Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Poser: My Life in Twenty-Three Yoga Poses

gwen — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

I’ve always wondered what prompts people to write memoirs. It’s one thing to be a celebrity riding the wave of success, but quite another to be a regular Jane baring it all for the judgment of strangers. As a critic for publications as prestigious as The New York Times, Claire Dederer is no stranger to criticism; nor does she seem to fear it. In her first book, Poser: My Life in Twenty-Three Yoga Poses, she bravely opens the cloak of privacy to reveal herself to the world. I suppose she is a writer who was ready to tell her own story for once, as opposed to reviewing those of others. Full of sincerity and love, this book is a cleverly written homage to her family, her friends, her marriage, and of course, her yoga.

Those of you turned off by “yoga” in the title should reconsider, as this is nothing like the New Age self-indulgence that has given the ancient tradition a bad reputation. Instead, Dederer loosely ties her yoga practice to the peaks and valleys of her life. In each chapter she recalls anecdotes and tells them in the context of a different yoga pose. This structural device offers comic relief and surprising tangents like this: “Back in college, we used to have a silly rubric: Never have sex with anyone who doesn’t like Van Morrison…based on the fact that [he] is embarrassing, and sex is embarrassing.” Then onto the next paragraph: “And Lion was embarrassing. It made you feel like Van Morrison, all uncontrollable noises and strange eruptions.” These are also moments for the reader to self-reflect, and this is where her writing is most profound and relatable.

Apart from being an extremely talented writer, she is a poster child for the ultimate alternative generation. In typical Northwest grunge fashion, Dederer is admirably cool without trying. Her book is packed with dry wit, self-deprecation, and cultural references that I only understand because of my older, Gen-X sister. After enough time self-reflecting in Seattle, a city known for its constant self-perfecting, Dederer and her husband move to the mountains of Boulder. This is when she dives into the implications of her childhood, the fine line between selfishness and personal happiness, and the pros and cons of moving back home.

These universal and common issues make for a fascinating memoir that only a serious writer could pull off successfully. From beginning to end, this book carries the mantra that life can be as bizarre as putting your feet behind your head, and also as rewarding. Paraphrasing Patanjali in one of his Yoga Sutras: Yoga becomes firmly grounded when it is practiced for a long time, without a break, and with sincere devotion. I’d say that’s true of most good things in life, and why Dederer would choose yoga as the unifying theme for a book as dear to her heart as this. At one point she reflects, “What happens when a generation of children grows up with all these comings and goings; when a generation of children grows up with parents who want to be free, and who think that freedom is movement?” Well, Claire Dederer has personally shown us just exactly what happens, and why she chose to dig her heels in and never give up on her practice.

We sometimes duplicate a review. Click here for another writer's take on _Poser.

Written by: Katy Pine, February 23rd 2011

Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters

farhana — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Marilyn Monroe

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Everyone knows about the tragic life of bombshell Marilyn Monroe, whose nickname “Miss Golden Dreams” would indicate nothing of how brief her existence would be. At thirty-six, the “orphan” with a mentally damaged mother and no father to call her own was found naked and dead in her Los Angeles home, apparently from suicide. With three divorces, several miscarriages, and plenty of roles depicting her as a dumb blonde, not even Monroe’s celebrated curves, sapphire blue eyes, or perfectly heart-shaped face were enough to keep her smiling. No fame or money could save the starlet with the little girl voice from the many demons that haunted her.

Since her passing in August 1962, hundreds of books have attempted to capture the patron saint of tragic screen sirens. Now, forty-six years later, Monroe speaks for herself in Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters, the sleek hardcover edited by Stanley Buchthal and Bernard Comment. Fragments gives us a glimpse of a woman who was used and misused many times over. Finally, we have the truth of who really was one of the twentieth century’s greatest icons.

This book is a collection of Monroe’s poems, letters, notes, diary entries, and even recipes that were kept hidden-until now. However, the first few pages confirms what many have long suspected—that she suffered from a dark depression, which wasn't widely talked about during her lifetime.

