mother daughter

Arcadia Falls

brittany — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Meg Rosenthal needs a fresh start after the death of her husband. She gave up her career as an artist when her daughter Sally was born, but when she is left with virtually nothing except for a barely functional car, she finds a job teaching folklore and English at a small boarding school for young artists in upstate New York. Sally, now a teenager and a promising artist herself, is admitted to the Arcadia School where her mother will work. Meg hopes that this new career will not only allow her to research the school’s founders—Vera Beecher and Lily Eberhardt—for her dissertation, but perhaps she will also find the daughter she once knew instead of the sullen girl who hides away with her iPod and drawings.

The Arcadia School is the perfect setting for a gothic campus novel, having inspired its creators to write and illustrate many of their own fairy tales. This book is replete with many signature fairy tale elements: a cottage in the woods, an orphan, a murderous villain, and even a Prince Charming of sorts. However, the fairy tales of Arcadia Falls are not the stuff of Disney movies; rather, they are more akin to the Grimm Brothers’ darker stories. Perhaps the darkest element of the school’s past is the tragic death of Lily Eberhardt, who fell into a clove while allegedly leaving the school to run off with her lover, her body missing for weeks before anyone realized that she had never made it off the school’s grounds. Shortly after Meg and Sally arrive, a student falls into the same deep valley during one of the school’s many Pagan rituals. It does not take long before Meg and others at the school begin to wonder if this death was truly an accident.

Carol Goodman’s Arcadia Falls is reminiscent of her earlier novel, The Lake of Dead Languages, a similarly dark boarding school story in which there are mysterious recurring deaths. In this rendition, Goodman delivers a rich and fast-paced novel that moves fluidly between the history of the Arcadia School, the changeling tale written by the school’s founders, and Meg and Sally’s contemporary story. Passages from the changeling story and from Lily’s journal add depth and authenticity to the novel. Keeping the facts straight in this complex, multi-generational plot line can be difficult at times, but ultimately Goodman achieves a thought provoking comparison between the lives of female artists in the mid-twentieth century and today.

While there are numerous subplots built into the book, the overarching question Goodman asks is whether a woman can be both a mother and an artist. The Arcadia School’s founders were required to sacrifice family life for the sake of their careers, while Meg initially did just the opposite. Yet, in rebuilding her life, Meg comes to realize that if she wants to teach her daughter the virtues of being a strong, independent woman, she must find a way to juggle her responsibilities. This is a message that will resonate with many modern readers questioning whether the paths toward family and career must be mutually exclusive.

Written by: Melanie Goodman, April 8th 2011

Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers: Redefining Feminism on Screen

beth — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Kathleen Rowe Karlyn

University of Texas Press

Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers: Redefining Feminism on Screen by Kathleen Rowe Karlyn is a fascinating look into the movies and television I watched as a kid. As a woman in my mid-twenties, I can safely say that my age group, for the most part, was the target audience when the films and television shows mentioned in the book were being produced. Or, at least, one of the target audiences. Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers is a companion volume to Unruly Women, published in 1995 by the same author. (I have not read Unruly Women, so some of my thoughts about Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers may have responses in the earlier work.)

According to the back cover and introduction, Karlyn’s purpose in writing this companion volume is to “ask whether today’s seemingly materialistic and apolitical girls, inspired by such real and fictional characters as the Spice Girls and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, have turned their backs on the feminism of their mothers or are redefining unruliness for a new age.” The book is more than 250 pages long, plus twenty pages of endnotes, eighteen pages for the Works Cited, and an index for ease in looking up specific information. It’s clear in reading that Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers is an academic work, but the author thankfully did a good job of keeping my attention with her writing style, relevance of the subjects, and accompanying photographs.

The book is split into an introduction, an afterward, and eight chapters which comprise the bulk of her argument. The first few chapters delve into the worlds of Clueless, Titanic, American Beauty, the Scream trilogy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mean Girls, and The Devil Wears Prada. It really helps to have seen the aforementioned movies (and the others Karlyn discusses later) or some of the series in the case of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. For example, I could really engage in the parts about Titanic, American Beauty, Buffy, and The Devil Wears Prada because I’d seen those multiple times, remembered details, and could grapple with Karlyn’s assertions about each piece. (She says American Beauty has a strong incest motif, and since I’d seen the movie multiple times I was able to disagree at first and then maybe see where she was coming from.) But for the others I mentioned—especially the Scream trilogy, which I’ve never seen—it was much harder to understand what she was even talking about; I had to take her at her word that one character did something and then another did something else, etc. It wouldn’t be unthinkable, I suppose, to sit down and watch (at least some of) the pieces mentioned in Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers to have a basic understanding of the author’s starting point, but until I have time to do that, I can’t fully engage with some of the text. I suspect other readers will have similar issues.

