R.I.P. Shulamith Firestone

The feminist writer and activist Shulamith Firestone has died at the age of 67. She was a leader in the women's liberation movement of the 1960s and 1970s, a true pioneer and theorist who was enormously influential at the time, and whose work is still taught in women's studies classes. She is most famous for the book she published at age 25, in 1970, "The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution." In this book, she utilized the work of Marx and Freud, among others, and argued that biology, and women's capacity for reproduction, was used by a patriarchal society to keep women unequal. In her activist role, she was the co-founder of three feminist organizations: New York Radical Women, the Redstockings, and New York Radical Feminists. She was also a painter, and wrote another book, but she found the fame that came to her after "Dialectic" overwhelming. In later years Ms. Firestone's life and work were derailed by mental illness, and for many years before her death she had largely isolated herself. It is very sad that this was so. But her contribution to the women's movement and its intellectual underpinnings, and her influence on so many women, are something to be proud of, and something that will live on. I remember reading this book when I was in college and just discovering the women's movement, and I remember being very impressed by it, with its radical and liberating ideas. She was an important part of those heady years when women felt they could truly change the world and make it a more equal place.

"Shout Her Lovely Name," by Natalie Serber

"Shout Her Lovely Name" (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012), by Natalie Serber, is a collection of short stories, all interconnected except for a few stories. The interlocking stories feature a mother (Ruby), from the time she was young, and her daughter Nora, each going through various adventures, loves, and losses. Although mother and daughter are very different, they have some commonalities, and they always stay connected. The title story, which is not one of the interconnected stories, is a powerful portrayal of a mother's dealing with a teenaged daughter with a serious eating disorder. Her heartbreaking fear and attempts to do the right thing in the face of her daughter's massive denial and resistance seem very realistic and are very moving. All the stories engage with women's lives, families, sexual and romantic relationships, and most especially the fraught but so very important mother-daughter relationship. As a daughter and a mother of a daughter myself, I can relate to some of these interactions, although the specifics of my life are quite different from those of the stories' characters.

I Remember Those Color-Coded Reading Boxes

Does anyone else remember the SRA Reading Boxes? I happened to see a reference to them recently, and it reminded me of past connections to them. I remember them from school, and then later from using them many, many years ago in some reading classes I taught. For those who don’t know them: There are several boxes in each series, at graduated levels; each box has a set of reading cards of various color-coded levels; each card has a short reading followed by comprehension questions. The idea is that students move at their own pace through the various levels of cards. If they read, for example, three cards at one level with no more than one error in answering the questions on each card (I don’t remember the exact requirements), they may move to readings at the next color/level. The value is in allowing students to move as quickly or as slowly as they they are able, and to monitor their own progress. A whole classroom of students can each be reading at her or his own level; teachers set aside a certain amount of time a week for this activity. The downside is that the readings are often very dull. I don’t know if these are still used in classrooms, but I am guessing they are. I see that McGraw Hill still sells them. Although I found them a bit dull and bland both when I read them and when I taught them, there is something that appeals to many students about them, and this system offers a different kind of reading practice than the usual practice of the whole class reading and discussing the same readings. It allows students at all levels to feel a sense of accomplishment; it also harnesses the competitive spirit that many students feel, even if they are only competing against themselves. The hope is that reading these cards will lead to increased skills which then will lead to reading longer and more varied materials.