Despite seeking guidance from several doctors, Monroe wasn’t afraid to further examine how she felt, even noticing how her sadness was affecting her physical beauty, including “eyes dulled, cheeks flushed with capillaries that look like rivers on maps” and “hair lying like snakes.” Using a poetic language, undoubtedly inspired by her passion for literature, Monroe expertly depicted herself as “a dancer who cannot dance,” a turbulent storm who couldn’t be embraced by the men she sought.

Monroe’s marriage to Yankees baseball star Joe DiMaggio may have been a match made in tabloid heaven, but it was her relationship with playwright Arthur Miller that proved more telling, and perhaps more damning, than any of her other romances. From her rainbow collection of books, as seen in Fragments, to her determination to attend the Actor’s Studio in New York City, it was of no surprise that Monroe would be drawn to someone who can satisfy her desire to learn. Yet, when Monroe found her husband’s diary in 1956 and discovered how shameful he felt when she was around his intellectual peers, we’re able to feel how heartbroken she must have been over this shocking surprise.

“I guess I have always been deeply terrified to really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really,” Monroe reveals in Fragments, later stating, “I think to love bravely is the best and accept-as much as one can bear.”

Despite that Monroe was desired by thousands of men as the dress flying “girl” or diamond-obsessed Lorelei Lee, the real life pinup suffered from the same sorrows that all women face when they’ve been betrayed.

While Monroe was one of the first actresses to launch a production company in spite of the star factories of Hollywood studios, Fragments shows that her accomplishments weren’t enough to fulfill what she always wanted: love.

It’s certain that loyal Monroe fans will instantly fall head over heels for Fragments. Even curious listeners can also learn a thing or two about the actress who continues to captivate audiences a century later.

There are still many unanswered questions, yet Fragments ultimately reveals how Monroe was a curious, hopeful and passionate woman willing to overcome the many obstacles that came her way by trying to control of her fate. Fragments exposes not the love goddess we’ve come to worship, but the misunderstood mortal who wouldn’t live long enough to find what she so desperately searched for.

Written by: Stephanie Nolasco, January 29th 2011

Herding Donkeys: The Fight to Rebuild the Democratic Party and Reshape American Politics

mandy — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Ari Berman

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Herding Donkeys is a tense 223-page documentation of the last eight years in American politics. In it, Ari Berman doesn’t argue that the Democratic Party needs to change its ways so much as tell how it’s been done. Finally.

For someone who rarely reads the news, Herding Donkeys was a daunting book to approach, but only a few pages in I began to recall the events Berman details. Back in 2003 I decided to do a little research on the 2004 presidential candidates. I wasn’t old enough to vote, but I was old enough to form an opinion and wanted to be ready for the upcoming election.

After sifting through the democratic candidates, I decided Howard Dean was the man for the job. Who could argue with his success in Vermont as Governor, or the education improvements he made in his home state? What I couldn’t understand was why everyone wasn’t behind this guy; why didn’t anyone know who he was? A week later the Howard Dean Scream played on repeat on news stations all over the country. What ordinary citizens like me didn’t know at the time was that the Dean Scream came after a series of unexpected wins for a guy that most people didn’t even know existed.

The first half of Herding Donkeys chronicles the unlikely victories for Howard Dean and their (sometimes) careful construction. Dean pioneered the Fifty State Strategy, taking his campaign into the reddest states, often ignored by traditional Democrat campaign trails, and implemented another unique strategy: listening to people. We all know that Dean was never elected president, that he pulled out of the race after seeing footage of his own scream on the news, but what Berman shows in the second half of his book is the way Dean paved the way for Obama’s success.

Ari Berman’s book sheds new light on how we got the political landscape we have now, and does so with surprising readability. He puts the recent Democratic success into context and makes it easy to see why so many democrats came out of the woodwork in the last presidential election: people finally felt that they were being heard and that their vote really mattered.

No matter what your political leaning may be, Herding Donkeys is an inspiring show of creativity and revolutionary approaches to traditional political campaigning. The ideas that are so well stated in this book effect more than who our next president is, it helps us work for change on all fronts and reminds us that our actions are significant.

