Unbridled Books

Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses

payal — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Let the whole world put on a pair of rubber gloves and plunder and pillage. We have no secrets any longer. We have become public property.

Women who write about their lives face challenges that male writers do not. Not only are women charged with writing about their own lives, with creating selfhood on paper, they are somehow additionally responsible for upholding the idea of womanhood. In this way, they bear the responsibility for representing, and in a sense, for creating the lives of all women. (Considering the diversity of possible identities which women take on for themselves, this is at the very least, a difficult task.)

While we might ask whether a woman writer should even be obligated to tell a story other than her own, for women who read life writing, the question might as easily become: which parts of a woman’s life are hers and which belong, through the construction of womanhood, to all women? Which part of this woman’s life is mine?

In Reading Lips: A Memoir of Kisses, Claudia Sternbach navigates the terrain of personal memories and public ones. Through her nimble use of language, which is delightfully suffused with sarcasm, she connects with women of various ages and experiences. The emotions of the moments, if not the moments themselves, ring true to experience.

“But please,” she writes to her future husband, “You and your soon-to-be platonic friend, enjoy the pool. Enjoy the tennis courts. Bring her up here to the rose garden for a picnic.”

Sternbach also connects with women by wittily drawing on cultural references or events that are familiar to every reader: “…Ma won’t let me leave until my plate is cleaned. Because you know about those starving babies in China.”

While Sternbach never states that she is speaking to a specific idea of womanhood and, in fact, directly backs away from the idea that she speaks for anyone, the effect of this effort to form a connection with other women and their lives is that Reading Lips is less a story of one woman’s life, and much more a celebration of the experience of living a woman’s life. It is a celebration of an idea of womanhood in which “Teddy put his lips right up to mine and they stayed there … and right then I could see our whole long lives.”

Written by: Elizabeth Brasher, April 29th 2011

Stranger Here Below

tina — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Joyce Hinnefeld

Unbridled Books

Stranger Here Below tells the stories of three generations of women whose lives are connected by a single institution and a changing America.

Amazing Grace “Maze” Jansen and Mary Elizabeth “M. E.” Cox meet at Berea College in Kentucky in 1961. Maze is a poor white mountain girl and M. E. is one of just a few African American students at the college. The young women come from difficult backgrounds and both have mothers who have struggled. Hinnefeld tells the stories of the four women, mothers and daughters, and a fifth woman named Sister Georgia. Sister Georgia went to Berea College decades earlier and is now the last surviving Shaker in Pleasant Hill, a Shaker community near Berea College.

Maze and M. E. are college roommates and scholarship students, but they are not necessarily fast friends. M. E. was raised by a stern preacher father and by Sarah, a mother who retreats into a strange world where she is incapable of simple communication. Both her race and her family background make M. E. unsure of her place in the world and she seems unable to enjoy her musical talents or her friendship with Maze. Still, Maze pursues their friendship doggedly, inviting M. E. to spend time with her at her mother's home. Maze's mother Vista raised Maze on her own, her husband having abandoned her after one night of marriage. Vista is now Sister Georgia's caretaker and the two young women stay with Vista in Sister Georgia's home.

Together the girls watch Sister Georgia perform her Shaker rituals, her dancing, and her shaking and they go through a Shaker ledger from a century ago that contains herbal remedies and recipes. Sister Georgia is old, alone, and the last member of a religion of celibates. What the two young women do not know about Sister Georgia is that when she was in college she fell in love with a black man, but her father, an abolitionist, forbade her to marry him. Her life, like and Sarah’s, is one marked by loss.

Mary Elizabeth is a talented pianist who was courted by the university for her musical abilities. School officials seemed to imply that it was unusual to see such talent in an African American. M. E. is confused by their attentions and turns away from her music. But in the early 1960’s, Maze imagines a different kind of America. She dreams of a twentieth century communal living experience that would nurture people like the five women of this book.

