Elisheva Zakheim

The Girl With The Glass Feet

brittany — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

I am a bit of a daydreamer, as I imagine we all are. When I read, the same rule applies; while the letters unfurl on the page, the images unwind in my mind, doing as they will, relying on my knowledge of the world. I do not like intrusions into that universe. Ali Shaw is a daydreamer as well; however, his dreams have intruded into my own. In The Girl with the Glass Feet, Shaw not only shares the story of Ida Maclaird, her feet, and Midas Crook; Shaw over-shares, too much information and not enough room for imagination. Oily rag skies and overuse of analogies lead to worn dreams.

The story revolves around the everlasting search for redemption. Each character looks to be saved from their glass feet. For some, it is a physical ailment; for others, an emotional, their Achilles heel, if you will. The book’s main character, Ida Maclaird, becomes the very metaphor of Shaw’s analogies after a while—tired and overused. It is disconcerting how helpless and wounded Ida seems. In comparison to the male characters, the women in this book are utterly dispirited.

There is an additional character, however mute and muted in this book. A mythical creature they all seek, knowingly or not, which blanches everything it looks upon. The creature is in the image of a fawn and seems to be female. In a way it assumes the faults many literary women have but not the ones in this book; it forces its will onto others indiscriminately, it enchants and beguiles. Like the glass it is the physical manifestation of a condition. This creature is the one manifestation of the absence of light.

I tend to like how men write about women. Men are kinder or harsher upon women than we are upon ourselves. In this book, Shaw is more kind. His women, while meek and dispirited, are not unreal; they are translucent like the glass that permeates the islands on which they live. Furthermore, these women are beyond redemption. The men who constantly try to save them fail. In that way, the men have no redemption either; tethered to one another they all become immovable works of intricate glass weighing down on one another. Not the islands and their latent hostility, not the mythical creature of white and the purity it enforces by turning everything white as it is, but rather the nature of the people to seek camaraderie and sink when they fail.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, March 25th 2011

Nrityagram: The Love of Dance

brittany — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nan Melville

A Nan Melville Production

In the film Nrityagram: The Love of Dance, a short and simple story is told. A woman finds purpose in her was life when she learns how to dance and creates an institute to instruct others. It is the story of Protima Bedi and her Nrityagram Dance Ensemble. Protima Bedi was known in India as a socialite, until she saw a Narissi Dance and came to pursue it instead. A woman who was known as an emotionally vibrant and open person, pursues a dance form that is tells the story of feelings more than anything else. Bedi’s candidness found a new outlet.

Having found her own guru and learnt the dance, Bedi decided to create an institution to train the gurus of the future. In the Indian tradition, princes and prophets would go to gurus to learn their trades—archery or spirituality. The institute Bedi created, Nrityagram, is intended as an equivalent for dance. Women and girls can go there to focus on their craft, learn from the gurus, practicing everyday unconcerned with the world outside.

In terms of form, there is not much substance to the film. I imagine that it would be useful in an instructional setting; a dance teacher doing a unit on Narissi dance may show this film before proceeding to instruct her students on the basic steps. In twenty-five introductory minutes, one learns about Bedi, the creation of Nrityagram, and Narissi in the broadest of strokes. The short snippets of dance intrigue but do not inform as none last more than a minute or two and are mostly spoken over. It is therefore hard to relate to this film or to relate this film to feminism.

That being said, first Protima Bedi is portrayed as a woman before her time; second, women’s learning of dance is explicitly compared to men seeking their gurus. In that way, this is a feminist work as it portrays women as distinct yet equal in their methods. Each seeks his or her own guru.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, March 24th 2011

Made in Dagenham

brittany — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nigel Cole

Sony Pictures Classics

I am not much for plays. I generally prefer to sit bundled in my comforter, wine in hand, and watch a movie. However, I was recently convinced by a friend to join her for Mrs. Warren’s Profession, the main attraction of which was Sally Hawkins. I know Sally Hawkins only from Happy-Go-Lucky where her cheerfulness, tireless as the Sony synopsis describes, was also guileless and irritating. It was nice seeing Hawkins as something more than a ditz; no, not more than a ditz, merely a different kind of ditz—aloof and self-righteous in a very different way. In Made in Dageham, Hawkins’ character is still wrapped up in her own fiction.

