Sam Elkin on his queer legal saga

ASTRID: Sam, thank you so much for being with me today. Detachable Penis has just hit the shelves. It is a really extraordinary memoir, and thank you for sharing it with the world. Can you introduce us to your memoir?
SAM: Basically, it's a chronological memoir. It goes from the first day I start work at the LGBTIQ+ Legal Service, which was part of a little community legal centre in St. Kilda. It begins in 2017, I think, just after the marriage equality vote. I had also just started transitioning. So I was on testosterone, but I was too socially awkward and weird to tell anyone, particularly my employer. It is my journey of trying to set up a poorly funded legal program for LGBTIQ+ people, while dealing with a lot of emotional and physical changes.
ASTRID: Structurally, there are two elements to your memoir, and you just outlined them. There is your public facing role as a queer lawyer representing and advocating on behalf of the queer community and doing all this legal work, and then there is your own parallel experience that you don't necessarily tell people about at the beginning. What I'm interested in, because this is a writing podcast, it's how you structurally put the two of these on the page and how you interweave them together in what is a really enjoyable reading experience, but also, you're making some profound points about the society we live in through the use of your words. I'd like to ask how you structured this in a way that was both very personal, but also speaking to where this society is at?
SAM: You know, a lot of people have written memoirs about transitioning, and I think it's a worthwhile thing to do because it's an interesting cultural process. All of a sudden you're treated in a different way by society, and you get to see things like, you know, male white privilege manifest itself before your very eyes. And so, I think that it's something worth talking about. But I guess for me, my experience of transitioning was completely bound up in my experiences of work.
And, you know, I work for a living.
I've been working since I was 14. It's the thing that I do most of the time. So, writing about the changes that were happening to me without writing about work seemed like to really miss the point because, you know, we all have bodies, and these bodies spend their days doing something. So, given that that something was advocating for the LGBTIQA+ community and often being involved in quite complicated conversations around funding for minorities, and who should get funding for what, and which services should be delivered to which people, it was all wrapped up in the one experience. So, you know, when I was at work, I was thinking about my transition experience and being assessed by my clients and other colleagues and, you know, it was all wrapped up in the one thing. I wanted to put that on the page because it felt inauthentic to just write about work without writing about my transition, because it completely impacted on my ability to do that job at the time. Also, just writing about the trans experience without writing about what I was doing all day, it felt like a strange thing to do because, you know, I'm pretty much up in my head. I am a lawyer and I spend a lot of time thinking about stuff.
ASTRID: As I read Detachable Penis, there were so many times where you are sharing how you don't want to talk about your transition or you don't really feel like dealing with any kind of public judgment or public questions or anything like that. Fair call. And here you are sitting with me and I'm about to ask you a lot of questions. Those questions are like, what is the impetus to share your story now? It has made you tired before, if I can phrase it that way, more than tired, fatigued and over it. Why go through that public process in such a formalized way, which is the publication of a book?
SAM: Yeah, interesting question. My partner has often asked me why, when I'm such a private, awkward person, why I would possibly write a memoir like this and why I would call it Detachable Penis and put a picture of a crocheted penis on the cover. So yeah, there is a bit of a contradiction there.
I think I've always written, whether that's in a journal or later for publication, because I struggle to understand what my emotions are at the time. I think that a lot of trans people feel quite disconnected from their body and from their experiences, because their experiences of the world aren't lining up with the external reality. I think for a lot of us, it's quite difficult for us to unpack how we really feel at a particular time. That is something I've really struggled with my whole life. I think I write to understand why I'm having a feeling, what that feeling is and what I might do about it and whether or not it's a reasonable feeling to have. I guess that's why I was writing personally.
You know, I've always written in a journal, and it's a way of processing my emotions. The reason I wanted to publish the book as opposed to just processing and talking to my counsellor about it is because I guess I am an advocate. I'm somebody who cares about trans rights. I think we are seeing a bit of a global backlash at the moment against the trans and gender diverse community and the advances that we've made in healthcare rights and stuff like that. So, it felt important to capture this moment in time on the page. This was a time when, you know, here in Naarm, we had the Andrews Government that was quite supportive of trans rights doing a lot of interesting things in this space, you know, one way or another funding something like the LGBTIQ+ Legal Service. And, you know, I don't know if things will be like that in five years or in ten years. I don't know if I'm telling a sad, gloomy story of the past or the good old days, like the 1960s, the way people nostalgically think about the good old days. I don't know what story I'm trying to tell, but I'm trying to tell my moment in time so that people have that forever. I love books that tell you a bit about the past and put you in that moment, so I hope that this book can do that too.
