A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

On Red Clocks by Leni Zumas and Reading the Dystopia You’re Living

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Red Clocks - Leni ZumasWhat a couple of weeks to be reading Red Clocks by Leni Zumas. The story of a world very much like ours, an America where nothing has changed except that abortion is suddenly, radically illegal turned from dystopia into reality as Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, and Missouri began passing deeply restrictive anti-abortion laws. Red Clocks is not just a timely book, though, it’s also a gorgeous and thoughtful read, one I’m glad to have had by my side as conservatives chop away at women’s rights.

Interweaving Women’s Stories

The best fiction is exploratory rather than didactic, and Red Clocks delivers a rich and thoughtful experience. Zumas explores a group of women and girls living life in an Oregon beach town. There’s a Biographer and a Daughter, a Wife and a Mender. There’s even a female polar explorer, a woman whose life the Biographer is researching and whose interludes beautifully shape the rest of the text. And a wide range of women’s experiences with motherhood are illustrated in the text—from infertility to motherhood to unwanted pregnancy. All of this rubs up against a world where women have lost the power to make decisions about their own bodies. I especially loved the inclusion of the Mender as a reach back to the knowledge we used to have about our bodies before that power was given over to men in white coats.

Because the town is small we get to see the characters bounce off of each other in ways that feel real and not forced. We get the see the characters as they seem themselves and as they are seen by others. This adds a depth to the limited third person Zumas uses throughout the book. As a reader I was given just enough distance from the characters to form my own thoughts and emotions—something that made me feel for each of them all the more deeply.

I loved reading this book. I loved the characters and the story. I loved the writing. On any average day, Red Clocks would have made me more proud of my womanhood. Now, though, it made me want to stand up and fight.

Women’s Rights are Human Rights

As a child of the 1980s I had no idea until very recently how much misogynist bullshit I had taken at face value and then perpetuated. Women (and only women) running around naked on screen because our bodies are art? That should totally be in every movie. Women doing a lion’s share of the child rearing and housework? Yup (though luckily my husband’s more progressive than I on that front). The fact that a woman like Anita Hill would get up and lie in front of Congress just to smear the name of a good man? We don’t have much power, but when we do it’s manipulative and we’ll do anything to take a good man down.

In that way I’m grateful to the Trump regime. Because seeing all this crap as a grownup is making me reassess everything. Being pregnant had already taught me that while life is a gift, bearing and raising a child is work and the decision should not be taken lightly. Another way to say that is that I have never been more pro-choice than since I became pregnant and had a child. Even then, though, I failed to really look in the face the things that happen to me every day. The small ways I am ignored and dismiss and ignore and dismiss myself. The big ways that I fail to celebrate the power of my body to make life. Yes, sperm is a necessary ingredient, but sperm didn’t cradle that growing creature for 40 weeks as it rearranged my organs and fed off of my body. Sperm can’t pull forth the liquid of life to then feed that child for as long as they are willing. I’m not knocking males, I live with two of the best of them. But the fact that I have to even feel like I have to write that last sentence because celebrating women is taking men down says a lot about the baggage I’m still carrying.

While I have felt this awakening in my body, it took the Trump regime for me to open up my mouth and say, “No.” My body is mine. Women bear the unique burden of pregnancy. Some women will not survive pregnancy. Some babies will not survive pregnancy or birth. I adore my son and the idea that I could ever have had to make the choice to abort a baby makes me well up with tears, but if a woman and her doctor decide a woman decides that she cannot carry a baby to term, that is her choice to make.

If you can, please help women who are being stripped of the power over their own bodies have access to abortions should they choose. Donate to the National Network of Abortion Funds. I have. And I will continue to.