Made in Dagenham depicts the first strike of female workers in Britain. Starting as a dispute over wage classification, these women were not “unskilled” so much as they were specialized; however, the strike expands to an argument about pay equality. The strike is settled at ninety-two percent of parity.

Between unskilled and ninety-two percent, however, life continues and Rita O’Grady, as played by Hawkins, is too soon to forget the mundane—or at least it appears. She does not return to cooking or doing the dishes, and in a pivotal argument with her ever passive-aggressive husband, she rebukes him for behaving as he should towards her and their children, but never better. It is not a Betty Friedan sort of stance, trying to have it all, but it is also not third wave feminism’s acceptance that maybe having it all is not possible. In the film, O’Grady is called “the Revlon Revolutionary,” but only because she is a woman, not because her feminism resembles lipstick feminism. Her life doesn’t represent a particular political stance and seems merely a meditation on the ways things were.

While the film invites comparisons to Norma Rae, I have none to offer. The women of Dagenham were all too willing to go on strike, having seen their men do as much before. The women escalate their action after they feel that management’s response to their initial action is disrespectful. The women’s strike in Dagenham is endogenous, brought about by the preexisting union and acceptance of this behavior in a way that the South never has been.

Made in Dagenham is mostly a bubblegum depiction of feminism. It has a token scene in the union headquarters wherein heated arguments rely upon Marx—the progress of a society can be measured by its treatment of women. The film never develops any of its arguments or its characters fully; all remaining as tokenistic representations of the depths which feminism can reach.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, November 19th 2010

Horse, Flower, Bird: Stories

priyanka — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Kate Bernheimer

Coffee House Press

Full of self-pity and self-loathing, Kate Bernheimer’s stories in Horse, Flower, Bird are not all of what being a girl is about. This is essential to remember, because fairytales, for all their unnecessarily flowery language and lurid fantasy, taught us all who to be. Fairytales, like the more adult fables, are instructional devices; stay away from the woods, do not talk to strangers, truth and love will prevail… As corny as they always are, they imbue us with an elementary moral compass. It was their function and their rationale, it is why parents allow their children to watch Sleeping Beauty a million times into the wee hours of the night. However Bertheimer's fairytales, while unconventional and enticing, do not convey any distinct moral messages. They are enchanting stories, but not fairytales; there is nothing to be learned from them. They are simply fantastical.

Each story reveals a different experience of the world. They convey a distinct approach to, and perception of, reality. One from the point of view of an autistic person, for example, another from that of a tulip bulb. Each of the central characters is distinguishably female, not only by the pronouns used but by the point of view on the universe—as a sister or daughter.

The experiences of the characters are amplified by the subtle touch of the Southern Gothic Bertheimer infuses into her tales: The ironic views of the love/hate relationship between sisters related in “A Star Wars Tale”, the sardonic liberation of the exotic dancer in “A Cageling Tale” and the supernaturally natural reality of autism in “A Garibaldi Tale.” It is worth remembering, however, in drawing the comparison, that Southern Gothic writings were often unforgiving of the women they portrayed.

Thinking of the Fall of the House of Usher, womanhood is not a flattering state of affairs; Berthimer's characters are perhaps closer to the women of The Glass Menagerie in character—not malicious but pitiable, and in this case pitied even by the author. You would not care to be in any of these stories, and worse, you do not learn from them as from their ostensible peers in either genre associated with them. They are well written little pieces, but they leave you reaching for Poe or the Brothers Grimm instead.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, October 22nd 2010

New York Craft Beer Week: Freaktoberfest (9/24/2010)

mandy — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The Rock Shop

Brooklyn, New York

I do not know many women who like beer, I am certainty not one of them. Knowing this about myself, I took the task of reviewing Freaktoberfest as a challenge. In the anthropological spirit that imbues every writer, to a certain extent, I decided I would engage in some participant observation. As a sort of Sherpa, I brought Sam, an acquaintance from the circle of drinking friends everyone develops with age.

Sam is a beer drinker, although admittedly a lightweight, and by the end of the evening I was predominantly preoccupied with ensuring that she not fall down the stairs of The Rock Shop, the bar hosting the event. Despite this small snafu, Sam proved herself invaluable over the course of the evening. The first table we approached was manned by a volunteer in a bright yellow shirt named Matt who, upon hearing that I was a reviewer, chided me for not presenting my pen and notebook upon approach. Apparently, I was not on par with my peers.