Another "Missionary Kid" Memoir

Regular readers of this blog may remember that I am doing some research involving memoirs of “missionary kids” (“MKs”), and that I have written about a couple of them here as well. Some of the 31 MK memoirs I have read for my research so far are very well written; others are not, probably because most of the writers are amateur rather than professional writers. (I should state, though, that I find them all interesting and to varying degrees compelling, both for my research and because as an MK myself, I am always making comparisons and connections to my own experiences, and among the experiences of the various MKs.) One of the better written MK memoirs I have read lately is “Mish Kid to Mystic: Memoirs of a Missionary Daughter” (self-published, 2011), by Mary Lou McNeill Jacoby, which, although Jacoby is not a professional writer, is engagingly written. Jacoby’s parents were missionaries in West Africa. Her stories of her childhood there are interesting, but what I found even more of interest were her stories of her life afterward, and how she has been influenced by her MK background throughout her life. Jacoby, now in her 80s, has led a full and fascinating life in which she has always been a seeker. Although continuing in the Christian tradition and as the wife of a minister, she has also investigated and learned from various religious and spiritual traditions and innovations. It seems that she has been fully and intensely involved in her spiritual life, her family, her work, her travels, and her life. I admire how attentively, thoughtfully, and joyfully she has lived her life, and enjoyed reading about it. I had a brief email correspondence with Mrs. Jacoby when I ordered the book, and both that correspondence and the book itself made me feel she is someone I can imagine as a role model, as well as someone I would enjoy sitting down with for a long conversation. The photographs and drawings, some done by her mother and some by the author herself, add to the interest of the book.

Piles of Books for the Taking

I have written before (e.g., 3/27/12) about how books move around in my life, as they probably do in yours: to and from the library, to and from bookstores, to and from friends, from home to office and vice versa, etc. I also mentioned that sometimes colleagues at work put piles of unwanted books outside their office doors for students or others to take if they want them. Over the summer there have been several moves on my office floor and the floor above, as one person retired, another became a Dean and moved to a Dean’s office, another moved to a different floor, and new faculty moved in to their offices. The moving around and packing up of office contents made people go through their shelves and discard books they no longer used, older editions, etc. So in the past couple of months, I have seen several of those book piles in our hallways. Sometimes they have a hand-lettered sign saying “Free,” or “Help yourself,” or “Take what you want.” Even without signs, it is generally understood that books in the hallways outside office doors are up for grabs. I am oddly fascinated by watching the piles diminish. One day I will see a tall pile, the next day it is smaller, the following day smaller still, with perhaps a lone rejected book or two left. And then somehow even those disappear. It is a simple and elegant solution to the problem of too many books, which is a problem most people in my field (education) have eventually. The former owners clear space on their shelves, and a student or perhaps a fellow faculty member picks up a new book or two of interest, free. I find this whole interchange strangely satisfying to observe (and occasionally participate in). It makes me happy to see each book find a new home.

"Alys, Always," by Harriet Lane

It is hard to categorize the brief, gripping British novel, “Alys, Always” (Scribner, 2012), by Harriet Lane. It is a literary novel, but also has elements of suspense and psychological gameswomanship. Reviewers and blurbers have mentioned the author Ruth Rendell and the classic novel “Rebecca” as influences or antecedents. The main character, Frances Thorpe, stops at the scene of an accident and is the last to speak to the dying woman driver, Alys Kyte, who turns out to be the wife of a prominent writer, Laurence Kyte. (A side note: what is it with characters meeting at the beginning of novels at the scenes of accidents? This is at least the third novel I have read recently with this plot device.) What follows is her increasing connection with Alys’ family, as she learns more about them and becomes associated more with them. The psychological aspect of the novel comes into play here, as we readers slowly realize there is more going on under the surface than initially appears, and that Frances is a much more complicated and less innocent character than we might have thought at first. This is a well-written, compelling but somewhat disturbing novel. I can’t decide whether I liked it or not, but it definitely kept me reading.

