List of Figures Acknowledgments Introduction: Masculinization of Woman Chapter 1. Which One is the Man? The Masculinization of Women's Fashions Chapter 2. In the Beginning there was Sport: The Masculinized Female Athlete Chapter 3. My Emil is Different: Queer Female Masculinities in the Weimar Media Chapter 4. The Trouser Role: Female Masculinity as Performance Chapter 5. Female Masculinities and the Rural-Urban Divide in Weimar Fiction Conclusion Bibliography

In this roundtable, four curators of exhibitions showcasing sexual archives and histories—with a particular focus on queer and trans experiences—were asked to reflect on their experiences working as scholars and artists across a range of museum and gallery formats. The exhibitions referred to below were Bring Your Own Body: Transgender between Archives and Aesthetics, curated by Jeanne Vaccaro (discussant) with Stamatina Gregory at The Cooper Union, New York, in 2015 and Haverford College, Pennsylvania, in 2016; Odarodle: An imaginary their_story of naturepeoples, 1535–2017, curated by Ashkan Sepahvand (discussant) at the Schwules Museum (Gay Museum) in Berlin, Germany, in 2017; Queer, curated by Ted Gott, Angela Hesson, Myles Russell-Cook, Meg Slater (discussant), and Pip Wallis at the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, Australia, in 2022; and TransTrans: Transatlantic Transgender Histories, curated by Alex Bakker, Rainer Herrn, Michael Thomas Taylor, and Annette F. Timm (discussant) at the Schwules Museum in Berlin, Germany, in 2019–20, adapting an earlier exhibition shown at the University of Calgary, Canada, in 2016.

Increased access to visual archives and the proliferation of digitized images related to sexuality have led a growing number of scholars in recent years to place images and visual practices at the center of critical historical inquiries of sexual desire, subjectivity, and embodiment. At the same time, new critical histories of sexual science serve both to expand the temporal and geographical frames for investigating the historical relationships of sex and visual production, and to generate new lines of inquiry and reshape visual studies more broadly. The contributors to this issue invite us to ask: What new questions and challenges for the study of sex and sexual science are posed by critical studies of the visual? How are new visual methodologies that focus on archives changing the contours of historical knowledge about sex and sexuality? What—and where—are new methodologies still needed? “Visual Archives of Sex” aims to illuminate current research that centers visual media in the history of sexuality and that interrogates contemporary historiographies.

Photographic portraits of queer subjects from the early 20th century—shaped by early medical-scientific and legal practices—have often been identified with hegemonic ways of seeing, even when they re restaged in the present. In this article we argue that bringing an ethics of attentiveness to the analysis of such photographs reveals not only how embodied subjectivities were captured by the photographer’s lens, but also how our own feelings and sense of self shape our investments in “touching” the queer past. Attending to such “quiet frequencies” (Campt) of the queer photographic archive llows us to embrace a wide range of emotions, from shame, desire, and grief to desire, exhibitionism, and self-assurance. We argue that through their portraits, the queer subjects examined in our article ay claim to a form of “deviant dwelling” that incorporates a tension between pragmatism, conformity, and refusal. This tension resonates into the present, as curators and artists recirculate and cite archival genres of queer portraiture. In doing so, they create moments of transtemporal queer touch between today’s audiences and historical subjects, albeit in ways that do not always sit comfortably with contemporary attempts at queer world-making. (BL/KS)

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The historical forces of war and migration impacted heavily on the disciplinary locations, practitioners, and structures of sexology and psychoanalysis that had developed in the first decades of the 20th century. By the late 1940s, the US was fast becoming the world centre of each of these prominent fields within the modern human sciences. During these years, the work of Alfred C. Kinsey and his team became synonymous with a distinctly North American brand of empirical sex research. This article offers the most nuanced account to date of the shifting relationship between these two fields in the late 1940s to mid 1950s. It argues that this was more collaborative and mutually influential than previous historians have assumed, even as, following the publication of the first ‘Kinsey report’, tensions grew between the Indiana team and the conservative brand of psychoanalysis that by this stage dominated 1950s North American psychiatry. A keen sense of professional competitiveness accelerated the growing split between these two fields, as Kinsey’s team developed a distinctly modern, technologized brand of statistically oriented sexology that contrasted with the older patient case history, and assumed a very different approach to conservative analysts on ideas of homosexuality and ‘normal’ sexual behaviour. Yet this story of divergence is also tempered through consideration of other aspects of ‘situated knowledge’ such as religion and gender identity, even as accounts of cross-disciplinary competitiveness are expanded by contrasting Kinsey’s positions on psychoanalysis with those of contemporaries such as Harry Benjamin.