Shedding Shame

As I raise a small boy, the research I read about how to make him and empowered little human who understands consent often begins with frankness about the body, with answering his questions and naming his parts. Which challenges me. I run around with what’s probably an average amount of shame about my body, hating some of the changes maternity brought, unwilling to say genitalia-related words out loud in daily conversation, but I know I need to be better for him (and for me too). So when my neighbor saw me reading Red Clocks with Lauren Harms’ wonderful illustration on the front at the bus stop and said, “Is that women’s genitalia?” I smiled big and said, “Yes, it’s a vulva.”

To read about what might happen next, pick up a copy of Red Clocks from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Gabriela and the Widow: Jack Remick Teaches Writing through Writing

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The old adage, “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach” does not at all apply to Jack Remick. Before I read Gabriela and the Widow, Jack taught me about writing with the insightful questions he’d ask after we read our work aloud during the long-standing writing group at Louisa’s Café in Seattle. Reading Gabriela was even more of an education in the subtleties of craft.

Significant Detail

Driven from her village in Mexico by a civil war that kills her family, young Gabriela faces many hardships. Remick uses details like a “cotton blouse embroidered by hand in the faint light of the evening fire” to convey tender allusions to what Gabriela’s life must have been like before the war. When La Patrona, a woman who has “rescued” Gabriela, then takes this blouse and says she will burn it, the reader has a deeper understanding of how fully the woman is stripping away the essence of Gabriela.

When Gabriela craves a pair of white Nikes, it is easy to see that what she is really craving is a life like the Norteñas who wear these shoes. Later, Gabriela will be coaxed into other shoes, but even then the Nikes serve as a grounding point to indicate how much Gabriela is changing.

Objective Correlative

Terrible things happened to Gabriela when the war came to her village. Remick could have detailed them and we’d be struck by the horror without ever really getting inside Gabriela’s experience. Instead, Remick creates a correlation in Gabriela’s mind between toads and the horrible events—events that she refuses to quite remember. The reader sees her visceral reaction over and over anytime toads cross her path and in this way learns to empathize with her.

Remick builds on Gabriela’s reaction to toads throughout the story. What makes this relationship for me is when Gabriela begins remembering times of innocence that involved toads as well. The glimpse at what life was like before is heartbreaking and the tension between the dark and light memories makes both exponentially more touching.

Myths Retold

Gabriela finds safety in the North where she takes care of an ailing widow whose memory is failing. Gabriela helps her work on a list of objects and photographs and what they meant in the woman’s life. In return, La Viuda teaches Gabriela about what it means to be a woman. Though La Viuda has a somewhat colored view of the experience of womanhood, she doesn’t let her life turn her into a Miss Havisham. Instead, La Viuda intersperses myths and stories of great women with her own stories. Through tales about everyone from Helen of Troy to Xipe Totec, she helps Gabriela create an identity based on strength and womanhood as she transfers her life force to the young girl.

There are hundreds of things I could say about the reasons I loved this book—like the way Gabriela and La Viuda seamlessly slip from English to Spanish and back in their conversations, the magical realism (especially in relation to mirrors), or how in answer to La Viuda’s aging forgetfulness, Remick creates a shifting repetition that grounds the reader and also builds the narrative. What you need to know is the elegant craft reveals just the right amount of information to engage you, the reader, in telling the story.

Jack Remick can teach and he can sure as hell write. Read Gabriela and the Widow and find the things that speak to your writing. You’ll fall in love with the story and you’ll be a better writer for it. Although my work schedule doesn’t allow for weekday afternoons at Louisa’s anymore, I am grateful I can pick up Gabriela and learn from her and from Jack any old time.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Gabriela and the Widow from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Turning History into Herstory with Hazleton’s Jezebel

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Jezebel - lesley hazletonI have deep respect for Lesley Hazleton. In some ways I want to be her—internationally-savvy, fantastic voice and accent, able to read the Bible in Hebrew. When I heard that she was investigating the story of the Bible’s harlot queen with Jezebel, I was excited to get a better picture of both the Bible and of the way women’s sexuality has been used against us throughout history.

