A Note

I am headed away on vacation very shortly. I’ll still be blogging, but I probably won’t be able to manage every day, as computer access will be limited. In the meantime, I’ll be reading lots of things to talk about when I get back, and plotting More Surprises for the good of all.

June, Where Did You Go?

June was a light month here, suitable for the first of summer, I think! Among other things, I waxed rhapsodic about Katha Pollitt, took on a tiger mother, and contemplated being one of the mean kids.

By far the highlight of the month, at least in my opinion, was my discussion of bell hooks with Ily–if you didn’t read it then, read it now! (Part One and Part 2.)

I’m not going to post the usual list of upcoming reading for July, because I want to do it a little differently. This time I ask: what do YOU want me to read?

But Now It’s Full of Evil Clowns*

The other night, I finished the last of the Pit Dragon books and found myself stranded in the living room. All my library books were in my darkened bedroom, where the Irishman was fast asleep. What to do?

Why, pull something off the shelf, of course! For a quick and thought-provoking read, I turned to Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home. I think I’ve read it three or four times now. (If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a compulsive rereader. Why not, if it was good the first time?) I actually remember the very day I first read it, as it was the day my grandmother died, April 15, 2008. My mother called me to tell me the news, and I turned straight into the campus bookstore to buy Fun Home. I’d been wanting to read it for some time–I was a long-time fan of Bechdel’s serial comic, “Dykes to Watch Out For.”

So I did. Inevitably, reading Bechdel’s account of her father’s life and death prompts thoughts of my grandma, but that’s not all that makes her memoir so poignant. I’ve seen it criticized as self-consciously literary. There’s no denying the constant references and parallels drawn, but for my part, I completely got what Bechdel was trying to do. If you’re a reader, as she and I are, and her father was, you’re naturally tempted to frame your life in terms of books. I once actually began writing a memoir based on what I was reading when (I still might finish it, someday). For the daughter of an English teacher who grew up to write serial comics that rival Dickens for complexity of plot and abundance of characters, Fun Home is the perfect memoir. I highly recommend it.

*I can’t help it. I work retail. The songs get IN YOUR BRAIN.

Excellence of Writing: 10/10 Here I’m really grading the art–Bechdel’s distinctive style is perfectly matched to her witty prose.

Feminist Cred: 10/10 This is the woman who gave us the Bechdel Test, after all. Note for the uninformed: Bechdel’s early ventures into lesbianism are thoughtfully explored throughout.

How Much Do I Recommend It?: 10/10 It’s a quick read, it’s really interesting, and it took my mind (if only for a little while) away from my grandma’s death. What more can be said?

Insert Bad Virginia Woolf Pun Here

As mentioned previously, one of the things I enjoy about reading mystery novels is the strong moral element. With P.D. James, this is always present in spades. No matter what the circumstance, her detective–Adam Dalgliesh–is always there, being moral all over the place. The Lighthouse is no exception.

One thing that I’ve noticed about detective series in particular comes into play quite strongly with James, and that’s the problem of a changing world. When one begins a series set in the “real world” (as opposed to a fantasy or speculative universe), one has to make a choice: will my protagonists age and react to the changed world around them, or will they live forever in a sort of timeless amber? Most authors settle for somewhere in between, with varying degrees of success. In James’s case, Dalgliesh has aged as the world changes (cell phones! oh how detective novels love cell phones!), but it seems to me that the timing is off. In the late sixties, he was old enough to be a detective inspector and be married (with a baby on the way). Now, in the mid-oughts, he’s . . . middle-aged? Uh, I don’t think so.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, other than putting it down on record that I’ve noticed. Take heed, Baroness James!

Anyway, The Lighthouse: liked it.

Excellence of Writing: 10/10 James is a great writer, and she makes mystery into literature.

Feminist Cred: 5/10 James’s detective is a man (of course), but her portrayal of Kate Miskin is nuanced and very feminist in tone. If anything, her writing is a little old-fashioned, but not unpleasantly so.

How Much Do I Recommend It?: 7/10 If you like mysteries, start at the beginning of the Dalgliesh books, and go from there.

Pretty in a Non-Gender-Conforming, Neutral Color

For some reason–for many reasons, which you are welcome to dissect in comments, should you wish–it’s really unpopular for single feminists to want children nowadays. Many feminists–both the radical and liberal sort–are proudly child-free, whether married, partnered, or single. And many more are mothers, same statuses applying. But it seems to me that there are no prominent feminists who’ve talked about a desire to have children before actually doing so. (If you know of any, please point ‘em out! I’d love to see what they have to say.)

The point of this? I’m certainly not a prominent feminist, but, as far as I know, I’m unique in being unmarried, 27, and adamantly wanting to have children. I’m not going to get into whys and wherefores here, but suffice said interest in children to justify my interest in Peggy Orenstein’s latest book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter.

As always with Orenstein, the personal is both political and to be mined for subject matter. In this case, she was baffled by the sudden appearance of princesses–with a vengeance–in the surroundings and fantasy life of her three-year-old daughter, Daisy. So she set forth to discover why we’re Disney-princessed to death, and whether that will warp anybody.