Written by: Tatiana Ryckman, January 22nd 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

Poser: My Life in Twenty-Three Yoga Poses

farhana — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Claire Dederer

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

In Poser, Claire Dederer takes on two of the most en vogue trends for young women in the early twenty-first century: yoga and attachment parenting. After a liberated childhood, having been raised in Seattle in the 1970s and 1980s by parents who embraced many of the hippie ideals of the 1960s, Dederer took those lessons of freedom to heart. She, like many others in her generation, went to college but delayed getting a 9-5 job, marriage, and childrearing into her third decade.

Having settled down, she quickly found herself closer to the 1950s, with a husband who was the sole breadwinner except for the emphasis on organic food and co-sleeping and public breastfeeding. Thanks to a back problem and subtle social pressure from her fellow Supermoms, Claire decided to try yoga.

The book is cleverly divided into chapters based on yoga poses that the author was mastering. Throughout her struggle with balance and strength and patience in the yoga studio, the reader follows Dederer as these trials and successes translate into the rest of her life. Without sounding trite or cliché, she manages to draw the reader in to the lessons she is learning about being present in her life in every moment without worrying about perfection—admittedly a difficult concept for someone who grew up being told over and over again that she could, and should, be anything she wanted.

The cast of characters includes two children, Claire’s overworked and underpaid husband, and an assortment of immediate family members who are never more than a stone’s throw away. Each of these relationships shifts ever so slightly as the author becomes more comfortable with her own discomfort, both in various yoga studios and in her everyday life.

Many mothers will immediately identify with her visceral need to measure up to the other mothers in her circle and be perfect and her message comes across in a refreshingly humorous but not self-deprecating way. Whether or not you engage in a yoga practice, there are lessons to be learned from this book.

Written by: Kari O’Driscoll, December 7th 2010

Secret Historian: The Life and Times of Samuel Steward, Professor, Tattoo Artist, and Sexual Renegade

gwen — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Justin Spring

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Who was Sam Steward? Influential professor, ballet enthusiast, S/M practitioner, author of paperback pornos and serious novels, and tattoo artist are just a few of the roles he played in his life. Among his friends were many important cultural and literary figures of the time including Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, Thorton Wilder, Ed Hardy, and Alfred Kinsey, yet he remains virtually unknown today. Justin Spring brings to light Steward’s story for the first time, drawing on his many letters and obsessively detailed records of his sexual encounters kept on index cards known as the “Stud File.” Steward dabbled in many professions and lifestyles, managing to be very talented at many things but never exceptional at anything.

The great tragedy of Steward’s life is that he could almost taste the fame and fortune in front of him, but could never quite reach out and grasp them. Most of his big plans fall through—he is rejected by the Navy and loses his dream of becoming a sailor, he is forced to give up his teaching position when his tattoo parlor and homosexual activities are discovered, and his memoirs remained unpublished at the time of his death.

Yet despite his failures, Spring makes a strong case for Steward’s significance in early American homosexual history. Steward was decades ahead of most in his views on pride in gay identity. He was not ashamed of his sexuality, and had a great disdain for those that insisted homosexuality was a disease. He displayed male pornography in his apartments and held “daisy chain” parties where many men would have sex together at a time when discovery of these activities would have resulted in imprisonment. A combination of self-destructive tendencies, sexual desire, and earnest rebellion fueled his search for sex in dangerous places with dangerous men. He nearly avoids death multiple times, and is repeatedly raped, robbed, and beaten up by men he seeks sexual encounters with. He has many pleasurable sexual encounters, however, including a memorable elevator experience with movie star Rock Hudson before he was famous.

Outside of sex, his life was mainly devoted to writing and teaching. He had numerous letter correspondences, the most moving of which was with Gertrude Stein. Steward was one of the first to have frank discussions with her about her lesbianism, and she doted on him like a son. Steward is forced to watch Stein and most of his friends die throughout his lifetime. In late life, he becomes very depressed and addicted to barbiturates. He dies almost all alone in the world, his life mostly a side note in the biographies of his celebrity friends.

