United States

Solo

tina — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Initially, it was the synoptic descriptions of Solo that drew me in. I saw phrases like “enigmatic,” “thought-provoking,” and “demanding,” along with geographical settings such as Berlin, Bulgaria, and New York City. The cover artwork interested me as well. It depicts the white silhouette of a man against a seafoam blue background; he has a cane and his upper body is dissolving into birds. I hadn't read much fiction in recent months, so I was eager to jump back into the storytelling pool with this book.

Solo begins sadly and remains sad throughout. Ulrich, an old Bulgarian man nearing his 100th birthday, is completely blind and relies on the charity of his neighbors to exist. He has nothing to do except relive his life, one memory at a time. Ulrich was born and raised alongside the timeline of the twentieth century and each of his dreams has been thwarted by the major events of the times. Even after managing to leave Bulgaria to study chemistry in Berlin, he is called back to his home country to face its ruin at the hands of Russian Communists. Ulrich never leaves the country again.

The second half of the novel concentrates on Ulrich's “dream children,” Bulgarian siblings Khatuna, Irakli, and Boris, an orphan and violin prodigy. Each has a sad beginning in their native Bulgaria and they find their respective ways to the United States (echoing Ulrich's own frustrated attempts to leave Bulgaria). In America, their lives entangle messily. Which of them will find happiness? Khatuna, Irakli, and Boris are Ulrich's dream of the twenty-first century, where there is no need for any of the old failures of twentieth century Bulgarian life.

In an interview, author Rana Dasgupta (a British-Indian who has lived largely in the U.S. and India) referred to the “self-absorbed” nature of America and India, countries he believes behave as if they’re “the only countries in the world.” This is why the author chose Bulgaria, a small and “uninteresting” country, as the setting of his second novel. Small it may be, but the milieu is anything but uninteresting. The characters, down to those who make the briefest of appearances, are fully realized. More than once I became tearful at the transpiring events. The prose is fine, strong, and pretty. I enjoyed Solo very much and recommend it to any fan of literary fiction, history, or armchair travel.

Written by: Natalie Ballard, March 5th 2011

The Price of Motherhood: Why the Most Important Job in the World is Still the Least Valued

tina — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Ann Crittenden

Picador

Like many of my generation, I am a child of divorce. I watched as my newly single mother struggled to work, find and pay for childcare, and afford lawyers that could compete with my father’s during endless days of court. I watched as we plummeted into poverty while my wealthy father’s lifestyle barely changed. I am the daughter of a woman who chose to sacrifice her career to raise me, and who was subsequently penalized by a system that encouraged her to do precisely that. As such, I am profoundly grateful for the tenth anniversary edition of The Price of Motherhood, a book where former New York Times reporter Ann Crittenden reminds us that despite the incessant rhetoric about “family values,” America has yet to put its money where its mouth is and motherhood is still dangerously undervalued.

Crittenden seeks to demonstrate that it is motherhood and not being female that is the primary source of women’s inequality. Mothering, she claims, is dismissed by American culture as something menial, and the housewife’s work is neither politically nor economically recognized as labor. Despite this; however, inflexible workplaces almost guarantee that women will have to cut back or quit their job when they have children, resulting in a “mommy tax” of approximately $1 million in lost income for an educated mother. Moreover, when women sacrifice their careers to raise children, their unpaid labor does not entitle them to the breadwinner’s income during marriage or after a divorce. Women often have to ask their husbands for money to cover basic expenses or they’re put on an allowance that is only a fraction of the husband’s income. During divorces, many states are reluctant to give women half the assets or the highest child support payment. They also rarely go after dads who refuse to pay even the smallest sums. It is because of all of these reasons that Crittenden argues that motherhood is the single biggest risk factor for poverty, and women—who have fought to earn respect for their work in the workplace—need to keep fighting to win respect for their work in the home.

By design, Crittenden’s book promotes an intersectional approach to examining the “price of motherhood,” utilizing gender analysis, the law, public policy, and economics. Each chapter features an in-depth analysis of one of the problems facing mothers and multiple sources, including personal stories of Crittenden’s life as a mother and interviews with other women. Crittenden’s decision to use such a wide variety of sources, coupled with the structure of the book, ultimately facilitates her argument that “the price of motherhood” is derived and perpetuated from multiple locations. The book’s conclusion features a list of concrete suggestions and policy changes that should be made to “bring children up without putting women down,” a list that could be helpful to a wide array of readers, from mothers and feminist organizations to politicians.

Crittenden chooses not to rely heavily on theory, possibly in an attempt to make her book accessible to a wider audience and to better showcase her breezy, witty writing. Unfortunately; however, a lack of theory allows her to ignore feminist theorists who fear a focus on motherhood produces the idea that women are “naturally” suited for the family. She never addresses theorists, such as Wendy Brown, who argue that women should be wary of relying on the state—a patriarchal institution—for protection, or who argue that welfare regimes only swap a woman’s dependency on a husband’s paycheck for a (patriarchal) government’s check. Indeed, Crittenden seems slightly wary of taking a position on the “naturalness” of women’s mothering, hinting at times that there is something innately caring in women. I also felt she stressed the importance of having a mother at home too much, which could lead to a backlash.