The first beer, like so many other beers that evening, was light gold and tasted how what I imagine piss might taste, but with the second selection, the Golden Sour Ale by the Ithaca Brewing Company, I began getting into the spirit of things. The Golden Sour Ale was presented in what looked like a champagne magnum, complete with the word Brut predominantly displayed. It tasted like an adult version of a Sour Patch Kid, almost unpleasantly tart. At this point, I discovered a trick; so long as I continued to drink beers that did not taste like beer I would be fine.

The theory held out for the most part. Sam procured for herself, after a couple more attempts at beers of various shades, a Southern Tier Best of All Worlds, which is a pumpkin ale. After a couple of sips she proclaimed excitedly, “It doesn't taste like disappointment, like most pumpkin beers do. It tastes like desert… just one that makes you drunk.” While this was the first beer she approved of, I should have known at that point that it was time to take away Sam's tiny cup for a while.

I followed dessert with some coffee, sampling Victory Village from Victory Brewing Company. I was informed that I like my beers stouter than Sam does; however, later on in the evening, Melissa, a sales rep for one of the breweries informed me that for the most part there was no difference in that regard.

Moving upstairs, we encountered the bulk of the attendees, probably three-quarters of whom were men. Of the women, it seemed a large portion were working the event and the few who were not were attached to a man. Being neither working nor attached to a man (and, furthermore, attached to a woman), I was the target of a few lesbian comments. Why is it that no matter the age of the man, if he consumes enough beer he regresses to a fraternity-like state?

Sam, now in a thoroughly altered condition, began interviewing anyone who moved and came upon Mary Izett, a Certified Beer Judge and writer. Striking on the fact that Sam and I were attending on behalf of a feminist publication, she told us of incidents of sexism she'd experienced—men speaking to her boyfriend when answering a question she had asked and attending brewing classes where she was a pariah. Overall, the beer industry was described like any other industry where women are not the norm would be: in an adjustment phase.

Sam also pulled over David Myers, of Redstone Meadery, who was one of the event's organizers. David was very particular about a bifurcation between the beer industry and the craft beer industry. The beer industry is very traditionally male and made up of the Amheusers and the Coors, he says. It does not have much room for women. In contrast, he emphasized that the craft beer industry values skill and enthusiasm above all else, allowing all types of people to break in: “Beer was mean; craft beer is about knowledge and passion.”

Passion, however, does not always deliver. The Redstone Traditional Honey Mead blended with Coney Island Albino Python was, by all accounts, horrific. Bless the gods that they only make two barrels of it annually. The Coney Island Sword Swallower, however, was reportedly “very nice,” and the bottle was just suggestive enough with an image of a large breasted blonde swallowing a sword on it, which contributed to the steady stream of jokes regarding flavor that I had been producing throughout the evening. Beer is still not a woman friendly world, but sometimes you are best served by closing your eyes and swallowing, knowing that the happy intoxication comes next.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, October 6th 2010

Daniel & Ana

admin — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Michel Franco

Alameda Films

Daniel & Ana is an opinion piece, the film equivalent of an op-ed. While it is a forgone assumption that a film will represent the opinion of its authors and that every film necessarily adopts a particular point-of-view on its subjects, Daniel & Ana endorses a position.

Daniel & Ana assumes an expository stance, occupying the characters lives in an effort to discuss an issue bigger than they are. This film discusses underground pornography; the analysis is not on the macro level of an industry or the societal impact of the industry on Mexico, but rather on the micro level, this is a case study of this particular pair of siblings.

The course of the film follows the older sister Ana, as she prepares for her wedding, and trails the younger brother Daniel as he exists, for the most part, in his sister’s wake. For most of the film, their relationship is relatively normal. When the siblings begin behaving oddly, their parents suspect nothing, seeing the strains in the siblings’ relationship as a result of the wedding, and nothing more. Ana and Daniel are nothing if not predictable.