As also always with Orenstein, she ends up with more questions than answers. The riddle of Daisy’s sudden interest in princesses is solved, but in its place is the mystery of their appeal to mothers and the long-term question of what effect they’ll have on little girls. It’s a compelling read, though, and as a reader who hopes to have children someday, it certainly made me realize that there are many aspects of child-rearing it would behoove me to get straight before actually, y’know, having the children.

One thing I especially appreciated was Orenstein’s critique of the consumer culture as aimed at children. I cringe when I see the tiny shopping carts with the “Customer in Training!” flags at the grocery store–so you can guess where I fall with respect to that debate–and Orenstein is right there with me.

Excellence of Writing: 10/10 Orenstein is, if nothing else, a hell of a writer.

Feminist Cred: 10/10 Orenstein is your textbook third-waver, and while she may be too radical for the mainstream and too funfem for the radicals, she’s okay by me.

How Much Do I Recommend It?: 10/10 For anyone interested in consumerism and girlhood. For anyone else, skip it and read something else.

Turns Out It’s Always Been This Way

There’s been a bit of a kerfuffle about YA fiction on the internet lately. Megan Cox Gurdon wrote a piece for the WSJ in which she accuses publishers of using “the vehicle of fundamental free-expression principles to try to bulldoze coarseness or misery into . . . children’s lives.” There were many good responses–I’m fond of Sherman Alexie’s–but my main quarrel with Gurdon’s argument (today, anyway) is this: she seems to think swears and self-harm somehow make contemporary YA fiction more provocative than its predecessors.

This is relevant, because I just finished rereading the Pit Dragon Trilogy.* The trilogy, composed of Dragon’s Blood, Heart’s Blood, and A Sending of Dragons, follows the exploits of Jakkin Stewart, a young indentured servant who longs to train fighting dragons. The point here: these books are FILLED with sex and violence. Well, mostly violence. What sex there is gains points for being treated realistically and matter-of-factly. And the first of them was written in 1987.

My point here is really this: long before publishers relaxed their stance, YA authors were using fantasy and science fiction settings as end-runs around taboo subjects. By calling brothels “baggeries” and slaves “bonders,” Jane Yolen can write about some pretty heavy stuff (and do it well). So Megan Cox Gurdon, you’re kinda fail with the reading comprehension.

On the topic of the Pit Dragon Trilogy itself, I’d forgotten how disturbing the books were. I read them as an adolescent, I think, and mostly remembered the dragons. (Of COURSE I remembered the dragons.) But I’d forgotten–or missed–a lot of the subtexts and hard questions Yolen likes to ask: what’s the difference between human and animal? What’s freedom? How do you know when you’re an adult? Excellent books. I highly recommend them . . . especially if you know any teenagers.

*Apparently there is A FOURTH BOOK! WHY DIDN’T ANYBODY TELL ME THIS? I have to see if the library has it.

Excellence of Writing: 9/10 Other than some stilted dialogue, it holds up pretty well.

Feminist Cred: 5/10 Gains points for Akki as a strong female character with priorities of her own. Loses points for portraying men as only wielders of power (in a made-up society, natch).

How Much Do I Recommend It?: 10/10 Dragons! Telepathy! Rainbows!

Ack

Sorry to disappear; first I was waiting to write about dragons, then I was lazy for a night, and then my computer went ‘splode again.

In other words, I have a case of the vapors.

I will be back tomorrow, however, with crunchy new tidbits of posty goodness.

A Brief Delay

So I was going to talk about Dragon’s Blood today, but on second thought, I’m going to wait until I’ve finished the trilogy and address it as a whole.

Which is a long way of saying, “no real post today.” But in the meantime, enjoy this picture of a kitten:

Yum, Popcorn

Silent on the Moor, like the other entries in the Lady Julia Grey series, is popcorn par excellence. And that’s . . . pretty much I have to say about it.

For those who care, though, the books are refreshingly liberal (if a tad anachronistic); for example, she has both gay and lesbian characters, who are regular people in heroism and villainy alike. It’s a pleasant change from historical mysteries where the author interprets “set in the past” as “license to be a dick.”

Excellence of Writing: 5/10 Not so much with the high art.

Feminist Cred: 6/10 Lady Julia may be painted a proto-feminist, but she has some pretty reactionary views under the facade. Also loses points for severe classism.

How Much Do I Recommend It?: 6/10 Worth reading on the beach or the airplane, for sure.

Love Isn’t All You Need, But It Sure Helps

I finished up Mean Little Deaf Queer, and I liked it. Memoirs, especially the kind of memoirs that have been popular recently, are often dreary; even a narrative that ends happily has to display its suffering cred. By contrast, the conclusion drawn by Galloway is that, yeah, life is okay. Sure, it’s hard to go deaf at the age of nine; sure, it was and is hard to be queer. But despite all that, Galloway has found people to love and people to love her.

In some ways, this is the perfect companion to Communion. While hooks writes of a theoretical circle of love, Galloway writes of the one she’s created; her family composed of not just her mother and sisters but her partner and friends. And although she doesn’t make it sound easy, she makes it sound eminently worth it.

Excellence of Writing: 9/10 Occasionally a little consciously arty, but otherwise snappy.

Feminist Cred: 9/10 Feminism per se isn’t Galloway’s focus, but she’s definitely about letting your freak flag fly.

How Much Do I Recommend It?: 9/10 Especially recommended for fans of memoir and theater buffs.