Nonetheless, the movies and characters with which I was familiar provided me with plenty of brain fodder. There’s an entire chapter on Reese Witherspoon’s ability to “walk the line” between feminine and feminist in her film portrayals, and in real life, a chapter about teen melodrama that focuses on My So-Called Life and Thirteen, and a chapter about girls and women of color in film. I’m not sure how I feel about having only one chapter about girls and women of color; I don’t know if Karlyn could only work with the movies she had and most of them just leave out people of color (i.e., the entertainment industry is racist) or if she picked and chose the films that fit her thesis and the ones that most easily fit didn’t include people of color in important roles, or some combination thereof. (I suspect it’s the third option.) That said, someone could write an entire book about just girls and women of color on screen, so I’m not sure how I’d have written it differently in this book.

Overall, I’d say that Unruly Girls, Unrepentant Mothers is a great reference text; it has a lot of relevant, useful information for Third Wave feminists (and parents of said), and it may open up someone’s eyes when they ascribe to feminist beliefs that begin with, “I’m not a feminist, but…”

Written by: Viannah Duncan, March 29th 2011

Dreaming in French

barbara — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Megan McAndrew

Simon & Schuster

On the surface, Dreaming in French sounds like the type of book I would love. It’s about a strong-willed girl named Charlotte growing up in Paris during the 1970s until she and her mother are forced to move to New York. I love anything about Paris, especially during the 1970s with its yé-yé girl singers that ruled the charts, inventive fashion, and sexual freedom. I also love reading about New York during that time period, when a lot of powerful, creative music and art were coming to light.

Sadly, the book is not really about Paris or New York, but about a spoiled, pretentious girl and her equally spoiled, pretentious mother, Astrid. A teenage Charlotte can be forgiven for her self-absorption, but as we watch her grow up, she only becomes more selfish. Astrid is even more selfish than her daughter, breaking the family apart when she has an affair with a Polish dissident and, in a Kafkaesque twist, ends up in jail. Her daughters rally to Astrid’s side, but her faithful husband feels betrayed and will never forgive her. They divorce, and Astrid leaves for New York to start anew. Charlotte, who adores her mother, decides to go with her. Her sister Lea remains in Paris with their father Frank, while his Swedish secretary slowly carries out her plans to marry him.

Charlotte goes from a life of comfort to a life of… slightly less comfort. Her father provides her with some money, and she attends a private school after she and Astrid check out the local high school and find “a group of black girls…tough urban girls with knowing eyes.” This is but one of several racist statements McAndrew makes throughout the novel.

It is hard to sympathize with Charlotte’s troubles when it seems that she has everything going for her: she is thin, white, beautiful, extremely intelligent, and wealthy. She is aware of her privilege but never thinks about it extensively, providing the perfect example of how acknowledging privilege is not the same as understanding it. Rather than use her privilege to try and change the world or examine questions of inequality, Charlotte seems to take pride in how spoiled she is.

Charlotte reminded me a lot of Rory Gilmore from the TV show Gilmore Girls because she is also smart, pretty, and white, except that Rory is humble and likable, whereas Charlotte is not. No doubt due to her pedigree and upbringing, Charlotte gets into Yale, and busies herself studying post-structuralist feminism. At Yale she has a disturbing relationship with a man named Azher, who attempts to enter her almost brutally. Their forceful, violent sex and bordering-on-abusive relationship is treated with the same detached superficiality of everything else in the novel. McAndrew handles cancer, eating disorders, cross-cultural interactions, AIDS, and political uprisings with the aloof tone of one talking about the weather.

Eventually Charlotte comes into her own working for Glamour magazine and the reader is supposed to be happy for her, but Charlotte is still more of a petulant child than amiable heroine. McAndrew’s tendency to rely on clichés only exacerbates the situation. By the end of the novel Charlotte has discovered that she holds the key to her own happiness, her father has remarried a sweet widow who is also the mother of Charlotte’s childhood best friend, and her sister Lea is literally living happily ever after in a castle with her husband who’s a legitimate Prince. It’s all the stuff of an airplane book, and not a particularly good one at that.

The world really does not need another book about a privileged young woman trying to find herself through shopping and sex with men she doesn’t love. To this type of ridiculous, pointless novel, I say j’en ai marre—I’ve had enough.

Written by: Arielle Burgdorf, March 11th 2011

Old Photographs

gwen — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 00:00:00 +0000

By Sherie Posesorski

Second Story Press

Old Photographs by Sherie Posesorski is the story of Phoebe Hecht, a teenage girl who is struggling through most boring summer of her life. Originally from the small town of Barrie, Phoebe moved to Toronto about a year ago when her mother married Greg, a very rich, very serious doctor. While her mother is excited about all the changes in their life, Phoebe is less than thrilled. Her only friend, Yuri, is spending the summer in Tokyo and her current crush, Colin, doesn't seem to know she's alive. Added to that is the fact that she misses her extended family back in Barrie, while her mother seems determined to erase any evidence of their old life, including forbidding any old family photos to be displayed.