ASTRID: I love reading and I think books can do so much. And I think you have written something that will mean many things to people over many years, Sam. I want to interrogate further the process of publication. So you've just articulated that impetus, that personal impetus, about why publish. But then the next part is how. So sometimes memoirs are pitched before they're written. Did you pitch this idea or did you work on a manuscript until it was almost done and then start approaching publishers?
SAM: Probably the key kernel of this book came together after writing a pitch to the Griffith Review. It was just a call out for, I think it was their Counterfeit Culture edition. And I pitched, oh no, it was States of Mind. Yeah, it was a States of Mind edition of the Griffith Review. I pitched an essay that was called ‘The Sad Stats: The Trauma of Community Law’. And that was basically about my experience of running, training LGBTIQA+ inclusion training and wondering if this is helping my cause or if it's making things in a way worse for LGBTIQA+ people by constantly talking about, you know, the higher rate of homelessness and suicidality and so on. Like, are we just reinforcing the trauma? So that was an essay that felt really organic to write because it was a genuine question I had and I really didn't know the answer and I still don't.
I was really incredibly grateful that the Griffith Review published that piece, because it was probably the first piece of long form writing that I had published and it was very personal. It meant a lot to me, and I think it meant a lot to people in the community legal sector because, you know, we're a bunch of lefty lawyers that do this fairly low paid work that takes a huge emotional toll. I know so many people that have burnt out of the sector and have come back in and re-burnt themselves out. You know, it's just ongoing and they responded really well to the essay. They read it and shared it around the CLC sector, and I was really moved by that. I felt like, wow, if, you know, these people really want to hear this story, then maybe I can tell the full story of how I started working at the LGBTIQ Legal Service and then left again. So, yeah, that was the kernel. And then I wrote another essay for the Griffith Review that was in the Counter Culture edition. That was Detachable Penis, that was grappling with my questions around gender identity and my body and my body not aligning with the typical cis male body. So those two essays were really the cornerstone for the book that I ended up writing.
And, yeah, I just did a pitch to Terri-Ann at Upswell. They have one day a year where you can pitch to them. I think it was the 23 March, from memory. And she picked it up by April. And I wrote it solidly in six months. And, you know, that was it. Obviously edited it.
But, yeah, that was the process. It was fast in the end, and I never would have got it done without Terri-Ann picking up the publication. I'm forever grateful to Upswell for doing that, because I cannot work without a deadline. I don't know how writers write without one.
ASTRID: There is so much in there, Sam. Firstly, that's a beautiful articulation of why literary journals matter. So, Griffith Review, you got these two pieces in there.
And from there, I mean, you know, a contract with Upswell Publishing. For those listening, Upswell Publishing is a beautiful small independent publisher whose mission is to publish things that should be published. What was it like to work with Terri-Ann, who I have interviewed before on The Garret.
SAM: Terri-Ann has been an absolute pleasure to work with. I grew up in WA and Terri-Ann lives in WA, and so Upswell is a WA publisher. It really meant a lot to be embraced by a Western Australian publishing house because, you know, I've got traumatic memories and feelings towards WA. It's been really nice working with Terri-Ann. She's an absolute force of nature. She does it all. I love Upswell books, so I was really excited to be part of their stable. And yes, seeing the 2024 collection, you know, to be published at the beginning of the year, I was just so excited to see these amazing writers. I'm reading Dominic Gordon's book Excitable Boy right now, which I love, and I love everything that Terri-Ann has published. She's been a dream to work with. I have loved working with Rebecca Bower, the editor who I got paired with. And yeah, the publicity process has been respectful and engaging. I really cannot say a bad word against Upswell or Terri-Ann. It's been a dream and really respectful and really interesting process.
