronta i molteplici aspetti della vita di Avi ed il suo riconoscere alla fine che deve ringraziare anche Talia per quello che è diventato perchè i processi di crescita e maturazione non cancellano alcuna delle nostre esperienze passate.
Impossibile riassumere tutti i temi affrontati ma le due cose che mi hanno colpito sono state la linearità della narrazione che, sebbene si muova in modo abbastanza random nel tempo, scorre sempre e non lascia mai il lettore spiazzato tranne fargli accendere una lampadina quando più percorsi e strade si intrecciano o convergono e l'importanza delle relazioni umane e affettive.
Un libro che attraverso le esperienze personali del protagonista offre molti spunti di riflessione.
Una narrazione non lineare nel tempo, che non si focalizza in modo univoco sul processo di consapevolezza o di autocoscienza. Una autobiografia a tutto tondo che affronta i molteplici aspetti della vita di Avi ed il suo riconoscere alla fine che deve ringraziare anche Talia per quello che è diventato perchè i processi di crescita e maturazione non cancellano alcuna delle nostre esperienze passate.
Impossibile riassumere tutti i temi affrontati ma le due cose che mi hanno colpito sono state la linearità della narrazione che, sebbene si muova in modo abbastanza random nel tempo, scorre sempre e non lascia mai il lettore spiazzato tranne fargli accendere una lampadina quando più percorsi e strade si intrecciano o convergono e l'importanza delle relazioni umane e affettive.
Un libro che attraverso le esperienze personali del protagonista offre molti spunti di riflessione.
February 7, 2025
At once hilarious and devastating, this coming of age and rebirth story ups the ante for memoirs, in that it shuns the clichés of the genre, in favour of a bracing honesty at times painful to behold: with a marked lack of self-pity, the author weaves a narrative in two voices, Talia's and Avi's, displaying an almost theatrical mastery of dialogue, as his two selves confront one another in dismay, but ultimately, in love.
And if the best of autobiographies are unfailingly universal in scope, I'm guessing that the fear of being "unlovable" might be way up there for many readers, as secure as they may feel in their attachments.
The fact that the writing is superb does not "suck" either, as Deadname Talia might add …
And if the best of autobiographies are unfailingly universal in scope, I'm guessing that the fear of being "unlovable" might be way up there for many readers, as secure as they may feel in their attachments.
The fact that the writing is superb does not "suck" either, as Deadname Talia might add …
June 12, 2025
An Unforgettable Ride – Raw, Raunchy, and Radiantly Real
I devoured this memoir in one sitting—cover to cover, no breaks, no regrets. It's equal parts hilarious, heartbreaking, and hot as hell. The storytelling is electric: vivid, gutsy, and deeply human. This trans bear doesn’t hold back, and thank god for that. The honesty? Brutal in the best way. The self-reflection? Brave, tender, and razor-sharp.
I laughed out loud, I cried more than once, and—yes—I got turned on. This book doesn't just tell a story, it embodies one. It's like being invited into someone's inner world with all the lights on and no apologies. I loved every minute of it.
If you're looking for something honest, sexy, soul-stirring, and utterly unforgettable, read this book. Then tell everyone you know.
I devoured this memoir in one sitting—cover to cover, no breaks, no regrets. It's equal parts hilarious, heartbreaking, and hot as hell. The storytelling is electric: vivid, gutsy, and deeply human. This trans bear doesn’t hold back, and thank god for that. The honesty? Brutal in the best way. The self-reflection? Brave, tender, and razor-sharp.
I laughed out loud, I cried more than once, and—yes—I got turned on. This book doesn't just tell a story, it embodies one. It's like being invited into someone's inner world with all the lights on and no apologies. I loved every minute of it.
If you're looking for something honest, sexy, soul-stirring, and utterly unforgettable, read this book. Then tell everyone you know.
November 23, 2024
Memoirs are hard to review, but I can say this is well written and incredibly relevant.
The author narrates the audiobook and does a brilliant reading. I felt compelled to keep listening to Avi and Talia's story. Avi overcomes many things and I'm glad he had the courage to live his truth despite the challenges he faced along the way.
There are some sex scenes that I wasn't expecting but I get why these were included as it reflects the naked truth of transition and how others treated Avi before and after transitioning.