Overall, I think The Price of Motherhood is a tremendously important book. It is perfect for an introductory women’s studies class, or any economics, law, and public policy class with a feminist focus. It is also a book I think every woman should read. We’re told repeatedly that we can “have it all,” but The Price of Motherhood reminds us that mothers don’t have it all—yet.

Written by: Shannon Hill, March 1st 2011

Where Do Birds Live?

tina — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Claudia McGehee

University of Iowa Press

There are few things in life better than large, hardcover, richly-illustrated children’s books. As a child, these were the books I most often pulled from the library shelves. Beautiful visuals invite the eye to stay for a while, while skilled writing engages and challenges the mind. Even today, I sheepishly browse the children’s sections of libraries and bookstores, in love with nearly everything in sight.

In Where Do Birds Live?, Claudia McGehee works as both writer and illustrator to inform and enchant us about the habitats of American birds. This large, hardcover book has full, two-page spreads dedicated to each bird featured. The left pages include: illustrations of the bird itself, basic information about its traits, habitat, life challenges, and how humans can help keep the particular bird from becoming endangered. The right pages feature a full page illustration of the bird’s habitat and neighbors. I must add that every illustration in the book is a scratchboard piece; a difficult medium to work with, but gorgeously performed by Claudia McGehee.

The birds represented in the book are limited to those that live in the United States. Common varieties such as hummingbirds, bluebirds, gulls, and ravens are presented, as well as less commonly noted birds such as tanagers, flycatchers, roadrunners, and oystercatchers. I was inspired to do research on my own after reading this book; I wanted to listen to bobolink prairie birds sing and see photos of the Pacific rain forest. Now I’m considering visiting that area someday, if possible.

People of all ages would appreciate and benefit from this book. The writing is informative and accessible and the illustrations were a labor of love. The entire book is inviting and engaging, with interesting tidbits on bird behavior and helpful advice on how humans can conserve bird habitats for years to come.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, January 31st 2011

Freedom

brittany — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Jonathan Franzen

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Brittany: I’m one of those lit geeks who has long loved Jonathan Franzen. I read How To Be Alone on a solo trip to Japan when I was twenty, and it particularly spoke to me as an introverted writer. The better part of a decade later, I’m still so infatuated with that particular collection—though I’ve also read Franzen’s three previous novels, memoir, numerous pieces in The New Yorker, and his longtime partner Kathryn Chetkovich’s Granta essay “Envy” before it was so publicly associated with Franzen—that it was no stretch to know I’d like Freedom. I’ve also read a lot about Franzen’s process as a writer, and frankly, it seems few people have the commitment to churn out the type of work he produces. That doesn’t mean I think it’s above critique; it’s just that I admire his work ethic and generally, the end result.

Mandy: Given that I frequently read The New York Times Book Review and listen to pop culture pundits on NPR, I’m quite familiar with Franzen’s status as a literary darling; however, I had never read his work until Freedom. This past July, I listened to a compelling New Yorker podcast in which Franzen discussed the prevalence of songbird killings for food in the Mediterranean, and I decided it was time I join the ranks and give this guy a shot. When Freedom was released, I dutifully attempted to avoid its reviews, so as to not taint my experience of the nearly 600-page tome. But that effort yielded little success; once the media got a hold of the book, glowing reviews were ubiquitous, and thus my hopes were high.

Brittany: Freedom ended up being much of what I expected, and months after putting it back on the shelf, I’m still relatively satisfied with the long nights it took me to finish it off. Five main characters (six if you count the underdeveloped daughter) weave in and out of one another’s lives, most tragically and painfully, and nearly all of them are deeply flawed, rather screwed up people.

For reasons I still haven’t quite figured out, I identified both with philandering tortured artist Richard Katz and college athlete cum miserable housewife Patty Berglund. In part, I think this is because Franzen has gotten rather good at not overstating who his characters are, allowing readers to put a bit of our own experience onto the story of each key player. That said, as is nearly always the case when a critic loves a mainstream work, I like to pretend that the reflection I seek in this sort of fiction isn’t shared by anyone else. I don’t want to think about who else identifies with a woman like Patty, because in the end, while I might have felt for her, having sympathy for her character is also very much a statement of how I see myself opposed to her. I’m not a miserable housewife, nor am I an adulterer (even if I do sometimes act like a tormented creative type). Being able to both identify as something and not as something both hold value for me; in this case, simultaneously.

Without giving too much away, I think the book is about having compassion, and I suspect that I liked it because I tried to have a lot of it for all of the characters. Except for Joey Berglund. I think he has a personality disorder.

Mandy: While I understand why Franzen is being showered with praise, I was pretty disappointed in Freedom. To my mind, fiction should facilitate a temporary transportation into the world the author has created, and my main criticism of Freedom is that I was entirely aware through the duration of the book that a) I was reading, b) I was reading something someone made up, and c) I was experiencing characters through the lens of the author (read: they didn't come off as authentic selves). It also was clear to me that Franzen himself really identifies with Walter Berglund; therefore all the characters felt like they were presented through Walter's point of view, even when they were in first person narration.

