El mundo es de las mujeres: trans life and maladjustment in Antonio Mercero’s El final del hombre

ABSTRACT

In recent years, there has been a notable increase in representations of transgender individuals in Spanish popular culture, particularly in written and visual media. This study analyzes Antonio Mercero’s crime fiction novel El final del hombre (2017) in which transgender life functions as a metaphor for modern and progressive Spain, highlighting its successes and limitations regarding gender justice and representation. While the novel introduces a transgender detective as a prominent figure in mainstream fiction, it also perpetuates certain stereotypes that it aims to challenge. Drawing on the theory of trans maladjustment by Cameron Awkward-Rich, here I explore how El final del hombre deviates from traditional narrative structures and delves into the experiences that define maladjustment. As the novel navigates various regulatory mechanisms and patriarchal institutions, such as the family, the healthcare system and the police, it also underscores the ongoing challenges in moving beyond limited portrayals and expanding the possibilities of transgender identities and experiences.

KEYWORDS:

• Transgender representation
• crime fiction
• trans maladjustment
• gender justice
• popular culture

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 Refer to Cobo-Durán and Otero-Escudero (2021), Ruiz del Olmo and Díaz (2020) and Higueras-Ruiz (2023).

2 Officially, the Ley 3/2007, de 15 de marzo, reguladora de la rectificación registral de la mención relativa al sexo de las personas.

3 Passed on 15 March 2007, one of the key features of this law allows people to change the name on their DNI to reflect their gender identity rather than assigned biological sex. The law mandates anyone seeking to change their name to “aportar o acreditar disforia de género, mediante informe médico o psicológico clínico, así como someterse a tratamiento médico durante al menos dos años para acomodar las características físicas a las del sexo reclamado” (Ministerio de Igualdad 2020). This law was replaced by the Trans Law passed on 16 February 2023, which allows gender self-determination from the age of fourteen and prohibits conversion therapies. Its debate in the Cortes Generales lasted over six months, during which conservative groups, including sectors of trans-exclusionary feminism, faced progressive and pro-LGBTQIA+ groups.

4 In 2018, Mercero published El caso de las japonesas muertas featuring detective Sofía Luna following her transition.

5 Unlike Sofía, Stephenie Robinson was hired by Scotland Yard after she had finished her transition. Furthermore, “At that time the MET was looking to have representation on a national platform for transgender people to work in policing” explains Robinson, confirming that her hiring was due to a deliberate effort to diversify the workforce (quoted in Mis 2015). The significance of this story in relation to the misogynist institution of the police lies in the role of the trans detective, who emphasizes the urgent need for change, especially when her own hiring could potentially be interpreted as a superficial attempt to appear inclusive while maintaining the status quo of a fundamentally discriminatory institution. In this context, the presence of a single trans individual within the police force may serve as a token gesture rather than a genuine commitment to diversity and inclusion. As Reed warns, “a record number of hate crimes were committed against transgender people last year [2022] in England and Wales, even as racist and homophobic hate crimes recorded by police fell for the first time on record” (Reed 2023).

6 Carter explains the individuality of the experience of people who move between genders and warns of the danger of universally defining the individual act of transitioning as it is associated with a unique life framework, not only located in the body but also in relationships with others (Carter 2014, 236).

7 The increase in literary production addressing transgender themes is significantly influenced by shifts in public opinion, spurred by heightened visibility resulting from public debates on gender identity laws, including works by Mercero. Medina Puerta contextualizes these debates as crucial platforms for expressing diverse perspectives, raising awareness and shaping public sentiment (Medina Puerta 2023). Notably, the highlighted novels defy the simplistic portrayals of transgender experiences commonly found in public discourse, instead delving into the nuanced personal journeys of individuals. It is noteworthy that these novels, authored by transgender individuals and drawing from autobiographical experiences, contribute authentically to the broader societal dialogue on gender identity.