While Ana is the central character, the film revolving most directly around the events in her life (despite the parallel surveillance of Daniel), she is not fully formed as a character. Ana is object more than she is subject. Not only is Ana objectified as a sightly woman throughout: not only by the comments of Daniel’s friend saying that she is doable and of the cameraman for the porno saying she is hot; not only by her rape which is a sort of ultimate objectification; but, by the movie itself, by the shallow presentation of her character. In this film Ana is only ever acted upon. As dutiful sister, daughter, and girlfriend, she only causes concern when she temporarily cancels the wedding. The wedding sets the tone of the piece, it determines what is normal, what roles each character is to play, and what behaviors are acceptable. Ana reinstates the wedding in a search for refuge; the wedding is a return to normalcy and an escape from everything else. Everything will end with the wedding.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, August 27th 2010

Peepli Live

admin — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Anusha Rizvi

UTV Motion Pictures

The women of Peepli… well, there are no women in Peepli. Yes, there are daughters and mothers and wives, and to them Natha is purportedly “son and brother.” Natha is in dire straits; he has taken a loan from the bank and now cannot repay it. In an attempt to keep their lands from being auctioned off, Natha and his brother, Budhia, go to the local strongman cum political candidate for advice.

The politician recommends that one of the brothers commit suicide, for while the government does not provide debt relief or agricultural subsidies for farmers, it will give a sizable payout to the family of a farmer who has committed suicide. And therein lays their salvation. The family will have money and what have the two brothers done with their lives anyway? Let one sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Natha is a simpleton and his somewhat more savvy brother convinces him that since Budhia is the one who has a family, Natha must be the one to commit suicide—only he can save them all. Obligingly, Natha agrees. Later on that evening, after the brothers have drunk themselves into a stupor, a visiting reporter hears their story. The following morning’s headline foretells the death of farmer Natha and a media circus (as well as a political one) descends onto Peepli. The various parties and partisans push and pull, and attempt to decide whether or not Natha should live.

The three female characters in the film are all shrews. From Natha’s wife, who badgers and assaults the brothers, to his mother who complains and swears, to the reporter who appears to be unconscionably chasing leads, there is not a single positive female figure in the film. Inflation herself is a witch, wreaking havoc and ruining the farmers’ lives, leading them to their early graves.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, July 3rd 2010

Masculine Identity in the Fiction of the Arab East Since 1967

admin — Wed, 19 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Samira Aghacy

Syracuse University Press

It is widely acknowledged that limited gender constructs and highly patriarchal social structures, the kind that are prevalent in the Middle East, are often harmful to women. Across the spectrum of thought and knowledge—from columnists like New York Times' Nicholas Kristoff to 2010 Time 100’s Reem Al Numery—we have all become familiar with how harmful the effects of male-centric, male-dominant societies can be to women.

The questions then become: How do these constructs effect men? How does the amplification of the importance of men as a group effect men as individuals? Are the gender constructs and societal norms that are so often harmful to women exclusively beneficial to men, or does some harm come to men as well?

In Masculine Identity in the Fiction of the Arab East Since 1967, Samira Aghacy attempts to answer these questions. While her analysis focuses on fiction, there is no denying that the truth is often found in what has been imagined. The stories constructed simplify the present being experienced, often making it less personal and more manageable. By surveying the fiction written in what she calls the "Arab East" (Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine, Syria, and Iraq) after the various wars of 1967 (the Six-Day War with Israel, the state breakdown in Lebanon, etc.) caused a nadir in the region, Aghacy brings to the fore men’s vision of their constructs.

Aghacy emphasizes her identification with a view of the world that sees masculinity as operating independently of men, at times. Thus, men can be victims of masculine societal norms. In this light, the archetypes Aghacy finds in the literature are both abusers and abused, those who inflict and enforce societal norms of masculinity unto others and those who are the Others. The writings she examined also use male stereotypes to make judgments about their societies. According to Aghacy, in a story a dysfunctional male may represent a dysfunctional state, an oppressive male can represent an oppressive state, etc.

Viewing the world through a feminist lens, it is easy to forget the effect of repressive structures on men. Masculinity, which so often limits women, can also limit men, and often profoundly so. While the experience is in no way comparable, patriarchal structures are torturous in a distinct way for all members of the patriarchy.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, May 19th 2010

Weapons Grade: Poems

admin — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Terese Svoboda

University of Arkansas Press

Reading Terese Svoboda’s poem “Vets” title to finish reminded me of a story of an older friend who marched against Vietnam early, before others had marched, and who told me of the veterans. Those veterans of earlier wars would march with the students, the protesters, the young, and the naïve. These veterans would encircle the protestors to protect them from those who tried to stop them. The police dared not stop the veterans—those people who lost their youth as they (once again) protected the innocence of others—now in their own cities. Reading “Vets” reminds me of that story because Svoboda’s veterans “march to quell youth–ours and theirs– / defining innocence, as vets do.”

