This is less a review and more a thank you note. Victor Brooks’ memoir No Money Nice Cock is something incredible. One of the first memoirs written by a transgender man in Aotearoa, it is a completely frank, terrifically funny and always gripping anarchic trip through fifty years of a gender deviant life.¹ This is a book with great heart, and for this trans man, it is more relatable than anything else on the shelves.
Gender experiences are central in No Money Nice Cock, but they are woven through stories about so much more. Sense of place saturates the book, as Brooks ushers the reader through an L&P-fuelled childhood in 1970s Ōtautahi, to the hazy hospitality jungle of 1990s Tāmaki Makaurau, and travels to locations as far-flung as London and Haiti. Yet it is his experiences as a trans man – even before he called himself such – that make No Money Nice Cock an important, rare and fascinating historic record. Who knew there was such a strong lesbian culture at Epsom Girls Grammar in the 1980s? Where else can you read such a straight up account of navigating sex, love, and friendship among queer Auckland women (and pre-realisation trans men like Brooks!) in the 1990s?
No Money Nice Cock is split into two halves, with the first forty years of Brooks’ life recounted in the former, and the latter focusing on the period from 2019 to the present day, when Brooks began his medical transition. Never have I read such a frank and insightful telling of transition. Brooks allows us insights into his discussions with his (excellent) therapist, freely sharing his many doubts and second-guessing. Trans folks considering phalloplasty (the surgical construction of a penis) will gain a lot from Brooks’ detailed and unrestrained narrative of the complicated surgical process and recovery period. Those in the know will also enjoy Brooks’ heartwarming portrayal of his surgeon, a well-known pioneer of gender affirming surgery in Aotearoa whose warmth, wit and genius light up the page.
While Brooks’ life has been different from mine in almost every way, reading the experience of a fellow trans man in Aotearoa pulled at me from my gut. The way he describes the dance of joy, frustration and impatience as hormone therapy worked its wonders, slowly massaging the body into a new shape, is beautiful and brings back so many memories: ‘The shots of T became the egg tooth that enabled me to pop out of the female form. The changes were at a molecular level and I could feel them.’ His fraught experiences with trans Facebook groups and his Grindr liaisons are hilarious and, unfortunately, deeply relatable. This line rang painfully true: ‘I’d thought I might be bi when all I really was was horny.’
Brooks writes that reading The Well of Loneliness – a famous English lesbian/trans masc memoir from 1928, which young Brooks hid from his family ‘as though it were scat dungeon porn’ – was the first he’d ever heard about trans masculinity: ‘I didn’t even have to have the book open to feel the strength of his existence; just knowing it was in the wardrobe sent out good vibrations that resonated hope.’ I think No Money Nice Cock will do the same for many people. Even in today’s era of trans visibility, there is still such an urgent need for books that can reflect us back at ourselves. For many trans men in Aotearoa this will be the first full-length book they ever read about a local trans man.
But No Money Nice Cock is not a bubbly feel-good story. Brooks does not sanitise the past. He is blunt in his dealings with bulimia, dysphoria, addiction, suicide, abuse, and poverty, but is never without empathy and wry humour. I do wonder whether a certain section of trans people will feel very challenged by this book. Brooks describes such people in No Money Nice Cock; they are those who revel in policing other trans people and are totally unforgiving of others’ mistakes. Such behaviours are rife in queer communities these days and I know I’m guilty of them myself. I found myself cringing at some of Brooks’ language and unfiltered thoughts. But it is his very willingness to be totally honest, messy and lacking in pretension, and his capacity for self-criticism and empathy, that make No Money Nice Cock so refreshing. Brooks is a lover at heart. He writes about other people with so much care that you can’t help but be charmed by him. I love the way he uses his humour to bring confused people along with him for the ride. And like Brooks, I am in love with Maya, Vivien, Holly, Enid, and all the other women that have supported and cared for him through his life and transition.
When I purchased No Money Nice Cock – purely on a whim – I was informed by the excited bookseller at Unity that there was a lot of hype growing around this book and its mystery author (Victor Brooks is a pseudonym). Well the hype is justified! Victor Brooks, whoever you are, I want you to know this: you’re a fucking legend man. Your book has meant so much to me and will mean so much to so many more to come. You have created a beautiful tribute to trans life in Aotearoa. No Money Nice Cock is unique to your individual experience, and yet through your story Victor, you have allowed us to see ourselves and feel a sense of greater connection and solidarity. We are all the luckier that you chose to write it. Thank you!
Will Hansen (he/him) is a Pākehā trans man embracing his evolution towards a jolly gnomeliness in the best place on the blue planet, Pōneke. He is also a historian who is currently working on turning his PhD thesis, exploring histories of queer activism in Aotearoa, into a book.