Lisa Rand

The Summer Without Men

brittany — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

The basic storyline of The Summer Without Men, while not startling or original, seemed full of possibility: husband cheats, wife goes to her childhood home for a respite to recover, and along the way makes potentially hopeful discoveries about herself. I anticipated a bitter beginning, full of hurt feelings, with some healing by the end. However, either the moment of redemption never arrived, or it was obscured by the lack of clarity in the narrative.

Siri Hustvedt has given us for a protagonist Mia Fredrickson, an intellectual poet who has almost nothing good to say about anybody, except for the philosophers and poets who stream through her mind and punctuate moments of daily life. Her library of poets-at-the-mental-fingertips was the most charming thing about her, and most readers could likely relate to the way a quote or a lyric arises unbeckoned from one’s memory. Mia assails the reader with her stream of consciousness ramblings, bouncing from observations about her detestable, cheating spouse to glimpses of her mental breakdown to detached remarks about her daughter. At times, it was difficult for me to remember where she was in space or time because her ramblings were hard to follow.

To my disappointment, Mia Frederickson was not a very sympathetic protagonist. She spends time with the women in a home for the elderly where her mother lives, and one scene raised my hopes that Mia might feel some humility, some sense of connection with other women. Instead, she continues to sound bitter and superior. When she befriends a young neighbor with a troubled marriage, I thought perhaps this friendship would bring moment of real connection. Instead, after she holds the neighbor’s baby, she describes it as a “borrowed homunculus.” This variety of cold, pretentious language fills the book and makes Mia rather difficult to connect with.

Toward the very end of the book Hustvedt asks, “Who among us would deny Jane Austen her happy endings?” Perhaps I am naive and too fond of stories that show the healing rather than the bitterness. After all, Mia’s husband has cheated after a long marriage full of disappointing moments. She was the supportive wife in the background, whose intellect often propelled her husband’s achievements while her voice went unrecognized. However, throughout the novel her voice is cool and distant, and events that might contribute to healing and growth seem to create no real effect. In this way, the novel reads more like a series of jarring snapshots.

Author Siri Hustvedt is the author of five novels, and this was my first encounter with her work. It may be that one of her earlier works would suit me better.

Written by: Lisa Rand, March 6th 2011

Irish Pages: The Home Place

gita — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Edited by Seán Mac Aindreasa, Chris Agee, Cathal Ó Searcaigh

Jabberwock Books

Edited in Belfast, the biannual journal Irish Pages brings together writings from contemporary Ireland, across Europe, and around the globe. The journal self-describes as “non-partisan, non-sectarian, culturally ecumenical, and wholly independent.” American-born editor Chris Agee has lived in Ireland for more than thirty years, and Irish language editor Cathal Ó Searcaigh was raised in an Irish-speaking district of County Donegal, northwest Ireland.

In "The Home Place," the sixth volume of the journal, the editorial team has brought together an impressive assortment of selections from twenty-one writers, ranging from the reflections of an emigré returning home to an essay by filmmaker Mira Nair. I cannot readily think of another journal where I would encounter contemporary short stories translated from the Maltese along with a beautiful range of Irish poets. Of the short stories, my favorite was “Caillte i gConamara/Lost in Connemara” by Micheál Ó Conghaile, an intense tale of grief, prayer, and lovingly conveyed wild countryside.

As a child, I heard stories from my grandfather about teachers prohibiting the use of Irish in school in the 1930s. This affected me deeply, and when finally I visited Ireland, I rejoiced in the numerous bilingual signs and sought to learn as much Irish as possible. The preservation of languages excites me, and I am thrilled to see contemporary Irish/Gaeilge language writing published (with English translation) in Irish Pages.

Each volume of the journal includes a selection of photographs, and this one contains a portfolio from Frank Miller entitled “Bog Bodies.” These artful (yet, for me, a bit chilling) archaeological photos show the Iron Age bodies, circa 300 BCE, that were unearthed in 2003 and are now displayed at the National Museum of Ireland in Dublin.

While it is difficult to choose the most outstanding poems, the late Caitlín Maude penned my favorite line in the volume: “I crave the verse/that will set my soul straight.” For this line I am grateful to the editors, who lift up the writing of Irish authors, and to the translator Nuala Ní Chonchúir, for making this writing available to those of us who cannot read Gaeilge.