Many critics have lauded Franzen for having the ability to write realistically from a woman’s perspective, a notion that itches my anti-essentialist thinking and one with which I don’t entirely agree. Even though most of Freedom is written is from Patty's perspective, the novel really revolves around her husband, Walter. For that reason, it makes sense that Franzen chose to write a lot of Patty's self-reflection in third person, particularly since one can argue that women’s lives tend to revolve around men’s (instead of their being agents of self-determination), a viewpoint to which I give some credence. But the question is one of intentionality on the part of the author, and I don't think Franzen was ever really able to get inside Patty’s character in a way where she enveloped him; it was always the other way around, with Walter being the focal point. The same is true for Richard Katz, the two kids, and Lalitha. In fact, the only character I even slightly identified with—and believe me, it was only slight—was Jessica. But she barely got any face-time, and may have been the least developed of all the characters.

It probably didn't help Franzen’s case that I recently read Zadie Smith's On Beauty, a novel which is thematically similar to Freedom (in that it also has a filial cast of rather unlikable characters who represent middle class liberal America’s hypocrisies and idiosyncrasies) that also had the benefit of an immensely skilled author whose linguistic craftsmanship and character development outshines Franzen’s, in my humble opinion. Smith’s characters are messy and lack self-awareness or self-control that might prevent their ample mistakes while Franzen’s characters see the forest for the trees and still insist on bumbles. In that light, On Beauty contained happy and unhappy surprises that felt genuine. With Freedom, I had the jump on the trajectory of each storyline from beginning to end, and the failure of the writing itself to captivate had me using the strength of self-persuasion to avoid skipping pages. In short, enjoying Freedom required too much effort for my liking.

Brittany: The last two pages of the book were simply magical for me and made the whole thing worth it because I'm not good enough yet at predicting endings to have seen any of that coming. I tend to think ninety percent of fictional or fictionalized stories—films, books—end horribly, and this didn't. I may like to think I’m above a happy ending, that I can somehow stomach that life so rarely grants them, but for me personally right now, I was just sort of relieved that even made-up people could have one.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, Brittany Shoot, January 6th 2011

Strip Club: Gender, Power and Sex Work

gwen — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Kim Price-Glynn

New York University Press

In Strip Club: Gender, Power and Sex Work, sociologist Kim Price-Glynn analyzes the organizational structure of a strip club to explore whose interests strip clubs serve and how. To gain an insider’s perspective, Price-Glynn spent fourteen months working as a cocktail waitress in a strip club. During this time, she observed, analyzed, and interviewed strippers, employees, and patrons.

Price-Glynn seeks to demonstrate that the strip club she researched, like the majority of others in the U.S., is organized in a way that benefits male employees and patrons while socially and economically marginalizing strippers. She weaves her research with sociological and organizational theory, along with other scholarship on sex work, such as Wendy Chapkis’ Live Sex Acts and Katherine Frank’s G-Strings and Sympathy. In an attempt to situate sex work as an occupation that entails intense emotional labor, Price-Glynn also draws heavily on the works of Barbara Ehrenreich and Arlie Hochschild.

Price-Glynn argues that the strip club perpetuates gender inequalities. She distinguishes, however, from a generalized argument that stripping and sex work inherently contribute to gender inequality and posits instead that strippers were marginalized by the organizational structure of the strip club. She notes that there were no women in positions of authority and that employees, who were explicitly told to always supervise the strippers, believed that strippers were never to be trusted, had low self-esteem, and used drugs excessively. In a fascinating portion of the book, Price-Glynn highlights the differences in how strippers and other club employees receive their wages. Employees have fixed wages while strippers receive money solely from tips; they also pay the strip club for their use of the club and are required to tip other employees, like the deejay. This system decreases their profits and creates a paradigm where the strippers appear to depend on the club (even if the club profits solely because they feature strippers).

Price-Glynn highlights the ways in which strippers’ safety is compromised by an intense culture of masculinity, a lack of physical boundaries between strippers and patrons, and the fact that a club’s revenue is often boosted if patrons think they can have physical access to strippers. She recounts stories, told to her by strippers during interviews, of being digitally raped on stage, of being expected to perform oral sex, and of club employees looking the other way when patrons touched strippers. Building on past scholarship, she also focuses on the intense emotional labor, such as flirting, that strippers are expected to perform. Private dances, she argues, are not prized for their extended dance, but because of the (false) intimacy it creates.

Price-Glynn’s work is an important reminder of the dangers of sex work. At times, however, I questioned whether she excessively focused on the negative aspects of stripping. A section devoted to the women’s rituals when they returned home (one bathed in bleach) and the effects of stripping on outside relationships (such as an inability to enjoy sex) was profoundly sad. It also implies that none of the strippers were able to disengage themselves from their work and that they were all negatively affected, even “damaged,” by stripping. When strippers said they enjoyed stripping or found it empowering, Price-Glynn hints that this is simply a mask or coping mechanism. This is, of course, plausible, but diverges from other scholarship on sex work and comes close to supporting arguments that stripping categorically harms women.

Strip Club offers important insight for those strippers and advocates of sex worker rights who want to improve the environment of the strip club and increase opportunities for women to be empowered within sex work. Price-Glynn’s choice to use organizational theory allows the reader to find concrete examples, such as wage reform, that could have very immediate and positive results. This method also distinguishes her book from other recent scholarship on sex work and stripping. I recommend the book, therefore, for those interested in learning more about the culture of the strip club or to sociology students interested in a unique application of organizational theory.