In Weapons Grade, Svoboda’s themes diverge from what most readers might experience in their lives. Her poetry explores genetic experimentation on Black soldiers, suicide, and world events. This collection addresses violence, whether it is self-inflicted acts of violence or violence done to others, linguistic violence or the impersonal, militarized violence of the state. Svoboda’s preoccupation with the destruction that results from occupation and preoccupation is reflected in the poetry's own violence.

Women, for instance, are both perpetrators and recipients of violence. Svoboda creates a world where women are warriors, but their resolution and violence is not necessarily strength. On the surface their violence is destructive, but there is a truth to be found in destruction as well, and, in a way, Svoboda encourages the reader to embrace it.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, February 23rd 2010

Driving with Dvořák: Essays on Memory and Identity

admin — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Fleda Brown

University of Nebraska Press

Fleda Brown’s writes almost as though she were paid by word. Every description feels as though it lasts for hours. The writing in Driving with Dvořák is self-indulgent, as though she were doing it for herself alone.

So who is really being indulged in Driving with Dvořák? The reader is deprived of the use of their imagination, and the writer dooms the endeavor. In an effort to connect with her audience, Brown name drops (for example, she compares Dvořák’s tone to Steven Spielberg’s), which is supposed to make Dvořák more accessible to the audience by seeming less “academic.” In doing this, Brown constantly underestimates her reader.

The collection centers on Brown’s parents. Brown’s mother, Mabel, is a religious housewife raised by religious parents. She is simple-minded, Sinatra-loving, and consistent in mind and body.

Brown’s father seems to be the exact opposite of her mother: a failed academic, athiestic, and unpredictable. While this is a book about Brown's memories and relationship with her entire family—parents, brother, sisters, and the following generation—the bulk of the writing is concerned with her father. He resents that Mabel does not like sex, and women are devils to him. This prompts Brown to recount the truism: men who are unable to understand women seem cursed to live with them.

In some ways, Brown wishes she could have it all—mother and woman, caretaker and receiver—the way feminists often seem to believe is possible. In the first story of the book, Brown describes the experience of changing her name. Having married young, she only had her family name for seventeen years; now, so long after establishing herself as an author whose name is her brand, she decides to change it back. It is as though Brown seeks to revert her identity to its originally form.

In reflecting on her relationships with others, Brown elucidates her view of herself. More proactive and visceral than her mother, more successful than her father, and somehow more grounded than them either, one gets the impression that, while her father was chained and her mother sainted, Brown lives for herself and not for others.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, February 22nd 2010

Women in Power in Post-Communist Parliaments

admin — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 01:01:00 +0000

By Marilyn Rueschmeyer, Sharon L. Wolchik

Indiana University Press

Reading the title of this book, Women in Power in Post-Communist Parliaments, one pictures Chancellor Angela Merckel standing alongside Presidents Obama and Medvedev. Then, East German women swimmers, intimidating and Frankenstein-esque, and hearty Russian farmers, resilient with scythes in hand march across the landscape of one's mind, all of them serious and dour in shades of grey and brown. As the vision morphs back into post-communist parliaments, Yulia Tymoshenko, the current Ukrainian prime minister, appears blonde and leather clad, sitting astride a motorcycle in campaign posters. The free-association, in a dance now, takes you to Russian mail-order-brides, flirtatious and malleable, then models tall and leggy. Aside from Merckel and Tymoshenko, there is little that is overtly useful to understanding women in power in post-communist parliaments.

By not focusing on the post-communist superstar, this book draws a nuanced picture of the various women serving as members of parliament in the post-communist era. Focusing on six countries, including East Germany (as integrated into Germany) and the Ukraine, all but one (Russia) are members of the European Union, and all but one (Russia again) presently appears to be making strides towards further liberalization.

The book is divided into two sections: the first section focuses on the research and the second on the people. Both sections are dry and difficult to read, but the second part provides a human component with the inclusion of interviews with, and essays by, the parliamentarians themselves. Because of its personal nature, the second section pushes you past the farmers and models. As the women describe their routes to parliament and their work there, they create an account of their experiences with and in power that is comparable to those of women in the West.

