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Testosteron
Çka do të ndodhë me Flamurin dhe vajzën e tij disleksike? A është Brunilda Gajo që do ta zbulojë të vërtetën? Cili është katalogu i burrave dhe grave, që duhet shfletuar gjatë jetës? Ismaili dhe Helena duan diçka më shumë, diçka jashtë përditshmërisë së tyre letrare. A është shtëpia vetëm vendi ku ka një baba? Çka nëse problemi, në fakt, nuk qëndron te burrat? Një transgrua do të përballet me një të vërtetë që nuk e priste Alexei është në Berlin, Fatosi është në Tiranë, ndërsa gjithçka bëhet më e lehtë, kur ke një shoqe si Vita, një shoqe që arsyeton çdo veprim tëndin. Në fund, edhe gratë kanë faj
Këto tregime dhe copëza reflektimesh janë shkruar nga autori I cili nuk është gjithmonë burrë.
Testosteron është libër ku trajtohet vetmia, guximi, humbja, seksi, trupi, fundi i botës dhe i dashurisë së madhe.
Këto tregime dhe copëza reflektimesh janë shkruar nga autori I cili nuk është gjithmonë burrë.
Testosteron është libër ku trajtohet vetmia, guximi, humbja, seksi, trupi, fundi i botës dhe i dashurisë së madhe.
204 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
July 13, 2026
(This is a translation of a review originally written in Albanian. It may contain some spoilers.)
First of all, I wouldn’t call this a recension, because writing one feels like a much bigger undertaking than simply evaluating or reflecting on a book.
With this book, I felt that reflecting on it was something of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I’ve known Arbër, the writer—in the broadest sense of the word—since we were children. On the other hand, I wanted to be as honest as possible in expressing my opinion.
Testosterone is exactly what it claims to be: about testosterone, about men, around men, and with men. Men are at its centre, while gay men, queer people, trans women, and cisgender women occupy a secondary place. Or perhaps more accurately, they express their thoughts about men. Men are the epicentre, yet those at the heart of these stories rarely tell their own lives; instead, others speak about them—whether through fleeting experiences (as the author writes, particularly about married men: “Married men are temporary.”) or through longer relationships. These voices belong mainly to gay men, queer people, trans women, and straight cisgender women. Their experiences unfold across Prishtina, Berlin, Tirana, Istanbul, Oslo, and Verdens Ende (which I actually had to Google because I couldn’t remember the Norwegian name for that place known as “the end of the world”).
The book also opens with language that is far more vulgar than I’m used to using in Albanian. It’s much easier for me to casually say fuck in my second language than to use the Albanian equivalent in my own.
The author deliberately uses what many of us would consider “dirty” Albanian words for our genitalia. I put “dirty” in quotation marks intentionally because I think that’s precisely the point: to force us to confront feelings and thoughts we all experience but usually soften with more neutral expressions such as sex, hooking up, and the like—or their English equivalents. It takes considerable courage to write this way in a society that often feels stuck in purgatory: neither fully urban nor fully provincial, sometimes strikingly modern, and at other times deeply primitive and patriarchal.
It took me a while to settle into the book because, at first, I kept wondering: How much of these stories is fiction? How much comes from hearsay? How much of himself and his own experiences has the author woven into these characters? Which character resembles him the most? Are there really that many married gay men? (Apparently, yes.) Does nobody truly care about another person’s feelings? Does a woman hold any value in any equation? Does the word betrayal still mean anything? Does anyone ever feel even a trace of remorse?
Those questions kept coming and going, and even now, after finishing the book, I still find myself thinking about the stories of these characters.
Overall, I connected more deeply with the stories in the second half of the book because they move beyond the purely physical and sexual. They venture further into emotion—not only romantic feelings for another person, but also relationships that extend beyond sexuality: friendships, motherhood, fatherhood, brotherhood, and sisterhood.
I’ll end by saying that this is a book that makes you ask questions and sit with the answers. It challenges you and pushes you outside your comfort zone. As long as a book does that, I think it’s worth reading.
First of all, I wouldn’t call this a recension, because writing one feels like a much bigger undertaking than simply evaluating or reflecting on a book.
With this book, I felt that reflecting on it was something of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I’ve known Arbër, the writer—in the broadest sense of the word—since we were children. On the other hand, I wanted to be as honest as possible in expressing my opinion.
