Little Brown and Company

Euphemania: Our Love Affair with Euphemisms

farhana — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Ralph Keyes’s Euphemania is so poorly written that, in spite of the rich and interesting subject matter, it is difficult to read.

On the one hand, Keyes insists that euphemisms—circumlocutionary words and phrases—signal both the pliancy and richness possible in human languages and the creativity of the human mind. On the other hand, he claims that by replacing strong clear words with softer and often foreign ones, our language is thereby made sterile and weak. Here he comes close to George Orwell’s famous (and better written and much more convincing) rant against dead metaphors and fancy Latinate replacement for simple Anglo-Saxon words in the English language. Keyes appears to attempt to make this point about language generally—not about the English languages specifically—and so bounces back and forth between endorsing and bemoaning the creation and use of euphemistic language.

When tracing the genealogy of families of euphemisms, Keyes offers confused and misleading information. For example, when writing about the status of children born to unmarried parents, Keyes equates the concepts of “bastard” and “legitimacy” with “child of sin.” That is to say, he squashes a lineage of concepts involving legal rights, inheritance, property laws, and status and a lineage of concepts involving metaphysics, sin, religious feeling, and moral commandments together as though there were no distinction.

The problems I have briefly noted are annoying and unfortunate. However, Keyes’s attitude toward women throughout his book is plainly offensive. What does Keyes mean to imply about the English Queen Victoria when he says she “was hardly dutiful”? Earlier in the book he explained that “duty” was an old Roman euphemism for sex—but the mother of nine children certainly “did her duty.” Earlier on the page, he mentions a “certain kind of dutiful sex”—is he implying that Victoria was a firecracker in the sack? How on earth would he know? Physical size and shape are prime targets for euphemistic language. Keyes, introducing the euphemism “Rubenesque,” tells us that the women Rubens painted would now be considered “candidates for gastric bypass.” This tells us far more about Keyes’s repulsion toward larger women than it does about Rubens’s art. When discussing words for genitalia, it becomes clear that Keyes is clueless about women’s anatomy: he claims that the offensive term “pudenda” (indicating shamefulness) is the “overall” term for women’s genitals, comprising, among other things, the vulva. Keyes is apparently unaware of the equivalence of vulva and pudenda, and of the preference for vulva.

Overall, this book is a waste of time. Do not put it on your shopping list. Do not give it to anyone who appreciates good writing, clear thinking or accuracy. Above all, do not give it to anyone who likes, supports, understands, or cares about women.

Written by: kristina grob, January 12th 2011

When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present

admin — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Gail Collins

Little Brown and Company

Oh, Gail Collins, you had me at New York Times columnist. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived away from New York for so long now and have to read it online most of the year, but holding printed and bound words from a witty Times writer in a book that I can dip into for a few minutes, or a hour, whenever I like is brainy self-indulgence that I can say yes to.

My mother grew up in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and I’ve always had a thing for vintage and retro pop culture. If this is you, too, you’ll quickly find yourself on board as well, Times fetish or no. The ‘New Yorkness’ of Collins’ writing style is so readable that the broad range of subjects covered in its 405 pages are cohesive and coherent. As for the title of the book, it had me thinking immediately—I had a mini-epiphany before even cracking the cover—of course, then it all changed.

When Everything Changed contains facts I should have known, such as the shock-value of women wearing trousers, archaic divorce laws with state-by-state variations that virtually trapped women in marriage, and the ‘speed-dating’ approach many women took to college in the '60s, using higher learning as a way to find a husband. The chronicles pivotal moments in our recent feminist history—from things that seem simple, like adhesive maxi pads, to nation-altering events, like the Equal Rights Amendment.

Readers of all ages will enjoy finding their decade in the chronology. The conclusions Collins draws about each era are deft, trustworthy and cogent. It is interesting to see Collins assert that that we are a part of living history, and that these changes, while feeling slow, have been swift in the grand scheme of things. This book is hard to stop reading even if you meant to leave some for later. It flows so well and is written in such a conversational style that I found it easy to carry on for a few more chapters.