A New Midrash—Interweaving History and Narrative

Jezebel is written from a variety of angles. Hazleton mixes a direct retelling of the story based her own translations from the Hebrew Bible with stories of her travels to the historical places (two especially telling anecdotes involve Christian fundamentalists at the site of Armageddon gleefully calculating how much blood it will take to fill the valley and Hazleton’s attempts to find a holy site that has nearly been erased by history). Hazleton also includes imagined looks at the events of Jezebel’s lifetime from the point of view of the queen herself.

“It is easy to forget that [the Bible] was written by specific men in specific times and places, for specific reasons.” – Lesley Hazleton

This unexpected mix of approaches gave me a more complex view of the stories and the players. Shifting through time allowed Hazleton to make comparisons to modern day politics in the Middle East. I like to think Jezebel was like reading a new Midrash (most everything I know about the Old Testament, I know from reading Davita’s Harp).

Reading the Bible through the Eyes of Others

I am no Biblical scholar—I wasn’t raised with any more religion than I could glean from the (Christian) cultures I grew up in and from books. When I tried to read the King James translation for myself, I never got past the begats. That is to say, my experience of the Bible has always been filtered through the experiences of others. So I loved hearing stories of ancient gods, kings, and queens and their struggles for power. It is clear that Hazleton brought to this book an admiration of Ahab and Jezebel. And the comparisons to modern politics were apt and informative. I appreciated that Hazleton was trying to remove the mask of Orientalism and I could see ways in which a religion is shaped by its believers.

What did not work for me were the moments when Hazleton imbued the scenes with what Jezebel must have been thinking. She did a solid job of outlining the character and I liked the fierce strength and nobility that Hazleton attributed to her, but it was more of a leap into story than I was willing to take.

Overall, it was refreshing to get a contemporary, female view of the Bible. But in the end, I realized that the only way to satisfy my need to get my own full understanding will be to learn Hebrew and read the Bible for myself.

Women Aren’t Sexual Beings—We Are Whole Beings

I was intrigued by the idea of a “harlot queen.” The word “harlot” and its brethren “bitch, slut, whore” and so many others are still used against women today and usually in instances that have everything to do with power and nothing to do with sex.

What I found interesting about Jezebel is that Hazleton removes sex from the equation entirely. A book I thought might be about how female sexuality is positive (rather than negative) turned out to be about the power of a woman as a person. Perhaps this is the more important leap because a person is entitled to power and sexuality and entirety.

I realized that my own investigations into sexuality and feminism with my new novel might be limited. I have been fighting to understand female sexuality and have it seen as equal to that of men. Perhaps instead I should be looking at women as whole people. Maybe I have allowed the very people who seek to minimize my sex to set the terms of this battle.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Jezebel: The Untold Story Of The Bible’s Harlot Queen from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Sex and Death in the American Novel

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sex and death in the american novel - sarah martinez

I’ve been thinking a lot about bravery this week and about commitment to one’s art. It all started at the book launch party for Sex and Death in the American Novel. The book’s author, Sarah Martinez, had invited Maureen O’Donnell to perform a belly dance to the music of Marilyn Manson that had inspired Martinez while writing her novel. I thought it was going to be ridiculous. But then I watched O’Donnell dance. By committing fully to the dance and her character, she transformed from a tiny Goth girl with plastic horns into an arachnoid creature who kept the audience rapt.

The Artist’s Way

Sex and Death in the American Novel speaks to the myriad ways we come to and commit to our art and ultimately ourselves. Jasper is the wunderkind who was swept into the accepting arms of the writing world and never stopped for a moment to reflect. Tristan is the writer who could never get past his struggles. And Vivi did everything she could to avoid becoming a “Writer” only to find she had done just that. In Vivi’s case, all that she lacked was the acceptance of herself and of her gift.

Every artist I know is on a different path to the greatness within. None of them will achieve lasting fulfillment without that self-acceptance.

Martinez’s greatest success is disentangling the complex fabric of emotions each character is feeling. She understands the push-pull of shame and desire in art and love, and her characters strive to create the relationships that are right for them regardless of societal norms. And of course those norms are also what artists have to question and redefine on their way to personal greatness.