Spring does a good job of chronicling Steward’s life, making him seem both interesting and endearing. The thoroughness of his biography is at once the book’s greatest asset and its greatest fault. While Spring is clearly passionate and dedicated to his subject matter, his work could have benefited from a lot of editing. For instance, it is not essential to know every time Steward gets diarrhea, or every brief love affair he has, but Spring includes everything. Nearly every page has a footnote, or several, with information that is not particularly vital to the story.

Overall, though, Secret Historian is a compelling homage to a man history has unjustly ignored. Steward may have not become famous in his lifetime but his writing, teaching, and friendships brought comfort to many other struggling writers and homosexuals in America and helped them to survive, and it is for this that Spring takes the time to give him the recognition he deserves.

Written by: Arielle Burgdorf, November 17th 2010

Role Models

admin — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 01:14:00 +0000

By John Waters

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

When you decide to read a memoir, do you do so to commune with the author–to get to know his inner secrets, what makes him tick? If that’s the reason you usually shop the autobiography and memoir section of the bookstore, steer clear of controversial filmmaker (Hairspray, Cecil B. Demented) John Waters’ new “memoir” Role Models. While disclosing inspiration is no problem for the eclectic Waters, laying his guts out on the table is not his strong suit.

Of course, memoir can also be an account of someone else’s life as observed by the author–and in this case, we’re talking about the lives of famous crooners, a notorious killer, and fringe pornographers, to name a few. But if you’re looking for major insight into why John Waters is simultaneously comfortable with labels like “King of Puke,” “Duke of Dirt” and maker of “trash epics,” but doesn’t want to end up a gay cliché–as he confesses one of his heroes Tennessee Williams avoided becoming, you won’t find it here.

You won’t find much of anything personal in this book. As Waters warns, “The ultimate level of celebrity accomplishment is convincing the press and public that they know everything about your personal life without really revealing anything.” And speaking of Tennessee Williams: his chapter begins “Tennessee Williams saved my life.” From what? He never says. Waters alludes to conformity and cliché as terrible things to avoid in life; but you might find yourself longing for more depth from a lengthy and detailed confession about the psychic wounds of childhood after reading such a statement. It just isn’t there.

In his Leslie Van Houten chapter, Waters confesses to the tragic event in his own life that inspired his used and reused face-pressed-against-the-windshield-of-a-car image. Beyond this small detail, you’d be hard-pressed to find much else worth discussing in film school or after a screening of Polyester, for instance, in this self-effacing work.

Perhaps his most interesting observations are found in the "Leslie" chapter simply because there are no other humanizing portraits of this Manson family killer to be found: “Leslie inspired me too. Inspired me to believe that if you wait long enough and work hard enough on your damaged psyche, you can eventually come out of it with some kind of self-respect and mental health.” But again, the questions and not the answers to the Waters’ enigma resurface for the reader: why does Waters see his own sins as akin to those of a woman who stabbed another sixteen times with a knife in the lower back, as Van Houten did to Rosemary LaBianca in 1969? The "Leslie" chapter is the most compelling of the book, but Waters lingers too long on this subject and apologizes for the crime, saying he understands its severity, too many times.

As this critic went over her notes after finishing the book, she discovered that she’d written more than two dozen question marks in its margins. This harks back to the point Waters made early on about causing people to think they know everything about him, when really he has shrewdly kept his secrets under wraps. For every insight into the real Waters the reader gets, there's at least one question about said reality that naturally follows.

Role Models is an interesting read, but it’s never as shocking or grotesque as any one of Waters’ films. And its message is muddled: do perverts exist because of or in spite of public opinion? Waters’ seems to teeter back and forth between wanting to vindicate his socially rejected role models and wanting to celebrate their freak status. One thing is for sure: reading this book is like turning over a rock in the mud and examining all of the creepy-crawlies you’d find there. Do it for the fun of learning something new, even though you’ll learn very little about cult filmmaker John Waters.

