I believe I might be a bit of a prude. Gloeckner’s well-drawn graphic memoir of sexual abuse, drug abuse, and bad parenting is a little overly graphic for me, as is R. Crumb’s icky introduction. I’m sure it’s quite brilliant, but it’s not for me. It is pretty funny reading it on the subway, though, with all its nudity, especially when you board the train in a religious neighborhood.
At this training thing I went to I met a guy who worked for Harlequin, and he mentioned in his intro that Harlequin was getting into nonfiction. Of course I was like “What does that mean?” He told me about this diabetic ballerina’s memoir, and I was like “Oh, that makes sense.” and “I want to read it!”
May-lee Chai exposes the racist heartlessness of the heartland in her memoir of spending her teens in South Dakota (near the Pine Ridge reservation where someone perhaps other than Leonard Peltier shot two FBI agents a few years before the Chais moved there). She and her brother faced real danger from their fellow junior high and high school students, and several of the family’s dogs were killed on the Chai’s farm.
This is such a clever yet simple conceit. Prunella writes a little essay about a bunch of men she’s known named Dan, including an ex-boyfriend. Additional charm: there’s an addendum Dan taped into the back of the zine.
Political progressive Sarah Glidden takes part in a Birthright Israel trip, riddled with doubt and concern, and after having researched Israel and Palestine extensively in the 40 days (heh) prior to her departure. Her graphic novel style memoir or the experience is nuanced, self-aware, self-critical, and brave. She arrives in Israel braced against being brainwashed and proving her Pakistani boyfriend’s father right that all American Jews eventually support Israel.
"Or maybe I don’t really feel this connection. Maybe it’s just impossible not to, after someone talks to you about holocaust refugees and teenaged soldiers!" p.104
Strip of a marker on floor of where Orthodox Jew Yigal Amir assassinated Yitzhak Rabin that says “murderer,” p. 106.
I haven’t been able to find an image of it online, but if there truly is such a marker on the site of the assassination, it’s indicative of the Israeli personality, to immortalize the actor of the aggression.
"Are those Palestinian boys yelling at us or just "playing?
I suddenly want to be back inside a homey Jerusalem cafe talking about the city’s culture clash instead of wandering around inside it.
[seeing a play] "I feel relaxed. The seats are comfortable; it’s dry and warm in here against the cold rain outside. But my ease in here goes beyond that.
"Almost everyone in this room is Jewish. Many of them are young. They like intellectual theater which means they probably like contemporary art and translated novels.
"They live in Israel, I don’t. They understand what is happening in this play, I don’t. But we probably have so much in common. I’m ashamed to admit to myself that I like this feeling of being in this room. I'm even more ashamed at how much I didn’t like being outside of it."
p. 191-92
Joey's gender transition stories are everything that you could want in a minicomic. They're honest, well-drawn, compelling, and at least once an issue, LOL funny. I don't say LOL casually, I actually mean it. The strip that got me in issue one is the 4th installment of Joey's conversation with herself, "Am I a bitch now?" about whether her now passing and openly identifying as female--and taking hormones--has, you know. If that scares you, know that this isn't an attack on assertive womanhood. Check out the first installment, and you'll understand:
C's full-color handwritten and illustrated mini- 24-hourish perzine depicts her winter solstice day-in-the-life. She does a holiday craft project, but is unsuccessful at luring her son to participate--no Norman Rockwell memories for Emiliano! The next page is colored in saffron to match some Buddhist monks Celia saw waiting on the el train platform with her. She goes on to list and draw things she saw and heard in her travels that day and the contents of the single bag of stuff she bought at Whole Foods that set her back more than $80. There are also little anecdotes, music-inspired memories, and train haiku (morning meal is a / half gallon of Kemp's milk and / a "shut the fuck up").
Last year the 50something unemployed school librarian took off on a European grand tour, starting with three months in Brest, studying French. This is my favorite issue so far of E-Zine. Elaine's narrative has more of a thru-line than in the past (my hang-up, not hers!), which contrast nicely with her collage-y visual style. There are photos and little handwritten notes and handstamped stamps throughout. I love the purple pen nib on the back, especially.
I've mostly indulged my love of celebrity autobiographies without guilt, but this one made me feel just a teeny bit dirty. It is a lot dishier than the others, for one thing. Melissa Gilbert knows everyone, and was a bit of a strumpet in her day. Did you know she was once engaged to Rob Lowe? She's also a sober alcoholic, so good for her. She strikes me as a doer (she was president of SAG) and a perfectionist, so writing a book isn't out of the realm of what one might expect, but even so, I wouldn't be surprised if she wrote it at least partially for the money. How is it that so many celebrities seem to feel as cash-strapped as the rest of us? More so, really. I don't feel poor at all, and I doubt any movie star could make it a month on my yearly salary, much less could they survive a week in my one-bedroom rental apartment!
I delighted at the idea of this book, recommended to me by fellow Library Underground denizen Amy Mullin. I mean, who doesn't love a juicy tv child star memoir? What I didn't realize is that while Prairie Bitch, written by the actor who played the bad guy on Little House on the Prairie, does have some salacious details (What was up with Melissa Sue Anderson?!?), it's also a moving and funny account of the AIDS activist and incest survivor's life. Plus, she's huge in France.