Things don't seem like they're ever going to get any better until Phoebe comes across a garage sale being held by Mrs. Tomblin, an elderly neighbor. The two become fast friends and Phoebe soon discovers two things about Mrs. Tomblin. The first is that she suffers from Alzheimer's disease and is selling the majority of her belongings because her son is moving her to an assisted living facility. The other is that Mrs. Tomblin is in possession of a series of photographs taken by her aunt, a world famous photographer. Shortly after their first meeting, Mrs. Tomblin becomes the victim of a brutal assault and burglary. The police are baffled by the crime but Phoebe suspects it has something to do with Mrs. Tomblin's old photographs and vows to solve the case herself.

The characters are the strongest part of this book. Phoebe comes across as a normal teenager. She's very outspoken and hot-tempered but is completely tongue-tied around her crush. She argues with her parents but is never so disrespectful as to come off bratty or annoying. Colin, the object of Phoebe's affection, is smart and hard-working, spending his summer stocking groceries. He genuinely cares about both Phoebe and Mrs. Tomblin and his friendship with Phoebe naturally progresses into a believable relationship. Phoebe's mother is a conflicted woman. She loves her daughter and wants the best for her but has the misguided notion that the only way to achieve that is to ignore everything that happened in their past. The interactions between Phoebe and her mother are full of both friction and love, making for a very real mother/daughter relationship.

My only complaint is that we don't get to see enough of Phoebe's best friend Yuri, who serves as her sounding board for all things mystery-related. Since Yuri is overseas for the majority of the book, she and Phoebe mostly communicate via text messages and e-mails, which has the effect of making the interaction between the two girls pretty dull and lifeless until the end of the novel, when Yuri comes back from her vacation. For those last few chapters, the girls exchange such witty, natural dialogue that you wish that Posesorski had brought Yuri back a whole lot earlier.

The biggest problem in Old Photographs is that it is a mystery novel that lacks a mystery. The reader knows almost immediately what the burglars were looking for in Mrs. Tomblin's house and the only suspects that Phoebe comes up with turn out to be the guilty parties. There are no surprises, no suspense, and the entire novel comes across more as a coming-of-age story than a whodunit. The characters are so engaging, though, that I wouldn't mind seeing a sequel, albeit with a better mystery this time around.

Written by: Victoria Granado, February 2nd 2011

Love Like Hate

mandy — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

By Linh Dinh

Seven Stories Press

Having left the history of the Vietnam War in the classrooms of my London secondary school six years ago, I delighted in reading the new novel by Vietnamese American author Linh Dinh. Predominantly set in post-war Vietnam, Love Like Hate weaves fact with fiction, giving an historical background to character development.

The novel focuses on the life of rigid and successful entrepreneur Kim Lan, whose popular bar, Paris by Night, sits neatly in “Thanh Dah, north of downtown, by a leafy stretch of the Saigon river.” The reader sees into the thoughts of the protagonist, who wants nothing more than to Americanize and marry off her beautiful daughter, Hoa, to a “Viet Kieu,” one of many Vietnamese who fled to the United States during the war. “Viet Kieu sons-in-law were so desirable that people were actually paying them to marry their daughters,” Dinh notes. Kim Lan’s fixation with the American Dream is just the beginning of the reader’s glance into an increasingly complicated mother-daughter relationship, reminiscent of the female family ties illustrated in Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club.

Hoa, a pawn in the game of her own life, has her fate determined from the beginning, as Kim Lan believes the American way of life to be a saving grace for her innocent and malleable daughter. Other characters realize that the US is not everything Hollywood purports it to be; it is, rather, “a country of straight lines and geometric exactness where everything must be qualified: your breasts, your income, your batting average.” Unrest and disappointment with Vietnam is also prevalent in the characters’ actions.

As Vietnam deals with post-war reconstruction, the female characters cope with their tiring and unchanging status as men’s inferiors. As wives, mistresses, and daughters they fall helplessly in love or deal with their ascribed roles as homemakers, child-bearers, and sex objects. Men come and go, often heartlessly.

Dinh does evoke a degree of sympathy for some of his male characters, as some are victims of their own condition. And although not exactly original, sex defines the majority of Dinh’s male caricatures, which highlights an important and fairly depressing future for both men and women. Each male character indulges in extra-marital debauchery (either in thought or practice), a motif powerfully and disturbingly presented by Dinh. So extreme is one male character’s infidelity that his wife dies of shock and despair just moments after she gives birth to their second child.