It's a grand scheme, and this book covers a lot of territory in few pages. Hinnefeld begins in 1968, with Maze writing a letter to her missing friend Mary Elizabeth. The next chapter takes us back to 1872 and the birth of Sister Georgia. The lives of all five women unfold in a nonlinear fashion, in isolated sections, and these sections weave in and out of the book's present and deep into the past. Perhaps this weaving back and forth in time reflects the fractured nature of these women's lives. Sometimes it's hard to put the pieces together, just as it's hard for the women to keep their own lives in order. As readers we have to work for it, but in the end I think it's worth the effort. I cared about these women and the pressures they stood up to in their struggles to make themselves whole.

Written by: Natasha Bauman, November 23rd 2010

The Singer’s Gun

payal — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Emily St. John Mandel

Unbridled Books

Emily St. John Mandel’s book The Singer’s Gun sounds like a paperback thriller, but in a pleasant surprise, delights the reader with a still and quiet prose and a keen eye for the details that uncover the interconnectedness of all our lives. Beautiful images of ancient trees and Mediterranean utopias find a home with New York’s summer heat and the sticky lives of its characters. Mandel serves up superlative moral crises in this well-crafted novel, crises which could stretch the bounds of anyone’s convictions.

The story of an honest con man and illegal girl in New York City, The Singer’s Gun reminds us all that no situation is ever black and white. While both Anton, the illegal passport dealer turned honest desk jockey, and Elena, the Canadian alien struggling with both metaphysical meaning and anemia, have done several questionable things, their stories are so rich and so painfully real that the reader’s loyalties are constantly shifting.

Mandel treats her characters with a kindness, yet an almost parental and bittersweet layering of guilt. While both Anton and Elena have significant others, they find an intimacy together that trumps their steady domestic lives. This intimacy itself is a strained one, for unbeknown to Anton, Elena has been sent with a recorder in her purse to question him after an evening rendez-vous, in order that the U.S. Diplomatic Security Service can get a hold on his past activities. As a recipient of one of his passport/Social Security card packages, Elena is in a compromising place. This is chronically her issue.

Although Anton is the main character, I am more fascinated with Elena. Wispy thin and constantly anemic and hungry from lack of food, it would be easy to paint Elena as a neo-Victorian woman, whose relationship with Anton survives because of her dependence on him. However, I find more subtlety in Elena. Her quiet sensuality and moments of subversion keep her alive, and make her a more complete partner to Anton. She is twice compelled to model for a photographer for money. The second time, she finds that the photographer has taken a route into the territory of pornographic material. Caught, like many young women, in the position of having to participate in order to eat, Elena seems like another victim. However, she takes her experience, along with the mounting stress of her job and affectionless relationship and impulsively makes a brave decision to visit Anton on a small island off the coast of Italy, where (for reasons I won’t divulge) he is now living, risking deportation, debt, and uncertainty. The couple’s journeys across national lines, emotional lines, and ethical lines make one pause and reconsider preconceptions about morality and propriety.

This is Mandel’s second novel. Her first, Last Night in Montreal, received outstanding reviews, and after reading this accomplishment, there is no doubt I will read the first.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, November 18th 2010

Angel and Apostle

admin — Thu, 27 May 2010 00:01:00 +0000

By Deborah Noyes

Unbridled Books

Deborah Noyes’s Angel and Apostle, styled as a sequel to The Scarlet Letter, is a fascinating journey and an interesting effort to flesh out the life of a child attempting to live under the shadow of shame, guilt, and community exile. Set shortly after the ostracism of Hester Prynne we see the common adage that the “sins of [in this case the mother] shall be visited upon her children” is a fatalistic axiom that can be made real and that hangs heavy over the heads of Hester and Pearl her precocious and earlier-than-normal world-weary daughter.

