Seven Stories Press

Birth Matters: A Midwife's Manifesta

mandy — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

When I saw Birth Matters by famed midwife Ina May Gaskin, I jumped at the opportunity to read and review it. Gaskin has contributed to the field of midwifery and childbirth education in vast and meaningful ways. She serves as an icon for many, and I, for one, was eager to learn what she had to say in this new book.

Having already read extensively on the subject of pregnancy, labor, and birth, I found that Gaskin’s book did not reveal anything completely new. However, where other authors have had to rely mostly on secondhand knowledge and data collected elsewhere, Gaskin was able to insert personal stories and years of experience into her writing. This obviously added quite a bit of authority to what she had to say.

Besides the strength in her convictions, Gaskin brought to her writing a powerful feminist stance and a tremendous feeling of sisterhood. She does not only claim to believe in women; she lives this message. Her unwavering trust in women’s bodies and capacities to make the right choices for them based on unbiased, accurate information felt every bit as empowering as I’m sure she meant it.

The issue at hand, however, is that women in the United States today are being fed a host of half-truths and even outright lies that directly affect their decision-making when it comes to pregnancy and childbirth. For instance, Caesarean sections are being promoted as easier, pain-free means of giving birth. But are they really? How come we rarely hear about the risk factors involved in this serious abdominal surgical procedure? Why is it that the United States has higher infant and maternal mortality rates than other developed countries?

According to Gaskin, Americans are relying too much on modern technologies and not enough on the wisdom passed down through generations or the innate knowledge that women’s bodies have about giving birth. Instead of fetoscopes, there is a higher reliance on electronic fetal monitors. Rather than allowing the baby to emerge in its own time, medical professionals are utilizing Cytotec to induce labor even though the drug is not FDA-approved for this purpose. Some feminists believe that reproductive technologies will help even the playing field, or even erase biological differences that could potentially hold them back in the fight for equality. For Gaskin, this perspective fails to see the beauty and strength that a birthing woman exudes, not to mention the natural mechanisms that are in place to assist a laboring woman during this life-changing time.

Besides the wealth of information that Gaskin provides, the parts of Birth Matters that touched me most were the birth stories that were interspersed throughout. Each account shares extensive detail about the mother’s sensations during the entire process of labor and delivery. I couldn't help but tear up as I read them because they captured so much warmth, power, and love. In the end, it is exactly this that Gaskin wants to share with the world.

Written by: Shana Mattson, April 14th 2011

Love Like Hate

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

By Linh Dinh

Seven Stories Press

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Written by: Alexandra Chapman, September 24th 2010

In Our Control: The Complete Guide to Contraceptive Choices for Women

admin — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Laura Eldridge

Seven Stories Press

The pill is turning fifty this year, and article upon article is being written trumpeting how hormonal contraception has revolutionized women’s lives. While this is true, perhaps the bigger story is how for many women, the pill is the default contraceptive option – despite potential side effects or inconveniences.

Laura Eldridge wants to change that. Believing that women should take control of their contraceptive health by looking at the political, medical, and social implications of birth control, she set out to write a book that both challenged and informed women about something so few of us actually talk about. Her final product, In Our Control, brings a straightforward, nonjudgmental, and honest look at the pill, the patch, the ring, and, yes, even fertility awareness methods.

In Our Control isn’t content to simply discuss contraceptive options as if they exist in a vacuum. Instead, Eldridge traces the history of birth control development, painting a backdrop of the political context and gender inequalities that are inextricably intertwined with each birth control option.

Nuanced discussions of medical side effects and precautions are deftly arranged between critiques of the medical-industrial complex. Eldridge walks readers through the thought process within her critiques, which allows the reader to become a smart consumer of contraceptive options. For example, her discussion of the HPV vaccination and the pharmaceutical industry’s rush to push it to the public is critical, yet evenhanded and well researched. The chapter on menstrual suppression drugs casts a wary eye towards the way feminist themes of empowerment have been misappropriated in advertising for such products.