The author also foregrounds the futility of the Vietnam War, which took so many lives. Chen, a prospective Taiwanese suitor that Hoa’s father earmarks for her, sees Vietnam as an impoverished and confused hell thanks to the contemporary penetration of American capitalism with its unrealizable goals: "He had never known there could be so much capitalist exploitation in a supposedly socialist society."

Dinh has successfully written a classical novel, beautifully painting vivid picture of his characters and their thoughts. More importantly however, he presents the reader with the challenges of a country and its people, with a particular emphasis on women, in the throes of post-war turmoil.

Written by: Alexandra Chapman, September 24th 2010

Sometimes Mine

admin — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Martha Moody

Riverhead Books

Genie Toledo, the best cardiologist in Ohio, is in the midst of an eleven-year passionate love affair with Mike Crabbe, a married basketball coach residing in another state. Their love affair has survived the initial hiccups of insecurity, jealousy, and possessiveness. After a decade of physical and emotional closeness they have settled into this arrangement, perfectly understanding and respecting each others boundaries, and traveling to meet each other every Thursday. A series of events, including Mike’s diagnosis of prostrate cancer place Genie in the middle of Mike’s family affairs. She eventually has to confront Mike’s wife Karen and her children and reveal the secret affair.

In Sometimes Mine, Martha Moody unravels the struggles of Genie Toledo: professional, single mother of a college aged daughter, trying to balance her professional and personal life. The author describes how a tragedy in her personal life makes Genie come out of the emotional shell she has woven around her, which results in her repairing the mother-daughter relationship.

Does Mike’s wife accept the relationship? The children’s reaction to the “other woman” in their father’s life makes this book an interesting read. Moody narrates the story from the “mistress” perspective, which is different from the usual approach. The author, without becoming melodramatic, describes the intricate relationship between the two women in Mike’s life—each dominating certain aspects of his life. Towards the end of the story we can see a bond developing between Genie and Karen, both seeking support and reassurance from each other.

Written by: Sunitha Jayan, August 29th 2010

Starting from Scratch: A Novel with Recipes

admin — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Susan Gilbert-Collins

Touchstone

In Starting from Scratch, Olivia Tschetter successfully defended her doctoral dissertation and lost her mother all in one day. The youngest of four siblings, Olivia moves back home to be with her father, to run away from her responsibilities at school, and to grieve. Her connection to her mother, who was an incredible cook, is food. At first, she uses food as a way to shove her pain aside, but it eventually becomes one of the ways she gets past her grief.

This is the simplest way to describe a book that is both straightforward and layered at the same time, particularly when revealing those layers would give away all the best parts. Let me just say that it’s easy to enjoy this book on a superficial level—it’s well-written, the characters are easy to relate to, and it’s a quick read—but there are also moments that can be appreciated more deeply. For example, when Olivia unexpectedly starts with an old friend of her mother’s, Winnie, she stumbles into a minefield of sorts as Winnie reveals secrets Olivia’s family has kept from her. It turns out that Winnie is estranged from her own daughter, and the parallels between the way Olivia is suffering and the way Winnie and her own daughter deal with their own issues are quite compelling. It all reminds the reader that life-changing moments are universal, and that even if we deal with things in our own way, we don’t have to deal with them alone.

Another thing I must point out (again, without giving too much away) is the way this novel pulls off having both food and abuse as its subject matter. It sounds completely absurd, yet Starting from Scratch does it in a beautifully poignant way.

Food is almost like this family’s own language; it’s the way they communicate with each other, for better or worse. As Olivia works to finish the cooking newsletter her mother was working on when she died, the reader is taken through Olivia’s mourning and her reaction to the secrets she’s learned from Winnie. Meanwhile, the way women and their families deal with abuse is at the very heart of this story. Surprisingly, one thing does not take away from the other or make the abuse seem trivial. In short, Starting from Scratch is a pleasant surprise. I found myself laughing out loud at some parts, and weeping at others. The story sucks you in and it’s over all too soon. By the end, I felt like I was a part of this family, and I wanted desperately to find out what happens to all of them beyond the point at which the story ends.

Written by: frau sally benz, August 22nd 2010

The Things We Carry

admin — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Ian McCrudden

Lono Entertainment

The Things We Carry tells the story of two sisters coping with the death of their drug-addicted mother Sunny (Alexis Rhee). After leaving her mother and sister Eve (Catherine Kresge) to travel the globe, Emmie (Alyssa Lobit) returns home upon news of her mother’s death. The sisters are forced to confront both Sunny’s drug-addicted friends and each other while searching for a mysterious package.

The film is loosely based on the real-life experiences of sisters Athena and Alyssa Lobit; Athena produced the film, while Alyssa wrote the script and stars as Emmie. As Eve and Emmie, Kresge and Lobit execute their roles with a muted intensity that speaks to the internal struggles of their characters. Lobit’s nuanced turn as the rebellious Emmie presents a woman whose antagonistic exterior hides a sensitive interior. The rest of the cast's performances are largely forgettable, as the other characters are merely meant to serve as catalysts to Emmie and Eve’s introspection and confrontation.