Written by: Rachel Moehl, August 29th 2010

The Bradshaw Variations

admin — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 22:57:00 +0000

By Rachel Cusk

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

In earlier times, a set of variations on a theme in classic art music was a chance for a composer to play around with a melody, try it on in various guises, and allow the audience to hear possibilities. Each variation was minute, an aural petit four to be savored briefly while one contemplated on the sweet yet temporal nature of life. Cusk’s novel The Bradshaw Variations is indeed a set of variations, each chapter holding their own like variations on the theme, offering a brief but blinding insight into life.

Questions of meaning within family, vocation, and sexuality arise as Cusk introduces her reader to the lives of Thomas Bradshaw, his wife Tonie, his daughter Alex, and his two brothers and their families. Thomas, the main character through which most of the action is understood, is taking piano lessons during his interim as a stay-at-home dad. His experiences practicing and learning works by Beethoven and Bach ground the entire novel in a specifically artistic linguistic; Cusk deftly uses musical metaphors throughout the work to create a story that is aural as well as visual and emotional, without succumbing to cliché or cheesy, florid prose.

Thomas, formerly a professional who commuted to work in London like so many other suited desk jockeys, has left his job to stay at home, while his wife Tonie has accepted a position as head of department at a university. Their nontraditional role-switching carries with it consequences for how their family members react and how they negotiate disapproval. Cusk weaves a believable narrative of these very human actors, creating a counterpoint of voices. Both Thomas and Tonie’s parents see the occupational switch as irresponsible and somehow wrong, but are unable to voice the exact nature of their disapproval; furthermore, Thomas feels as if he is in some tired and ambiguous rivalry with both of his brothers, whose temperaments are like night and day. Regardless of the parental disapproval, Thomas finds fulfillment in his days at home, looking after Alexa, playing the piano, and cooking meals. Questions of masculinity are never approached; however, Tonie begins to recognize her own yearning sexuality, and the effects of marriage, age, and work on her own fulfillment. A Freudian theme permeates the novel, apparent in both Thomas’s relationship with his daughter and Tonie’s sense of abandonment, and with Tonie’s own relationship with her father, as viewed through her mother’s eyes. This novel questions what it means to be a family, laying bare the hearts of one in particular and allowing the reader to see their struggles and their moments of connection.

Cusk’s tactile engagement with the characters and their surroundings, coupled with her brilliant use of musical vernacular, create a community of very human characters that I could relate to, over boundaries of class, country, and gender. I read this novel twice, during my morning commutes to work and found myself captivated despite the rush hour bustle.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, August 4th 2010

Ether: Seven Stories and a Novella

admin — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Evgenia Citkowitz

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

While opening Evgenia Citkowitz’ collection of short stories, the spine creaked in an eerie way far too appropriate for the haunting words among the pages between. In Ether, a collection of seven stories and a novella, Citkowitz captures our attention with seemingly stark characters whose depth is revealed in the strange ways they relate to the world.

Tables, nannies, and even pet hamsters become the vehicles through which characters experience stark realizations about their lives and their positions within them. Citkowitz’ efforts to draw out nuances are visible, but often the nuances struggle to have impact. Entering into a short story with little ground available to paint such rich snapshots of a life often leaves the reader feeling rushed, or worse, at the end of the tale, empty.

The subjects her characters examine—an overwhelming loneliness and sense of questioning—are ones that we may easily identify with as readers, but the stories leave answers either unreachable, or sadly negative. Leaving a family, resolving to accept unwanted circumstances, or worse, having a realization that things are unhappy and unsatisfied, but having nowhere to turn is what the author makes her characters face. The circumstances are realistic—many of us, just like her characters, finally find the answer to our questions. But in this volume, often the answer is most unsatisfactory, and these outcomes leave the reader wounded.

The writing in Citkowitz’ debut book is layered and complex. Readers enter each story seemingly mid scene and are left with a feeling of catching up. Multiple characters and voices layer into the work immediately and though the action may not be fast paced, the reader must stutter step to get on board with the character and identify the lead immediately. This unique exercise does draw a reader in quickly and makes our feelings for them more elaborate; you read shoulder-to-shoulder with the character’s past and present and with their quests for identity or direction; this is a powerful strategy on the author’s part.