While this journal reignited my love of Irish, the publication transcends limitations of nation or tongue, and is well worth reading.

Written by: Lisa Rand, February 19th 2011

Morning Haiku

gita — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Sonia Sanchez

Beacon Press

From my first taste of Byron at age twelve, I was hooked on poetry. As a teen, my reading went from the Romantics to Sylvia Plath to the Beats. By the time I belatedly discovered Sonia Sanchez, who has been publishing astonishing poetry since 1969, I was ready. This, I thought, this is poetry: not a word wasted, and all of them well-chosen; inspirational, revolutionary, and speaking straight to the heart. With her latest volume, Morning Haiku, Sanchez takes her work to a new place of innovation and tenderness.

Poet, scholar, and civil rights activist, Sonia Sanchez has amassed an impressive body of work, including over sixteen books. In her latest, she shares with the reader her discovery of the haiku form, and how it spoke directly to her heart. With skill and artistry, she crafts haiku that are dedicated to many great leaders of the civil rights movement. When I read “9 haiku (for Freedom’s Sisters),” it was impossible not to cry and to feel awed and thankful. These poems are written for Kathleen Cleaver, Betty Shabazz, Barbara Jordan, and other strong women leaders. Each haiku is, by definition, brief; but Sanchez layers the poems together, and the effect makes an intense song of praise.

There are helpful yet unobtrusive explanatory notes at the end of the book, marked only with page numbers, to help the reader unfamiliar with a person mentioned in a given poem.

I have lived in Philadelphia, and the abundant murals (over a hundred) are one of the most glorious things about the city. They are a technicolor reflection of the city’s neighborhoods, of the people that give the city life. Perhaps because of this personal connection, my favorite poem in this book is “10 haiku (for Philadelphia Murals).” Each small poem adds another layer of descriptive love that I think any city resident, seeking beauty in small and sometimes chaotic places, will appreciate. The poem peaks for me at number eight, where Sanchez writes, “common ground/is we, forever/breathing this earth.”

On the dedication page for Morning Haiku, Sanchez writes: “Let me wear the day/Well so when it reaches you/You will enjoy it.” I hope this one not only takes residence in my memory, but becomes manifest in my actions.

Written by: Lisa Rand, February 6th 2011

The Mikvah Queen

annette — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Jennifer Natalya Fink

Rebel Satori Press

In The Mikvah Queen, the mind of Jane Schwartz bursts with a surprising mixture of Talmudic stories, ‘70s popular culture, and the stream of consciousness impulses of a preteen girl. Author Jennifer Natalya Fink gives us the story of a young woman who turns to her cultural and religious heritage for tools to aid her in approaching adolescence and beginning to understand herself in new ways.

In her imagination, Jane recreates herself as Leah, the older sister of Rachel, the beloved of Jacob in the book of Genesis. Jane’s week peaks on Wednesday, when she enjoys private Talmudic study with Mike Silverstein. While her secular parents do not understand her interest in this deep level of religious study, they are supportive and drive her a distance. Jane’s inner monologues reveal a crush on Mike, likely inspired by not only good looks but, more importantly, the knowledge which he opens to her. Jane creates an unusual diary, focusing on the mikvah, a special bath prescribed under certain conditions in Orthodox Judaism, and laws related to ritual purity.

In her quiet neighborhood, lacking close friends of her own age, Jane is drawn to her middle aged neighbor, Mrs. Charlene Walkeson, who is battling cancer. Jane pretends to be sick, plays hooky from school, and spends time at the Walkeson’s house so she is not home alone. Her interest in religious laws of purity inspires a plan to make a healing mikvah for Mrs. Walkeson, in the process giving herself an opportunity to experience this important ritual. Once she gets this idea, she begins to hear God speaking to her (“Leah, my Leah, says God....it’s time”), calling her away from mundane distractions such as dinner time and school work.

As a reader, I wanted to get to know Jane more deeply. She makes all kinds of stream of consciousness observations that are believable from an eleven-year-old girl, and she outlines her Talmudic learning in layer after layer. I loved that she could careen from the technical aspects of law to heartfelt questions—“What would the Torah tell us about mermaids, she wonders?”