These women are not self-described feminists, and they deny that definition in the Western sense. Most of the women became involved in politics as a result of spousal or communal pressure, not of their own volition, and their political identification is one of party and not gender. Their work focuses on family issues of pensions, pay, daycare, and education. The female parliamentarians focus on feminine issues only when they do not interfere with the party line.

The women and their work are best summarized in the words of a female Bulgarian parliamentarian as “gender empowerment,” that it is in the interest of women to have women in parliament to air their views on social issues in what she describes as a sort of “enlightened self interest” drawing attention to the issues one can expect to win, and not wasting one’s breath and seeming hysterical. The dancing women will not be experiencing fainting spells, but they will also not be leading brazen charges.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, January 12th 2010

Translating Childhoods: Immigrant Youth, Language, and Culture

admin — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 23:33:00 +0000

By Marjorie Faulstich Orellana

Rutgers University Press

Writing a book and having it published is not the accomplishment it used to be. While academic presses are not known for being as competitive as popular presses, they appear to be on the precipice of absurdity. Translating Childhoods: Immigrant Youth, Language, and Culture is an additional finger’s width of movement toward the edge.

Translating Childhoods is an ethnography. Its research was conducted through observation and collecting data from diaries and interviews. The author studied children of immigrants (and at times immigrants themselves) who fulfill the function of translator for their family, and this is the subject of the book.

Faulstich Orellana, while able to avoid participation, chooses to wade into the ongoing debate in the social sciences about whether, as such, the social scientist should act as a physical scientist. Should they aim for aloofness and attempt detachment, or acknowledge their biases and preferences and address them in their writing? She subscribes to the latter position. Married to an immigrant, much of her motivation and mindset in writing this book are acknowledged by her as being the result of her personal relationships.

Child translators form a stratum of unrewarded workers in society, particularly important in a globalizing world. The children acting as translators are unrewarded in monetary terms while being relied upon for financial matters, and precariously teeter on the edge of adulthood while remaining children. Faulstich Orellana would like to focus on the often ignored economic implications of this work, an emphasis which forms a basis of feminist theories in political economies. Ultimately, subordinates in society often work the hardest while earning the least both financially and socially.

The book reads as many other academic books do: as a formulaic, un-inventive, well-stated thesis in a poorly written publication. While the subject is interesting, it is insufficient. Faulstich Orellana creates additional suspense by emphasizing the dichotomies of the children’s familial positions—child and authority figure, dependent and depended upon—however, these are inadequate in holding the book up, and 125 pages (not including appendices) felt more like the reverse, 521 pages. Faulstich Orellana’s fastidiousness in defining her terms and explaining her methodology contributes to the uninitiated reader’s understanding; however, her circular references, not very cryptic foreshadowing, and academic namedropping make this brand of scholarly writing particularly unreadable.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, October 16th 2009

Fugue State

admin — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 23:44:00 +0000

By Brian Evenson

Coffee House Press

The Library of Congress’ perfunctory “Cataloging-in-Publication Data” (printed on the verso of the title page) rarely has anything novel or even in the least bit helpful to contribute to the discussion. However, in the case of Fugue State, a collection of stories by Brian Evenson, the dissembled “data” contains a single bit of notable information. Fugue State, the Library-of-Congress proclaims, belongs in the category of “psychological fiction, American.”

The collection of stories gathered in Fugue State is representative of the best and the worst of what may be considered "psychological fiction". Some stories careen in Southern Gothic sensibilities, causing you to seethe as you read, in the way only the best can. Others have an appeal more reminiscent of Michael Crichton’s The Andromeda Strain, which is unsettling in a very different yet distinct way. In one story, a woman glibly sleeps with a mime, who never speaks, pretends to be in an invisible box all the while, and then replaces it over her as he leaves her bed. The woman as a result, is unable to sleep thereafter, becoming increasingly taciturn. The box remained my bedmate as well for several nights.

Other stories fall flat. Making little, if any, sense on their own, and even less in the rich context of the other stories assembled in this collection, several of the stories are aberrant. The only way in which one can conceive of their belonging is that these stories, in fact, cause you to scratch your head. Perhaps the psychological undercurrents flow so deep and are so subtle in these stories that in a preliminary reading they were overlooked—on second review, perhaps not.

