“How do we define the question ‘What makes a man?’ and why are we compelled to define the term at all?” – Angus McLaren, The Trials of Masculinity: Policing Sexual Boundaries 1870-1930
Angus McLaren’s The Trials of Masculinity: Policing Sexual Boundaries, 1870–1930 (University of Chicago Press, 1997) provides a compelling historical analysis of how masculinity and sexual behaviour were defined, regulated, and enforced during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Drawing on court cases, medical discourse, and social policy, McLaren demonstrates that masculinity was not a fixed or inherent category; instead, it was continually scrutinized, contested, and shaped by social expectations and institutional authority.
From a Queer Theory perspective, at least, how it was framed in the 1990s, the book is particularly valuable as it highlights how heterosexual, “socially respectable” masculinity was constructed through the exclusion and punishment of those who deviated from established sexual and gender norms. Instead of viewing masculinity as a neutral social role, McLaren reveals it as a contested identity shaped by power dynamics, fear, and institutional control.
Through the lens of Gender Studies and Queer Theory, McLaren highlights how the legal and medical systems function as tools for producing “normative” sexuality. McLaren illustrates that behaviours associated with homosexuality, sexual nonconformity, or gender deviance were framed as threats not only to morality but to the social order itself. Queer Theory is a controversial academic field because it asserts that categories are socially produced rather than biologically fixed, and McLaren’s attempt here is to present historical evidence to support this view. The men prosecuted or investigated during this period were not simply (or only) punished for homosexual acts; they were labelled as a particular classification of socially and politically deviant people, reinforcing the idea that queerness, be it through gender or sexual behaviour, was an identity to be monitored, contained, and punished.
One of the book’s strengths is its attention to how masculinity was policed differently across class lines. McLaren shows that working-class men were often judged more harshly and surveilled more closely than their middle-or upper-class counterparts. There is a distinct focus on power relations, which helps explain why certain masculinities were protected while others were criminalized. The book makes clear that “proper” masculinity was less about behaviour alone and more about social position and conformity to dominant norms.
McLaren also challenges the assumption that repression was uniform or uncontested. His analysis
suggests that the very intensity of regulation points to widespread anxiety about the fragility of masculine ideals. Queer Theory interprets this anxiety as evidence that heterosexual masculinity depended on constant reinforcement and was always at risk of destabilization. By documenting trials and public scandals, McLaren reveals moments where the boundaries of masculinity were exposed as unstable, revealing the cracks in what appeared to be a rigid system. These moments are crucial for understanding how queerness functioned as both a threat and a mirror to dominant sexual norms.
Overall, The Trials of Masculinity is a significant contribution to the history of sexuality and gender, and it aligns closely with key insights from Queer Theory. McLaren does more than simply describe past injustices, like the Oscar Wilde Trial; he shows how modern ideas about masculinity were actively constructed through exclusion and punishment. The work encourages readers to question contemporary assumptions about gender and sexuality by revealing their roots in systems of control rather than in inherent truths.
Angus McLaren is a heterosexual man in a largely heteronormative academic culture, so does this introduce bias when discussing masculinity in reference to homosexuality and the masculine/feminine paradigm? Queer Theory emphasizes that knowledge is shaped by social locations such as gender and sexuality. So, does McLaren unintentionally reinforce normative assumptions about sexuality or present queerness mainly as an object of regulation rather than acknowledging it as a lived experience and/or an innate, even biological sense of self-identity?
Does a heterosexual identity mean McLaren is incapable of critically analyzing queerness or masculinity? Queer Theory does not argue that only queer scholars can study queer subjects. It insists that scholars remain attentive to how power and normativity shape their perspectives. In The Trials of Masculinity, McLaren largely avoids moralizing queer subjects and instead focuses on institutions—courts, medicine, and the state—that defined and policed sexual boundaries. This structural focus does limit the extent to which his personal identity overtly shapes the narrative. He does not present heterosexual masculinity as natural or superior; instead, he exposes it as fragile, anxious, and constantly enforced, a move that challenges heteronormativity rather than reinforcing it.
That said, McLaren’s work tends to emphasize regulation and repression more than queer agency or self-definition. One might argue that this reflects a limitation of his perspective and sources, as the voices and lived experiences of queer individuals are filtered through historical, legal, or medical records rather than written, first-person accounts. This absence does not stem solely from personal bias but also from archival constraints; still, it’s important to note whose voices are missing and why.
One of my central issues with Queer Theory is its very foundation: the critique of the absolutism of categorization, which fails to acknowledge that its own stance operates as a form of absolutism—namely, the assertion that sexual and gender categories, such as sexual orientation, are solely modern social constructs. Historically, queer individuals often accepted the socially assigned role of being deviant or othered, a label applied to those who engaged in what we now identify as homosexual acts or gender-nonconforming behaviour.
Many in the past lived inauthentic lives: remaining closeted, entering sham marriages, or maintaining secret relationships, sometimes cohabiting with partners while publicly presenting themselves as friends or roommates. At the same time, the possibility that these individuals experienced genuine romantic or deeply felt emotions, intertwined with behaviour deemed deviant, was minimized or outright rejected.
In the late nineteenth century, moving into the twentieth century, a growing number of queer individuals began to reject this framework of deviance. Rather than seeing themselves as social anomalies and accepting the negative connotations placed upon the acts they engaged in as a corruption of moral purity and/or mental illness, they sought recognition as people who engaged in non-conforming sexual or gendered behaviours due to an inherent inclination or orientation, absent of socially constructed moral judgments. This shift made classification and categorization increasingly important. Identifying distinct sexual orientations allowed these individuals to be understood—and to understand themselves—as a natural minority, persecuted not for moral failure but for inherent difference.
These emerging categories also served an explanatory function. They offered a way to conceptualize
sexual and gender differences as stable and often innate characteristics, rather than as the result of trauma, abuse, social dysfunction, or deficient family structures. In this sense, categorization was not merely a mechanism of control but also a tool for self-recognition, political advocacy, and resistance to pathologization.
Ultimately, from a Queer Theory perspective, McLaren’s heterosexual identity and heteronormative relationship are relevant to consider, but they do not automatically discredit his scholarly writings. His work demonstrates an awareness of masculinity as a constructed and policed category, which aligns with queer theoretical critiques. However, readers must remain attentive to the limits of his perspective, particularly the relative absence of queer voices and experiences. Acknowledging both the strengths and constraints of McLaren’s positionality leads to a more nuanced and critically engaged reading of The Trials of Masculinity.