The Things We Carry alternates between scenes from Emmie’s memory and the sisters' present-day reunion, illustrating how they reached the point of estrangement. These vignettes are artfully articulated, as visual cues from the present (such as an image of a jacket or a yellow cab) serve as links to Emmie’s past. Flashback sequences on film tend to come off as confusing or campy, so it’s a testament to Ian McCrudden’s direction and Alyssa Lobit’s writing that the flashbacks are so effective at enhancing the storytelling and building narrative tension.

The film is saturated in yellows and browns, and features unnaturally bright lighting that emphasizes Emmie's discomfort in returning to her hometown. These blown-out images are placed in counterpoint to the beautiful violin and bass compositions of Timo Chen, whose score ebbs and flows, entering moments of reflection and heightened emotion and serving as an aural bridge between remembered past and lived present.

What is perhaps most impressive about the film is its complete lack of didacticism. Emmie may feel morally superior to her mother, but the film does not necessarily agree. The Things We Carry does not make moral judgments about any of the characters' actions; though the film centers on the detrimental effects of Sunny’s drug use, she is not presented as merely a drug addict—she is also a mother, a wife, and a friend. Ultimately the film is not without its flaws, but The Things We Carry survives on its earnestness and engrossing narrative structure.

Written by: Joanna Chlebus, August 19th 2010

Bitch is the New Black

admin — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Helena Andrews

Harper Collins

I don’t believe bitch is the new Black any more than I believe that thirty is the new twenty. As our most recent racial shenanigans have reminded us, Black is still its same ol’ Black self. And anybody who engages in the same shamtastic behaviors at thirty as she did at twenty is just plain trifling. That said, I think y’all should check out Helena Andrews recently published memoir Bitch Is the New Black.

We know good and well that it ain’t easy out here on single Black women. And the Tyler Perryization of Black women’s lives has made it possible for the likes of Steve Harvey and every other jackleg Black relationship expert to capitalize on our story but us. Since Black women are always represented as loud, sassy, and inappropriate, our silence has been deafening. It’s high time that we get bell hooks with it, and start talking back. Helena Andrews has done that masterfully.

Hers is a delicious Black girl story, one that hits so many familiar notes that you are transported episodically to different moments of your own life to recall how you handled a similar situation—family conflicts between your mom, your grandmother and your aunties; your first cheating lover; a pregnancy scare; a ridiculously stressful and uninteresting first job; your first encounter with the domestic abuse of a loved one; your love affair with The Cosby Show. And yet, Helena Andrew’s story is also all her own—unique, self-contained, and filled with the kinds of idiosyncrasies that remind us we are not the same, no matter how many two-dimensional portraits of ourselves we encounter daily.

Here we learn what it is like to be a Black girl reared by a lesbian mother, in a family that associates same-sex love with pedophilia. We encounter a bohemian Black girlhood, one associated with movement, not because of poverty or military life, but because of her mother’s need for new surroundings. For the adult Helena, this translates to a life of literally walking the walk. She doesn’t drive and has no interest in learning, even after two muggings. And when she isn’t walking it out, homegirl Helena is talking it out, in classic Black woman fashion, with an endless string of refreshingly familiar girlfriends and colorful female characters.

The text is, of course, not without its hiccups. But then, neither is the path of a professional Black woman approaching thirty. There are moments when the transition from e-chat speak to text are choppy and disorienting. That’s a technical issue. There is, however, also the sense that while Andrews grew up with a lesbian mother, she wants us to be very clear that she’s as straight as they come, whatever that means. There are, thus, endless recourses to referring to the most mundane of things as being “so gay,” or as in a chapter called "Trannygate," referring to a transchick as “the she-man... name unnecessary.” Uh, not cool.

Andrews certainly didn’t need to get didactic with it, but her own childhood put her in a unique position to represent queer folk humanely and heterosexual dating in ways that might have avoided such strident heterosexism. That said, I know now in a very real way how much courage it takes to let others into your life—particularly among sisters who can sometimes be the worst critics among us—and so I refuse to be overly critical of this book. I don’t promise that you’ll like everything in it. You might even dislike the author, given her self-professed bitch tendencies. But what she has proved is that our stories matter—and if you don’t like hers, write your own.

This is a book for every Black woman who’s ever needed to read, hear, feel, breathe another sista’s story, a book for every girl who’s ever dealt with inappropriate sexual conversations from a mother who’s trying to be hip, an ex-dude with stalker tendencies, or a dead end relationship that kept you pinned down because the sex made your toes curl. And while Andrews has her admittedly bitch moments in this book, she does not shy away from admitting the vulnerability that informs those moments, or from brutal, gut-wrenching honesty in general, even when it means discussing the suicide of a close Black girlfriend in a culture where strongblackwomen just don’t do that.