8 For instance, Salinas Soto argues that during the Franco dictatorship in Spain (1939–1975), transgender identity was heavily silenced (Salinas Soto 2023). The regime, unable to differentiate between gender identity and sexual orientation, reduced transgender identity to a form of extreme homosexuality. Transgender individuals were stigmatized for not fitting into the regime’s imposed gender norms, which were heavily influenced by the Catholic Church. Legal measures were used to justify the imprisonment of transgender people in rehabilitation centers and therapy, with psychiatrists playing a key role in perpetuating the repression through methods such as aversion therapy, lobotomies and electroshock therapy (Salinas Soto 2023, 276). Despite the repression, transgender individuals persisted by adapting to new spaces of socialization, creating a “subterranean world” (Salinas Soto 2023, 277) that would not disappear with the end of the Franco regime. The Transition following Franco's death in 1975 allowed transgender individuals to begin seeking new spaces for socialization and to reclaim public spaces, particularly in cities like Barcelona. This shift highlighted how authoritarian military regimes worldwide, including Franco's, had maintained an obsession with binary gender and heterosexual hegemony. This obsession was driven by a desire to preserve the traditional family structure as a means of avoiding social disorder and ensuring reproductive continuity. In Spain, it was not until the 1980s and 1990s, when birth rates and infant mortality ceased to be a problem, that the discourse on transgender identity began to transform.

9 Smiley et al. surveyed the mental well-being of several groups of transwomen from Georgia, Poland, Serbia, Spain and Sweden, and, regarding the Spanish case, they found that:

72.5% of respondents had seriously thought about ending their life at some point (of which 49.6% on multiple occasions), and 4 out of 10 (40.9%) in the whole sample had experienced suicidal ideation in the past 12 months. It is especially worrying to note that almost one-fourth (22.5%) of trans people participating in this research had attempted suicide at least once, which is the highest rate in all five countries, and that 10.9% have attempted suicide in the past 12 months. Three-quarters of them (73.5%) did not seek any help at all, and only one in every five sought support from mental health professionals (21.0%). (2017, 62)

10 Spanish police routinely beat and imprisoned trans women, as Subrat and Platero have argued when historicizing the relation between Francoism and sexual dissidence. Both the Guardia Civil and local police departments had a key role in harassing travestis, who were frequently arrested following first the enforcement of the Ley de Vagos y Maleantes (modified in 1954 so as to include the persecution of homosexuality) and then the Ley de Peligrosidad Social (passed in 1970) which made travestismo illegal.

11 The term “transvestite” needs to be read in context. As Soley-Beltran explains, in 1990s Spain, the distinctions between the categories of transsexual, transvestite and transgender were not as clearly defined as they were in the Anglo-Saxon context. This was partly due to the fact that many trans feminine individuals in Spain feminized their appearance through hormonal, surgical and aesthetic procedures, but maintained their male genitals for an indefinite period, a practice known as “non-operative transsexual” (Soley-Beltran 2014, 276). Additionally, the term “transvestite” was popularly used, in part due to the visibility of trans sex workers of Latin American origin. However, trans activists sought to avoid confusion between the identities of “transsexual” and “transvestite” through media interventions as well as educational and political strategies, such as the promotion of transsexuality as a medical category distinct from transvestism. The lower rates of medicalization of transgenderism in Spain, compared to countries such as the United Kingdom, also contributed to the fact that the distinctions between the categories of transsexual, transvestite and transgender were less relevant in the lives of trans individuals.

12 Transgender figures often embody shifts and changes that go beyond those that occur to their personal identities. For instance, Pedro Almodóvar has featured transgender characters whose narratives reflect broader societal shifts in understanding gender diversity. Films such as Todo sobre mi madre (1999) and La piel que habito (2011) offer nuanced portrayals that contribute to the cultural discourse on gender and sexuality in Spain.

13 Neil Jordan’s The Crying Game (1992) epitomizes this sort of narrative.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Marcelo Carosi

Marcelo Carosi is an Assistant Professor of Hispanic Studies at Hamilton College. He has written extensively on Spanish and Latin American cultures, including visual representations of care in relation to trans life, parenthood, neoliberalism and reproductive labor. Email: [email protected].