Because I guess Terri-Ann in a lot of ways is like a one woman show. You get to kind of see what actually happens without there being all these layers of bureaucracy that you don't understand what's going on in these team meetings you're not a part of. Terri-Ann will pretty much tell you what's going on and tells you pretty straight up what she thinks about things. I've found a real learning curve about the publishing industry and feel more invested in small boutique publishing than ever. I'm always seeking out Upswell and other sort of small presses when I go to bookshops, even more so as a result of this experience.
ASTRID: Small publishers absolutely matter. Now, this book is called Detachable Penis and you've mentioned the crocheted penis that happens to be on the cover. But this crocheted penis is also part of the book towards the end. You know, there is a scene with a person you met who makes crocheted penises. It's an extraordinary cover. Is that an actual photograph of the crocheted art that appears in your memoir?
It is, yeah. So, Bretty Bobetty, who you can follow on Instagram, is a real person, a real Naarm-based artist, runs gay life drawing workshops around the place and is a really wonderful person and a real great community dude. And yeah, he was making willy warmers, I believe they're called, for a bit of a lark. And then some trans guys started asking him to make crocheted packers. So, for anyone who doesn't know, but most people probably don't know, packers are a kind of gender-affirming, intimate apparel item where they sort of mimic the size and shape of the cis male genitalia, and people stuff it down the front of their pants, essentially. There's all these different merch that you can buy now from, you know, wonderful places like Soft Draw Heroes that have all the different types. But yeah, I was sort of looking for something that would both do the job, but also amuse me. There's just something, I think, hilarious about a crochet penis.
And so, you know, I think all throughout my transition, I've tried not to take myself too seriously. I found humour to be a very protective part of the experience. I felt like the picture of the very genuine item was a good way to bring readers into the experience of the book, which I hope is kind of humorous as well as a serious story.
ASTRID: You made me feel all the things as I read your memoir, Sam. I do have a publishing question related to the crocheted penis. Books can like live or die based on the name or the cover even. Now that's not to say that we should all judge a book by its cover, but people sometimes do as they are walking around a bookstore. What was the discussion like with the title? Was it always going to be called this or how did that come about?
SAM: I definitely had a bit of a late wobble on calling it Detachable Penis because I really am quite a shy person and I work in a professional job and the experience of having to tell my colleagues, ‘Oh, I've got a book coming out’. ‘Oh, what's your book called?’ It's just been hilarious and embarrassing and I haven't blushed so much in my life, I don't think. So yeah, I definitely had a bit of a late wobble being like, can I really do this? But Terri-Ann was convinced that it was a good idea and I stuck with it and I think people have really connected with the title because obviously there's a King Missile song from the 1990s that a lot of people nostalgically remember when they think of that. And yeah, I think that it's encapsulated what I wanted to say well. But yeah, I did wonder, I'm like, is this cover going to bring people in or is it going to repel people? You know, are people going to be prepared to sit on the tram and read this book or is this going to be the death of the publication? It's yet to be seen. I guess you can find a dust jacket and put that over the front of it if you want and pretend you're reading something else.
ASTRID: I have another question, again, related to, well this time related to storytelling. I'd like to talk to you about language and how language evolves. That evolves for us all.
Language also is evolving within the queer community, including pronouns. You actually discuss pronouns in the book, not only how they continue to change, but also what language means in terms of erasure, of movements that have gone before, what may come next. I guess I just wanted to throw it open, given we are talking about writing and publishing, to the idea of language changing and the positives and negatives that come from that.
ASTRID: Yeah, well, language can be quite a fraught topic in the LGBTIQA+ community. In relation to the non-LGBTIQA+ community, I think people feel a lot of anxiety about saying the wrong thing and offending people and being offended. I guess because I'm really interested in history, and I talk about it a little bit in the book, I got really fascinated with a true historical figure from the 19th century, Edward de Lacy Evans, and finding out the language of that time was male impersonator, which obviously probably wasn't a term that Edward used for himself. But when you get that long view that language has changed and continues to change over time, it's been important to me in my personal advocacy to not be dogmatic about particular uses of language and looking at the intent that's sitting behind that, and being open to people getting it wrong, coming up with a new weird term in the process, you know, maybe it'll be a generative experience if you get it wrong and come up with a whole new word we can use. Because, you know, even when I was in my 20s and around LGBTIQA+ student politics, you know, genderqueer was the term we used. Non-binary was not a thing that kind of turned up after I finished my stint in student politics at university. I was a bit sort of surprised by that, and it took me a long time to get comfy using they/them pronouns, which I talk about in the book.
