First off: I really enjoyed reading this story! I can definitely see how it might have inspired other works like H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Thing On The Doorstep.” And, it does raise some genuinely good philosophical questions that branch off almost fractally the more you think about them.
The protagonist follows the story of his friend Dr. Myas, a deeply ambitious scientist with many quirks. Dr. Myas delves into the concept of whether or not a person’s ego can be sustained independently of the body and mind–or even moved and switched with that of another. Myas becomes consumed by his quest for answers, growing closer to a woman named Alice whom he plans to marry . . . but only after his experiments, in which she becomes his partner, are finished. Despite numerous ethical and practical questions raised by his peers, Dr. Myas finally crafts a machine that empowers him to explore his ultimate question firsthand, with his wife-to-be at his side. Dr. Myas does, indeed, manage to exchange his “soul,” or ego, with Alice’s. But the cost is dire and the result is a distressed melding of the two people. Mind and body are affected, and the ego is questioned as the protagonist strives to help Dr. Myas clean up the aftermath of this bewildering turn of events.
As I got deeper into the story, I found myself wondering about many of the same things Dr. Myas did. How does one separate the idea of the ego from the electric signals of the brain? From cell memories held in the body? From muscle memories retained in the body’s machinery? If I “exchanged souls” with someone else, would I forget how to play the piano or conduct research? And, of course, this story delves into the complex ideas and questions about identity that people have struggled for so long to fully understand, which touch a very specific kind of nerve for trans people (and surely for many other members of the LGBTQ+ community who have had inherent parts of their identity questioned or invalidated).
As a trans guy myself, I found the idea of Dr. Myas waking up in his wife’s body to be particularly creepy. Aside from the obvious parallels, I’m sure I’m also not the only trans person who’s struggled with medical-related anxiety and weird fears like “What if hormone treatments don’t work?” or “What if things somehow go back to the way they were, and all my efforts and agony were for nothing?” or simply “What if something goes horribly wrong?” Treatments of any kind, no matter how strongly we might desire them, are not risk-free.
This point ties into the story even more: just like Dr. Myas, I and many others have pursued (sometimes rather experimental and cutting-edge) treatments with a dogged, almost grim determination–because even the possibility of success is worth the risks. Even the hope that you might finally fulfill your desires and get some kind of relief for the all-consuming ailment that’s plagued your brain for years is worth the risk of losing everything.
Now for the inevitable: even though I relate to many aspects of the story and can find validation in them, there are definitely some outdated views and terminologies used in this story. I didn’t expect anything different, considering the publication date–of course there would be some sexist and misogynistic views, such as the tendency to view women or AFAB people as simple and shallow and then judge them accordingly. Of course there would be an overly black-and-white description of “men and women.”
After bracing myself for the worst going in, I actually felt somewhat pleasantly surprised as I kept reading. Despite the age and setting of the story, I would actually consider the protagonist’s general attitude towards people to be relatively neutral or even slightly progressive for the times. He seems to see the whole picture and have his personal priorities more straightened out than some people today do. For example: his horror towards the end of the story seems to arise from the jarring changes in his associate, which defy all that he knows of science, rather than anything focused on the gender aspect itself. He also seems to spend as much time critiquing men’s clothing and mannerisms throughout the rest of the story as he does women’s. He does not generally treat women as lesser or offer them a lower level of respect than he offers men, even if the terminology in the story can get a bit . . . dated.
He doesn’t really actively emphasize any sexist or misogynistic stereotypes, either, even though they’re inherently a part of the story’s chronological setting–at most, he mentions them in passing, in a way that seems natural for someone who was brought up to think that way. And at times, he even seems to question these cultural norms, reinforcing the overall inquisitive nature of the story. I especially noticed the part where he felt a bit uncomfortable about the way Dr. Myas simply expected Alice to clean up after a meal, taking her helpfulness for granted. Sometimes little things like that can speak volumes.
As I analyzed the cultural tone of the story, critique at the ready, it actually did remind me of similar debates I’ve run into regarding H. P. Lovecraft’s tone. So many people are eager to judge a writing piece from decades or centuries past according to the cultural backdrop and standards of today. While I completely understand wanting to progress past outdated views built on inequality, discrimination, and a complete misunderstanding of certain marginalized groups . . . I think many people should reevaluate how quick they are to shun a whole piece of writing that still contains good messages. Everything is a mixed bag, after all, and it’s important to be able to read something you don’t agree with and set the disagreeable parts aside while still harvesting any insight you can.