Written by: Shannon Hill, December 19th 2010

Do It Anyway: The New Generation of Activists

farhana — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Courtney E. Martin

Beacon Press

Though editor Courtney E. Martin’s new book means to school baby boomer types who mock the millennial generation for their perceived apathy, Do it Anyway: The New Generation of Activists is a balm for burned out justice advocates of any age. Even its title acknowledges the enormous gap that lies between the fervent desires for “that hopey-changey thing” (as Sarah Palin joked) and the hard work needed to make it happen.

Do it Anyway shares the stories of eight young American activists, beginning with Rachel Corrie, the twenty-year-old crushed to death in 2003 by Israeli tanks when she attempted to defend Palestinian homes on the Gaza Strip. While Martin sympathizes with Corrie's idealism, she is blunt in her appraisal: “I am reminded,” Martin writes, “of how irresistible and yet how deeply false the romance of young death really is.” Corrie's death ought to be seen as a waste of unrealized talent, not as a paragon of youthful heroism. Martin implores her readers to consider, as she puts it, “'live people' for our inspiration.”

And what “live people” they are. The rose-colored outlook of a middle-class white girl like Corrie contrasts sharply with that of Maricela Guzman, a daughter of illegal immigrants who joined the military to climb out of poverty. Instead, her brutal rape at the hands of a superior officer sparked a new mission: advocating for survivors of sexual violence as co-founder of the Service Women's Action Network. Philanthropist Tyrone Boucher and filmmaker Emily Abt both renounce material privilege in their justice work; actress Rosario Dawson leverages her celebrity to draw attention to little-served causes.

All seven “live people” in the book open their mouths, hearts, and lives to Martin, granting her access to public schools in the Bronx and gang-riddled streets in Los Angeles (Martin, as learned as any Third Waver on the messiness of identity politics, is careful to balance her subjects’ races, genders, social classes, and areas of activist expertise).

Martin's concluding chapter is her masterstroke: called “Good Failure,” it offers practical lessons learned in the field and on the ground that, while not claiming to be lifesaving (Martin is uncertain that Rachel Corrie was interested in anyone's advice), will go a long way towards avoiding the burnout that can derail any activist's career. “I was repeatedly shattered,” Martin writes, “at how much emotional pain all of these people have had to endure in order to do their work.” Ultimately, a greater truth was revealed: “our charge is not to 'save the world' after all; it is to live in it, flawed and fierce, loving and humble.”

For anyone already committed to or just beginning to enter the world of social justice, Do it Anyway is a must-read.

Written by: Shannon Drury, November 29th 2010

The United Cakes of America: Recipes Celebrating Every State

mandy — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

By Warren Brown

Stewart Tabori & Chang

I’m the girl who never goes to a party empty-handed. I come bearing brownies, fudge, or cake balls for all of the guests. And every week I make my seventy-eight-year-old great uncle something decadent, and usually chocolate. He has an astounding sweet tooth, despite not having a single tooth left in his head. (Maybe it’s from all the sweets?)

But, truth be told, I really dislike baking. It’s too scientific, too laborious, and feels like a chore. I much prefer the pinch-of-this, dash-of-that approach I take to cooking. I’m also not very fond of sweets, but I always find myself making them because it’s what others love. If it were entirely up to me, I’d show up to the party with a perfectly roasted chicken and a fifth of whiskey—but the world does not bend to my will.

Before receiving The United Cakes of America, the baking books I’d encountered only legitimized my distaste of the craft by suggesting odd techniques, requiring specialty equipment, and featuring overly complicated or poorly written recipes. But Warren Brown’s The United Cakes of America flipped a switch in my head and made me realize baking doesn’t have to be a frustrating affair.

Brown is a former lawyer who shifted his focus to baked goods by opening the Washington, D.C. bakery CakeLove in 2002. He wanted to honor the dying art of baking from scratch. Now years later—after scouring the internet, traveling the country to extensively speak to locals, and compiling a sort of Americana cake history—The United Cakes of America is born.

It all begins with an overview that details the finer points of baking, such as the importance of unsalted butter, when to use different types of sugar, and the utility of equipment like scales, stand mixers, and candy thermometers—none of which I have. But I quickly learned that, while these items are ideal, they aren’t strictly necessary for many of the recipes in the book.

Brown breaks each cake down into sections: filling, wet ingredients, dry ingredients, and frosting. You can prepare each component separately, and once it’s time to actually build the cake, your life is made exponentially easier.

The book is split into four sections—The Northeast, The South, The Midwest, and The West—with each state represented by a different sugary confection. We have the likely suspects: Boston’s cream pie, Mississippi’s mud cake, and New York’s cheesecake. But other cakes are a little more… interesting.

Brown chose avocado cupcakes to represent California, my home state. I love avocadoes. I’ve had them in milkshakes, and I’ve eaten them smashed up with milk and sugar (as is common in many Filipino homes), but it would have been more appealing to honor California’s rich Mexican heritage with a tres leches cake, or something equally delicious. I suppose I was just hoping for more, and, frankly, there is something very off-putting about garnishing a cupcake with a slice of avocado.