Even as the townsfolk lay upon Pearl, the dubious title of “the child of the temptress”, and as much as the other characters of the small New England town would have it otherwise, she appears to lead a life where the consequences of her mother’s supposed social transgression are at the margins of her world. Pearl finds work within house of the sickly mother of a small blind boy, Simon, who she has befriended, and like the child of any time period, sees enthralling mystery and adventure in the countryside. This, for me, is a significant point of the book, the disallowing of the community and previous circumstances through which Pearl, first in New England and then in the “motherland,” seeks her own path and an ultimate sense of individual freedom.

Noyes does a remarkable job of weaving rich depictions of puritanical New England society as the backdrop for the affairs of a strong woman, her bold progeny and the lives of the sordid people that orbit in challenge. Angel and Apostle is a fulfilling next chapter in the darkly romantic or perhaps bittersweet tale of Ms. Prynne and Pearl. Upon finishing every good book, your heart sinks a little at the conclusion of such a wonderful tale but Noyes can rest assured that the humbling task that she assumed in writing a professed sequel to The Scarlet Letter was a riveting success. I am sure that, as I did, Nathaniel Hawthorne would find Angel and Apostle a delightful extrapolation on a master’s work built upon by another master in deliciously page-turning form.

Written by: Brandon Copeland, May 26th 2010

Captivity

admin — Tue, 11 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Deborah Noyes

Unbridled Books

Captivity is a historical novel based on the true story of the Fox sisters, who claimed they could communicate with the dead. Able to convince a group of people of their abilities, they garnered a following that would grow to become a religious movement known as American Spiritualism, or simply Spiritualism. The three Fox sisters relied on raps to communicate with the dead, having the spirits count off the letters, words, and numbers they were trying to say.

Deborah Noyes uses the history of the Fox sisters and then builds on it with the story of Clara Gill. Clara has suffered the death of a loved one and while she is skeptical at the ability of the Fox sisters, she begins to embrace the possibility of reconnecting with the spirit of the love she lost. The novel switches back and forth between Clara’s narrative and that of the Fox sisters—particularly Maggie who, in the novel, works for some time at Clara’s house.

One of the things I liked best about this book is the fact the way each chapter shifts between the women’s points of view. I’m a big fan of nontraditional narratives because I feel it keeps the momentum going and keeps the reader interested. Even more to my liking, Clara’s story jumps a bit through time. In the first few Clara-centric chapters, for instance, you learn that she has suffered some sort of loss that has left her reclusive from even her father, the only family she has left. What you don’t immediately learn is how she got this way. As her narrative unfolds, the reader it taken back about ten years to explain her past, but it takes several chapters to get to the full story. People who prefer traditional narratives will likely get very frustrated that it takes so long to understand what’s going on.

Because communicating with spirits is already a seemingly fictional topic, it was hard to separate fiction from the alleged reality, and it certainly sparked some interest in me to learn more about the Fox sisters and Spiritualism. Within minutes of finishing the book, I was online, searching for Spiritualism and the history of the Fox sisters. From the little I could find out, it certainly seems that Noyes spent quite some time researching for this novel.

In the end, though, it doesn’t really matter what’s fact and what’s fiction. The novel is written in the third-person, but Noyes still describes what people are thinking and feeling enough for the reader to become invested in the characters. On top of that, she was able to pull me into the story and believe everything she’s presenting as complete truth. It’s rare that a novel can do that with as much ease as this one.

Written by: frau sally benz, May 11th 2010

31 Hours

admin — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 01:02:00 +0000

By Masha Hamilton

Unbridled Books

Following the event, I promised myself I would never read "a 9/11 book," fiction or not. Having admitted that, I can't explain what exactly led me to almost eagerly pick up John Updike's Terrorist in the year it was published, save for the vague hope that this was a writer who could help make some sense out of a senseless situation. As long as I was breaking my vow, lifting the corner of Pandora's box long enough to peak in, I wanted assurance the hands of the author were skilled, strong hands - hands experienced enough to explain the unexplainable.