I guess I wanted to explain how your own use of language can evolve over time, because I used they/them pronouns and then I started using he/him pronouns basically because I was tired and didn't want to talk about gender anymore, and that seemed like the easiest way to do it. And, you know, just kind of owning that and being like, I don't necessarily think this is a better way of living. Maybe I'm being a bit of a sell out to, you know, gender trailblazers, but like, I'm really exhausted and I just want a coffee.
ASTRID: Coffee is often the answer. You were burnt out in parts of this memoir. I was burnt out previously for a whole bunch of different reasons, and I want to empathise with that. And you did some extreme, not extreme, but you testified at the Royal Commission into Victoria's Mental Health System. I read those few pages a few times, trying to imagine how that could possibly feel, that institutional weight of a Royal Commission. And I guess I wanted to ask a potentially unanswerable question, but how are you preparing now to, you know, be on the publicity trail? I think this might be one of the first interviews you do, but I hope there will be many, many more. They're going to be exhausting, Sam.
SAM: I am incredibly grateful for any opportunity to talk to anyone who's interested in books, because I love writing and I love reading. I don't take that at all for granted. I'm sure while it will be exhausting for a few weeks, it will come to an end and then no one will care what I'm doing for another few years. I guess I have an in perspective. It is going to be emotionally exhausting, you know, particularly when people ask questions about family and how my family has responded to my transition, which is pretty much something that every transgender diverse person will get asked. I remember I was keenly observing how Yves Rees, a friend of mine who put out a book All About Yves. I was really interested in the questions that their audience members would ask them. And, you know, they're often pretty personal. As you'll tell from the book, I don't mind talking about body stuff, as in like I had this surgery or that and, you know, a lot of other trans people would not want to talk about that. I don't mind talking about that, but feelings and emotions are difficult, and talking about difficult relationship with family in a way that feels respectful and not ugly to family members that you don't necessarily get on very well with. I think it's going to be a challenge for me over the next few months. So that's definitely something in my mind. But yeah, hopefully try and lean into humour and setting boundaries and being able to turn the conversation in a direction that feels less emotionally devastating.
ASTRID: Yves Rees has been interviewed on The Garret before, so anyone interested can listen to Yves' thoughts. I have a final question for you, Sam. You opened Detachable Penis with a quote from Juliette Jacques – I may have completely mangled that name – and that quote is about representation and the idea that nobody can please everybody. That made me think, are you anticipating not pleasing everybody? Or perhaps a better question is, a memoir is inherently an individual's experience. It can't be representative, but the way publishing works, so often the book is put up as here is a memoir about this type of person or this type of experience or this period in history. I guess, thoughts on what that quote perhaps is asking us to think about?
SAM: Yeah, I must admit, I'm extremely anxious as the publication date looms closer about how members of the trans community and how members of the LGBTIQA+ professional sector here in Naarm will respond to the book because, you know, I'm talking quite openly about some of the drama and dysfunction in organisations and in individuals and in us relating to each other. We're a community where lateral violence is a big and ongoing issue, and that means a lot of things to a lot of different people. One person's lateral violence is another person's, you know, very valid accountability process.
I think some people won't agree with conclusions that I've reached or will think that it's unfair that I have, you know, drawn a character about somebody who's based in my real experience. I really struggled with that because it wasn't my intention to make fun of anybody or put anybody down. I hope that I have drawn fair characterisations of people based on my own experiences and put enough in there to show that my own interpretations of things aren't necessarily that reliable. So, yeah, I feel a lot of anxiety about it, and that's why I really connected with the quote, because I know people aren't going to like it. You know, the trans community doesn't have a great track record of, like, supporting the trans community. So that's the community that I'm mainly worried about, I must admit, much more so than the non-LGBTIQA+ community. We'll see, we'll see.
ASTRID: am, I think this is a beautiful memoir. Thank you for sharing it with the world. And congratulations on publication.
SAM: Thank you.