Deb Carson’s Becoming Flo… A Mostly True Story opens like a dare to history itself. It asks the reader to imagine Baltimore in 1920, a city heavy with immigrant struggle and rigid social rules, and to step into the life of a sixteen-year-old Orthodox Jewish boy who does not fit the narrow future laid out for him. He is surrounded by siblings, four sisters who adore him and four brothers who judge him, and ruled by a father whose brutality is justified by faith, fear, and shame. This boy loves art, color, performance, and beauty, things his father finds unforgivable. Worse still, he harbors a secret that has no language in his world and a desire that threatens his very survival. Carson frames this moment not as melodrama but as a stark, human question, what would you do if staying meant destruction and leaving meant everything unknown.
The boy, born Abraham Isadore Meyrowitz, does what almost no Orthodox Jewish boy of his time dared to do. He runs away. He joins the circus. And in doing so, he eventually becomes Flo. Carson traces this transformation with care and empathy, grounding it in historical reality while allowing Flo’s inner life to shine through. The early chapters are steeped in the legacy of trauma carried from the Russian shtetl to American streets, a legacy shaped by pogroms, religious persecution, and the desperate hope that tradition might protect what violence could not. Instead, tradition becomes another weapon in the hands of an abusive father, and Carson never softens this truth. The violence Flo escapes is not abstract, it is intimate, relentless, and justified by a world that sees no problem in crushing an effeminate child into obedience.
Against this darkness, the circus appears almost mythic, yet Carson is careful to show why it was real refuge rather than fantasy. At the turn of the twentieth century, the circus was one of the few places in American life where difference was not only tolerated but celebrated. Queer people, cross-dressers, gender-nonconforming performers, and those cast out elsewhere found work, family, and safety under the Big Top. In this vibrant subculture, Flo discovers something revolutionary, the possibility of becoming herself without apology. Carson’s research brings this lost world vividly to life, revealing a community of fully out gay men, women, and transgender people decades before mainstream history admits they existed. The circus, even more than the theater, becomes a shield against a society that would rather punish or kill those who refused its rules.
As Abraham becomes Albert White and then Flo, the narrative shifts from survival to transformation. Flo’s artistry blossoms, first through clowning and then through fashion, costume, and performance. Her elegant whiteface becomes iconic among Ringling’s ranks, distinguishing her in an era when the circus boasted “100 Clowns!” and individuality could easily vanish into spectacle. Carson shows how Flo’s femininity was not a phase or a gimmick but a truth she had always known, expressed through flamboyant costumes she designed herself or with the help of a Hollywood costume designer friend. Touring the country as a beloved celebrity, Flo reaches the pinnacle of her profession, not by hiding who she is, but by embracing it fully. The joy of this freedom is palpable on the page, hard-won and radiant.
Readers and critics repeatedly describe the book as cinematic, and it is easy to see why. The imagery of trains, tents, grease paint, sequins, and open roads contrasts sharply with the claustrophobia of Flo’s childhood home. The emotional arc, from terror to liberation, from silence to applause, feels destined for stage or screen. But beyond its visual richness, Becoming Flo endures because of its heart. Sharon Preston-Folta speaks of the warmth she felt watching Flo rise from abuse into self-love, and many echo this sentiment. Flo’s generosity, her gentleness, and her indomitable spirit become acts of resistance in themselves.
In the end, Becoming Flo… A Mostly True Story is not only a biography but a testament. It honors a life lived against impossible odds and a community that made such a life possible. It reminds readers that art can be a lifeline, that chosen family can save what blood family cannot, and that freedom sometimes begins with the most terrifying step imaginable. Flo ran away to join the circus, and in doing so, she found herself. Carson’s telling of that journey brims with hope and joy, much like Flo herself, and it insists that stories like hers are not just overdue but essential, especially now.
Available via Amazon
Post a Comment