While the main focus of In Our Control is on a discussion of contraceptive options, I felt the book really shined in its final chapters on the HPV vaccination, birth control options for men, environmental concerns about contraception, and international issues in contraception. It was in these chapters that Eldridge combined her inquisitive and unorthodox style of writing with a critical look at contemporary issues in contraception. I found myself unable to put the book down through these chapters.

Eldridge’s fresh voice was apparent on every page of In Our Control, and evoked the pro-woman, community-oriented feel of a volume of Our Bodies, Ourselves. By placing exhaustive information about contraception into the hands of her readers, Eldridge is ensuring that women can approach their health professionals fully armed with all of their options, enabling them to have an honest conversation about which method is best for them.Gwen Emmons

Written by: Gwen Emmons, June 14th 2010

Bad Shoes and the Women Who Love Them

admin — Thu, 20 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Leora Tanenbaum

Seven Stories Press

With my feet encased in a pair of red Mary Jane pumps, I sat at my desk reading Bad Shoes and the Women Who Love Them. As a self-described “shoe girl” and vehement hypochondriac I nervously turned the pages, bracing for bad news.

In her book, author Leora Tanenbaum outlines some of the extreme practices women have undergone in the name of footwear—like the practice of foot binding in tenth century China—and gives anecdotal evidence about the serious foot, knee, and back injuries that can arise from wearing modern-day heels. There is a section of the book dedicated to foot maladies. I squirmed through it. Another section discusses cosmetic surgery of the foot, followed by accounts of surgery “horror stories.” Throughout, women discuss the pain their high heels have caused them. All of this is coupled with inconvenient, scientific facts that all confirm high heels can, over time, cause physical pain and deformity.

According to Tanenbaum, shoes are not supposed to hurt, a fact I had never considered. Truth be told, even my “comfortable” office shoes—a beautiful pair of open-toed ballet flats—squish my toes together and dig into my heels as I walk. This, according to Tanenbaum, is neither normal nor healthy for the foot. I’ve never taken the time to find a pair of shoes that are both comfortable and beautiful—mostly because I didn’t believe that such a pair existed.

Tut, tut, Tanenbaum would say. There are countless brands of foot-friendly shoes, some of which are provided in the book. One that I have recently become enamored with, thanks to Tanenbaum’s recommendation, is the Born shoe brand. A recent shopping trip yielded me a stunning (and comfortable!) pair of silver gladiator sandals that leave me feeling as though I am walking on air.

Generally speaking, I love my shoes very much. Any book that will try to scare me away from them will only temporarily divert my attention, and Tanenbaum is aware of this fact. Although she concedes that there are social pressures encouraging women to wear pumps, she does not believe that high heels are “unfeminist.” Bad Shoes and the Women Who Love Them does not attempt to stop women from wearing the shoes they love; it simply suggests that the indulgence be limited to a few hours a week and that comfortable shoes with orthopedic inserts are worn when possible.

Bad Shoes and the Women Who Love Them should be a prerequisite for all shoe-enthusiasts. The book offers practical advice that can easily be incorporated into even the most fashionable of wardrobes. As I type this I am wearing a great pair of black bootie pumps. Although once uncomfortable, I’ve made them substantially more wearable, thanks to the over-the-counter orthopedic inserts I picked up as per Tanenbaum’s suggestion. With a little practical planning, it appears—to borrow from a tired cliché—that women can have their shoes and wear them too, so long as they are smart about it.

Written by: Cheryl Santa Maria, May 20th 2010

The Black Body

admin — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 01:00:00 +0000

Edited by Meri Nana-Ama Danquah

Seven Stories Press

Danquah’s literary libation to the Black body consists of a collaboration of folks—Black, White, and both—all of whom seek to convey what it’s like to live in one, be a part of one, and be affected by one. Before opening The Black Body, I already had preconceived notions of how I thought it would read, considering the fact that I have a Black body, myself. I should have known better. It wasn’t necessarily the topics covered that surprised me, but the way in which they were interpreted and the eloquence with which some of the authors conveyed the subject.