On the other hand, I really loved the Texas sheet cake. The chocolate cake portion took only minutes to whip up, but the labor intensive (yet well worth the trouble) chocolate pecan icing and sugar pecans threw me for a loop. This is not a cake for the faint of heart; it has enough sweetness to make your teeth hurt, but in the best way. Needless to say, it made my Great Uncle Willy a very happy man.

The Delaware coffee cake was the best I’d ever had. I was sure I’d mess up the nutty, heavily spiced filling and crunchy, ginger-laced topping since I’ve had so many baking mishaps, but after pulling that glorious golden brown cake out of the oven, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

I may become better suited for baking with age, as it requires a great deal of patience. Unlike cooking, it’s not about instant gratification. There is dough to rise, cakes to cool, and frosting to set up. It’s something different, something slower, something sweet. How could that ever be a bad thing?

Written by: Tina Vasquez, September 14th 2010

The End of Overeating: Taking Control of the Insatiable American Appetite

admin — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By David Kessler

Penguin India

Obesity and the health issues that accompany it have long been a subject of intense discussion in the Western world, where the abundance of super-cheap and highly processed foods has been linked to many health disorders. David Kessler’s The End of Overeating is an important addition to the books written on the subject. Kessler has the background to take on this complex subject, having served as commissioner at the US Food and Drug Administration. He is also a man who has grappled with weight issues, giving him a more personal interest in the topic.

One of the biggest strengths of The End of Overeating (and the reason I called it an important book) is that Kessler articulates convincingly a position on obesity that moves it away from the issue of individual control and choices ("if you’re fat, you have no willpower, and you really ought to control yourself"). While for a large part of America calorie intake is outpacing calorie absorption, he acknowledges that it’s not as simple as "having the willpower to say no." Kessler also acknowledges that a small percentage of obese people are obese due to other medical reasons and that "hypereating" is not restricted to obese people.

Kessler advances his position by taking a close look at the food and restaurant business, and how it gets consumers to eat larger portions, eat more often, eat at any place, eat at more locations, eat more indulging foods, and eat mind-blowing combinations of fat-sugar-salt that make us want to, well, eat some more. He also goes to some length to explain how overeating can become a habit by conditioning and by altering the stimulus-reward circuits in the brain. By indulging in high calorie foods, which offer a temporary but pleasurable sensation, we are primed to remember those sensations the next time we come across the same stimulus.

If all this sounds esoteric, think of a food experience that you particularly crave—perhaps a burger at a particular fast food joint or a particular brand of chocolate—and think about how hard it is to turn away from the treat it promises. That is what Kessler is talking about, and The End of Overeating helps us to understand why we don’t just ’say no’. The first three sections—"Sugar, Fat, Salt," "The Food Industry," and "Conditioned Hypereating Emerges"—are all about dissecting the problem, and are the strongest parts of the book.

One quibble is that Kessler sometimes stops short of covering an individual’s story in sufficient detail, preferring to move on to the next of numerous chapters. One also suspects Kessler would have done well to stop with his thorough analysis of the problem rather than extend the book to offering solutions as well. The sections "The Theory of Treatment," "Food Rehab," and "The End of Overeating" are somewhat disappointing in their generality when compared with the rigorousness of the first half of the book. While there are a few useful suggestions, they don’t go beyond what common sense suggests, nor are they buttressed with any studies or other information on their efficacy. They also veer dangerously close to the "you can stop eating if only you try" approach that Kessler disses in the first half.

Despite these drawbacks, The End of Overeating is an interesting read for anyone who has struggled with weight or with the expectations of desirability in an increasingly appearance-conscious world. Those of us living in India can already see the wholesale import of Western brands and lifestyles into what was a slower and more wholesome way of eating. For us, it may be the "Beginning of Overeating," but that is no reason we shouldn’t be better prepared.

A longer review can be found at Apu's World

Written by: Aparna V. Singh, August 14th 2010

Speaking in Tongues

admin — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Marcia Jarmel, Ken Schneider

PatchWorks Films

The award-winning documentary Speaking in Tongues spells out an intriguing paradox of America’s identity: Although we’re a nation that prides itself on diversity, we also militantly cling to monolingual education at the expense of culture, communication, and even academic achievement.

Speaking in Tongues follows four San Francisco children, all of whom attend either a Spanish or Chinese immersion public school: a young African-American boy who lives in public housing but is gaining fluency at his Chinese school; a Chinese-American girl who is one of the only people in her family who can communicate with her grandmother; a Caucasian boy who tests out his Mandarin on a trip to China; and a Mexican-American boy who is the first in his family to learn to read and write Spanish, in addition to English.

The naysayers of immersion programs—at least the ones quoted in this film—warn about the United States becoming a Tower of Babel, or that learning other languages is a waste of tax dollars when children should be learning English. But what this film shows, mostly with statistics and interviews with experts, is that kids who continue academic learning of their mother tongue learn better English, perform better academically overall, and are much less likely to drop out of school. There’s also a huge distinction between speaking another language at home and learning that language academically. Students who have oral bilingual skills are doubling their proficiency if they learn their native language academically instead of just informally. And children whose mother tongue is English benefit academically from early bilingual education, too. They’ve acquired language skills early in life that will be sought-after when they enter the workforce.

