There are some books on my shelves that have sat unread for so long I’ve forgotten they were even there. Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides is one such novel. I picked it up from a used bookstore over ten years ago, drawn in by its Pulitzer win, its pick for Oprah's Book Club, and its unique subject matter. But then—like so many books I fully intend to read—it slipped into the background. It moved with me from apartment to apartment, house to house, until finally, earlier this week, I pulled it off the shelf. And boy, am I kicking myself for waiting so long. Middlesex is a sprawling tour de force, timeless and resonant as ever.
In the opening of the book, we meet Cal/Calliope Stephanides, who “was born twice: first, as a baby girl…and then again as a teenage boy.” The story unfolds like a confession, tracing Cal’s origins from a forbidden love in a tiny Greek village to a turbulent adolescence in 1970s Detroit. Each chapter peels back another layer of the past, revealing the strange inheritance—both genetic and emotional—that quietly shapes Cal’s life long before he understands it himself.
As the narrative expands, we’re given intimate insight into a sprawling family history. Eugenides weaves mythology, immigration, American history, and a deeply personal coming-of-age story into one seamless arc. As Cal digs into the mysteries of his family’s journey to America and the secrets they carried with them, we’re steadily drawn toward the revelation at the core of his identity.
Middlesex is a phenomenal novel. It's epic in scale yet intimate in execution. When it was published in 2002, much ado was made about the story’s exploration of gender identity. It’s a topic that remains fiercely relevant today. And though our understanding of gender has evolved in the years since Eugenides wrote this novel, the prejudice, fear, and demonization of those we deem “other” have tragically persisted.
But to focus solely on that aspect would overlook what makes the bulk of this story so enduring. Eugenides has written a novel that is, at its heart, about family—how it shapes us, changes us, and anchors us to who we become. His characters feel deeply real, the kind of people you might find scattered throughout your own family tree. Their story, full of heart, humor, and yes, tragedy, is impossible to ignore. It’s this emotional richness that makes Middlesex worthy of all the acclaim it has received, and what ultimately left me grateful to have finally pulled it off my shelf after all these years.
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(2025, 94)