"The World Without You," by Joshua Henkin

Female authors have, over many years and then with renewed objections in the past couple of years, spoken out about how male writers are still taken more seriously. In particular, they have pointed out that when women write about families, relationships, and other “female” topics, their work is considered less important, but when men write about those topics, they receive kudos. A case in point, they say (and I agree) is the novels of Jonathan Franzen. To quote Jennifer Weiner (from an interview in the Huffington Post, 8/26/10), whose objections to the high praise for Franzen’s novels for their attention to family I have written about before: “It’s a very old and deep-seated double standard that holds when a man writes about family and feelings, it’s literature with a capital L, but when a woman considers the same topics, it’s romance, or a beach book.” She also says that the big reviews and articles in The New York Times and other prominent periodicals tend to be about “white guys. Usually white guys living in Brooklyn or Manhattan, white guys who either have MFAs or teach in MFA programs.” I have just read “The World Without You” (Pantheon, 2012), by Joshua Henkin, who, according to the back flap, “directs the MFA Program in Fiction Writing at Brooklyn College.” Bingo! This book -- very much about family and feelings -- has already been extensively reviewed, and since it just came out last month (and since his earlier novel "Matrimony" was well-reviewed), it is likely that it will be reviewed much more in the months ahead. Although I agree with much of what Weiner has said, for some reason I feel different about Henkin’s novel than I did about Franzen’s “Freedom” – I like it better. (Readers may remember my extreme ambivalence about "Freedom"; I did like Franzen’s earlier novel, “The Corrections.”) “The World Without You” tells of a family torn apart by their grief at their son/brother Leo’s death in Iraq, where he was a journalist. The family meets at their summer house one year after Leo’s death for his memorial service. Leo’s parents David’s and Marilyn’s marriage is suffering because they don’t know how to comfort each other, and each is going a different way. The responses of his older sisters Clarissa, Lily, and Noelle are each affected by their complicated relationships with their parents and with each other, not to mention with their spouses, partners, and children, as well as their very different relationships with being Jewish. Leo's widow, Thisbe, is there with her toddler son Calder, wondering about her future and about her relationship with Leo's family. The main focus of the novel is on the family and their complex reactions, interactions, and expressions of grief. But an also important although less emphasized theme is the unnecessary tragedy of the war in Iraq and of all the terrible losses so many families suffered (and still suffer) because of it. This novel puts a human face on those great losses.

"The Receptionist," by Janet Groth

The New Yorker. New York. Literary stories and gossip. An independent woman figuring out what she wants in life, having adventures, (mostly) happy in her work, longing for love as well. All of these elements and more make Janet Groth’s memoir, “The Receptionist” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2012), a delight to read. Groth, like so many other Midwestern young people, moved to New York after college to seek a bigger and more exciting life. In her case, the move was from Minnesota, and the year was 1957. She became a receptionist at the offices of The New Yorker magazine, and stayed there for 21 years. During those years, she met and became friends (and sometimes lovers) with many well-known writers, editors, artists, and other members of the New York literary/art world. She went to their parties and became their confidant. She knew about their writing blocks, their affairs, their secrets. She herself hoped to be a writer, but it took a while. She was also a great traveler. And she loved literature, and knew it well. After a few years at the New Yorker, she started studying for her PhD in English literature, and only ended her receptionist job when she got a position as a university professor. She finally did write; her main publications have been on the great critic Edmund Wilson. And now she has written this generous memoir, candidly sharing her experiences and feelings during those 21 New Yorker years. And although the literary stories are wonderful, so too is the portrait of a young woman making her own way in a time before it was common for women to be single, self-supporting, independent, and adventurous. Although she had her troubles and doubts, she seems to have had a strength and belief in herself, and a desire for a full life, that carried her through. This book is beautifully written and a great pleasure to read.

"They Knew Mr. Knight," by Dorothy Whipple

I have now written about several of Dorothy Whipple’s novels, thrilled with having “discovered” her work. (See my posts of 1/24/12, 1/30/12, 2/10/12, and 7/24/12.) I seem to be slowly working my way through her fiction, feeling fortunate that the USF Library has several of her books. The most recent I have read is “They Knew Mr. Knight” (originally published 1934 by John Murray; Persephone republished version, 1968 – and once again, I thank Persephone for these republishings of Whipple and other women writers who would otherwise have faded into the woodwork of the past). This novel tells the story of a robber baron type, Mr. Knight, who seems to succeed at everything he touches in business, and who becomes a benefactor to Thomas and Celia Blake and their family. He helps them prosper, and they are grateful. But, well, not to give away the ending, things change…. This novel was published at a time of a problematic economy (in the U.S. and in England too), and reading it now in another time of a seriously struggling economy is chilling. Mr. Knight prefigures the same class dominating the economy and the news today: a ruling class of businessmen (and I use the term “men” advisedly, although of course there are a few women involved as well) who think it is acceptable to do anything that benefits their businesses and profits (or simply don’t care about the ethical or even legal aspects of what they do, or about whom they hurt along the way). Such names as Bernie Madoff spring to mind. But this novel is not simply a polemic; there is much more in the story, regarding the psychology of the family that gets drawn into the world of Mr. Knight, and regarding the relationships among all the characters, as well as regarding the place of money and class in England and in its people’s lives. In this, as in her other novels and short stories, Whipple’s writing is so very good that the reader luxuriates in reading it.