The film makes great arguments—illustrated by lovable kids and their earnest families—for why bilingual education should be a priority in the United States as it is in other countries. The film uses interesting quotes about immigration, English-only legislation, and education against eye-catching graphics. A segment of educators talking about the languages spoken in their school systems, animated onto a map of the United States, was an especially interesting visual.

From a feminist viewpoint, it’s impossible to know why the filmmakers chose to follow three boys and only one girl. Surely they had their reasons, but it would have been nice to see the experience of a Latina or African American girl, especially since the education achievement gap is currently skewed for both ethnic groups, on top of the achievement gap between girls and boys.

Regardless, Speaking in Tongues is a great film that focuses on the benefits of being bilingual without delving into other, potentially more sensitive political issues like immigration, racism and xenophobia, all of which intersect with English-only politics.

Written by: Hannah Moulton Belec, August 5th 2010

Universal Women: Filmmaking and Institutional Change in Early Hollywood

admin — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Mark Garrett Cooper

University of Illinois Press

In Universal Women, Professor Cooper launches a multidisciplinary investigation into the mystery of why it was that Universal Film Manufacturing Company broadly supported women directors during the 1910s before abruptly reversing the policy. Drawing on philosophical, sociological, historical and structuralist interpretations of gender, culture, power, and institutions, Cooper’s study is positioned to show the interrelationship between art and the development of social norms, aesthetics, and political upheaval, and culture and epistemology in the United States.

However, readers looking for a narrative account of women director’s success and subsequent exile from Universal should look elsewhere. Cooper sets up his project by describing a confluence of events and personalities, some of which appear to be only distantly related, that played varying roles in this drama of gender. Some of these are not clearly explained, as when Professor Cooper explains the etymology of a word but does not clearly tie his explanation to the relationship he is trying to describe and defend.

His definitions and explanations take the following pattern: first, Cooper defines a word like “institution” or “organization” with an appeal to the Oxford English Dictionary. He appeals to the historical use of words to explore the concepts that fall under the definition and to point to a kind of etymological necessity: the word organization brings with it an inheritance from biology and so organizations are implicitly naturalized. Then he describes the word in its social development and practical usage. In the case of “organization” Cooper describes different sociological invocations of the word-concept.

Although in the next section, Professor Cooper describes the bi-coastal organization of Universal Film Manufacturing Company, he does not tie this historical description to the linguistic, historical and sociological discussion that preceded it. It seems that the reader is meant to intuit his purposes in such places and to develop the claims herself. I am not opposed to writing styles that foster critical thinking. But Cooper doesn’t make clear his purposes in so defining and explaining (for example). That is to say, I can look up definitions. I have access to the OED. I can read Durkheim and Weber. But I can’t get inside Cooper’s head to figure out what it is he intends by these things.

Reading Cooper’s book is a bit like watching someone’s film depicting a movie being made: it is interesting to see all the “extras” around the set–the camera crew, the lighting, the onlookers, the caterers, the director and producers and the landscape behind the backdrops and facades–but it is difficult to follow the plot of the movie being made.

The book is directed toward an academic audience; readers should be advised to plant their pinkies in the endnotes for quick reference. It will be most intelligible to those trained in film studies or who are such avid consumers of early Hollywood films and trivia that the characters are familiar–I had a hard time keeping track of names. The study is an interesting one, stressing the role that Universal played in interpreting and then enforcing what it means to be gendered as a man or as a woman. It would be interesting to see a slightly more narrative treatment of the subject–even a narrative that made clear the difficulties of narrative for such a diffuse phenomenon as the shifting meanings of gender–in order to appeal to more non-specialists.

Written by: kristina grob, July 6th 2010

The Tiger Next Door

admin — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Camilla Calamandrei

First Run Features

"Experts estimate that there are now more tigers in private captivity in the USA than there are roaming wild in the world."

This is the opening line from The Tiger Next Door, a compelling documentary about the surprisingly widespread practice of breeding, selling, and owning exotic animals in the United States. The film focuses on Dennis Hill, a big cat owner who resides in Indiana. Hill has been keeping tigers and other exotic animals since the early 1990s. The film follows his fight to keep his tigers, cougars, and bears after a government inspection put his facility in question.

The Tiger Next Door is a fascinating, thought-provoking documentary that presents a well-rounded look at the issue of owning exotic animals, raising many complex ethical questions that don't necessarily have a cut-and-dried answer. Should individuals be allowed to own big cats as pets? Just how much should the government regulate this?

Director and producer Camilla Calamandrei makes her stance clear on TheTigerNextDoor.com, with a “Take Action” page urging viewers to call for the ban of exotic animals as pets. Honestly, I'm not sure how to feel. On one hand, I am uncomfortable with the idea of keeping any animal—bird or lion—in a cage; on the other hand, doting pet owners often take exceptional care of their animals, with vet check-ups, treats, affection, and so forth. Is that a better life than living in the harsh wild? Or are we just indulging the humans that own them? What about keeping endangered animals in captivity to help restore their numbers?