Nzingha Clarke’s passage about hands, her father’s in particular, captured the luxury we, as a generation, have in being able to take our hands for granted. The generations of our parents and grandparents were primarily laborers, and only a few were privileged enough to be able to use their hands to write or teach. Their hands were used to pick, wash, and cook. Ours, however, have inherited the choices most of them never got to make. Clarke’s nonchalance for the appearance of her hands is also a luxury in which our grandmothers and great grandmothers took much care, through the use of lotions and oils, to disguise the obligations of their hands. The hands of Clarke’s father finally got to rest when he was put to rest, and Clarke was able to read the book of his life through his hands.

Another passage that came to be one of my favorites was that of Joel Lipman. I may have been wholly offended with anyone else’s attempts to identify with the Black plight. For some reason, Lipman’s poetic account of his youth through sports was creative, witty, and real. In his essay, Lipman states, “Society and race are a fucked up set of twins,” and in reading his contribution is it no clearer. My reason for taking slight offense is Lipman’s use of the term Black Moses to describe Roosevelt Taylor, and in equating him to an animal in some ways. Perhaps I was offended because I am so used to hearing White people equate Black athletes to machines or animals, and this was simply a flashback. Nevertheless, Lipman seemed to be identifying more than describing, and I appreciated that much.

What I took from Danquah’s The Black Body was a subject that touches, creates, and affects the lives that it contacts.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, January 3rd 2010

The Things We Do To Make It Home

admin — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Beverly Gologorsky

Seven Stories Press

When Beverly Gologorsky’s powerfully written and beautiful novel, The Things We Do To Make It Home, was first released in 1999, most U.S. residents weren’t thinking about war. The Vietnam conflict had ended decades earlier, the Cold War was over, and for at least a fraction of a minute, world peace seemed possible. Then 9-11 happened, and a world without armed conflict became the stuff of pipe dreams. In short order the U.S. was involved in two wars, fighting what many see as losing battles against terrorism.

This makes the re-release of Gologorsky’s novel especially important. Unlike war stories that focus only on the soldiers’ experiences, The Things We Do To Make It Home includes the lovers and children of numerous warriors—people who have no choice but to grapple with the physical and psychological aftereffects of military life when their loved ones return to civilian life. It’s gripping material, poetically rendered. And, while Gologorsky’s protagonists are exclusively male Vietnam vets, the scenes she conjures will undoubtedly resonate with the family and friends of soldiers now serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.

At the same time, the novel is somewhat enigmatic, offering crisply written and evocative snapshots of post-war life. Much is left to the imagination as Gologorsky conjures reunions and zooms in on the everyday struggles of those trying to re-integrate into late twentieth century New York. In chronicling their experiences, Gologorsky zeroes in on a handful of men whose looming presence forms an austere and ever-present backdrop in the lives of those left behind. As they struggle to plug back into the society they left as eighteen-year-old teens, their confusion and angst never recede from center stage. Now full-fledged adults, their children have grown up without them and the women they once dated or married have become self-sufficient. Small wonder that many see drinking and drugging as their only respite from both present-day realities and memories of serving their country.

At no point does Gologorsky offer judgments about the efficacy of the Vietnam War. Instead, in eight chapters, we meet characters like Sarajo, who at age sixteen wants nothing to do with her now-homeless dad, but who finds herself inexplicably drawn to a photography teacher who spends his days photographing un-domiciled veterans. It’s like a case study in a psychology text, but far more wrenching. We also meet tough-as-nails Lucy, a financially successful professional, whose bravado is fractured by an encounter with one of her disabled husband’s down-on-his-luck GI buddies. Similarly, the saga of Rod, Emma, and their two daughters—the only intact family in the book—adds heft to the emotional sweep that Gologorsky presents.