"The Forever Marriage," by Ann Bauer

I know I sounded a little crabby when I wrote about “The Kissing List,” “Seating Arrangements,” and a couple of other books recently, and now I am going to be crabby again, this time about “The Forever Marriage” (The Overlook Press, 2012), by Ann Bauer. It is hard to warm to a novel that starts with a wife’s being happy when her husband dies of cancer. Not happy because he is no longer in pain, but happy because she is finally released from a marriage of 22 years in which she has been disappointed from the very beginning. Carmen knows and fully admits that Jobe is a good man, but she has never been in love with him, and their love and sex life has been tepid and unsatisfying for her. She married him because she felt grateful to him, and sorry for him, and because she felt grateful to his mother (I know, this reason is strange, but true in this story), and because he had the money that would allow them a comfortable life. She did her duty as a wife and mother, and took good care of him in his illness, but did have affairs. Although it is clear that the marriage was unhappy, one still does not feel comfortable rooting for a character such as Carmen. Yet it slowly becomes clear that Carmen is not a bad person, and that there is more to the story than it seems. The tone of the book is an odd tension between the wrong and even -- seemingly -- despicable, and on the other hand, the heartwarming. This would be unsettling in a good way if the book were better, but as it stands, it just seems a bit artificial. There is a subplot about Jobe’s being a genius mathematician, and about what will happen to his ideas and discoveries in that area; this subplot is mildly interesting but seems tacked on, especially as it brings us to a sort of false-feeling closure at the end of the novel.

"The Kissing List," by Stephanie Reents

Is it my age that makes me come close to disliking the stories and their characters in “The Kissing List: Fiction” (interlocking short stories) (Hogarth, 2012), by Stephanie Reents? Although well written, the stories seem like so many others I have read about smart, well-educated, urban twenty-somethings stumbling their way through life, full of angst, having lots of sex and doing lots of drinking, but not seeming to really enjoy even those pursuits. The characters are not unlikeable but not particularly likeable either. Some of the characters blur; their lives are so similar and so intertwined. I am sure that even for these privileged young people, Reents’s portrayal of the disappointment and difficulty involved in searching for meaningful work and fulfilling relationships is accurate. I also suspect that – except for the unfortunate young woman with cancer – these characters will land on their feet and lead comfortable lives. It is not that I don’t like reading about young people. I do. I enjoy reading about characters of all ages. But this particular subset of young people has been done, and done, and done by young writers. Although each book, including this one, has its own twists and its own rewards, the problem is still a sort of wearying predictability. (P.S. I confess that I skipped one story; when I saw that it featured a mouse, my rodent phobia kicked in, and I thought “No, I just don’t want to read this." So it is possible that this is the one story that would change everything I have written above. But I doubt it.)

"Lulu in Marrakech," by Diane Johnson

Like Alix Kates Shulman, about whose novel “Menage” I posted last time, novelist Diane Johnson was born in the early 1930s. Both of these writers started writing about 1970, and now in their late 70s are still publishing. This is impressive and inspiring. Today I am posting about Diane Johnson’s 2008 novel, “Lulu in Marrakech,” which I just finished listening to in my car on CD (Books on Tape, 2008). I have read most of Johnson’s novels over the years, so when this novel came out, I thought about reading it, but somehow it didn’t sound appealing, probably because the main character is a spy, although a nontypical one, and I am not at all drawn to spy stories (even knowing this novel – despite the spy character - wasn’t actually in that genre). But when looking for books on CD for a recent driving trip, I saw this one on the library shelf and decided to try it. Johnson’s novels, such as her French trilogy (“L’Affaire,” “Le Mariage,” and “Le Divorce”) tend to be beautifully written but light and entertaining rather than profound, although they do make interesting points about marriage and about cultural differences. “Lulu” too has some of this light, comic aspect. But it also reminded me of Johnson’s earlier (1998) novel, “Persian Nights,” about an American woman’s visit to Iran; it has some of the same balance of almost frivolous lightness and more intense political and cultural commentary. To me the main question about Lulu is whether she is intended by the author to be taken as a serious character, or a sort of parody, or a representative of the sort of clueless bungling that spies – American and otherwise – are sometimes known for…or some combination of these elements, or maybe something else entirely. The way Lulu is portrayed, as a kind of girly-girl and yet an independent and fearless woman, is intriguing. Overall I thought this novel was lesser Johnson, but I must admit I enjoyed it more than I expected to.