So I would definitely recommend this memoir and I'm happy I listened to it.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for the ALC
The author narrates the audiobook and does a brilliant reading. I felt compelled to keep listening to Avi and Talia's story. Avi overcomes many things and I'm glad he had the courage to live his truth despite the challenges he faced along the way.
There are some sex scenes that I wasn't expecting but I get why these were included as it reflects the naked truth of transition and how others treated Avi before and after transitioning.
So I would definitely recommend this memoir and I'm happy I listened to it.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for the ALC
November 18, 2024
Raw, honest, and with a thread of wry humour, this memoir deals with an element of the trans experience that is often forgotten: forgiving and integrating your former self. With deep psychological insight and a knack for choosing the perfect life moments to illustrate his journey, the author draws a brutal yet compassionate portrait that moved me to tears.
January 2, 2026
This is a wonderful memoir that has quite a few compelling hooks including his childhood in Israel, his trans identity, and dating life in San Francisco.
December 31, 2025
Reviewing and rating this book is hard. It's someone's life. A person I don't know, and still I feel kinda connected to Avi after reading his memoir.
Reading this as a queer trans guy myself, this felt like a punch in the gut and a warm hug at the same time.
I struggle to find words for this because there were times when I hated reading it. I hated reading about the times Talia cheated and how carelessly Avi sometimes played with the feelings of others. But I can also not really be at them because I understand why they did. That's what I hated most. I didn't want to sympathize with someone who did awful things.
And I'm not trying to shame Avi. As I said, I understand why he did what he did, and I truly believe that he is a kind-hearted person who just made big mistakes.
Thank you to NetGalley, the publisher, and the author, Avi Ben-Zeev, for the opportunity to receive an ARC of this book.
Reading this as a queer trans guy myself, this felt like a punch in the gut and a warm hug at the same time.
I struggle to find words for this because there were times when I hated reading it. I hated reading about the times Talia cheated and how carelessly Avi sometimes played with the feelings of others. But I can also not really be at them because I understand why they did. That's what I hated most. I didn't want to sympathize with someone who did awful things.
And I'm not trying to shame Avi. As I said, I understand why he did what he did, and I truly believe that he is a kind-hearted person who just made big mistakes.
Thank you to NetGalley, the publisher, and the author, Avi Ben-Zeev, for the opportunity to receive an ARC of this book.
January 1, 2025
Summary: As Avi Ben-Zeev sits down to pen his memoir, he is haunted by the voice of a person he once was. Talia, his flamboyantly feminine pre-transition persona, refuses to be forgotten to simplify and smooth the edges of the story of who Ben-Zeev has become. To integrate the whole of who he is, Ben-Zeev walks his life back, first to the unsteady days of his early transition, then all the way to the start of Talia’s story.
Ben-Zeev charts the experience of moving not just between gender expression and identity, but between social class and country. Ben-Zeev begins his life in a working-class, right-wing Israeli family where he barely manages his way through high school and faces condemnation from his family for faking madness to avoid military service. After leaving Israel first for Italy, then for the US, Ben-Zeev works towards a PhD in Cognitive Psychology while facing some of the same barriers to students from minority groups as he researches. He navigates the difficulties of romance and sex as a gay trans man. And finally, he brings his story together, extending compassion to Talia, and honoring her resilience that allowed him to become Avi.
Reflections: The initial draw of Ben-Zeev’s story for me was his approach to Talia. He fully embraces her as who she was at the time, female and feminine. He makes her her own person, vibrant with life right from the start as she’s speaking up to Avi to make sure he keeps her in the story. It’s wildly at odds with the way I view who I was before understanding and embracing my gender and quite different from the approaches taken in many other trans memoirs and narratives I’ve read. The moments of conversation between Avi and Talia often had me stopping to consider the narratives I spin even just for myself about that time in my life as well as how and why I came into this concept of myself. So needless to say this hit hard at its theme of integrating the past and present.
Beyond his gender journey, Ben-Zeev’s accounts of his experiences with Israeli culture and with academia when coming from a working-class background were fascinating as well. He applies a critical, but caring look to each.
Overall Calling My Deadname Home managed what I find to be one of the most important factors in my enjoyment of memoirs: striking a balance between showing the past as it was in the moment, the heavy emotions that colored the memories of it, and the new insights that pull away the defenses, the rationalizations, the guilt.