The picture section seemed unnecessary to me. I wanted big, iconic illustrations throughout, or none at all, but that’s a small criticism for a largely excellent read. This book is a primer, of sorts, but I felt that the way the images were presented was more cursory than inspiring. The words alone are enough to encourage readers to find out more. Should gender studies, or women’s history be offered as a high school module or elective, I’d recommend this book, or extracts from it as an introductory text.

Based on my enjoyment of When Everything Changed, I’m also interested in tracking down Collins’ precursor to this book: America's Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates, and Heroines. This is a more mainstream feminist text than I’ve read in a while, and I was almost put off by the schmaltzy tone of the book jacket, which I interpreted as lauding Hilary Clinton’s presidential campaign as a symbol for the be all and end all of women’s equality. This tone continues in the final chapter itself, which I found to be a dissatisfying gloss over of the achievements of all American women, rather than just the privileged few in mainstream politics. Moreover, the stylistically vague 'gloss' of American women can be interpreted as a very real slight, considering the minimal representation of women not from the U.S.

Most interesting to me is the epilogue section. While some of it is depressing, the fates of some of the figures mentioned in the book are quite uplifting. There’s even a witty bit about Barbie dolls. Overall, the book is enjoyable and informative. It serves as an inspiring reminder of not only when it all changed, but how it all changed.

Written by: Chella Quint, February 17th 2010

Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession

admin — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Julie Powell

Little Brown and Company

Julie Powell wrote a blog called the Julie/Julia Project, which was turned into a book entitled Julie and Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously, and last summer Julie & Julia hit the big screen as a movie featuring Meryl Streep. Admittedly, Julie & Julia was a heartwarming, sticky sweet account of Powell’s mission to cook her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. The blog/book/movie led us to believe that Powell was a somewhat quirky woman who loved to cook, occasionally cursed, and had a ridiculously lovely marriage.

In Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession, we learn that the public image Powell carefully crafted wasn’t true to form. Cleaving will surely smash any goody two shoes image fans may have had of Julie Powell. Though it does feature a few recipes and go into great detail about butchery, these things are more of an afterthought; Powell’s fucked up marriage and obsessive extramarital affair take center stage.

Out of the blue Powell decides to take up butchering and because she’s a go-getter, she sets out to obtain an apprenticeship at a butcher shop to the great confusion of her husband. Apparently it’s just a strong compulsion she feels. I call bullshit on that. It’s obvious to me that this would make an unlikely, though interesting second book idea. Perhaps her editors were breathing down her neck, or maybe Powell needed some kind of food-related slant to pacify her foodie fans while still being able to dissect her marriage in print. But it seems unlikely that it doesn’t just suddenly occur to a thirty-three-year-old to be a butcher. This is the same woman who famously dreaded boning a duck for months, after all.

During the months leading up to her apprenticeship, Powell’s marriage to her long-time husband Eric is falling apart thanks to a torrid love affair with a man she calls D. She cheated on Eric once before with D. while in college and when he calls her sometime after her Julie & Julia fame, the two pick up where they left and thus begin the meat metaphors. While hacking away at some animal, Powell will force a metaphor out of the skin and bones and sinew. Did you know that when “one has eaten a beautiful dry-aged steak, one remembers it, longs for it? That longing doesn’t stop. At least, it hasn’t yet and it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere.” Is she talking about the steak or D.? Oh Julie Powell, you’re clever.

In certain areas of her life Powell boasts that she’s tough as nails; she’s just “one of the guys.” She won’t ask for help in the butcher shop, won’t admit she’s afraid of using tools that could slice off arms or decapitate her. Julie Powell is a warrior, except when it comes to D. If he doesn’t respond to a text or e-mail, Powell goes off the deep end; sobbing, going through two bottles of wine a night, writing and calling him obsessively, even stalking him. These situations don’t illustrate the fragility of Powell, but rather her need for serious medication and therapy.