It would not have fit with the style of the novel, but my preference would be to see Jane through her interactions with a wider range of people. Her father, so quick to allow her to stay home sick, and her neighbor, amused at Jane’s theft of makeup from her bathroom, gave me an imperfect picture. Also, I did not so much like the style of switching between the voices of Jane and Mrs. Walkeson.

Overall, Jennifer Natalya Fink gives us a glimpse of coming of age and sorting out rules that honors an important rite of passage—the onset of menses. Through the heroine, Jane, the author brings up for reflection questions of women’s im/purity that need to be addressed by people of all backgrounds. I loved listening to Jane rename herself, and insert herself in Talmudic stories, demonstrating the weight of each young girl’s life.

Written by: Lisa Rand, December 1st 2010

Ripe From Around Here

andrea — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By jae steele

Arsenal Pulp Press

When jae steele’s Ripe From Around Here arrived, it joined a pile of vegan library books on my kitchen table. I needed inspiration and fresh ideas, and hoped one of the books would help. steele’s book was the star. These are the recipes that will become everyday favorites, and the ones that omnivores will devour, blissfully unaware that no animal products are present.

The first part of Ripe From Around Here lays out steele’s philosophical interests and approach to food. As a holistic nutritionist, steele hopes readers will slow down and eat healthful foods. She presents helpful health information without sounding preachy or heavy-handed. I especially appreciated her emphasis on mindful eating—the importance of taking time to notice our food with all of our senses. The section on seasonal influences, inspired by traditional Chinese medicine, has interesting and practical ideas. steele lays out the numerous food choices available to North American consumers—organic, local—and offers advice on the various benefits.

The recipes are flexible enough to work for cooks who find it challenging to prepare any dinner at all, as well as those who aspire to do things as much from scratch as possible. These dishes are not just for the virtuous; plenty of dessert is included too. Some of the recipes put a tasty twist on dishes I already make, such as root and barley soup and Mexican stuffed bell peppers. Others, created more for special occasions, I look forward to hungrily. Blueberry lavender ice cream, made with coconut milk, tops this list, followed closely by rosemary mushroom gravy. The tomato chard bake and herbed garden biscuits are sure to become staples in my house.

steele strikes me as a very practical idealist. She does not expect diet purity from readers, but offers up options so that we can make informed choices. For example, many of the recipes call for spelt flour and sunflower oil; steele cites why these are her preferred options, but also knows readers will substitute to suit individual preferences.

As her title hints, steele encourages the use of local ingredients. She also recognizes (as a resident of Toronto) that many delectable ingredients would have to be omitted, and sorely missed, if one sticks to a strictly local diet plan. The key, I think, is to appreciate a lemon as a gift from a warmer climate, and to not take it for granted. Thoughtful, reflective eating can help our health and our local economies.

I actively seek out vegan recipes for their flavors as well as healthfulness. I love the creative use of produce and the variety of grains found in innovative vegan kitchens. Ripe From Around Here provides plenty of tasty options to explore, and steele’s blog offers additional recipes and kitchen ideas. Overall, steele presents food as an opportunity for joy and pleasure.

Written by: Lisa Rand, November 3rd 2010

Touch

andrea — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Adania Shibli, Paula Haydar

Clockroot Books

Touch is a slim volume wherein each carefully-chosen word comes together to create cinematic imagery. Written by Palestinian author Adania Shibli, Touch centers on the youngest of nine sisters, and it is divided into five sections: colors, silence, movement, language, and finally, only a page long, the wall.

None of the characters in the story are named. Instead, we meet the girl, the mother, the father, the third sister. I have never been able to read a book without names; somehow a lack of names prevented me from connecting with the characters. Here, that was not an issue. To my surprise, the careful observations of this little girl had me looking through her eyes, and the pains of this unnamed little girl had me near tears.

While I am unable to read the original in Arabic, I sense that translator Paula Haydar has done a tremendous job. The words are spare, creating a powerful sense of tension and suspense, as only a few words serve as a vehicle for weighty emotions. The verbs are perfect, and the voice is strong.