In a Reader’s Guide to the book, included as an Afterword, Gologorsky describes her goals in writing The Things We Do To Make It Home and says she hopes the novel will make readers appreciate “the travails of women” and give them “a sense of their incredible strength—that is, how much these women give and do; also, the importance of respecting, honoring, and remembering all women whose lives are similar.” The Things We Do To Make It Home does this and then some. It’s a book that sticks with you, literally bringing home the realities of war and vividly conveying the human toll of violence and aggression.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, January 3rd 2010

The Others

admin — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:31:00 +0000

By Seba al-Herz

Seven Stories Press

I read all the pages the Google search engine would give me when I typed in the English words homosexual and bisexual. The pages that came up made my head hurt. I felt as though they were forcing upon me awareness, an acknowledgment, of an orientation that was not really mine. And yet the pages that came up on the screen when I searched for the Arabic equivalent, _al-mithliyya al-jinsiyya, all veered from tahrim to tajrim, interdiction to criminalization._

Seba al-Herz’s debut novel, The Others, tells the firsthand account of a Saudi teenager trying to reconcile her feelings of attraction to women—particularly Dai, the woman with whom the narrator first explores these feelings—with the strict Muslim beliefs that make up the framework that governs her country and her ideas of moral behavior. Throughout the book, the narrator battles with the needs of her body and the needs of her soul, and feels that many times the one betrays the other—that she betrays herself. She explains this inner struggle when she speaks of her feelings for Dai: “Dai sliced me into two parts: my body, glorying in its confections, and my self, so determined on purification from its offenses. How horrifically enormous my offense was when measured against the authority of the morals I had amassed through years of instruction.” Her confusion and pain are expressed through beautiful, descriptive prose that captures the struggle of repressed sexuality mixed with the struggles of repressed society.

Although al-Herz’s novel specifically addresses the difficulties faced by lesbian women in Saudi Arabia, her writing transcends those borders and can be applied in some manner to the lives of most women throughout the world. The struggle of reconciling the dialectic that sometimes exists between what we want for ourselves and what society expects of us, and the inability for us to express what we want to those close to us who we know will disapprove, is something that all women can relate to.

Written by: Becky McBride, September 7th 2009

The Old Garden

admin — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 22:45:00 +0000

By Hwang Sok-Yong

Seven Stories Press

A garden is a metaphor for revolution. When painstakingly cared for, dry and barren ground can eventually yield the most beautiful of things. A garden can change an unruly landscape to an ordered plot, produce food and purpose, and forever capture the energy of a gardener with loyalty, conviction, and a love of what it could become. It can be simple in activity, process, and outcome, yet incredibly intricate and an entity all its own.

Many of us will never live this metaphor and will never have to face the difficulties the characters in The Old Garden must confront. After eighteen years of political imprisonment, South Korean Hyun Woo is freed only to find that the Seoul he once knew is gone and the woman he loves is dead. In this beautifully written book, the author uses her diaries and letters, woven with the Hyun Woo’s attempts to narrate his own past and present, to chronicle a man trying to find footing on the soil he fought to change, and face his choices and regret.

The novel’s world renowned and accomplished author, Hwang Sok-Yong has confronted these issues in his own life. Born in 1943, Sok-Yong has been imprisoned and exiled in the name of writing about his country, and his characters emanate a dedication and love of their home that is undoubtedly autobiographical. The author’s vivid imagery and veridical descriptions of the activists hiding “underground,” the aftermath of the Kwangju Massacre ,and torture at the hand of prison guards is affecting. Chills ran down my entire body when I read the main character Hyun Woo reflect, “Was it really possible for us—and there was not even a handful of us, and we were so young—to change the world with nothing but our noble intentions?” This was not just a story; this was something the author had truly lived.

But a garden can also be a symbol of more than revolution, and _The Old Garden__ _is first and foremost an incredible tale of a tragic love that grew despite all odds. While hiding in the town of Kalmae, Hyun Woo falls in love with a beautiful art teacher and ally of the movement. Beyond the already complex life of a political fugitive, he must now battle issues without a clear right or wrong, oppressed or oppressor, power or people. Must a revolutionary sacrifice their own bliss for the greater purpose? How can a revolutionary reconcile that he or she will most likely never experience what they fought to win? During one of the most poignant and meaningful moments in the story, he reads his lover’s diary entry about a day they washed laundry and fished in the sun. She writes, “What seems so insignificant, the everyday tasks of a simple life, is in fact the most important part, isn’t it?” The answer is yes, but for the revolutionary, it is anything but simple.