Ether isn’t light reading, but is an exercise in elaborate storytelling over a theme. At times, it works too hard and it can often be uninspiring, but the stories’ unique haunting qualities do set them apart.

Written by: Dr. Julie E. Ferris, August 1st 2010

A Great Unrecorded History: A New Life of E.M. Forster

admin — Sun, 20 Jun 2010 00:01:00 +0000

By Wendy Moffat

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Placing E.M. Forster’s homosexuality at the core of his identity, Wendy Moffat's A Great Unrecorded History masterfully unlocks the rich history of the author’s life. She gives readers extensive insight about Forster’s sexual identity and the impact it had on his work. Morgan, as Forster was known to his friends, came of age at a time when homosexuality was persecuted; he kept his sexuality a secret to all but his closest friends. He wrote five novels during his life and was thought to have stopped writing at the age of forty-five. It was not until his death nearly fifty years later that an abundance of new writings was uncovered. There was one novel in particular that Morgan knew could not be published until he died. Maurice painted the world he wished he lived in: a world in which homosexuals could openly fall in love and have a happy ending.

Using letters, journal entries, and interpretations of his fictional works, Moffat carefully unfolds Forster’s emotional and intellectual development, which truly began to progress during his years at King’s College. Moffat also guides readers through various close friendships and relationships throughout Forster’s life. His relationship with his mother, in particular, was always strained; she expected him to grow up into an assertive man and take the place of his father. Instead, Forster would always defer to her even as an adult, a fact that greatly annoyed her; he never told her he was a homosexual. Ultimately, the portrait Moffat paints is that of a sensitive, curious, and imaginative individual.

Although the book is accessible to non-academic audiences, people who have already read some of Forster’s works would probably get the most out of Moffat’s analysis, as she examines numerous passages from his novels. That said, Moffat has produced a compelling piece of scholarship that not only provides an invaluable exploration of Forster’s innermost thoughts, but an illustration of the culture that so deeply shaped his identity.

Written by: Melissa Arjona, June 19th 2010

Ilustrado

admin — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Miguel Syjuco

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Miguel Syjuco’s Ilustrado is the novel made for re-reading. There are continual twists and turns and questions about the nature of fiction writing that immediately attune one to the constructed nature of the textual landscape. Indeed, Ilustrado is a metafiction, as it involves a character by the name of Miguel, a writer living in New York who is researching the life of a Filipino expatriate writer named Crispin Salvador.

At the beginning of the novel, the readers discover that Crispin has died under mysterious circumstances. Miguel, having been acquainted with and impressed by Salvador’s work and life, goes about trying to find out what might have happened to Salvador, especially as he embarks on writing Salvador’s life story. The novel is written with this main storyline, but scattered throughout are excerpts from Salvador’s many creative writings, both fictional and nonfictional in scope. There are also various interviews and blog excerpts that continually provide more context and more complexity to Crispin Salvador.

The other major narrative involves Miguel’s own life, one marked by the tragic and premature death of both his mother and father. Miguel and his many siblings are raised by his grandparents. Perhaps, not surprisingly, the novel takes us to the Philippines where Miguel is both haunted by the tensions that have disintegrated his family and looks to discovering more about his esteemed Crispin Salvador.

The title of Miguel’s novel, comes from the Filipino elite that traveled to Europe in the late nineteenth century in order to receive an education. In this regard, the “enlightened ones” speaks to the complicated ways in which the colonial subject could continue to be indoctrinated by the cultural capital devised out of the imperial enterprise. Nevertheless, the education that the ilustrados received also helped foment the revolutionary ideals espoused by those such as Jose Rizal. In this way, the novel is distinctly postcolonial in character inasmuch as it might be called Asian American.