This is not a book where I can read a sentence aloud and say, “Isn’t that beautiful?” This is a book where layers of imagery build up over several sentences, so that the reader is watching this little girl as a guest inside her home and her mind. This is a book that works the way my own memory does, where a happy memory, when put into words, turns out to be no more or less that the pattern of light on the floor, the purple of violets on the windowsill, and the fragrance of lotion on a loved one’s skin.

Shibli has created beautiful, poetic vignettes, small spaces in which a surprising amount can occur. A child learns to read, fights with her siblings, attends a funeral, overhears confusing news. A child swallows impossible sorrows and witnesses hidden beauty. I look forward to reading the lives of Shibli’s characters when they have a whole novel in which to grow.

Written by: Lisa Rand, October 31st 2010

El Espiritu De La Salsa (The Spirit of Salsa)

brittany — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

Directed by Tim Sternberg, Francisco Bell

HBO Films

I love to dance, but I am not gifted with quick feet. As a teen, this made me a hesitant and awkward dance student. Thankfully, when I discovered African dance, it changed my outlook in many positive ways. In the first year, my intimate class included a grandmother in her seventies and her teenage granddaughter. By creating art through movement together, we also created community and bonds similar to an extended family. It was empowering to know the class would be about feeling the music and loving the movement, about celebrating the pure power of music to move and connect humans, not about self-criticism. Sure enough, under the guidance of a gifted teacher, my feet eventually found the rhythm.

In many ways, El Espiritu De La Salsa embodies the spirit of what I experienced in African dance. This HBO documentary shows salsa dance as an art form with tremendous power to transform lives. In this film, ten amateur dancers train for their first performance, under the guidance of Tomas Guerrero of the Santo Rico Dance Company, founded in 1995. These dancers come from all walks of life to a dance studio in New York’s Spanish Harlem, to study, sweat, and sow seeds of positive change in their lives.

During the film viewers see glimpses of six salsa classes, the conflicts that arise, and the advice dancers receive from Guerrero. In between, there are shots of dancers practicing—while waiting for the light to change, on a park stage, in their apartments. Very brief biographical scenes of the dancers are interspersed. They are enough for the viewer to see the diversity of the dancers: a multiracial group including an emergency room doctor, bodega owner, NYPD lieutenant, commodities trader, retired teachers, single parent, man with chronic fatigue, building contractor, caterer. However, with less than an hour of film and so many individuals to include, we do not get to know any of the dancers beyond a glimpse.

Each dancer shares their reasons for studying salsa. Several people hope to meet friends or find romance, while for others, stress release is the biggest draw. Watching Dr. Michelle Quash race from the emergency room in Brooklyn uptown to East Harlem for class, the importance of salsa in her life becomes very clear. In fact, viewers who think they have no time to take classes might find inspiration in her example.

The film notes that Guerrero “is determined to prove that anyone can dance salsa—and they can,” and this theme recurs during several of the dance classes. The viewer gets a taste of Guerrero’s teaching style. In one session in which the students were feeling stressed an uninspired, he asks the dancers to reach inside and recall a time when they overcame a challenge. He offers reminders to smile, but also, as any excellent trainer would, he can be demanding. I was surprised that the film does not provide much background about Guerrero. We get to know him only through his interactions with students, and a very few observations directed at the camera.

The film’s soundtrack features notable salseros including Tito Puente, Eddie Santiago, Ismael Rivera, and Héctor Lavoe, as well as original music by Daniel Freiberg and sounds from contemporary artists. I presume that the film title is Spanish as a way to honor the roots of the salsa music, from Spanish-speaking Caribbean islands where enslaved Africans had contributed their instruments and rhythms.

For me, the film could be credited a success if one viewer, drawn to dance but hesitant, would walk into a dance studio and take the risk. Stepping out of one’s comfort zone, leaving ego at the door, and exploring irresistible Afro-Cuban beats could lead to an adventure on the dance floor.

El Espiritu De La Salsa (The Spirit of Salsa) premieres on HBO tonight

Written by: Lisa Rand, September 20th 2010

Love, Race, and Liberation: ‘Til the White Day is Done

admin — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by JLove Calderón, Marcella Runell

Love-N-Liberation Press

The subtitle of of JLove Calderón and Marcella Runell’s curriculum, Love, Race, and Liberation, comes from the poem “Dream Variations” by Langston Hughes.

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.