To survive the unfathomable emptiness in prison, Hyun Woo manages to grow a small garden beneath his crumbling cell wall with seeds gathered from rare trips outside of solitary confinement. Despite the lack of sun, of good water, and of real soil he is able to keep the small plants alive, relishing their growth and nurturing them constantly, until the winter comes and frost covers his walls. And while the conditions may have killed each flower and destroyed any lasting life, it was in the gardening itself that he found meaning.

Written by: Melissa Ablett, September 2nd 2009

Once You Go Back: A Novel

admin — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 09:48:00 +0000

By Douglas A. Martin

Seven Stories Press

Once You Go Back is a poignant and semi-autobiographical novel about a young man and his quest for identity as he grows up in a dysfunctional working-class household. While Seven Stories Press is most widely known for its books on politics, human rights, and social and economic justice, the publisher continues to champion literature; Once You Go Back does not prevail this philosophy. Martin's highly poetic writing style is an example of high-brow literature in its prime.

The novel begins with a short chapter titled "A Tall One," which basically sets up the tone and scenario of the protagonist speaking to his sister, which he does throughout the entire book. Martin's New Narrative style of writing provides an interesting approach stylistically and experimentally, but sometimes tends to be a difficult read to due to the lack of dialogue in the novel.

The novel follows the protagonist from the beginning of his childhood all the way up to high school when the family moves to the South. Still very poor, it is evident that the main character is very embarrassed about their poverty: "The poverty was embarrassing. We've started to know already we weren't going to be different. Every day there, we'd become more like where we were now."

I would recommend Once You Go Back if you are looking to read a poetically-written or New Narrative style book. As I mentioned earlier, there is not much dialogue so at times it really is almost as if you are reading one long poem. Also, there is a lot of sadness in this family so this is not the most uplifting book. However, it is an interesting read, and definitely worth learning how the protagonist and his family are able to deal with the challenges they face throughout their lives.

Written by: MK Matson, June 29th 2009

Live Through This: On Creativity and Self-Destruction

admin — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 11:14:00 +0000

Edited by Sabrina Chapadjiev

Seven Stories Press

Live Through This is truly a feminist work. It takes the expressed experiences from individuals coming from a wide array of backgrounds, who candidly and publicly share their experiences with issues labelled taboo and private, offering strength and conscience to readers everywhere.

The format of this work is an anthology of pieces from some of the most groundbreaking American cultural producers. The magnificent list of contributors includes photographer Nan Goldin, academic and feminist bell hooks, trans activist and writer Kate Bornstein, porn star and perfomance artist Annie Sprinkle, and DIY artist Cristy C. Road. Live Through This is a collection of expressions and artworks from powerful women and transgender activists expressing their survival from a multitude of issues ranging from depression, sexualized violence, abuse, and self-destruction. It is successful at invoking both outrage and sympathies, leaving one galvanized. Each selection is unique and powerful in its own way, and takes a wide form of presentations. There are essays, photographs, poems, comics, and more - truly something for everyone - and I found myself digesting each work separately from the other. It's that good: all of the short selections stand out with their own message.

Perhaps what I got most out of Live Through This was a curiosity about the presentation that some of the strongest, most beautiful, and talented individuals suffer through unthinkably trying tribulations, that what doesn't kill us certainly makes us stronger and experiencing some of life's most unwanted traumas is by no means correlated with failure. Easier said than done, but the public vocalizing of pain and suffering from these amazing figureheads offer hope and validation for a diversity of individuals everywhere.

In a society inundated with oppressions stemming from difference (in gender, race, sexuality, class, ability, etc.), it is a remarkable thing to have survived the unliveable, as these contributors so bravely put forth. Captivating, concise, and humbling, Live Through This is easy to put down between pieces and become just as immersed upon picking it up again.