Ironically, it turned out Terrorist was abysmal, almost cartoonish in its depiction of the "kind of" person who willingly sacrifices his own life in an attempt to advance the cause of Muslim extremism. Instead of a moment of enlightenment, I received a disappointment so great it achieved the same effect I'd originally hoped for, failing to come anywhere near invoking the same degree of terror as 9/11 itself.

Having failed once makes it all the more surprising that, when offered dozens of choices, I actively chose to review Masha Hamilton's 31 Hours —a book with a very similar theme. Only this time, the premise hit much closer to home. Hamilton's novel is told through the lens of a close relationship between a mother and son, a relationship I know times two. The theoretical suddenly became personal.

The plot itself is simple. Thirty-one hours is both how long a mother has to reach her son—whom she knows to be in dire straits—and the length of time her son has to prepare himself to die. In this time frame each goes through eerily similar situations. First, the initial phase of realization: the mother (Carol) that something is terribly wrong and the son (Jonas) that what he'd worked for since training in Pakistan was imminent. Next, the preparation: the mother, in desperation, following all known leads and the son purifying himself, as he's been taught by his mentor. Finally, the act of magnetic repulsion, as the mother tries to reach her son in time, and the son she raised slips out of her hands.

Meanwhile, the other two major characters orbit, providing the context in which the rest of the story plays out. There is Vic, Jonas' neglected girlfriend, who is too caught up in her own ambition to become a dancer to be an effective deterrent, and Sonny, a homeless man with the preternatural ability to smell evil in a person, a character interesting in premise, though poorly executed through the author's inability to create believable dialogue.

The novel capitalizes on a post-9/11 world in which acts of brutality are a daily reality. It brings to the surface the terrifying realization some terrorists are homegrown, produced from the same soil as patriots, and hell-bent on bloodshed in order to right the balance of the world. Unfortunately for the reader, the book falters. A fast-paced thriller promising in its concept, in many ways it lacks in execution. 31 Hours hovers midway between mass market and literary fiction, unable to quite hit the literary mark due to its off-target attempts at a lyrical writing style, as well as passages of dialogue that clunk in the ear.

What Hamilton does achieve is edge-of-your-seat action in a book slim enough to be consumed in a day, taking the wait out of discovering the abrupt—and some would say breathtaking—denouement. Her premise is also a good one, coming at a now well-worn genre from a unique angle of the relationship between a mother and a child raised to know right, yet going terribly wrong.

31 Hours is not a great book. Nor is it the sort of book to perch near the top of the bestseller lists. Yet, it presents an original approach to a difficult subject and story threads that, though not always tied up satisfactorily, at least venture into new territory. And in these days of cookie-cutter bestsellers, sometimes that is enough.

Written by: Lisa Guidarini, November 30th 2009

Vanishing

admin — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 09:09:00 +0000

By Candida Lawrence

Unbridled Books

Upon receiving my copy of Vanishing, Candida Lawrence’s writing was relatively new to me. The fourth offering in a series of standalone memoirs, Lawrence’s stories cover various stages in her life, from childhood father-daughter power struggles to marriage and child-rearing to aging. Her writing covers a vast array of life experiences and the resulting emotions.

Lawrence vividly describes experiences that have happened to many other women. In a story about abortion, she presents all of the female characters with dignity. Their distinctive personalities explain their own reactions, giving flavor to their diverse backgrounds.

The piece about her elderly parents was too much for me to swallow—I don’t do well with geriatric indignities—and I had to put the book down several times during that part. I managed to finish it, but it just reaffirmed my belief that when my own body starts to decay, I’m walking off into the ocean, or something like that.

Despite the serious nature of many of the painful topics in Vanishing, Lawrence injects the writing with frequent humor. Even amidst the bowels of sagging flesh and dementia, I found myself laughing.