Ben-Zeev charts the experience of moving not just between gender expression and identity, but between social class and country. Ben-Zeev begins his life in a working-class, right-wing Israeli family where he barely manages his way through high school and faces condemnation from his family for faking madness to avoid military service. After leaving Israel first for Italy, then for the US, Ben-Zeev works towards a PhD in Cognitive Psychology while facing some of the same barriers to students from minority groups as he researches. He navigates the difficulties of romance and sex as a gay trans man. And finally, he brings his story together, extending compassion to Talia, and honoring her resilience that allowed him to become Avi.
Reflections: The initial draw of Ben-Zeev’s story for me was his approach to Talia. He fully embraces her as who she was at the time, female and feminine. He makes her her own person, vibrant with life right from the start as she’s speaking up to Avi to make sure he keeps her in the story. It’s wildly at odds with the way I view who I was before understanding and embracing my gender and quite different from the approaches taken in many other trans memoirs and narratives I’ve read. The moments of conversation between Avi and Talia often had me stopping to consider the narratives I spin even just for myself about that time in my life as well as how and why I came into this concept of myself. So needless to say this hit hard at its theme of integrating the past and present.
Beyond his gender journey, Ben-Zeev’s accounts of his experiences with Israeli culture and with academia when coming from a working-class background were fascinating as well. He applies a critical, but caring look to each.
Overall Calling My Deadname Home managed what I find to be one of the most important factors in my enjoyment of memoirs: striking a balance between showing the past as it was in the moment, the heavy emotions that colored the memories of it, and the new insights that pull away the defenses, the rationalizations, the guilt.
August 12, 2025
This book very much sums up what a memoir is- a reflection on past experiences through the lens of feelings with time and self reflection added to it. Do the instances recounted actually reflect the authors' whole life or even what actually happened in the past? I would say no but it probably doesn't matter....Working class folks don't buy condos in the most expensive cities in the world usually but narratives work better if they fit in a tidy framework I guess. Right wing families are bad so why mention taking money from them... life isn't as simple as a memoir.
I do know that as a young trans masc person I had lots of other trans masc people are that time tell me I wasn't trans enough because I wouldn't stop liking the "femme" things I liked before physically transitioning. Or they just distanced themselves because they were are obsessed with performing masculinity as they had been with performing femininity before they came out as trans masc. I wished those people would apologize but now I understand they were externalizing the struggles they had inside. I wonder how many were like Avi and have no idea of the pain they cause not to just to themselves or others?
It is disappointed to see how after having this journey of self acceptance and reconciliation the author who has called for authors and artists to not affiliate with anti-Palestine org now will not remove themselves from the Polari prize even as they platform a anti-transphobic writer and have themselves said that transphobia and transphobic beliefs should be platformed by Polari and LGBT presses. Certainly had I know he was making that choice before I got this book I probably wouldn't have read it.
From an objective point of view this is very much not a representative of the average trans masc experience which I only bring up because he has said he is staying in the Polari contest for that, but his experience is a very specific one as any memoir is of course. I find that that while it may have had some adversity such as military service and a conservative family it was also filled with the unspoken privilege that he benefited in the USA and Europe as a tall attractive white presenting with advanced degrees, the financial ability to buy property and the ability to live in multiple countries. Perhaps another memoir is coming about that but actions speak the loudest like not claiming to be an anti-oppression advocate and then staying in a award scheme that is founded by a transphobe and platforms them.
I do know that as a young trans masc person I had lots of other trans masc people are that time tell me I wasn't trans enough because I wouldn't stop liking the "femme" things I liked before physically transitioning. Or they just distanced themselves because they were are obsessed with performing masculinity as they had been with performing femininity before they came out as trans masc. I wished those people would apologize but now I understand they were externalizing the struggles they had inside. I wonder how many were like Avi and have no idea of the pain they cause not to just to themselves or others?
It is disappointed to see how after having this journey of self acceptance and reconciliation the author who has called for authors and artists to not affiliate with anti-Palestine org now will not remove themselves from the Polari prize even as they platform a anti-transphobic writer and have themselves said that transphobia and transphobic beliefs should be platformed by Polari and LGBT presses. Certainly had I know he was making that choice before I got this book I probably wouldn't have read it.