Powell’s portrayal of herself and her marriage aims to be complex, but it’s just perplexing. Her husband knows of her affair, but it’s never really discussed. She never really expresses guilt; she actually rubs her husband’s nose in it; bruises from D. cover her body and e-mails and “sexts” are left in plain view. When Eric begins an affair of his own, Powell seems happy for him. Despite all of this neither considers divorce. A divorce, Powell explains, is not a “clean break” like cracking open a joint with one “delicious pop.” It’s more like snapping a bone, which requires hacking, sawing, and destroying. I’d argue that a divorce couldn’t be any worse than what she’s already done to her marriage, but that’s just my opinion.

Powell is defined by the men in her life; she lets them shape and mold her into different women, whichever fits their needs. With Eric she is the asexual wife; cuddling, drinking wine in front of the television and making dinner together is enough and supposedly illustrates their intimacy. With D., she is the sex kitten, wanting to be taken, more than happy to submit to him and his every whim.

Powell wants to have her meat and eat it too, and for some reason, the people in her world allow her to carry on like this while remaining in her life. I’ll never know who the real Julie Powell is, but if she’s anything like the character in Cleaving, I wish her luck and something in the way of self-esteem.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, January 20th 2010

The Impostor’s Daughter: A True Memoir

admin — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

By Laurie Sandell

Little Brown and Company

The disenchantment of our parents, when we realize they’re humans too, is an unpleasant event of growing up. We all handle it differently. For Laurie Sandell, she put it into a graphic novel, The Impostor’s Daughter: A True Memoir. In a little less than 250 beautifully painted pages, Sandell shamelessly shows each and every skeleton in her closet—starting from childhood and ending as her young adult self—and the battles she fights to expose the lies about her larger-than-life father and form a new identity in that truth.

Growing up on the east coast, Sandell was the eldest of three daughters, and her father’s favorite. She spent her childhood idolizing him and forming her identity in his stories of historical and academic greatness. He had a Ph.D. from Columbia University, earned a Purple Heart and Bronze Star in Vietnam, and corresponded with a not-yet-christened Pope John Paul II. Doubt enters Laurie’s mind when she discovers in college that her father had taken out many credit cards in her name, unbeknownst to her. With over two hundred thousand dollars in debt and a father who couldn’t give a proper explanation, Laurie hits the road. She traveled for four years, a time when she says: “I was willing to be anything, try anything, as long as it didn’t resemble the life I was living before.”

The heaviest ball drops when Sandell returns from her escape. After an evening of sharing anecdotes with a friend in publishing, Sandell agrees to write an article about her father’s adventures. Routine fact checking revealed that her father wasn’t as extraordinary as he claimed to be. She proceeds with the article against her family’s wishes, exposes the lies he told, and becomes estranged from her father. However, Laurie doesn’t get the satisfaction she expected: “Nothing had changed: my family continued to be insistently blind to the truth. I remained the lone voice of protest.”

Things begin to look up for her when she lands an admirable job interviewing celebrities. However, she continues to be haunted by her father’s deceit. She battles with an addiction to sleeping pills mixed with red wine and drastic weight loss. She explains to the rehabilitation center she eventually enters: “My alcohol use? Not much—two or three glasses a day. Of course I drink alone: I’m single.” Without fear or lack of comic relief, she shows the inside of rehab, confrontations with her parents and the ultimate serenity she finds within herself. After more than ten years of searching for peace in her relationship with her father, Laurie simply says: “I gave up.”

The strength of this book is the way in which Sandell presents her story. In a more classic format, the experience of The Impostor’s Daughter would be lost. The ability to evoke emotions (light and heavy) subconsciously through images makes this book unforgettable. She possesses a humble and often comic tone in her writing. Both voices work harmoniously to neutralize the series of traumatic events in her life. The Impostor’s Daughter is a cathartic work that will make you reflect on your own relationship with your parents. It shows us the painful, scary, and frustrating process of going from gullible and impressionable children of our parents to self-defining confident women—something we can all appreciate and laugh about sooner or later.