Love, Race, and Liberation is a multimedia project that aims at heart-level transformation, even while it equips activists for ground-level work for racial justice. The work is sponsored by NYU’s Center for Multicultural Education and programs, Eradicating Racism (1 + 1 + 1=ONE), and World Up.

This text includes twenty lesson plans, which can be used together or individually, and eleven love letters from performers, writers, educators, and activists. The lessons, suitable for grade eight (approximately age thirteen) and above, are designed to take 90-120 minutes. Extension activities are included in many lessons, as well as supplemental resources. A couple of the lessons make use of the PBS film, Race: The Power of an Illusion (California Newsreel), and the film is recommended in the introductory notes. The topics covered include social identity, racial socialization, white privilege, immigration, cultural appropriation, and being an ally. There are lessons on newsworthy aspects of racial justice, notably housing, education, health care, and criminal justice.

Love, Race, and Liberation makes an excellent resource for a classroom teacher or community organizer. Whether a reader uses every lesson in the book, or chooses those topics most relevant for a given group of students, this guide will be very useful. From my reading of this book, I have already covered a couple of index cards with book titles, author names, and websites to explore.

The lessons on social identity had me remembering my undergraduate Sociology courses, when many of my classmates had not considered the multifaceted nature of our identities, or the ways in which our ideas of ourselves are socially constructed. As a white woman, I continually welcome lessons on being an effective ally in the struggle for racial justice, and Love, Race, and Liberation includes many practical reminders in this vein.

I found the love letters sprinkled throughout the curriculum very powerful. All of them reinforce the question that is the heart-matter of this volume: why are we in this struggle? To paraphrase Sofia Quintero: I am not in this to save anyone, but to liberate myself. Love, Race, and Liberation provides a welcome new set of tools for the job.

Written by: Lisa Rand, August 23rd 2010

Forget Sorrow: An Ancestral Tale

admin — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Belle Yang

W.W. Norton

I jumped at the chance to review Forget Sorrow: An Ancestral Tale, an unconventional graphic memoir from writer/artist Belle Yang. While I am no expert on graphic literature, I did devour Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis series. With this medium, I enjoy (and envy) the way an artist can show emotions through inked illustrations, and use words more sparingly. Further, there is an intimacy created on the page, because the typeface and conversational style evoke a personal journal lying on a nightstand.

Yang is a Chinese-American woman, and her story, in part, tells of the identity struggles she experiences in separating from the Chinese traditions of her immigrant parents. When she travels to Beijing for art school, Yang has a chance to learn cultural history while not being bound to it.

At the outset of her tale, we see the source of Yang’s title: her Chinese name, Xuan, means “Forget Sorrow.” When Yang was thirty years old, she sought shelter from a violent boyfriend by moving back to her parents’ home. While there, she began to give shape to her father’s childhood stories in Japanese-occupied Manchuria, World War II, and Mao’s Great Leap Forward. Yang writes, “I have a voice in America. I won’t waste it.”

The art in Forget Sorrow is tender, powerful, and moving. One ink illustration that stands out is Yang’s nightmare about her abuser, which captures a feeling of stark terror. In contrast, Yang’s illustrations also evoke tenderness between father and daughter, a feeling of comfort for him as he shares painful memories.

Yang’s story demonstrates ways in which strength comes from relationships. Her father’s tales are painful at times. Under communism, family relationships were made subordinate to party affiliation. Important aspects of tradition, such as honoring elders, did not apply if those elders were deemed to be landlords or capitalists. The political side of Yang’s family story makes it very clear that social change should not come at the cost of human life or dignity.

Through telling her family’s story as well as exercising her voice and her artistic vision in Forget Sorrow, Yang found new freedom. As a writer, artist, and woman, she shapes her own future.

Written by: Lisa Rand, August 23rd 2010

Black Pearl Sings! (6/18/2010)

admin — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The Adrienne Theater

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

With their current production, Black Pearl Sings!, InterAct Theatre brings a powerful story to the Mainstage of Philadelphia’s Adrienne. The intimate performance space, where third row is a mere six feet from the floor-level stage, helps one feel immersed in the story.