When I heard about this book last Fall, its title caused me to approach it with the same skepticism with which I approach Tyler Perry movies. I didn’t need to have anyone else calling me a bitch just because I’m educated, especially not a sista. Unlike TP, however, this text does not disappoint. When you read Bitch Is the New Black, you will know that there’s another Black chick out there, who’s slogging through it, who’s working it out, perhaps very differently from you, but who ultimately gets it.

Written by: Crunk Feminist Collective, August 10th 2010

Letter to My Daughter

admin — Mon, 24 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By George Bishop

Random House

I admit that I am influenced by book titles in my choice of books to read. In that sense, Letter to My Daughter was somewhat off putting for me. I was expecting a somewhat predictable story of a mother writing a letter to her daughter. Fortunately, I overcame my reticence, and upon reading the first couple of paragraphs I found myself immersed in a riveting story.

The novel begins in present day Baton Rouge, Louisiana; a mother (Laura) has started writing a letter to her daughter Elizabeth to alleviate her anxiety and worry. Her teenage daughter has just left the house after yet another argument with her mother In her letter, Laura has decided to tell her daughter about her own troubled adolescent years and share secrets about her past she had previously been unable to confide.

As we read Laura's letter, we travel back in time to the late '60s. Laura’s parents are conservative Southern Baptists who don’t approve of her relationship with Tim, a Cajun boy from the other side of town. Laura continues to see Tim against her parents wishes until one fateful day when Laura’s life is changed irrevocably. At the risk of giving too much of the plot away, the novel touches on themes of prejudice, young love and sexuality, the Vietnam War, mother-daughter relationships, and the challenges of being both a teenager and a parent in an increasingly complex world.

You don’t have to be a parent or a teenager to relate to this story. Once I started reading Letter to My Daughter, I found it difficult to put it down and ended up reading it in just two sittings. Don’t be put off by the title of this book as I was; the author has created an unforgettable story that will stay with you for days after you turn the last page.

Written by: Gita Tewari, May 24th 2010

Daughters of Empire: A Memoir of a Year in Britain and Beyond

admin — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Jane Satterfield

Demeter Press

The poet and essayist Jane Satterfield writes a hauntingly discontinuous prose-poem about a sort of exile. To those of us with dual citizenship—or, perhaps, to those for whom home is two places, neither tidily reconcilable with the other—Daughters of Empire speaks poignantly to the longing for connection between past and present, mother and daughter, literary inspiration, and career frustration.

The author here teases us with the possibility of a conventional narrative of exile: what will happen when a woman who spent most of her formative years in the United States becomes pregnant and has a child while being cast aside by a prospective employer and emotionally abandoned by a narcissistic and controlling husband? Will she find in this land of her birth and ancestry an escape from the soul-deadening labor of fixed-term teaching in American institutions, and instead find joy in teaching Larkin and Plath and Heaney and Hughes to students who understand and appreciate the value of being taught by a working poet? Will she find in the geography of her own imagination the spiritual bond to the Brontë sisters that she seeks?

Our relationship to place is similarly discontinuous, and home, whatever that means, is an ongoing negotiation. Satterfield’s narrator is unstuck in time, just as she is unstuck geographically, so we get poetically rich spots of memory: “I stand on Charlotte Brontë’s front steps, thinking I’m going to be sick,” she tells us on the first page—either a vertiginous reaction to this confrontation with her nineteenth-century literary forbearer, or perhaps a bit of first-trimester nausea. And then suddenly it’s several years earlier, and she’s a different sort of exile, not quite fitting in to this group of students or that literary community brought together in American college towns. And then she’s a punk, a Johnny Rotten, but with much more ambivalent feelings towards Queen and country.

And then she’s in Corby, a “piss hole in the dead heart of England” where she was born, traveling with her mother through a reconstruction of her own ancestry and her mother’s shared dual sense of place. But then, heartbreakingly, she’s starving emotionally and perhaps physically as a mother estranged from her husband, whose Fulbright Exchange, in the mid-1990s, was in part responsible for this year in England which serves as a potent but unstable center of this narrative.

Because of the evocative power of her memory and the clarity of her language, she draws the reader willingly into this vortex. And yet, she resists closure. Does she find career fulfillment? Can she bridge the imaginative/historical gaps and construct a satisfactory home? Can she free herself from this dreadful relationship? The memoir asks instead that we participate in her desires, in her lyrical remembrance, in her evocative moments that shuttle back and forth through time, woven together by her search for identity, for her discovery of home.