Written by: Yujean Park, August 20th 2008

Flying Close to the Sun: My Life and Times as a Weatherman

admin — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 12:35:00 +0000

By Cathy Wilkerson

Seven Stories Press

Despite the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan no one mistakes the rallying cry of today's Starbucks-toting, Hot Topic sporting protesters with the mobilized and systematic protests of the 1960s and 1970s. With not a small touch of nostalgia, those who were there for Vietnam, Civil Rights and Cambodia lament the laziness of present-day youth to fully posit themselves in the movement (as if that responsibility belongs solely to folks without many responsibilities), while young people today tune-out the nagging and lectures of their middle-class, once hippie parents. In much the same way that intergenerational silences ebb and flow through suburbia, urbania, and rural towns alike, Cathy Wilkerson's [Flying Close to the Sun: My Life and Times as a Weatherman]](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1583227717?ie=UTF8&tag=feminrevie-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1583227717) details—sometimes in excruciating detail—the rise and fall (and rise) of a former SDS member who, in 1970, survived the accidental bombing of her parents' townhouse, when three others did not. Even Wilkerson, however, fails to carry through the spirit and message of the counterculture of her youth beyond the spectacular flame of '60s and '70s activism.

Wikerson must be credited for her vigilance towards cross-sections of race, socio-economics and gender in her memoir, as well as her attention to the eventual realization that the progression among some activists from peaceful protest to bombings of government and non-government buildings was no different than the operations of Nixon, Kissinger and the like. Wilkerson's meticulous detail of the events of her life, from childhood in New England to her involvement in grassroots activism, gives the prose a meandering style neatly captured by chapter divisions. Wilkerson is a woman trying to find herself in changing era, adrift in relationships, war policy and her white privilege, all of which receive equal weight and importance in the threads of her memoir.

While knowing everything about her early childhood slows down the first portion of the book considerably – not that we don't care but, well, we don't—once Wilkerson hits on personal and political events, the narrative dashes through essential persons, locations, conferences, marches and protests like a "Not For Tourists" guide of the era, losing itself only at the moment when it counts most—connecting the lessons of the past to the present in order to shape the future. Maybe Wilkerson feels she can't speak to activists today because the apparent apathy of youth is so at odds with her own formerly youthful self. Or maybe Wilkerson, who performs her activism through education now, is subtly telling us that of everything accomplished in a turbulent era, those things and people who were lost cannot justify the means. This subtlety doesn't cause the book to flop at the end, but it does sputter and then just stops, standing bewildered among all that remains and how little, after forty years, has really changed.

Written by: Lacey Dunham, October 31st 2007

Canon / Verses

admin — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 11:47:00 +0000

By Ani DiFranco

Righteous Babe Records, Seven Stories Press

Being an Ani DiFranco fan has been a part of pretty much every feminist’s rite of passage since she came on the scene in the early ‘90s with the release of her self-titled album. Now seventeen years, two DVDs, and nearly thirty albums (including remixes, tributes, and live discs) later, DiFranco has simultaneously released a retrospective double-CD and book of poetry that show just how much she has grown personally, politically, and artistically. Both are an inspiration to all of us as we make our way through our own lifelong journeys.

One thing DiFranco has always been good at is creating songs that resonate deeply with girls and women. We listen to her because we can identify with where she’s been or where she’s at now, and because she gives us a little hope that we, too, can navigate life’s difficulties with the grace that DiFranco writes about in her songs and poems.

Canon is a collection of thirty-six songs that were chosen by DiFranco herself as best works, which, even as a double-disc set, is nowhere near comprehensive considering the multitude of tunes she has to choose from. A bonus for fans is the inclusion of re-imagined and re-recorded versions of old favorites “Napoleon,” “Shameless,” “Your Next Bold Move,” “Both Hands,” and “Overlap.” Inevitably there will be complaints of the omission of this song or that song (indeed, entire albums are absent), but the truth is that new fans and diehards alike can easily and satisfactorily kick back with this sampling. The album shows the breadth not only of DiFranco’s work, but also the influence of musicians she’s played with along the way (e.g., Sara Lee, Andy Stochansky, Julie Wolf, Todd Sickafoose).