From an objective point of view this is very much not a representative of the average trans masc experience which I only bring up because he has said he is staying in the Polari contest for that, but his experience is a very specific one as any memoir is of course. I find that that while it may have had some adversity such as military service and a conservative family it was also filled with the unspoken privilege that he benefited in the USA and Europe as a tall attractive white presenting with advanced degrees, the financial ability to buy property and the ability to live in multiple countries. Perhaps another memoir is coming about that but actions speak the loudest like not claiming to be an anti-oppression advocate and then staying in a award scheme that is founded by a transphobe and platforms them.
December 20, 2024
Avi Ben-Zeev grew up with the Israeli expectation of serving in the army upon turning 18 — yes, girls too, hence him. As a matter of conscience, he didn't want to. But the only ways out were to be married, religious, or insane. He faked the third option, which put him on the outs with his Jewish family. He moved to the US, got a PhD, worked in CogSci at Brown University, discovered himself as a gay trans man.
I stumbled on this book title on NetGalley a month after the book's release, just three days before NetGalley is due to archive it.
So it turns out that Ben-Zeev was teaching at Brown during my first and second undergraduate years there, and our boxes were near each other's in the mailroom. I took a couple intro CogSci courses, if I remember correctly, before ending up in Philosophy.
Anyway, Calling My Deadname Home is a SEX MEMOIR that processes interactions with several men, both long-term and short-term: the ones who wanted Avi for who he was, as well as a couple who didn't.
One revealing moment was when a guy who was processing his own trauma told him "and I really don't care that you're trans," and Avi replied, "But I want you to care." I think it means: If someone's processing their own stuff while another person who may or may not be un/interesting to them just so happens to be in the room, that's not a relationship. A relationship means they care about each other's stuff too. Maybe they can process their own trauma through each other's trauma somehow. Perhaps most of the time, we want most people to not care that we're trans, but those are generally people with whom we want zero relationships anyway. Once a relationship starts to become real, then we sort of do want that person to care in some way. Our stuff should mean something to them, and theirs will mean something to us.
This interaction laid groundwork for the final scene in which Avi decides to reconcile with his past by "calling his deadname home," sexually. He asked a sex partner to do something very specific to express care that he was trans.
This memoir doesn't tell you exactly where it's going, and it trusts that the reader comes to it because they want to hear a gay trans man's memoir of relationships. The memoir wants you to care. If that's what you're here for, it delivers.
I got a free e-copy on NetGalley.
I stumbled on this book title on NetGalley a month after the book's release, just three days before NetGalley is due to archive it.
So it turns out that Ben-Zeev was teaching at Brown during my first and second undergraduate years there, and our boxes were near each other's in the mailroom. I took a couple intro CogSci courses, if I remember correctly, before ending up in Philosophy.
Anyway, Calling My Deadname Home is a SEX MEMOIR that processes interactions with several men, both long-term and short-term: the ones who wanted Avi for who he was, as well as a couple who didn't.
One revealing moment was when a guy who was processing his own trauma told him "and I really don't care that you're trans," and Avi replied, "But I want you to care." I think it means: If someone's processing their own stuff while another person who may or may not be un/interesting to them just so happens to be in the room, that's not a relationship. A relationship means they care about each other's stuff too. Maybe they can process their own trauma through each other's trauma somehow. Perhaps most of the time, we want most people to not care that we're trans, but those are generally people with whom we want zero relationships anyway. Once a relationship starts to become real, then we sort of do want that person to care in some way. Our stuff should mean something to them, and theirs will mean something to us.
This interaction laid groundwork for the final scene in which Avi decides to reconcile with his past by "calling his deadname home," sexually. He asked a sex partner to do something very specific to express care that he was trans.
This memoir doesn't tell you exactly where it's going, and it trusts that the reader comes to it because they want to hear a gay trans man's memoir of relationships. The memoir wants you to care. If that's what you're here for, it delivers.
I got a free e-copy on NetGalley.
June 27, 2025
A touchingly real exploration of how our past selves continue to haunt us. Ben-Zeev depicts the struggle of giving that past self grace, and how doing so can facilitate healing.
An engrossing, brutally honest yet still kind read. Highly recommend.
An engrossing, brutally honest yet still kind read. Highly recommend.
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