Evenson, in something of a departure from psychological fiction, casts the women in his stories in the role of victim. Even as villains the women are victims as the plots turn this way and that. One can imagine the little girls in plaits and pink and the women similarly from central casting. Evenson is sympathetic, yet many of his characters radiate a naïveté about women that give away the fact that they were written by a man.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, October 8th 2009

Which Way Home

admin — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 11:57:00 +0000

Rebecca Cammisa

HBO Documentary Films

Which Way Home opens like many other films: reeds blowing in the wind, calming yet somehow unsettling music, a body being fished out of the water. If one were judging only from the opening scene, the documentary could have easily been mistaken for a gangster movie or a romance. Past the blowing wind, unfurling train tracks, and shots of muddy faces, Which Way Home failed to live up to my initial impression by getting a little lost, and losing its audience in the process.

From Central America to the U.S., both the plot and geography progress toward their goals of telling the story of male children who migrate from their homeland by riding a train they call “the beast” in order to make a better life for themselves. While Which Way Home follows a clear narrative progression, it insists on splitting your attention between too many characters, none of whom receive the attention they deserve.

A significant amount of time is spent with the boys’ mothers, the film’s only noteworthy adult characters. The mothers are neither sinners nor saints; they are merely tired and downtrodden women. The sons know their mothers work hard, and they want to see them happy, but not if it means the expense of their own happiness and freedom—so they take to the road to make lives of their own.

The mothers, for their part, are somewhat less cavalier about the voyage, but they allow their sons to chart their own courses. They receive notes upon departure and phone calls from the road. In return, most of the boys do not doubt the wisdom of their voyage. They know they are moving from the darkness into light, and that such quests come with costs—including that of their childhood.

Speaking before the screening Rebecca Cammisa, the film’s director, addressed the audience’s concerns of whether the children were able to provide “informed consent” to the documentarians. She replied that this is why they included the children’s mothers in the film. Had the mothers been able to provide for the children’s needs, there would be no subject to document. This raised further questions about whether Which Way Home is a paternalistic look at the topic and an imposition of outsiders’ values. If the children are better off on their own on their road, who are we to judge it? Particularly when their own parents seemed to let them go. And if the children are able to survive on their own, perhaps they are no longer children? At least not in the way you or I may conceive of childhood.

Which Way Home does not lend itself easily to interpretation. I would like to think this film could serve as an argument for rewarding women for the work they do being mothers. If we did, perhaps these women would have the chance to raise their children in better conditions; perhaps the sons would have the chance to remain children; but perhaps they would continue to ride their "beasts” to America regardless.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, August 24th 2009

Soul Power

admin — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 23:56:00 +0000

Directed by Jeffrey Levi-Hinte

Antidote Films

It is nearly inconceivable to think that Soul Power was made from the leftover footage of another documentary (When We Were Kings). This is not yesterday’s pizza.

The subject, like the film documenting it, was only the second ring in a two ring circus. Dubbed “Zaire ‘74,” this famed music festival was merely riding on the coattails of the Ali-Fraser fight, “the Rumble in the Jungle”. In this film about music, however, Mohammed Ali contends with James Brown—and loses.

The film's tone is very nearly preordained by James Brown's (and his backup dancers’) gyrating hips as Soul Power opens. The initial outburst of hips and rhythm gives way to village life in a non sequitur of a scene in which a woman slings her children across her back and chest, places a jug upon her head, and walks in a movement of labored routine. The thread of this unsensational female moment can be traced through the film, as the women are all industrious and the men, by comparison, seem laid back and forlorn.

As the acts fly together from the U.S. to Zaire, Celia Cruz is depicted singing throughout the entire flight as the men drink and bond—but mainly drink. Throughout the movie, there is a feeling conveyed that men claim their moments of rest and entertainment, while women possess movement and determination.

Soul Power displays all types of temptresses and peacocks. The backup dancers all pivot and twirl masterfully, and the singers dazzle with their flamboyance and charm. In one scene, Sisters Sledge demonstrates dance moves to local performers backstage; however, their Philadelphia “bump” is out-sexed by Kinshasa’s move, a swiveling and grinding of the hips that one might see in clubs now, but would have been “illegal” then.

As you watch the larger than life musicians of the sixties and seventies—BB King, Bill Whithers, Celia Cruz—dance across the screen, you are relegated to the position of spectator. The air of intoxication ebbs and flows throughout, pulling the viewer this way and that by the music. That is, until the Godfather of Soul, exhausted, closes the films with his words instead of his hips.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, August 10th 2009