One topic that I was curious about concerned her pieces about sexual intercourse and infidelity. She has a dream about her guy, Jack, with another woman. Packing her dog up, she heads out to his home to see if her dream was correct. Watching the two, she describes their sex as rather bland and mechanical with no kissing. In another story, she sleeps with Jack and it’s about as electrifying as doing the laundry, although there is a loving embrace from their years of being together.

I wanted to know whether sex was that boring for her generation, or is her writing simply mechanical when it comes to the more risqué scenes? Despite that question, her honesty about how she sees the world is engaging. There is an acceptance of life and the unpredictable. Lawrence does not resign herself to the struggles and give up, but pushes forward.

Some of these stories are not for the weak-hearted, or those in denial. Proceed with the expectation to feel many emotions.

Written by: Nicolette Westfall, June 7th 2009

The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire

admin — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 09:01:00 +0000

By C. M. Mayo

Unbridled Books

The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is the type of book that serves as a virtual passport allowing the reader to travel from one reality into another. The story is set in Washington, D.C. and Mexico City at a time when America was in the throes of civil war and Mexico was struggling to find its own place in the world under the reign of Archduke Maximilian von Habsburg. It is at this critical place in time that we meet the main character, Alice (later known as Alicia). She is a wistful, optimistic, and adventurous young lady who unwittingly finds herself falling in love with the much older son of a dignitary, Angel, who is known as Angelo. From there, the story becomes more complicated, with twists and turns and philosophies and Mexicanismos and Americanisms.

Mayo’s ability to make language malleable and without borders gives the reader a sense of what it meant to be 'important' in those days when slavery, sexism, racism, and generalized oppression were sanctioned by both church and state. Furthermore, the novel helps us to recognize how much we, as a people, have yet to accomplish concerning these issues.

Mayo’s novel evokes feelings of sadness and concern for the present day reality that has unfolded between the nations of Mexico and America—a sadness, for the loss of generations of writers whose voices were silenced and a concern that the echo of their lives is yet to be discovered. Mayo stands tall, a leader in the world of literature. My hope is that, through her writing, she is providing the spark that will propel new voices to be recognized and applauded. The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is a verdant, thoughtful, and intellectual while also being savage, carnal, and raw. The thoughtful reader who appreciates a well written tome will enjoy this book again and again.

Written by: Susan G. Reyes Vasquez, June 6th 2009

Last Night in Montreal

admin — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 23:34:00 +0000

By Emily St. John Mandel

Unbridled Books

Emily St. John Mandel’s premier novel, Last Night in Montreal, is a cocktail of neurotic travel, obsession, and misunderstandings. As a child, Lilia Albert’s father abducted her and crossed the Canadian-American border, taking her away from her mother and half-brother. Once in America, they never live in one city for too long for fear of being caught by the police. Most of Lilia’s childhood takes place in a series of road trips, aliases, and motel rooms. Years later, as a young adult and after being on the road for so long, Lila has no idea how to stay in one place. She lives a suitcase-life and constantly leaves cities, jobs, and lovers behind.

The novel, like memories, goes back and forth between the past and present; although Lilia is the center, we also learn how others have been affected by her life. Her mother appears on Canadian TV outlets, crying over her missing child. The PI on her case, who has little luck confronting his own domestic issues, becomes obsessed with her and loses touch with his own daughter. Her ex-boyfriend Eli doesn’t understand why she abandoned him and instead of sorting his own issues out, chases after her in Montreal. The characters in St. John Mandel’s book are people who don’t understand one another, but more importantly, they don’t understand themselves.

Last Night in Montreal isn’t the most remarkable piece of fiction, but it is still a very good, fast read. The writing is fluid, and the story kept my interest for long enough. With novels today having so many ridiculously melodramatic and hypocritical characters, it was refreshing to read about people that are normal yet dysfunctional, intelligent yet confused—in other words, they’re just like most of us out there.

Written by: Farhana Uddin, April 22nd 2009