Following Crispin’s life through the eyes of Miguel’s work and by other creative excerpts, the novel does track an impressive array of historical changes that have typified the Philippines in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Crispin, having been raised in affluence, must come to terms with his class background and finds himself using writing as a venue to share his political sentiments. The hope for the venue of writing as a direct instigator of political activism is a vexed issue throughout the novel and we can see that Syjuco is tarrying with the complex ways in which representation, referent, and social protest collide. Miguel, too, comes from a clearly privileged background and all throughout the novel we see the ways in which class stratification details the Manila landscape that becomes a sort of “third” character.

Like the recently reviewed, A Thread of Sky, Syjuco excels at painting a picture of modern metropolitan Manila in all of its intricacies and these urbanscapes become the terrain upon which power and difference can be situated. As the plot moves directly into the homes and lives of individual characters, we see, for instance, the way in which the domestic workers are subordinated and often times flagrantly abused. In the clubscapes, individuals worry about the latest fashions and where to score a round of drugs. The profligacy of the Manila elite is meant to destabilize any deterministic trajectory of the country’s progressivism. In addition, the political ruling class is also portrayed as corrupt and ineffectual. In this general space of guarded pessimism, the novel begins to turn inward with a major shift in the conclusion that queries the entire nature of the narrative trajectory itself. It begs the question about the construction of the modern Filipino/American subject, and he or she has come to exist at hazy boundary between fantasy and reality.

Ilustrado is a consummately entertaining book, one that will have you immediately re-reading, spending more time on the many different threads that hold the book together.

Cross-posted at Asian American Literature Fans

Written by: Stephen Hong Sohn, June 3rd 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

Manifesta: Young Women, Feminism, and the Future (10th Anniversary Edition)

admin — Wed, 19 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Jennifer Baumgardner, Amy Richards

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Ten years ago, my concept of feminism consisted of white lesbians with unshaven legs and armpits who hated men. Fast forward ten years later–past many existential crises, a couple of college degrees, and a hard drop from blissful ignorance–and my feminist tendencies have even leaked into my chivalrous desire to open the door for men. In no way am I trivializing a movement based on the social, political, and economic equality of those with and without a Y chromosome, but I have come to the realization that I've always been a feminist, right down to the minutiae of my life.

Manifesta serves as a comprehensive guide with which to weave through a world land-mined with sexism. Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards wittily point out how our responses to, and habits accumulated from, sexism have become so ingrained into the psyche of many women that what often lies beyond recognition are these habits and responses themselves. This makes it difficult to correct what we don’t realize is wrong.

The issues covered in this book are so vast and diverse, but are not in the least bit overwhelming to comprehend; from a historical time line of feminism, to the basic distinctions between the first, second, and third waves, to the influence of feminism on and by the media, Manifesta reveals generational perceptions of feminism and the disagreements and realisms about how to implement feminist ideas, even about what feminism is or isn't. Without a bias toward one view or another, Baumgardner and Richards state facts and opinions of feminists from all walks of life, including those who do not identify with the label but may live similarly to a feminist. Most importantly, they take the mystery out of feminism by helping to put its very definition into the hands and lives of those who choose to be affected by it.

Baumgardner and Richards are not such smart alecks that they lose the reader in self-serving sarcasm, but they use just enough humor to make people wonder what you’re laughing so intensely at should they be sitting next to you while you’re reading Manifesta. Feminists are not just white, not just lesbians, and not just women. Feminists wear lipstick and frilly whatnot, as well as combat boots, hairy armpits, and burqas–perhaps all five simultaneously. What is feminist to some may not be feminist to others, but realizing a need for equality across social, political, and economic spectra of gender is beyond the need for a label.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, May 19th 2010

Bluebird: Women and the New Psychology of Happiness

admin — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Ariel Gore

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

This short but meaningful book is a smart combination of self-help, memoir, and academic study. Gore does not surmise a remedy for the blues, she does not use her life as an anecdote to overcome defeat or as a guiding light toward beatitude, nor does she use statistics and theory to expose her education. Instead, Bluebird: Women and the New Psychology of Happiness is a collection of wise womanhood, the crannies of optimism that are too often ignored.