Written by Frank Higgins and directed by Seth Rozin, the two-act play stars C. Kelly Wright as Alberta “Pearl” Johnson and Catharine K. Slusar as Susannah Mullally. In the story, set during the Great Depression, song collector Mullally meets Johnson while visiting a Texas prison. Mullally hopes to find an old song that has never been documented, a song that might land her a university teaching job. She helps to obtain parole for Johnson, with the condition that Johnson will be in Mullally’s custody. After parole, the women go to New York, where they present a performance meant to make both of them famous. The play ends with a powerfully triumphant Johnson in control of her own future, and Mullally humbled and grown through this relationship.

The play is based upon the true story of musicologist John Lomax, who collected songs for the Library of Congress during the 1930s. In a Louisiana penitentiary, Lomax met guitar player Huddie Ledbetter, later known as Lead Belly.

During the course of the play, Mullally reveals that her wealthy family has disowned her for pursuing a nontraditional path (“Why would I want to get married?”), and that a man used her research to advance his career. I sat shaking my head in disbelief, thinking to myself, “So now you are going to use a woman to advance your career? At one point she asks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” to which Johnson replies, “We’re friendly.” For how can there be true friendship when one party’s freedom is dependent on another’s exploitation?

There were many moments when I found myself embarrassed for Mullally, as well as the ignorance of the community in which she moved, which viewed Johnson as a discovery or exhibit. In Act II, Mullally reads a review in which Johnson is referred to by the writer as “Black Pearl.” Johnson responds indignantly, “How come you ain’t White Susannah?” Mullally was schooled through her relationship with Johnson, and at many times humor eased the way.

For me, the greatest beauty of this show lay in the voice of C. Kelly Wright as she sang a cappella spirituals and folk songs, and her visceral expression of emotions throughout the performance. Her rich voice brought tears to my eyes multiple times, and manifested great power and strength. I felt her voice not only in my ears but in my bones.

Written by: Lisa Rand, June 24th 2010

Family, Gender, and Law in a Globalizing Middle East and South Asia

admin — Tue, 11 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Kenneth M. Cuno, Manisha Desai

Syracuse University Press

Family, Gender, and Law in a Globalizing Middle East and South Asia makes available twelve essays that were presented, in earlier forms, at the 2004 symposium of the same title, which took place at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. The essays, edited by Kenneth M. Cuno and Manisha Desai, include analysis of eleven nation-states from Morocco to Bangladesh. With thirty-one pages of works cited, this is a valuable reference on an increasingly critical topic. Major themes include the impact of colonialism and postcolonial struggles with national identity; religious politics, and in particular religion’s impact on family law; and international standards, as outlined in the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) and related conventions, versus nationalist efforts for self-determination without perceived pressures from outside.

The issues dealt with in these essays are complex, and I am wary of oversimplifying any of them. In the discussion of the role of colonialism, one idea that emerges is that colonial patriarchies interact with local patriarchies, creating hybrid forms that become sites of negotiation and contestation. Another idea that recurs is the interplay of religion, local custom, and the state, three venues for regulating behavior and establishing social mores. In practice, as contributor Shelley Feldman points out in her discussion of Bangladesh, this means that constitutional reform alone is insufficient to create change, because it will not (necessarily, or sufficiently) impact local customs and religious laws.

Taken together, the analyses shed light on one another. The reader can see commonalities among the nations in these interrelated regions, as well as critical differences that make each locality’s challenges unique. It becomes apparent that, as the editors point out in the introduction, “neither nationalism nor elite women’s feminism guarantees the ‘liberation’ of women.” Thankfully, these discussions also highlight many ways in which women are actors, participating in many ways, from liberatory habits of daily life to transnational feminist organizations.

Written by: Lisa Rand, May 11th 2010

Lahore with Love: Growing Up with Girlfriends, Pakistani-Style

admin — Mon, 10 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Fawzia Afzal-Khan

Syracuse University Press

A poet’s power lies not only in her well-crafted images but in the rhythm of her recitation. As I read Lahore With Love, the memoir of Fawzia Afzal-Khan, I longed to hear her read the volume aloud. Many parts of her story poured out in a stream of consciousness, and her anecdotes deftly wove between youth and adulthood, lighthearted desires and the pain of loss, politics and the laughter of girlfriends.

