Boylan's memoir is framed by an evening when her band is playing at a run-down, supposedly haunted hotel on the Kennebec River. Within that frame, the author plays fast and loose with time, memory, and identity. Musing on the hotel's ghost, Boylan wonders why some people seem to get stuck at some prior moment in life, so defined by who they used to be, that they end up “haunting their own lives like ghosts.”
This leads naturally to memories of Jenny's boyhood as James, when the family moved into the supposedly haunted Coffin House. If the phrase “Jenny's boyhood” caused you to pause, she says, “One of the awkward hallmarks of my life is the way relatively simple questions command complex answers, the kind that require a PowerPoint presentation and several Oprah shows to do them justice.”
Growing up outwardly a boy while feeling like a girl on the inside could be a tale of misery if it were not for Boylan's wry humor, storytelling skill, family full of characters, and the resilient adolescent she remembers being. At every social occasion, the family's Irish grandmother insists on retelling the story of how their father was conceived. The dog Sausage is conscripted as James' nagging conscience. Even the Coffin House is a character from its initial attempt to electrocute James to its complicity in keeping Jenny's secrets.
And, while growing up transgender is not all that common, many moments in Boylan's adolescence are universal. As James and his sister talk about dating, he sighs, “I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm all wrong, like she'd have to be crazy to want to hang out with me.” “Don't worry, little brother, said Lydia. Everybody feels like that.” Sadly, when that sister later learned that her little brother was going to become a women, she cut off all contact. Thus the book's dedication makes it clear that one purpose of this memoir is to reach out to that estranged sister.
The paranormal is woven throughout Boylan's memories, in part as a metaphor for her situation. She tells us that as a teen, “I saw there was someone behind me in the mirror, an older woman with long blond hair...she seemed surprised to see me, and raised one hand to her mouth, as if I were the ghost, as if I were the one floating translucently in the mirror.” Visiting the house decades later, Jenny recognizes that image as the person she has become. “From the very beginning, had I only been haunting myself?”
But whether the hauntings are more than embellished memory is never certain. At a class reunion, Boylan reminds a friend of a story and he asserts it never happened. Boylan replies, “Just because it never happened, doesn't mean I can't remember it.” Another story, about a baby who tore a page in the family Bible proves to be greatly exaggerated. “I wondered how many other memories I had of things that had never happened, how many tears I'd cried over stories I had all wrong.”
I'm Looking Through You looks back through the distorting mirror of memory to make sense of a childhood that doesn't match Boylan's present identity and yet is integral to it. And, to some degree, that is true for all of us. Fortunately, Boylan has the narrative gifts to make her reflections a delight to read.