Written by: Rick Taylor, April 27th 2010

Delivery

admin — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Betty Jane Hegerat

Oolichan Books

The latest novel from Canadian author Betty Jane Hegerat, Delivery is a story about the bonds that attach mother, daughter, and granddaughter. It’s about the stark choices that women have to make when facing an unanticipated pregnancy and an abrupt mid-life transition. It’s also a story about women learning what really matters to them.

The novel is written from the point of view of Lynn, a woman in her mid-forties, and of Heather, Lynn’s twenty-year-old daughter. At the center of the story is Beegee, Heather’s new baby whom she had planned to place for adoption. The story begins after Heather has brought Beegee home from the hospital, against the advice of the social worker. Heather has been caring for Beegee for two weeks and it now seems possible that she wants to keep her baby. Making what seems to be an almost spur-of-the-moment decision, Heather tells Lynn she’s decided on adoption after all. She instructs Lynn to deliver Beegee to the eagerly awaiting adoptive parents, but Lynn, who carries her own burdensome secret about an unplanned pregnancy many years before, cannot bring herself to complete this errand. Instead, she loads Beegee into a laundry basket, puts her in her car, and bolts.

Driving from Calgary to a small island off Canada’s west coast, Lynn makes for the cabin owned by her ex-husband’s friend, Einar. This is the place where she and her family used to spend their vacations. It’s also a place that she dislikes for its sunless forest, constant rain, and the memories of her failed marriage it evokes. Over the course of the novel, we’re introduced to Jack (Lynn’s former husband who left her two years previously for a younger woman), Marty (Lynn’s son and Heather’s brother), and Einar (who carries a torch for Lynn). We also meet the compelling Hannah, Einar’s neighbor and the mother of an ever-expanding brood of children, with whom Lynn forms a surprising bond.

Hegerat writes with fine and dazzling precision, a keen attention to language, and provides a beautiful rendering of both Lynn and Heather’s interior voices. She shifts easily from present to past and back to present, managing to show how the weight of previous experiences flicker into consciousness to inform and shape the current moments of her characters’ lives. She manages to give us real and very ordinary female characters who nevertheless shimmer on the page.

Delivery might be described “a quiet novel” in that the action is relatively small and domestic; it builds slowly and steadily to a final revelatory moment. Yet the novel maintains momentum because Hegerat makes us understand and care deeply about the people she writes about. We want to know what happens to Lynn, Heather, and Beegee. We also understand that the decisions they make will have repercussions far beyond the few days contained within the confines of the story that Hegerat tells. A finely crafted novel with great emotional depth and resonance, Delivery is an immensely satisfying read.

Written by: Elaine Beale, April 1st 2010

The Last River Child

admin — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Lori Ann Bloomfield

Second Story Press

The Last River Child is the story of a town caught up in a legend: they believe there are children possessed by the spirit of the river meant to bring misfortune to everything around them. Everyone is taught to stay away from the river, but a young girl named Peg feels drawn to the river and refuses to believe the story. She becomes an outcast and whenever something goes wrong in the town, it’s blamed on her.

The book begins with the story of Rose, Peg’s mother, who grows up alienated from her family and peers. Her story is told in a few chapters, and then continues with Peg’s own childhood. Her life is full of strange coincidences and unfortunate occurrences, including a meteor hitting the town on the day of her baptism and her mother’s death on the day World War I is declared. The town is affected by the war in all the ways you might expect, but in that time, Peg finds friendship in a boy from a neighboring town and by becoming pen pals with her sister’s husband.

While the story itself is an interesting one, what makes this book compelling are the relationships between the characters. Peg’s mother, Rose, has a bad relationship with her family and is also an outcast in the town she grew up in. As soon as she gets the chance, she takes matters into her own hands, moves away and marries a man with whom she develops a close relationship. When they have children, their relationship becomes strained. Peg’s father resents her and her sister, Sarah, and I couldn’t help but sympathize with him later in the novel as he becomes more aware of his treatment of his daughters and wife.

I can’t discuss the relationships in this book without touching on Peg’s relationship with Sarah. Because of her label as a "river child," Peg grows up spending most of her time by herself because her sister Sarah values her friendships more than the relationship with Peg. They grow up alongside each other, but not really together. When circumstances force them to spend several months alone together, their relationship is put to the test. It’s strengthened at first, but then expectedly splinters.

The one criticism I have of this otherwise great book is the lack of relationships between women. Rose resented her mother, Peg and Sarah aren’t close, Sarah’s more interested in her desire to be with her best friend’s brother than in strengthening the relationship with her best friend, and the only meaningful relationships Peg forms are with men. I was admittedly quite happy to see Peg become friends with anybody by that point in the novel, but it would have been nice to have one healthy relationship between women somewhere in the book.

Despite this, I really did enjoy The Last River Child. It was satisfying to see Peg gain more confidence and take control of her life, just as Rose had done so many years earlier. While the book lacked strong relationships between women, it certainly didn’t lack strong female characters.