The German QuarterlyVolume 94, Issue 1 p. 139-141 Book Review Gelderloos, Carl. Biological Modernism: The New Human in Weimar Culture Katie Sutton, Katie Sutton Australian National UniversitySearch for more papers by this author Katie Sutton, Katie Sutton Australian National UniversitySearch for more papers by this author First published: 10 February 2021 https://doi.org/10.1111/gequ.12165Read the full textAboutPDF ToolsRequest permissionExport citationAdd to favoritesTrack citation ShareShare Give accessShare full text accessShare full-text accessPlease review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.I have read and accept the Wiley Online Library Terms and Conditions of UseShareable LinkUse the link below to share a full-text version of this article with your friends and colleagues. Learn more.Copy URL Share a linkShare onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditWechat No abstract is available for this article. Volume94, Issue1Winter 2021Pages 139-141 RelatedInformation

ABSTRACTExpanding upon early feminist discussions of the ‘male gaze’ of classic Hollywood cinema, scholars have theorised the multiple modalities of a ‘transgender look’ or ‘gaze’. This involves considering trans(*) or transgender perspectives not just in terms of identity, but as a way of seeing that refuses to privilege the real over the figurative, and that can enable characters to envisage alternative futures. This article draws on discussions of trans and queer gazing, embodiment and temporality, to argue for a trans reading of Antje Rávik Strubel's 2007 novel Kältere Schichten der Luft, set in a canoeing camp in Sweden, and her 2016 episodic novel In den Wäldern des menschlichen Herzens. It argues that the transgender gaze is cultivated as a space of both refuge and possibility for the protagonists of these two works, with the later novel pushing beyond the temporary glimpses of queer and trans utopias in Kältere Schichten toward more permanent, although never fixed, representations of trans embodiment. These works invite readers to look with rather than at trans and genderqueer characters. In doing so, they renegotiate understandings of pasts and futures, embodiments and desires.

The historiography of sexology is young. It is also expanding at a remarkable pace, both in terms of the volume of publications and, more notably, in terms of its geographical, disciplinary, and intersectional reach. This special issue takes stock of these new directions, while offering new research contributions that expand our understanding of the interdisciplinary and transnational formation of this field from the late 19th through to the mid 20th century. The five articles that make up this special issue stage historiographical interventions by challenging the tendency within sexological history to focus on the medical, the homosexual, the human, and the Western European at the expense of other disciplines, diagnoses, non-human subjects, and geographical locations. A particular strength of these contributions is their focus on mapping conversations among and between sexologists on both sides of the Atlantic in the early to mid 20th century – particularly in Germany, Britain, and the US – and between East and West in the early Cold War era.

They’ve removed anything you could tie a rope to” (qtd. in Nuttall 71–72). Nuttall plausibly discusses various parts of the full passage in terms of CG. For example, the reference to a wreath “profiles a trajectory [...] against the landmarks of its setting”; our “conceptualization of this ceiling ornament” is complicated by “the fact that the landmark is given priority by being presented first” (73). She does briefly note that the opening implies a point of view—the narrator, looking down at first, then lifting her gaze. But the analysis seems to miss the main points of the passage. First, the narrator is alone—thus the single chair— and that aloneness is due to violence, like the one eye left when its twin has been gouged out. Second, the narrator is thinking about death, both that of the loved ones from whom she is separated—suggested by the wreath, such as one might lay on a grave—and, more important, her own possible suicide. Stylistically, it is important that both points are implied but not explicit; they may be inferred, despite their absence, like the eye or the chandelier, or the narrator’s point of view. Moreover, these unstated implicatures alter the tone of such subsequent comments as “I am alive, I live,” making them less celebratory, more ambivalent. Then again, these are qualms about particular analyses. They do not change the fact that Nuttall has written a book that will be rightly welcomed by critics and theorists interested in further developments of cognitive linguistic approaches to literature.