A long-time best-friendship between a teenage boy and a girl is tested when the latter comes out and their school makes a stink about her wanting to wear a tux to the prom with a girl as her date.
After a summer of subsisting on the literary equivalent of carbs (i.e., genre fiction), I started the school year off with Jeanette Wintersen then dipped close to chick flick territory, followed that with an international memoir and then feminist essay collections back-to-back. Not that I don't love my vampires and young adults, but it's satisfying to get back to spending some time in the minds of smart grown-up humans for a change. It helps that Jennifer Baumgardner is so damned likable in F'em.
From an interview with Ani DiFranco
Also from Ani (everyone calls her Ani, right?)
Disclosure: I'm friends or friendly with about half of the contributors to this book, for which I also wrote a chapter. I think I'd have loved it even if that weren't the case, but then again it couldn't have not been the case because the world of feminist archivists isn't as big as you might imagine--or hope!
"The one good thing about being shut in a coal-hole is that it prompts reflection." So yeah, Jeanette Winterson had a rough childhood, but somehow managed to keep her optimism and sense of humor. Why Be Happy reminds me of Are You My Mother?, but without comics and run through a Joan Didion filter.
So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn't be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange and stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language -- and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers -- a language powerful enough to say how it is.
The librarian was explaining the benefits of the Dewey decimal system to her junior -- benefits that extended to every area of life. It was orderly, like the universe. It had logic. It was dependable. Using it allowed a kind of moral uplift, as one's own chaos was also brought under control.
'Whenever I am troubled,' said the librarian, 'I think about the Dewey decimal system.'
'The what happens?' asked the junior, rather overawed.
'Then I understand that trouble is just something that has been filed in the wrong place. That is what Jung was explaining of course -- as the chaos of our unconscious contents strive to find their rightful place in the index of the unconsciousness.'
Alice Bag, whose name was Anglicized from Alicia in elementary school, and whose last name is a moniker from her late 70s punk band The Bags, shares her coming-of-age story in short, episodic chapters, that are not unlike punk songs. They're hard and fast and sometimes leave you wanting to slam into something. The essays are not polished, a characteristic that takes nothing away, and adds to their authenticity.
There was a point in our musical development where our live shows were all energy and chaos, and I felt like I'd inadvertently unleashed the wrath of Kali upon the world of punk.
One night while I was onstage, I noticed that the landscape was changing before my eyes. As I looked out into the audience, I could see that the once quirky men and women artists who prized originality above all else were being replaced by a belligerent, male-dominated mob who became anonymous, camouflaged by their homogeneous appearance. I didn't mind the belligerent part; in fact playing for a belligerent group of individuals can be quite satisfying. What I didn't like was the sameness. In the past, audiences were full of men and women in wildly colored plumage; now the black leather jacket was emerging as the uniform of the new regime.
I knew Alison Bechdel was brilliant, but I didn't realize she was so smart. Her memoir about her relationship with her mother is multilayered, in that it's about psychology, psychiatry, and psychotherapy; literature, feminism, and aging & menopause (maybe I'm reading these last two into it a bit), as well about how Ma & Alison Bechdel did or didn't and do or don't get along.
It's hard to write a competent review for this minicomic perzine. I really just want to show you all of the comics so you can see for yourself how brilliant they are. But that would be obnoxious.
One of the greatest things about this punk rock lesbian bildungsroman is that it takes place on Staten Island, and also the East Village of the 1980s (?). The narrator Nina Boyd is a working class high school junior who is an athlete and aspiring member of the armed forces, in addition to being a dedicated reader of Love and Rockets and a Rocky Horror Picture Show-goer whose mecca is CBGB. Too bad she doesn't make it into CBs in high school due to curfews strictly enforced by her parents.
Our heroine is an alcoholic lesbian virgin who moves to San Francisco to be with her Philosophy of Nonviolence professor and the professor's two lovers, also Nonviolence alumni. 19-year-old Francesca is a cutter, who also has crushes on her sponsor, another waitress, and a soap opera character. All the relationships are incestuous and manipulative--just so you know what you're getting into with this novel.
"Guess what," I told Andy, "I just quit my job."
"Did you make a real big scene when you quit?" he asked wide-eyed.
"I wish."
I think a serious, "How am I living up to my anarchist potential?" assessment is necessary when I quit a job in the future."
Hello literary lesbian romance! Well, one of the lovers is bi, so it's not strictly lesbian. While the whole novel focuses on the relationship between Indian-Irish flight attend Síle Sunita Siophán O'Shaughnessy and butch Canadian archivist Jude Turner (spoiler: the butch is the one who sleeps with men sometimes) the book as genre fiction. Dog knows I have nothing against genre fiction, but author Donoghue had different aspirations for Landing.
Before that the Turners had been broke, but Jude hadn't cared; what did she need pocket money for, when all the things she liked to do were free and she knew so many of the locals, it was like living in a book?
Writing to you reminds me that you're far away, but it also throws a kind of bridge across the abyss. It's a sad fact, couples who spend blissful lives together don't leave much trace in the archives. Whereas a love letter will outlive us both, if printed on acid-free paper and kept in a dry place.