Afzal-Khan interweaves her personal story with key elements in the history of the establishment of Pakistan, her homeland, which was formed just ten years before her birth. The painful string of military dictatorships running her country creates a mirror for the tragic experiences endured by her girlfriends. As she writes, with foreboding, “I have sensed disaster coming their way, my way, my country’s way.” In some ways, Afzal-Khan escaped disaster: she is a professor in the English Department at Montclair State University (New Jersey), a scholar of postcolonial studies, a poet, and an actress. Yet while she lives a successful life in the United States, she carries with her a complicated sorrow and relief, a pain of loss that is aggravated each time she visits Pakistan and sees some new wounds inflicted upon her home and her loved ones.

Lahore With Love gives us vignettes of upper middle class life in a culture where propriety called for gender-segregated social gatherings, but someone was always ready to break rules. The line between acceptable “colonial” habits (Catholic school) and the dangerous “Western decadence” (art school) was at times thin and slippery. As the author forges her own self-identity, the nation also seeks a shape; she heads to the U.S. to obtain her PhD, and Pakistan begins to undergo Islamization, with new layers of reactionary rules added to the old. There is nothing dry about the presentation of material; in one bloody chapter, the story of Shia martyrs is juxtaposed with bullfighting in Spain.

At times I would have enjoyed seeing the vignettes fleshed out more fully, and I suspect some readers will want a volume of Pakistani history by their side to read further about incidents to which the author refers. However, any changes to the unique narrative structure would detract from the author’s intense style. Her voice is the one we use when we long for a reunion with dear friends who are now gone, or hunger to return to the past to stop tragedy from striking, or barely restrain our anger at the callousness of our fellow humans.

Afzal-Khan asks, “Are we doomed to inhabit this binary universe or can we challenge the system that turns us into the roles we wear like selves?” She sets for the reader a powerful mold-breaking example when she self-identifies as “actorsingerpoetactivistmemoirist.”

Written by: Lisa Rand, May 10th 2010

From the Hilltop

admin — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Toni Jensen

Uniiversity of Nebraska Press

After I read this collection of a dozen stunning stories, I sadly realized that I could count on one hand the number of Native American authors with whom I am familiar. I might pride myself on my awareness that Native Americans live diverse ways of life, just as other ethnic groups, and that the indigenous peoples of the Americas are incredibly diverse in their traditions. However, I have realized a desire to deepen my familiarity with the creative output of contemporary Native Americans.

From the Hilltop is the first volume from "Métis" author Toni Jensen. This book is easily in my top five all-time for short story collections. My favorite story, “Still,” conveys the ache beyond words experienced by a woman who has had a miscarriage. She tries to speak to her family “in English and in Michif,” but neither of her tongues are useful.

Family names reoccur from one chapter to the next. An uncle who is mentioned in the first story appears as a character in the second. This trait gives an element of continuity to the collection, while the stories remain independent from one another. Aspects of American Indian tradition and history appear in these stories of ordinary struggle, misunderstandings, and family tragedy, brightened by moments of surprising beauty.

The choice of words, whether for descriptions, dialogue, or inner reflection, is impeccable. Jensen is a powerful, gifted writer who has crafted characters for whom this reader felt deeply.

As the film Smoke Signals made many aware of the brilliance of Sherman Alexie, I hope this collection will reach a wide readership and call attention as well to other deserving Native American writers. From the Hilltop is part of the Native Storiers series of the University of Nebraska Press.

Written by: Lisa Rand, March 26th 2010

Beyond the Black Lady: Sexuality and the New African Middle Class

admin — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Lisa B. Thompson

University of Illinois Press

In Beyond the Black Lady, Lisa B. Thompson analyzes representations of black middle class female sexuality in literature, theater, film, and popular culture. Her discussions highlight the need to go beyond the “overly determined racial and sexual script” to which middle class black women are expected to conform, which includes a sense of propriety and restraint as a counter to stereotypes of promiscuity that proliferate in the media. Thompson aims to move beyond valorizing black women, with an unattainable (and undesirable) idea of purity, and demonizing black women with assumptions of excessive and inappropriate sexual expression.

For African American women, there is a long history of misrepresentation and a limited menu of options. As Thompson writes, the “intersection of sexism and racism continually undermines black female representation.” In Thompson’s analysis, middle class black women might feel pressure to prove their morality to a critical white majority, while also feeling pressure to prove their legitimacy and belonging to the larger African American community.