Of course, it's a lot easier to care for a bird than a tiger. Questions were raised about the care Hill provided for his tigers, coming to a head in one explosive scene when Joe Taft of The Exotic Feline Rescue Center—who has taken in many of Hill's animals—argued that many of the cats were in poor health when they arrived at the rescue facility. Watching this film, I got the impression that Hill is extraordinarily devoted to his animals, although his own facility certainly had its flaws. I think if Hill is guilty of anything, it might be denial. It seemed that he couldn't bear to admit when he was overwhelmed with too many animals, which I suspect could have contributed to the alleged health issues. I think his downsized facility will make it easier for him to better care for his beloved cats, although he seems determined to add more tigers to his menagerie.

Personally, I feel that individuals should have the right live their lives as they see fit, so long as they are not causing harm. This is where the issue of animal rights comes in–if an animal is being abused or neglected, then obviously their owner is causing harm. Likewise, it is of grave importance that we safeguard humans from the threat that exotic animals pose—precautions must be taken to ensure that they cannot cause people any harm. Hill says in the documentary that he doesn't care if one of his beloved pets kills him—“What better way to die?”—and it's his right to make that choice. But it's critical that we have fair laws in place to regulate the conditions in which dangerous animals are kept to avoid unnecessary tragedies.

Regardless of your stance on keeping big cats as pets, I think The Tiger Next Door makes it clear that further action must be taken to ensure the health and safety of humans and felines alike.

Written by: Beeb Ashcroft, July 5th 2010

Living Downstream: An Ecologist’s Personal Investigation of Cancer and the Environment

admin — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Sandra Steingraber

Da Capo

In the original 1997 edition of Living Downstream, Sandra Steingraber was the first to compare data on toxic releases with data from U.S. cancer registries. In the last ten years since this edition was published, there has been rapid growth in the understanding of environmental links to human cancer and new published findings that corroborate the evidence Steingraber compiled in 1997. With a Ph.D. in biology and a Master's degree in creative writing, Steingraber has been the recipient of many awards, including Chatham College's Rachel Carson Leadership Award in 2001 and a Hero Award from the Breast Cancer Fund in 2006. Living Downstream is both a personal story of Steingraber's battle with cancer and her investigation into the potential sources of carcinogens released into the air, land, and water in and around her hometown of Normandale in West-Central Illinois, as well as in other areas of the United States.

Thirty years ago, when Steingraber was a twenty-year-old college student, she learned that she had bladder cancer and was surprised when her urologist asked her whether she had ever been exposed to textile dyes or worked in a tire factory or the aluminum industry. The author later learned that bladder cancer was considered a quintessential environmental cancer. In other words, there was more evidence linking it to toxic chemical exposure than to any other type of cancer. However, although bladder carcinogens had been identified, they continue to be used by industry even today. The obvious question, of course, is why have these chemicals not been banned. The reader quickly discovers that cancer causation is complex, as is proving the source responsible for this disease.

The author reminds her readers that of the 80,000 synthetic chemicals currently in use in the U.S., only about two percent have been tested for carcinogenicity and only five have been banned under the U.S. Toxics Substances Control Act since 1976. We also learn that the U.S. environmental regulatory system does not require exhaustive toxicological testing of chemicals before they are marketed. Legal limits are set on chemical releases, but, as we recently learned with bisphenol A (BPA), trace amounts can be more harmful to humans than higher doses. Moreover, we are often exposed to many contaminants simultaneously in the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we ingest, and the land where we live and work.

Often compared with Rachel Carson, Steingraber makes some compelling arguments in favor of the precautionary principle, or the better-safe-than-sorry approach to chemicals. She also advocates the principle of reverse onus, which holds producers responsible for proving that their products will not harm the public, as is the case for pharmaceutical companies.

Sandra Steingraber has the expertise in science to give her the necessary authority to present an investigation of this scope and the impeccable writing to make it accessible to a wide audience. Although some environmental texts can be dry, Steingraber's writing and personal story make for a compelling read. Her drive and commitment to finding the missing pieces of the cancer jigsaw puzzle are humbling. I only wish that she had included a map of Tazewell County, Illinois, which we repeatedly visit throughout the book. A few diagrams of some the atoms she describes would have also been nice.

In short, if you have ever thought that the environment may have played a role in the death of a loved one and would like to know more, this is the book for you.

Written by: Heather Leighton, June 9th 2010

The Subtle Body: The Story of Yoga in America

admin — Sun, 30 May 2010 19:10:00 +0000

By Stefanie Syman

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

If you assume, as I did, that yoga came to the United States via the Maharishi in the 1970s, you’ll be surprised again and again as you read Stefanie Syman’s The Subtle Body. This intensively researched history reveals an unexpected American familiarity with yoga as early as the late eighteenth century, and a steady underground pursuit of yoga’s fundamental nature that burst into a national obsession in the past decade.