Always introspective, DiFranco’s somewhat chronological (though heavily pulling from more recent albums) musical selections reflect the long and difficult road that every woman has to pave for herself. At times the road is fun and easy, but it’s also fraught with challenges that may be anticipated, precipitous, or elusive. This is reflected lyrically, as well as in the shifts in instrumentation, style, and genre.

In recent years, DiFranco has pushed herself as a musician, venturing away from the ‘folk rock’ label that she had been branded with early on in her career, and moving toward a more eclectic blend of ambient, jazz, and blues. Her classic storytelling style is more self-aware and less dogmatic, which indicates that she’s settled into herself – something else I find immensely appealing about this work.

Verses gives an even wider peek into DiFranco’s artistic process. The book features several previously unpublished poetic works and showcases, for the first time, over twenty paintings and drawings - some abstract and others more straightforward. This was a risk on DiFranco’s part, but one that pays off as they compliment the written words that appear alongside them in this collection. The only downside of Verses is the somewhat awkward “conversation” between DiFranco and mentor Sekou Sundiata, a professor of literature at The New School in New York City, which seems to consist of re-configured emails between the two because of its disjointedness and lack of clarity regarding its relevance to the rest of the book. Perhaps this should be revisited in future printings.

I think I better understand now themes in DiFranco's work that eluded me when some of these albums were released: meaningful lessons about the struggle to maintain (and let go of) love relationships, the chore of unlearning inherited family dynamics, the development of personal strength (and forgiving ourselves for our weakness), learning by making a lifetime of mistakes, and the complexity of it all amidst a bitterly polarized and oppressive political world. DiFranco is holding onto personal responsibility in a way that only comes from the wisdom of lived experience, failed idealism, and continuing to pick oneself up after being knocked down again and again. This is certainly a pinnacle point in DiFranco’s career, and what she does next is anyone’s guess. She just wants us to know that she’s not done. We want her to know that we’re not done either.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, October 29th 2007

Hello, Cruel World: 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks and Other Outlaws

admin — Sat, 31 Mar 2007 17:28:00 +0000

By Kate Bornstein

Seven Stories Press

Kate Bornstein has for two decades inspired fans and readers by mixing feminist sensibility, queer theory, performance art and personal experience. That Hello, Cruel World is heart-felt and friendly reflects parentage by Lutheran minister and 1939’s Miss Betty Crocker. Aimed more at tranpeople and freaks than at gays and lesbians, it addresses sickness in the American family, stifling conventions of compulsory heterosexuality and mean-spirited republicanism fostered by James Dobson and Pat Robertson, but not disavowed by Mary Cheney.

This “gender outlaw” was born in Fargo, North Dakota as Al Bornstein, but completed sexual reassignment surgery in 1986. Ze published hir theoretical autobiography, Gender Outlaw, in 1994 and My Gender Workbook in 1997, which used paradoxes and puzzles to transcend sex- and gender-binaries.

Part One of Hello, Cruel World takes “either/or” and twists it Möbius strip-style into “neither/both.” Ze combines snappy prose with kitschy graphics in this user-friendly, impressively edited little handbook to save teens from self-mutilation and suicide, rates among which are shooting through the roof. Faced also with poverty, bullying and religious conservatism, teenagers have never faced grimmer futures, but neither have they been supported more in and by popular culture. Aiming less to bend than to obliterate gender, Bornstein tosses off one-line, throwaway summaries of 19th-century suffragette movements and 20th-century gay, lesbian and bisexual activists. Their grasp never matches their reach: “it seems, in Minnie Bruce Pratt’s words, ‘their imaginations were in thrall to the institutions that oppress them,’” a mantra ze repeats. “You are worthy and capable of finding a way just to live your life the way you really are,” ze reminds hir readers, and “there are plenty of good people in the world who believe that a life like yours need to be lived.” Indeed.