Thompson’s scholarship seeks representational strategies that empower black women and subvert dominant stereotypes. She offers examples to illustrate that it is possible to move beyond stereotypes, to embrace a more holistic personhood complete with sexual agency. She offers a lively discussion of Judith Alexa Jackson’s performance piece “WOMBman Wars” as a site of freely expressed sexuality. Through her discussion of independent film, including Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust and Kasi Lemmon’s Eve’s Bayou, Thompson highlights alternatives to the stereotypes of options available to middle class black women in many films. She also includes helpful examples from the genre of autobiography.

Living in a racialized society, according to Thompson’s analysis, middle class African American women might feel a pressure to conform to conventions of propriety and respectability, as an act of responsibility to the African American community and a means to meet familial expectations. However, by leaving conventions behind, we can see more realistic portrayals of women, and women might have a less restricted experience.

This volume is solidly grounded in African American feminist theory, and Thompson deftly weaves in the work of her predecessors. She demonstrates that cultural criticism has a role to play in movements for social justice, because our representations are both fruits of and seeds for representations. With First Lady Michelle Obama in the White House, this book is a timely volume.

Written by: Lisa Rand, January 9th 2010

Activist Sentiments: Reading Black Women in the Nineteenth Century

admin — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By P. Gabrielle Foreman

University of Illinois Press

In Activist Sentiments, P. Gabrielle Foreman examines reading practices and literacies—formal and social/vernacular—among African American women from 1859 to the 1890s. Foreman is concerned with literary production, reception, and consumption, and the ways that these practices offered opportunities for protest and resistance that have been overlooked.

The subjects of Activist Sentiments are Harriet Jacobs (Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl), Harriet E. Wilson (Our Nig: or, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black), Frances E.W. Harper (Iola Leroy), Victoria Earle Matthews, and Amelia E. Johnson. These women published works in the genre of domestic novels, a genre that scholars often have described as overly sentimental. However, these writers were also activists, journalists, and reformers. Foreman points out that “broader historical movements are embedded in the writings.” She uses the term “histotextual” to describe the recasting of historical events and debates in seemingly sentimental novels.

Earlier scholarship has described these authors as concerned primarily with appealing to white women reformers for sympathy, for example in the cause of abolition. Foreman points out that this analysis is very limited. The relationship between white and black women in the reforma movements of the mid-to late nineteenth century (abolition, temperance, suffrage) was extremely complex. Ivy Schweitzer, professor of women’s studies, has highlighted the fact that in the 19th century black and white women “were subject to different, in fact antithetical, but mutually constituting cultural imagery.” For example, while African American women could appeal to white women on the basis of womanhood and motherhood, for support in efforts to eliminate slavery the power differential between the races remained.

Identities are constructed in relationship; a “good and charitable” woman needs someone toward whom to be charitable. White women reformers, while allies on one level, might have viewed black women as victimized and in need of help. As we build coalitions in the twenty-first century, this a danger which still should cause wariness.

Similarly, tropes of domesticity and idealized motherhood take on a new tone when one realizes that they are written in light of slavery and ongoing racism. These themes are not merely used in imitation of white women’s novels, but express a longing for the option of domestic bliss for all African Americans, while also reaching out to white women on familiar literary territory. Embedded in the novels Foreman finds critiques of the dominant white society, so that while having an outward form of normative respectability, the novel can be a site of resistance.

Hazel Carby and other scholars have written about the impact that the cult of the virtuous white mother would have on perceptions of black womanhood—stereotypes of white purity contrasted with black sexuality. However, Foreman helps us to see that the African American writers in her discussion do not allow those stereotypes to rest easily.

The women in Foreman’s book were activists whose interests in political reform shine through their novels. Some of their fiction had been dismissed as “merely” contributions to the genre of domestic and sentimental novels. However, as Foreman makes evident, the texts contain many examples of protest, as well as race and class consciousness. By looking at these nineteenth century works, readers will be reminded that multiple levels of interpretation always exist simultaneously. We would do well to choose an interpretation that empowers the authors, that empowers the voices of women who have too often gone overlooked.

Written by: Lisa Rand, January 7th 2010