The Transcendentalists may be credited with bringing interest in the Eastern philosophies to polite Western society. It cannot be said, however, that Emerson and friends had a firm grasp on what yoga was or, for that matter, any interest in the discipline. Nevertheless, the study of The Bhagavad Gita led to a slow blossoming of yogic practices, and by the late nineteenth century, yoga was a key component of a spiritual retreat in Maine. It was there that Swami Vivekananda instructed his flock of mostly female followers in the practice of yoga, even delving into “Kundaline” and meditation. The part of the general public that was aware of the goings-on viewed the whole situation with a suspicious eye. Was it quackery or pagan religion? The same question issues from a large portion of the population to this day.

Though not a focus of Syman’s book, it is interesting to note that women were (and remain) the bulk of yogic followers and supporters. From the conversion of Woodrow Wilson’s daughter to Garbo and Swanson, women flocked to yoga and Hinduism, either in search of spiritual enlightenment or weight loss and beauty.

The Subtle Body is a hearty volume, better suited for the serious student of yoga than for the dilettante. Syman balances her research with profound characterization of the key players and delivers an exceptionally fast-paced but thorough history of Eastern spiritual and physical paths as they blended into and assimilated Western culture.

Written by: Deborah Adams, May 30th 2010

Justice for Girls?: Stability and Change in the Youth Justice Systems of the United States and Canada

admin — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 00:01:00 +0000

By Jane B. Sprott, Anthony N. Doob

University of Chicago Press

In Justice for Girls?, Canadian researchers Jane B. Sprott and Anthony N. Doob provide a comprehensive and concise overview on girls and juvenile delinquency in these two North American countries. Sprott and Doob address the misconception, fueled by media reports and newspaper articles circulating in the U.S. and Canada, that girls are committing more crimes, and more violent crimes. The book asserts that contrary to popular belief, “the violent girl crime wave that people have been waiting for since the early 1900s...has simply not happened.”

In uncovering the hype behind sensationalized reports on girls and violence, the authors view juvenile delinquency as a social construction. In researching the number of violent girl crimes throughout the twentieth century, they assert that girls are less likely to commit violent crimes than boys. However, they note that girls make up a large percentage of juvenile delinquents and custody cases due to status offenses, so-called crimes in which girls can be arrested and tried for non-criminal behavior, such as sexual immorality.

Connecting the courts' motivations behind status offenses to women’s political movements, the authors make a convincing argument that girls have often born the brunt of a sociopolitical backlash as a parallel when women's movements are afoot.At these pivotal moments in history, juvenile court systems have tightened their surveillance of girls’ behaviors and criminalized girls’ sexual expression. As a result, Sprott and Doob argue, girls have historically been punished, and continue to be punished, for behavior and actions considered normal and acceptable for boys.

The authors discuss the limitations of their research, acknowledging the absences in their data with regards to race and class. Another absence in the book is a discussion of queer girls as well as trans girls and boys. Since sexual immortality—one of the most common status offenses girls are cited for—is not discussed at length, it is unclear if any of the girls convicted of this offense were/are queer or trans, and how their sexuality and/or gender identity influenced a court’s decision. Moreover, besides examining one case study, the authors do not offer girls’ own voices or their stories. Instead, they allow statistical evidence to speak for the injustices girls face in juvenile justice systems.

As a feminist scholar interested in the intersection of girls’ studies and media studies, I would argue that Sprott's and Doob’s work could benefit any researcher addressing the current hype surrounding girls and violence in contemporary Western societies.

Written by: Kristen Lambert, March 20th 2010

subCITY: Out of Sight. Out of Mind.

admin — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 16:59:00 +0000

Directed by Kevin D'Haeze

Firefly Studios

In less than forty-five minutes, subCITY will shatter any notions you may have about access to mental health care in the United States, in Oregon in particular, the state where I live. Working for a mental health advocacy group, I'm reminded daily that the system is broken. But I didn't realize just how broken until I watched this film.

The director/producer team of Kevin and Dawn D'Haeze has created a powerful indictment of our current mental health care system. Tracing our currently underfunded system back to the early 1980s, subCITY shows how initiatives launched by former President Reagan have left a painful legacy for states like Oregon, which now has more people with mental illness in its correctional system than in its mental health hospitals.

Soon after taking office in 1981, Reagan rescinded the Community Mental Health Systems Act, slashing federal funding and placing the burden of cost for community mental health care on states. At the same time, Congress launched parallel initiatives, such as the War on Drugs, which created the rise of the prison industrial complex. The result? The combination of less funding for community mental health care and increased penalties for nonviolent drug crimes has put more people with mental illness in jails and prisons instead of allowing them access to treatment.

Does this make fiscal sense? No. But as Oregon State Representative Chris Garrett notes in the film, ballot measures and other moves to be “tough on crime” don't offer alternatives to incarceration. This sucks up funding, leaving less and less for community mental health care. This is in spite of the fact that this kind of care is far less costly than prison, and far less of a drain on the law enforcement agencies that are increasingly relied upon to “take care of” people with mental illness who end up on the streets.

Beyond proving their point with statistics, the filmmakers have candid and heartbreaking interviews with people whom the system has chewed up and spit out. They also speak with the counselors, police officers, and other community members who are trying to help them. More than anything, subCITY is a call to action. So do what the film intends by watching subCITY in its entirety on the web. Then visit the “take action” section of the film's website, which provides tips on how you can make a difference on this issue that affects us all.

Written by: M.L. Madison, March 10th 2010