With eloquent emotional pacing, Gore forms a convincing argument that happiness, particularly among women, has been historically understudied and oversimplified in her academic field. She asks, “How is it that psychology— once envisioned as a great healing art—has gotten to this place where our neuroses are considered so much more valid than our resiliences?” Gore bravely takes on the secret of joy by combining her personal memoirs with history, science, and first person accounts of real women experiencing real happiness. Her words have the contagious effect of positivism without the obnoxious, evangelistic ethos found so often in the self-help aisle. As Gore says herself, “I don't like to think I'm uncomfortable around cheerful people, but there's something of a missionary vibe here that seems odd…”

Perhaps there are so many of these self-help books because their authors know it's not just the ideas, but the time spent thinking about and interpreting those ideas that can actually improve lives. Just like thinking about food can make you hungrier, thinking about happiness can make you happier. If an author can induce self-reflection, they have done their part. Certainly Gore has, as she encourages us individually to use our hearts and minds to actualize a new psychology of happiness.

Using what she calls a "liberation psychology forum," hundreds of women give verbal and written feedback on issues raised by Gore. Combined, these issues allude to the macro question left open throughout the pages: whether we, at this moment, are living our lives. If our answer is no, this book proposes joy as the powerful tool that can give us “the courage to make the universe we dream.”

What Gore does is play hostess at a dinner party with a dozen fascinating women. She introduces us, and in brief encounters we are told stories of happiness, unhappiness, success and defeat. Before you know it the party is over. You drive yourself home without turning on the radio, just thinking, and you lie awake at night because you feel joy—you feel alive.

Written by: Katy Pine, January 19th 2010

Cooking Dirty: A Story of Life, Sex, Love and Death in the Kitchen

admin — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 00:00:00 +0000

By Jason Sheehan

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

My initial reaction after reading this book was to hurl it across the room and never see it again. Dramatic? A bit, yet justifiable. In an autobiographical narration, Jason Sheehan attempts to merge his experience as a cook with being a writer, but fails miserably.

Cooking Dirty is not your average tale of a typical award-winning chef. There’s no culinary school or classical training involved, just the lessons he learned from the School of Hard Knocks. For a book that promises sex, love, and death in its title, it actually offers very little of any. Instead, Sheehan fills over 350 pages with unremarkable tales told with what can only be described as a teenage angst bravado.

My main problem with Cooking Dirty is that it offers nothing innovative. Anthony Bourdain is already known for his irreverent tales of behind-the-scenes action and Sheehan’s book seems to be a mere (bad) copy of Bourdain, and at one point, Sheehan even alludes to this as true. Regardless, the shameless imitation could have been forgotten if only Sheehan added something new to the plate.

About three-quarters of Cooking Dirty is dedicated to building up the “pirate of the kitchen” persona Bourdain has already well established. Sheehan includes himself in this group of rebels: violent, tough, junkies, and (for the most part) men. The problem is that his love for the wild life did not seem to balance with his passion for cooking. Sure, there are mentions of his love for the culinary arts, but there are so few and the ones that exist lack detail and appear unconvincing.

The entire book isn't simply boasting and stereotypical male bravado, Sheehan's writing is filled with enough self-deprecation, comic lightheartedness, and sarcasm that can, at times, be amusing. For the most part, however, it is incredibly repetitive and obnoxious. Sheehan attempts to draw the reader in with rhetorical questions and meditative remarks, but Cooking Dirty lacks the intimacy necessary for a reader/author dialogue to be achieved. Instead, Sheehan comes across as a (self-proclaimed) know-it-all and rule-breaker. Even when describing hitting rock bottom, vulnerability is missing; the macho persona Sheehan constructs throughout the book does not allow room for it, and he works very hard to convince the reader that he didn’t really care.

The last quarter of Cooking Dirty is the only section that is salvageable. Sheehan narrates what paved the road to becoming a food writer, and in the last chapters he finally reaches that goal. He goes into his recent writings, including the ones that won him a James Beard Award, and it is here that we glimpse the passion for food. Too little too late? Possibly.

Written by: Jessica Sánchez, October 28th 2009