Explicit Content Ahead

The book follows Vivi’s struggle to be as strong and fulfilled as she can, and at times she seeks that fulfillment in sex. Martinez is not shy about describing those sexual encounters and she explores a wider range of erotic possibilities than many people will encounter in life.

One of the things I admired about this book is how Martinez conveyed both the physical and emotional complexities of a ménage à trois. She enticingly wrote the encounters between her characters so that the reader is able to experience—in vivid detail—even the most unfamiliar acts right along with Vivi. The play-by-play narration which can be too much in scenes of daily life lends itself perfectly to introducing the reader to a new world of possibilities.

Anyone who reads Fifty Shades of Grey and finds it misogynistic might enjoy the sex positive attitude in Sex and Death in the American Novel instead.

On Writing About (and Becoming) a Fulfilled Woman

I’ve been reading a lot about women and sexuality as I work on my next novel. A.S. Byatt taught me to love my body. Dorothy Allison helped me question my relationship with Feminism. And Slavenka Drakulić revealed for me new depths in the relationship between mother and daughter. In Sex and Death in the American Novel, Sarah Martinez showed me how to write fearlessly about subjects that terrify me. Each of these authors is giving me strength as I commit to writing the next book as bravely as I can.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Sex and Death in the American Novel from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Drakulić Decrypts the Language of Mothers and Daughters in Marble Skin

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Is there a relationship more complex than that between a mother and a daughter? Love and admiration mix ineffably with jealousy and resentment. Through the seemingly simple (but deeply layered) language of Marble Skin, Slavenka Drakulić unweaves the conflicts and emotions that estrange and entangle women.

A girl admires her mother’s body and yearns for the day when her own will blossom. If she becomes impatient with the slowness of her growth, jealousy of her mother’s womanliness can take root. The mother in turn becomes jealous of her daughter’s youth.

Drakulić’s narrator deftly slips through time as she expresses this love, admiration, and resentment for her mother. She outlines with equal complexity the feelings of a burgeoning adolescent for her stepfather and how his presence catalyzes the relationship between mother and daughter.

”We don’t have a body, we are a body” – Slavenka Drakulić

At the beginning of the book, the narrator is reflecting on an art show and a comment by a friend that her “sculptures of the female body seemed eaten away from the inside.” She begins sculpting her mother’s body. As she shapes breasts and thighs, she begins thinking of her mother’s body and of a scene she witnessed as a child.

The Primal Scene

Psychoanalysts talk about the primal scene when a child witnesses a sex act and it affects her view of sexuality for life. The narrator views a watches her stepfather in a sexual act with her mother in their marriage bed. It is an act this man will later reenact with the girl.

The way Drakulić crafts the scene, with a gentle allusion to Alice in Wonderland, the reader simultaneously experiences the dread of entering the room as an adult and the memory of the mother’s body splayed on the bed. Without revealing the later molestation, the reader is still left with the sense of a lurking secret. The sense of the small child within all of us.

What was most haunting about the book for me was that these are normal human emotions that I have experienced but never knew how to express. Drakulić split open her characters and subjected them to horrible things and their responses always returned to the common human reactions. Witnessing the girl’s devastation of sexuality helped me understand my own relationship with sexuality.

The Craft of Writing

It may be evident by the somewhat articulate nature of this post so far, but this book invaded my psyche in a way I can’t yet understand. The simple sentences expressed emotions I had been trying to unlock and explain for decades. The metaphors were gentle and expansive. The literary allusions were subtle and perfect.

”With this one sentence I emptied her out, like squeezing a tube of oil paint.” – Slavenka Drakulić

Drakulić emptied me out too. Her writing ate away at me from the inside. I’m putting the book aside until I can read it again. I think I can read and reread this book for decades and it will still have things to teach me about writing and about being a woman. That is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Marble Skin from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.