"Menage," by Alix Kates Shulman

Alix Kates Shulman has had a permanent place in my pantheon of admired women, ever since I read her classic feminist novel, "Memoirs of an Ex-Prom Queen" (1972). She is (or at least was) also well known for being one of the first to write about how married men and women should share housework (and everything else). Let me take a minute here to thank, once again, the pioneering second wave feminists of the late 60s and the 70s who made such a huge difference for women. As for Shulman: I have only read a couple of her books over the years since then, but I just read her new novel, "Menage" (unfortunately I can't figure out how to insert the accent mark over the first "e" in this blog program)(Other Press, 2012). This is the story of a married couple who invites into their home an intense, respected-for-his-celebrated-past-work-but-with-no-recent-work emigre writer originally from an unnamed Eastern European country. He has fallen on hard times, and they provide him with a space to live and write in their large, luxurious house in the woods of an upscale part of New Jersey, where the couple has moved from Manhattan. The husband, Mack, is an expansive, kindly-but-calculating real estate entrepreneur. His wife, Heather, wants to be a writer but so far mainly only writes an online column on the environment; she rationalizes that she will write more - preferably a novel - when their two children get older. Meanwhile, she is vaguely dissatisfied with her life, and Mack thinks that inviting Zoltan to stay with them will be good for her, as she will be able to discuss writing, literature, and other intellectual topics with him. Complications arise when the prospect of sex enters the picture, and when the expectations of the three main characters teeter out of the delicate balance of who will get what from the arrangement. This novel is quite interesting as a psychological study of the three characters and of their complex interactions. Overall, though, it does not have the heft, the impact of a book that the reader will remember much past reading it. (Now, on a completely different note, I would like to register a small complaint against some paperback books' being given an inside cover flap, similar to those on a hardback book's paper cover; these are fine for hardbacks, and eventually get removed anyway, but on paperback books, since the flap is actually attached to the front cover, it is thicker, and can't be detached (especially as in this case, when the copy I read is from the library), and keeps rising up and getting in the way. I think the publishers who use these are trying to raise their paperbacks to a higher level than the regular ones, to "class them up," so to speak, but the annoyance outweighs any such positive impression.)

"Seating Arrangements," by Maggie Shipstead

“Seating Arrangements” (Knopf, 2012), by the first-time young (29-year-old) novelist Maggie Shipstead, is an example of books that evoke a specific, albeit complicated, response in me: I “enjoy” reading them, or at least find myself wanting to keep reading, yet feel a bit dismayed and even slightly repulsed by them. This novel tells the story of one weekend on a New England island before, during, and after a wedding. The characters are the bride Daphne and groom Greyson and their families (parents, multiple siblings, grandparents, aunt), with a few friends and others (e.g., a chipper wedding planner) on the fringes of the action. Complicated but somehow not very interesting family dynamics loom large, as do rehashings of old grievances, flirting, and random sex, with resultant jealousy and other bad feelings. But the main character and his limitations take center stage: he is Winn Van Meter, the father of the bride. Winn comes from an upper middle class family, went to Harvard, was a member of its most desirable club, is financially successful, but is still striving, still feeling he hasn’t quite made it in the social world. He desperately wants to join the prestigious Pequod Club on the island, and can’t understand why his application has been stalled for three years. His open striving, his one-sided rivalry with a neighbor with a perceived higher status, as well as his doomed flirtation with one of his daughter Daphne’s friends, Agatha, make him appear very shallow and lamentably foolish. No one in the novel does anything truly terrible, but none of them appears very admirable, interesting or likeable either. I can’t be sure whether the author expects us to dislike these characters, and is focusing on the social satire that exposes them, or if she wants us to see them as flawed but very human characters that we can all in some ways identify with. In any case, it was with a sense of relief that I finished and closed the book.