Part Two’s “Start-up Guide” employs a “Cruel Scale of Feelings” that lists healthy and less healthy, self- and other-destructive emotions, ranging from “joy, wisdom,” “love, freedom” and “passion” to fear, depression and hopelessness. Hir 101 alternatives to suicide are ranked in terms of safety, efficacy and legal and moral concerns. The only no-no is being mean to others. “Starve yourself” (Alternative 81), “Be orgasmically celibate” (Alternative 56), “Tell a lie” (Alternative 11) and 98 others are proposed with love and good heart to keep suffering people from letting the bullies, republicans and homophobes win.

Written by: Lawrence James Hammar, Ph.D., March 31st 2007

Sing a Battle Song: The Revolutionary Poetry, Statements, and Communiqués of the Weather Underground, 1970-1974

admin — Tue, 20 Mar 2007 03:45:00 +0000

Edited by Bernadine Dohrn, Bill Ayers, Jeff Jones

Seven Stories Press

Between 2002’s documentary The Weather Underground and such novels as Russell Banks’s The Darling, the radical revolutionary group ironically returned to the public eye in recent years. Thirty years after their underground activities ended, now that all the charges have been dropped and all of the living members of the organization have joined the establishment, albeit on the fringes (Dohrn, Ayers and Jones have become a legal scholar, an educational philosopher and an environmental activist respectively), Sing a Battle Song offers a complex, bittersweet perspective on The Weather Underground’s life and revolutionary work.

Sing a Battle Song is an anthology containing three volumes of work by the Weather Underground: the original Sing a Battle Song, an anthology of poetry by Weatherwomen; The Weather Eye, a collection of communiqués published by the organization to explain individual bombings or denounce government actions; and Prairie Fire, a comprehensive explanation of the organization’s politics. The volume opens with three essays by Dohrn, Ayers and Jones, reach reflecting from his or her own perspective on the accomplishments and failings of the group in its time. Dohrn’s mea culpa are particularly moving—she seems, among the three, to see the precise workings of the organization most clearly.

The poetry in Sing a Battle Song has lost, from this standpoint, most of its power. The poems are published without individual author credit, simply as the work of Weatherwomen. While this makes a powerful statement about organizational solidarity, the poems themselves, without the immediacy of their political context, seem tame. However, The Weather Eye, the communiqués themselves, presents the era in a vivid, visceral fashion. This middle section is the most powerful in the book; it’s harsh, honest, and powerfully written, expressing the goals and thoughts of the movement neither bogged down by theory nor by unnecessary flourish.

The anthology, in the end, is most compelling and disturbing as a historical document, an observation of what the countercultural and revolutionary movements of the 1960s and 1970s did or did not accomplish. Some aspects of the work, like the unflagging support of Fidel Castro in Prairie Fire, seem downright naïve and misguided from this perspective; most of their observations about corporate culture and control, however, remain depressingly resonant today.

Written by: Gemma Cooper-Novack, March 19th 2007

Remembering Tomorrow: From SDS to Life After Capitalism

admin — Sat, 17 Feb 2007 18:30:00 +0000

By Michael Albert

Seven Stories Press

The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even past. –William Faulkner

Michael Albert writes an in-depth political memoir, offering a formidable defense of the project to change global inequality. Albert is a veteran anti-capitalist and visionary leftist thinker. In his memoir, he retells his past of devotion, commitment and the struggle to bring forth social change, however difficult the journey, a small step at a time.

Albert separates his memoir into five intriguing parts. He begins with his college years at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). An aspiring physicist, Albert seemed destined for a career inside laboratories and research facilities until politics seduced him away. Gradually, he began campus organizing, rallying and protesting. His political involvement began to shape his being as he later goes on to fight in the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) and other vital American movements.

He recounts many tales from his friendship with Noam Chomsky, which has spanned their lifetimes. Chomsky’s personal and professional perspectives, complicated through his belief in the political world, strongly affected Albert’s way of interacting with others.

Albert explores various topics, both personal and professional. Whether commenting on marriage, racism, class, drugs, rock and roll or sexism, he qualifies his opinion with the personal experience to back up his view. Throughout his memoir, he reaches points of evolutionary thought and maturity. For decades, Albert has spent his time not only striving for social change, but also achieving it.

Written by: Mona Lisa Safai, February 17th 2007