Written by: Sara Custer, December 6th 2009

Girls in Trucks

admin — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 03:04:00 +0000

By Katie Crouch

Little Brown and Company

Not many books have been able to capture the social chasm between northern and southern women quite as well as Katie Crouch’s new novel, Girls in Trucks, has. Meet Sarah Walters, a southern debutante born and raised in South Carolina. Upon entering college, Sarah flees north, separating herself from all that she has ever known. Sarah soon discovers how different people, men in particular, in the north are; they are harder, flightier, and often times quick to forget about another person. Thus begins Sarah Walter’s descent into self-discovery. Leaving behind a life of luxury, etiquette, and old money, Sarah sets out to forge her own path.

Sarah is in every way the self-proclaimed independent woman. She is educated, single, and career-oriented. The only glitch in her character, however, is that she constantly allows herself to play the victim. From the time the reader meets her as a teenager to thirty-one-year-old Sarah, she constantly seeks out men who seem to destroy her spirit.

She meets the apathetic Brett in college and immediately beds down with him. She is later confused as to why he leaves her so quickly and decides the best way to heal her broken heart is through other boys and mixed-drinks. Max is introduced into her life when Sarah is in her early twenties. They have a rather turbulent relationship, and Sarah allows herself to become a sexual deviant for Max’s own sick and twisted fantasies. Even toward the end of the book when she is a mother, Sarah does not settle for something safe. She does not settle for a good man. Instead, she compares herself to a heroin junkie, always looking for the next fix; her drug is love, and it is that same thing that has dictated her mess of a life.

Crouch does a wonderful job creating a protagonist the reader can both root for and mother. Sarah stumbles her way through life, sometimes naively and blindly following her heart. Yet deep inside she is a strong, logical woman, quite capable of being her own knight in shining armor.

In it’s entirety, _Girls in Trucks _is a thoroughly endearing novel with deliciously rich characters. The course Sarah’s life runs keeps the reader both attentive and empathetic to both her and her loved ones. The novel is ultimately a love story—not between a man and a woman, but with one’s self.

Written by: Stephanie Weaver, April 15th 2008

Skylight Confessions

admin — Sun, 06 May 2007 12:30:00 +0000

By Alice Hoffman

Little Brown and Company

After eighteen novels and eight children’s books one might think Alice Hoffman would run out of material in which to write, but her new book, Skylight Confessions, proves this theory wrong. She takes an everyday, dysfunctional family and breathes her own twist into it, coupled with a splash of supernatural.

Skylight Confessions is set in a house appropriately named The Glass Slipper because it is constructed of metal and glass panes. This metaphor of a glass is what gives this novel substance and allows the readers to watch this family from a safe distance. Arlyn Singer is a beautiful redheaded seventeen-year-old with seventy-six freckles on her face, who plants herself on the stoop of her father’s house on the eve of his funeral. She promises the next man who appears will be the man she marries. So begins the turbulent relationship between John Moody and Arlyn.

Arlyn was an optimist, who saw life in a much different way than John. “She was young enough not to see a glass as half empty or half full, but as a beautiful object into which anything might be poured.” With this beautiful language, which often resembles music, Alice Hoffman tells this story of pain, deceit, betrayal and death. Her use of mystical and supernatural experiences in her novels has brought much interest to her work. She does not fail the reader in this novel.

As the reader moves through this world of broken glass, stones and secret, winged men from Connecticut, they find an endearment to Sam, Arlyn and John’s son, who is charging down a road to annihilation. Life stories are never as simple as the telling, and this book brings this to the forefront of the reader’s mind. One tiny forgotten fragment can change one’s whole life.

The use of symbols - whether intentional or just plain, good writing - is strong and will leave the reader viewing things like soot, blackbirds, pearls and shattered china in a new light. I strongly recommend this book be added to summer reading lists. This reader loved it so much she read it twice.

Written by: Ann Hite, May 6th 2007