"A Queer and Pleasant Danger," by Kate Bornstein

One of the great things about reading is its allowing us to enter whole worlds that we would never have known much or anything about without books or other written works. This is an obvious observation, a cliché, but occasionally certain books powerfully and even viscerally remind us of its truth. I just finished reading Kate Bornstein’s “A Queer and Pleasant Danger” (Beacon, 2012), a memoir described on the front cover as “The true story of a nice Jewish boy who joins the Church of Scientology and leaves twelve years later to become the lovely lady she is today.” This description is a good short summary of the “plot” of Bornstein’s life, but doesn’t begin to capture the way she invites readers into the painful and exhilarating highs and lows of her life. About those worlds that we learn about (“we” here meaning “I,” and others like me who are well read and somewhat knowledgeable about the worlds within our world, but have only superficial – even if open-minded and accepting – real understanding of some of those worlds): Here we learn about the worlds of scientology, transgender, and sadomasochism (and various permutations in the complicated taxonomy of gender and sexuality). Our guide, Bornstein, is a complex, troubled, yet resourceful and resilient person who has somehow survived (sometimes just barely) a complicated dance of insiderness/outsiderness throughout her life, and now is at what seems to be a place of hard-earned (at least relative) peace and happiness. Her person and voice are candid, confiding, bracing, even endearing. She is a pioneer in her openness, as well as a good writer; I thank her for her honesty and courage, and wish her well.

"Wild," by Cheryl Strayed

"Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail" (Knopf, 2012), by Cheryl Strayed, is not the type of memoir I would normally read. A book about a long, tough, physically and mentally bruising 1,100 mile solo hike? For this not-at-all-athletic, camping-averse reader, there was nothing compelling about the prospect of reading a 300-plus-page book about a young woman's trek up and down mountains, through alternately freezing and steaming weather, encountering bears and rattlesnakes, carrying a backpack that is so heavy that the author calls it the Monster, experiencing aches and pains and blisters and calluses that she has never imagined, often going days without seeing another human being, and sometimes suffering hunger and thirst, among other hardships. Strayed had had no experience with long-distance hiking, but decided it was the challenge she needed in order to deal with the blows life had dealt her and the unhealthy ways she had been living in order to blot out those blows. The most devastating loss was her mother's death when Strayed was only 22. She then embarked on aimless traveling, used destructive drugs, and entered unhealthy relationships. But after four years of this, she pulled herself together to plan and earn money for the big trek along the Pacific Crest Trail. The story of her adventure is both painful and inspiring. Despite my initial reservations about the book, I found myself completely caught up in Strayed's recounting of the journey, as well as her flashbacks to the earlier events in her life. There is an honesty and openness in her writing that is hard to read but also makes it easy for the reader to connect with the narrative and the narrator.

Farewell, Gore Vidal

The great author, politician, intellectual, and provocateur Gore Vidal died yesterday at the age of 86. As the Associated Press, The New York Times, and other news outlets pointed out, he was one of the last of the "generation of writers who were also genuine celebrities" (AP); we saw him on TV and in the gossip columns as well as in literary venues. He was a real "public intellectual" -- he fearlessly (and even joyfully) challenged orthodoxy wherever he found it. I didn't always agree with him, and it was clear that he was often purposely being outrageous, but I was happy that such a thinker and dissident was speaking out regularly. As for his novels: they were sometimes wonderful, sometimes very disappointing. But overall he made a tremendous contribution to literature. I will never forget reading, many years ago, "Burr," one of his very best books, and a revelation to me. It is a wonderful combination of history and literature, and I couldn't put it down. A related happy personal memory is that my late father and I both read some of his novels and had good conversations about them. Vidal's essays, which I found in many of the magazines and newspapers I read, and was always happy to see, were often masterpieces of criticism, and pointed (some say sly and devilish) humor as well. Farewell, Gore Vidal. Your presence and voice will be missed.