There really is a lot of insight to be harvested from this story, if you really mull it over and chew on the ideas it presents–especially for any LGBTQ+ person or ally. It pushes us to confront difficult ideas that might be uncomfortable or eerie to face as Dr. Myas and Alice begin to fuse. It’d be skin-crawling, I’m sure, for many trans people to think of finally shedding the labels associated with their old body as they embraced a body like Alice’s . . . only to have traits like Dr. Myas’ come through anyway. It must be chilling for others to see the varying stages of nonbinary existence come and go past the point where they’d wish to stay, their ideal state presented as something so fleeting, ephemeral . . . unattainable. And it’s probably chilling for other trans men to see a cisgendered man put in a cis woman’s body, and for her traits to push through as well as his . . . poking at the nerve that’s already been twisted by so many people nastily saying things like “If you were AFAB, you’re a woman and you can’t change that.”
At the same time, aspects of it were strangely validating. Yes, I can see how some people would feel distaste towards the way it was presented, or feel uncomfortable at the way Alice’s qualities persisted and embodied the idea that the body sustains its own form and traits no matter who you are. But it’s just as intriguing and validating to read about Dr. Myas’ ego coming through anyway, with his physical traits even transforming Alice’s body–because it reinforces the other side of the coin: he is still himself, even if he’s now plunked into a woman’s body. He still has many of his same mannerisms, and he retains his personality even if some of his tastes or preferences change to match hers. He is not erased by being put in Alice’s body.
Even if you gain the ability to play the piano or lose the ability to use complex scientific machinery, you are still you. The sum is greater than the whole of its parts, and we are more than just our traits which can be changed.
By the end of the last page, I found myself left with more questions than answers regarding the philosophical themes of the story. And I’m sure that was the whole point. Maybe a very dark and ironic point: even after all Dr. Myas’ and Alice’s sacrifices, we still don’t really have the answers he sought with her. Where does the ego, or soul, end and the mind and body begin? How unforgiving or pliable is the line between them?
In the end, this story grabs us all by the shoulders and spins us around to look in a mirror and ask “Who really are you?” And I wonder how many people can give a solid answer. Maybe if I were suddenly placed in a body more closely aligned with what feels right for me, I would lose some of the mental traits or abilities associated with the one I’m in now. But would I care? (Probably not.) Everyone’s answer to questions like these is different.
I think most, if not all of us can agree: we’d still be ourselves if we no longer remembered things we’d learned from scientific research. We’d still be who we are if we had a smaller stature or had weird muscle memories of playing piano, or other things we hadn’t really thought about before. Because after all, the ego concept is all about identity, and identity is unique in definition for everyone. For all its odd framing around the idea, its outdated terminology, and its overly binary presentation of the genders, I feel that An Exchange Of Souls delivers this message solidly and well.
An Exchange of Souls can be read for free online at the Internet Archive.
My name is Desmond Rhae Harris, and I found some fascinating food for thought within Barry Pain’s story. As a writer and artist, I know how it feels to wish for something that you can’t forcibly mold into your exact ideal form–the frustration and the all-consuming desire to get it “right.” I feel for Dr. Myas, despite some of his questionable perspectives. Anyway, my work has been published by Penumbric Speculative Fiction Mag, Burning Light Press, and Florida Roots Press. I’m also the Associate Editor / Designer / Illustrator at Starward Shadows eZine. When I’m not working with publications or writing and illustration as a freelancer, I like to go outside for walks at dusk or play music. Video games sometimes even make it on the list, too. You can find out more at TheInkSphere.com.
Copyright 2023 Desmond Rhae Harris.
Deep Cuts in a Lovecraftian Vein 
I thought the best part of the book was at the end where we read the diary Myas has been keeping and get his point of view- and I say His because as he attempts to come to terms with the parts of his being which are His, and the parts of his Wife’s personality which manifest themselves, he finds that he is more socially accepted if he lives as a Man, or at least he passes with less notice.
Unfortunately it has the flaw I’ve found in other Pain novels – it pushes a boundary, sets up tension, and then Pain resolves things quickly with a death. Status restored.
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