Written by: frau sally benz, March 29th 2010

An Endless Winter’s Night: An Anthology of Mother-Daughter Stories

admin — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Edited by Ira Raja, Kay Souter

Women Unlimited

When it comes to works of literature, one key element that can make or break the brilliance of the creation is translation. Indian literature, specifically, has a history of poor translations. This has led some writers (Salman Rushdie, for example) to write nearly exclusively in English in order for the essence of one’s work to reach a broader audience. Although I understood this dilemma on an abstract level (a translation is only as good as its translator’s linguistic skill, creative aptitude, and cultural understanding), it wasn’t until I came to Kolkata and began to learn Bengali that the concreteness of the problem set in. As the blending of a new language and culture settled itself into my brain and being, I started to read Bengali novels in English. That is when the truly abysmal nature of the re-fashioned stories I was reading clicked into place what I’d been unable to firmly grasp before.

The experience has made me wary of translations, but I decided to give Ira Raja’s and Kay Souter’s An Endless Winter’s Night a shot because it is published by a respected feminist press in Delhi. The book also contains stories by authors whose work I admire. Raja’s and Souter’s awareness of the shortcomings of translations rightly prompted them to give the writers’ words the respect they deserve by bringing on board (mostly) native speakers to tackle each piece, and listing the translator at the end of each chapter, as well in the final list of contributors, gives credit (for better or worse) where credit is aptly due. As it turns out, though, the problem with An Endless Winter’s Night is less the downfall of translated works and more the problem of collected ones: inconsistency.

Granted, this is a case of beauty being in the eye of the beholder, but some stories struck me more than others, and the ones that didn’t nearly bored me to tears. Usha Yadav’s “The Swan” starts the anthology on a high note, providing an inward look at the maternal joy suffered (yes, suffered) by a middle class, housebound Indian mother at the hands of her willfully oblivious and selfish husband. I contentedly turned the page in anticipation of an equally engaging work, but the next piece, “Miriam,” chugged and clunked its way through appalling prose and unfulfilled potential. (Interestingly, this was one of the chapters originally penned in English.) This juxtaposition follows throughout the book with as many hits (“The Lies My Mother Told Me,” “Lucid Moments,” “A Doll for Rukmani”) as misses (“Allegra,” “Killing Abhimanyu,” “One Zero One,” “The Chest”). And by the time I closed the back cover of the book, I had to pause to consider its merits overall.

Ultimately, I decided the purchase is worth it. If nothing else, one should take time to appreciate An Endless Winter’s Night’s skillful translations and the revealing intimacy of the stories. But while reading, if you feel a yawn coming on, feel free to skip to the next chapter. You may be holding fool’s gold now, but that doesn’t mean you should stop looking for the real thing.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, February 25th 2010

Traveling With Pomegranates: A Mother-Daughter Story

admin — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Sue Monk Kidd, Ann Kidd Taylor

Viking

Traveling With Pomegranates tells the two parallel stories of its authors, a mother and daughter. The two women learn about themselves while abroad in Greece and France, as well as in their respective homes in South Carolina.

Ann comes to terms with her disappointment in receiving a rejection letter from the only affordable school offering a Master's degree in Greek history. During the year that follows, she is plagued with depression that follows this blow to her confidence. While traveling with her mother, Ann maps out her path as a writer, even though she had long resisted following in her mothers footsteps. (She didn't want to risk a lifetime of being compared to her mother.) Ann finds out she a unique knack for travel writing, which helps her to preserve her independent spirit.

Sue’s discoveries bring forth the ideas, imagery, and symbolism that formed her hugely successful book, The Secret Life of Bees. While Traveling With Pomegranates contains some of the same Southern magic and mystique as The Secret Life of Bees, it hits a little closer to home for the average reader. These women’s lives are at once ordinary and extraordinary, but the way they tell their tale of reconnecting with the energizing spirit of Greece is inspiring.

With Greek mythology guiding their tour, Sue and Ann are each profoundly influenced Persephone, Demeter, and various portrayals of Mary they find in various places: a cave, cathedrals, a convent in the mountains, the coast of South Carolina, books, the tiny pomegranate charms they wear. This modern mom-and-daughter travel story tells of the magic of Greece, which the pair find in odd coincidences and signs they encounter. The magic for the reader is in their scintillating descriptions of the country's architecture, taxi drivers, performers, and lovers.

The connection between these two is exceptional. The cohesion of their experiences and concern for each other creates a mutual understanding and emotional response to their trip that all of us an learn from. Traveling With Pomegranates imparts wisdom in its perspectives on accepting rejection, coping with depression, managing life changes after marriage, settling into menopause, and seizing the day.

Written by: Heather Irvine, February 23rd 2010