Testosterone is exactly what it claims to be: about testosterone, about men, around men, and with men. Men are at its centre, while gay men, queer people, trans women, and cisgender women occupy a secondary place. Or perhaps more accurately, they express their thoughts about men. Men are the epicentre, yet those at the heart of these stories rarely tell their own lives; instead, others speak about them—whether through fleeting experiences (as the author writes, particularly about married men: “Married men are temporary.”) or through longer relationships. These voices belong mainly to gay men, queer people, trans women, and straight cisgender women. Their experiences unfold across Prishtina, Berlin, Tirana, Istanbul, Oslo, and Verdens Ende (which I actually had to Google because I couldn’t remember the Norwegian name for that place known as “the end of the world”).
The book also opens with language that is far more vulgar than I’m used to using in Albanian. It’s much easier for me to casually say fuck in my second language than to use the Albanian equivalent in my own.
The author deliberately uses what many of us would consider “dirty” Albanian words for our genitalia. I put “dirty” in quotation marks intentionally because I think that’s precisely the point: to force us to confront feelings and thoughts we all experience but usually soften with more neutral expressions such as sex, hooking up, and the like—or their English equivalents. It takes considerable courage to write this way in a society that often feels stuck in purgatory: neither fully urban nor fully provincial, sometimes strikingly modern, and at other times deeply primitive and patriarchal.
It took me a while to settle into the book because, at first, I kept wondering: How much of these stories is fiction? How much comes from hearsay? How much of himself and his own experiences has the author woven into these characters? Which character resembles him the most? Are there really that many married gay men? (Apparently, yes.) Does nobody truly care about another person’s feelings? Does a woman hold any value in any equation? Does the word betrayal still mean anything? Does anyone ever feel even a trace of remorse?
Those questions kept coming and going, and even now, after finishing the book, I still find myself thinking about the stories of these characters.
Overall, I connected more deeply with the stories in the second half of the book because they move beyond the purely physical and sexual. They venture further into emotion—not only romantic feelings for another person, but also relationships that extend beyond sexuality: friendships, motherhood, fatherhood, brotherhood, and sisterhood.
I’ll end by saying that this is a book that makes you ask questions and sit with the answers. It challenges you and pushes you outside your comfort zone. As long as a book does that, I think it’s worth reading.
January 2, 2026
Testosterone reads like an interior confession, where the body, desire, and silence carry as much weight as language itself. Arber Selmani writes with a sensitivity reminiscent of James Baldwin - the same unguarded, unsparing way of speaking about identity, shame, and the need to be seen- while maintaining a stylistic restraint that echoes the intimacy and existential precision of French literature.
This is not a book that treats masculinity as myth, but as burden: something inherited without consent, something that lives in the body and surfaces in small tensions, in pauses, in relationships where the most important things remain unsaid. Selmani neither seeks absolution nor indulges in drama; instead, he observes with a clarity that feels almost clinical, yet profoundly human.
The prose is controlled and clean, and precisely because of this restraint, it lands with force. There is something distinctly “French” in its refusal to offer solutions, its insistence on remaining within questions, ambiguity, and emotional uncertainty.
Testosterone is not a book meant to entertain, it is meant to unsettle. It lingers like a thought you cannot fully resolve, or a desire that refuses easy articulation. A compelling read for those drawn to queer literature that speaks softly, precisely, and without compromise.
This is not a book that treats masculinity as myth, but as burden: something inherited without consent, something that lives in the body and surfaces in small tensions, in pauses, in relationships where the most important things remain unsaid. Selmani neither seeks absolution nor indulges in drama; instead, he observes with a clarity that feels almost clinical, yet profoundly human.
The prose is controlled and clean, and precisely because of this restraint, it lands with force. There is something distinctly “French” in its refusal to offer solutions, its insistence on remaining within questions, ambiguity, and emotional uncertainty.
Testosterone is not a book meant to entertain, it is meant to unsettle. It lingers like a thought you cannot fully resolve, or a desire that refuses easy articulation. A compelling read for those drawn to queer literature that speaks softly, precisely, and without compromise.
July 21, 2026
Amazing book, i really loved the stories and the diversity of the characters. I would recommend this book 100%.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews