female sexuality

Dreaming in French

barbara — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

On the surface, Dreaming in French sounds like the type of book I would love. It’s about a strong-willed girl named Charlotte growing up in Paris during the 1970s until she and her mother are forced to move to New York. I love anything about Paris, especially during the 1970s with its yé-yé girl singers that ruled the charts, inventive fashion, and sexual freedom. I also love reading about New York during that time period, when a lot of powerful, creative music and art were coming to light.

Sadly, the book is not really about Paris or New York, but about a spoiled, pretentious girl and her equally spoiled, pretentious mother, Astrid. A teenage Charlotte can be forgiven for her self-absorption, but as we watch her grow up, she only becomes more selfish. Astrid is even more selfish than her daughter, breaking the family apart when she has an affair with a Polish dissident and, in a Kafkaesque twist, ends up in jail. Her daughters rally to Astrid’s side, but her faithful husband feels betrayed and will never forgive her. They divorce, and Astrid leaves for New York to start anew. Charlotte, who adores her mother, decides to go with her. Her sister Lea remains in Paris with their father Frank, while his Swedish secretary slowly carries out her plans to marry him.

Charlotte goes from a life of comfort to a life of… slightly less comfort. Her father provides her with some money, and she attends a private school after she and Astrid check out the local high school and find “a group of black girls…tough urban girls with knowing eyes.” This is but one of several racist statements McAndrew makes throughout the novel.

It is hard to sympathize with Charlotte’s troubles when it seems that she has everything going for her: she is thin, white, beautiful, extremely intelligent, and wealthy. She is aware of her privilege but never thinks about it extensively, providing the perfect example of how acknowledging privilege is not the same as understanding it. Rather than use her privilege to try and change the world or examine questions of inequality, Charlotte seems to take pride in how spoiled she is.

Charlotte reminded me a lot of Rory Gilmore from the TV show Gilmore Girls because she is also smart, pretty, and white, except that Rory is humble and likable, whereas Charlotte is not. No doubt due to her pedigree and upbringing, Charlotte gets into Yale, and busies herself studying post-structuralist feminism. At Yale she has a disturbing relationship with a man named Azher, who attempts to enter her almost brutally. Their forceful, violent sex and bordering-on-abusive relationship is treated with the same detached superficiality of everything else in the novel. McAndrew handles cancer, eating disorders, cross-cultural interactions, AIDS, and political uprisings with the aloof tone of one talking about the weather.

Eventually Charlotte comes into her own working for Glamour magazine and the reader is supposed to be happy for her, but Charlotte is still more of a petulant child than amiable heroine. McAndrew’s tendency to rely on clichés only exacerbates the situation. By the end of the novel Charlotte has discovered that she holds the key to her own happiness, her father has remarried a sweet widow who is also the mother of Charlotte’s childhood best friend, and her sister Lea is literally living happily ever after in a castle with her husband who’s a legitimate Prince. It’s all the stuff of an airplane book, and not a particularly good one at that.

The world really does not need another book about a privileged young woman trying to find herself through shopping and sex with men she doesn’t love. To this type of ridiculous, pointless novel, I say j’en ai marre—I’ve had enough.

Written by: Arielle Burgdorf, March 11th 2011

Orgasm Inc.

barbara — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Directed by Liz Canner

Chicken & Egg Pictures

The orgasm. Feminists laud it, good lovers work hard to give it, pharmaceutical companies make it a business model. The inability to experience an orgasm is thought to be as devastating as the inability to delight in the joy of wine, sunrise, spring flowers, and other wonderment. But this is hardly an overstatement. Last week in London, I had the sheer privilege of attending a hugely popular talk by a doyenne of second wave feminism, Shere Hite. Her most well-known publication, The Hite Report, was a groundbreaking feminist version of the Kinsey report, a comprehensive study on female sexuality in '70s America that overturned all taboos of its day.

Hite contends that the traditional model of sexual intercourse privileges male pleasure and disregards any sense of pleasuring women to the point of orgasm. Not climaxing is tantamount to self-abnegating one self's right to wholeness, and women have long been denying their selfhood by committing to the patriarchal rituals of sex, argues Hite. She does have a point of course about the significance of pleasure, but her assertion that the “lack of sexual satisfaction is another sign of oppression of women” poses serious implications on how women must rethink sex. Woe betide the women who feel inadequate when they have difficulty getting sexually aroused, much less with orgasm during intercourse.

And so the many women who were once frustrated, frigid and unfulfilled are now medically certified as casualties of a new epidemic—female sexual dysfunction (FSD). But in a pill-popping culture such as the U.S., help is at hand and pharmaceutical companies are quick to exploit cultural expectations and women's most intimate insecurities. In Orgasm Inc., by first-time documentary film-maker Liz Canner, we are treated to the dizzying unravelling of pharmaceutical businesses devoted to the “female Viagra” and its role in creating, as it were, female sexual dysfunction (FSD). Canner is initiated into the shams and often shambolic world of drug companies through an invitation to edit an erotic video used during a clinical trial conducted by Vivus, a company dedicated to developing a cream for sexual arousal.

But when Canner delves deeper into Vivus's business plan, some things are amiss. Women on both active drug and placebo appear to be equally aroused when subjected to erotic videos, but Vivus goes ahead anyway pushing to get themselves on the market. Not that Vivus's drug was initially designed to treat male impotence really mattered, as the researchers placed their bets on a hunch that it can turn women on as well. It appears that the business of discovering a cure for the purported female sexual dysfunction is masculinist and penis-centred at best, one that is isolated as a problem related to the sexual organ and a matter of hormonal imbalance. There is little reference to how women get on with their partners in the bedroom, the happiness or lack of it in relationships, history of abuse, and lack of self-esteem. Furthermore, cultural expectations which are mistaken as "universal" sexual norms prescribe that sex without orgasm is a sign of abnormality.

Canner interviews other pharmaceutical companies that have also been founded on dubious science and run by “research” consultants who aren't able to explain in definitive terms what FSD is and react as if they are assailed by trick questions. When promoted by drug company-backed doctors and scientists who frame sexual inadequacies in often obtuse and intimidating language, lay persons beset with perceived medical disorders are like putty in their hands. The stage is thus set for a no-nonsense competition—a race—to win FDA approval and multiple million-dollar glory.

Soon companies dropped one-by-one off the race like flies due to unconvincing science, including a strong contender, Intrinsa, a trans-dermal testosterone patch. It did not, however, stop Instrinsa from being sold in the European Union. Fallacies poised to eternally discredit FSD notwithstanding, very few could stand in the way of the monstrously indomitable spirit of pharmaceutical companies. Like Hite's grand manifesto, much of drug research posit that desire and pleasure are like a switch within an autonomous body. I raised my hand to ask Dr. Hite about women who were unable to experience orgasm yet live happy and fulfilled lives, to which she struggled to offer a coherent answer other than there are no two ways about how important sexual satisfaction through an orgasm is.

Suffice to say, I felt equally dejected by her response and the outcome in Canner's thought-provoking film as the mystery of female sexuality is thrown further into abyss. How helpful is the medicalisation of perfect sexuality when desire, pleasure, and fantasy are made to fit a disease model, a model designed to reinforce crude normal/abnormal typologies? Yet we are besotted by medical science but unaware of its cultural and moral underpinnings that are adept at demonising “bad” bodies. Canner's film peels away much of the objectivity purported by pharmaceutical science, sexology, and medicine, and invites us to reassess the social values of health and happiness in radically new ways.

Written by: Alicia Izharuddin, March 9th 2011

Sexual Outlaw, Erotic Mystic: The Essential Ida Craddock

tina — Sun, 06 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Vere Chappell

Red Wheel/Weiser

One of the best things about reviewing books is the exposure I get to the fabulous females in feminist history who would otherwise be consigned to the cobwebby corners of academic obscurity had some enterprising writer not plucked them from the depths and held them up for the delight of feminist history nerds. This was what I experienced with Sexual Outlaw, Erotic Mystic, which is part biography and part collected works of Ida Craddock. The editor and biographer intersperses five (long) chapters of Craddock's own writings with well-written biographical detail explaining Craddock's often puzzling rhetoric.

Ida C. Craddock was a writer and teacher and at the age of twenty-five, she challenged the status quo by being the first woman to apply for admission to the University of Pennsylvania. She passed the entrance exam and was recommended for admission, but the board of trustees quickly passed a resolution barring women from attending the school. Her career as a teacher would be limited as a result of this setback. She spent the next several years traveling, teaching stenography, and studying spirituality, until 1893 when the Chicago World's Fair opened. The belly dancers imported from the Middle East scandalized America—and Anthony Comstock in particular. Comstock was a powerful proponent of “blue laws” (laws created to enforce strict moral and religious standards of behavior) and the self-appointed postal inspector. Craddock took advantage of the scandal by writing an editorial in the New York World defending the dancers and poking gentle fun at Comstock. It's what she said at the end of the piece; however, that caught the attention of the world: Craddock claimed she had a “spirit husband” named Soph, with whom she had sex nightly.

Craddock’s editorial and claims of spirit-world sexual relations aside, she made a powerful enemy of Comstock by publishing and distributing “sex manuals.” Craddock, though an ardent freethinker, was not a proponent of sex outside of marriage and her sex manuals were intended for married couples only, but this was not good enough for Comstock (or Ida's mother). Both sought to have her institutionalized and jailed. Avoiding the asylum but not an arrest, Craddock refused to plead insanity and was sentenced to five years in prison for distribution of obscene material. Viewing this as a life sentence (she was forty-five years old then), Craddock penned a lengthy suicide note condemning Comstock and the society that judged her and then killed herself. Comstock, for his part, merely added Ida's name to the list of fifteen persons whom he proudly claimed he had driven to suicide.

Craddock's personal writings read as completely lucid, intelligent, and intense; they are not the scribblings of a deranged mind. Whether her “spirit husband” was a hallucination, a tale to prod her enemies, or (who knows?) a real experience, is anyone's guess. Her work was important to feminism, spiritualism, religion, history, philosophy, freethinking, and social reform, and her name deserves to be better known. I'm personally not a religious/spiritual person, but I loved Ida's utter outrageousness in her public claims of “spirit sex” and her audacity in flouting convention in her writings and speech. Her pieces are long-winded and full of references to obscure academia, but they are entirely absorbing. Craddock was clearly a learned woman with plenty to say. I think her suicide note, the last piece of writing she left the world, is my favorite. It's a nice “you can't fire me—I quit” and a scathing indictment of Comstock as well. Read Sexual Outlaw, Erotic Mystic so more people will know of Ida Craddock, and not just the warped ideas of Anthony Comstock.

Written by: Natalie Ballard, March 6th 2011

Best Lesbian Erotica 2011

gwen — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Edited by Kathleen Warnock

Cleis Press

As the title indicates, Best Lesbian Erotica 2011 is a compilation of short erotic fiction from a variety of authors, both established and obscure. What the title fails to express is that this is not just yet another compilation of middle-of-the-road lesbian erotica. This edition, unlike others before it, centers on lesbian outsiders, the ones whose radical gender bending and subversive sexuality sometimes makes the rest of us just a little bit squeamish.

The history of lesbian feminism has been filled, unfortunately, with a bit too much self-righteous policing of lesbian gender expression and sexuality, a sometimes defensive response to the pressure we feel to reject heteronormativity while being just enough like the heterosexuals to be “acceptable.” Of course, many a put-upon femme can tell you of the pressures to be identifiably lesbian and very much “unacceptable.” While I am quite the middle-of-the-road, vanilla sort of lesbian, I think it’s about damned time, really, that we lesbian feminists get over ourselves and embrace how very diverse we Sapphic types can be and how very different our community is from the heterosexual majority.

For me, reading Best Lesbian Erotica 2011 was most definitively a “getting over myself” moment. Some of the stories fit right in to what I consider erotic, mainly because I could identify myself or, at least, my type, in the characters. Most were foreign to me. The characters and settings were recognizable enough in type. I have, after all, been a member of the lesbian community for nearly two decades now. But what distance there is between having observed and having experienced! Reading stories written from the perspective of those who blur the lines between genders and push the boundaries of human sexuality put my own gender identity and sexuality in a strange sort of perspective. It was, admittedly, a bit discomfiting at times but overall, rather enjoyable.

Ultimately, while most of the stories in the compilation are well written and structured and quite creative, I think that whether a reader enjoys them will depend a great deal on what she brings to the reading. For the lesbian outsider often excluded from such compilations, this one will surely be a welcome opportunity to find her fantasies expressed and her identity reflected in a way that is too seldom encountered in mainstream lesbian fiction. The insiders will be taking a journey in a strange land with the occasional rest stop in familiar territory. An open mind will be as vital on this expedition as a good map.

Written by: Melinda Barton, February 28th 2011

XVI

mandy — Thu, 10 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Julia Karr

Speak

XVI is not a feminist novel.

I’m opening my review with this caveat because, as someone who owns a dog-eared copy of The Feminine Mystique, whose heroes are Margaret Atwood and Ursula Le Guin, and who has, at times, stopped shaving her armpits (sometimes one just can’t be bothered), accounts of feminist content in Julia Karr’s debut were definitely a selling point for me.

The premise of XVI initially make it sound as if it has feminist potential. In the near-future, girls are allowed to have sex on their sixteenth birthdays; at this time, they’re tattooed with the roman numerals “XVI” on their wrists to advertise their sexual availability. In public, they’re sexually harassed, raped, and assaulted, but in private, lower class women are expected to maintain their purity so that they might be elected to serve as female companions to high ranking men on colonies out in space, a career move that their government promises will elevate their families above their impoverished origins.

Although this is, undeniably, a discussion of the dual pressures that young girls face in our society both to be sexual and remain pure, the ultimate conclusions of XVI seems to be little more than tut-tutting about the sluttiness of teens. And therein lies the problem with this sort of narrative—too much of a focus on the evils of sexuality; the animalistic, uncontrollable urges of men; and the goodness of girls who choose to abstain—particularly when it’s aimed at teens. Readers are left with something that’s no better than a fifties morality tale where our intrepid heroine ends up pregnant, destitute, or dead—all because she chooses to have sex. In this way, XVI sets up a false dichotomy for girls: “defend” your virginity, and have depth, and don’t die (or have lighter fluid poured on your face, and be set on fire), or be a shallow, mindless “sex-teen” who wears revealing clothing, enjoys flirting, and ultimately bites it in the end.

The only hint at complexity here is during a scene where the main character, Nina, realizes that—oh, my my!—she might actually enjoy having sex. I had hopes that this would lead to some discussion of healthy and safe ways for teens to explore their sexuality, but instead, she’s relieved of the possible burden of doing it when Sal tells her that he doesn’t want her to be a “sex-teen” either. Phew! All this would be fine, except there’s no hint of the real, myriad joys of sex, or how a teenager can keep herself safe while exploring her sexuality in this world. (Any way I can get an old copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves packaged with this book? I feel like we’ve fallen so far since the nineteen seventies.)

So, no, XVI is not a feminist book. But it did have something going for it: the characters. Nina and her friends were, without exception, well-rendered and interesting. More, they were incredibly true-to-life. Even Sandy, Nina’s sex-teen friend with whom she has a somewhat combative relationship, was sympathetic; their complicated friendship reminded me of fading friendships I shared with other girls as a teenager. And Nina has two male friends—Mike and Derek—real, platonic friends who act like real, messy boys. I can’t recall any YA novel I’ve read lately that’s done guy friends nearly so well.

Karr has significant room to grow on a prose and pacing level. But her approach to teenagers is still excellent, despite my feminist reservations about her chosen themes. There’s promise here, undeniably—even though XVI was sort of a hammy, poorly-conceived outing, I’ll be keeping an eye out for Karr’s future works.

Read the full review at Phoebe's personal blog

Written by: Phoebe North, February 10th 2011

Jealousy: The Other Life of Catherine M.

alicia — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Catherine Millet

Grove Press

I am at a loss as to how to review Jealousy: The Other Life of Catherine M. I suppose that’s not a very good way to write a review, but it’s the truth. After reading this memoir, I feel as though I know nothing about the author Catherine, her partner Jacques, or any of the nameless lovers that passed through both of their lives.

Catherine Millet is an art critic, and, in her words, a libertine. Her first memoir, The Sexual Life of Catherine M., was the story of her life told through the numerous sexual encounters she has had. She participated in outdoor sex, orgies, and same sex encounters, among others. In Jealousy, Catherine let us into the love side of her life. “I had love at home. I sought only pleasure in the world outside.” When she discovers her partner Jacques has had numerous affairs, she is devastated. She obsesses over his affairs, trying to figure out when they occurred, with whom and who knew.

Yet, her narrative voice is disconcerting. In The Sexual Life of Catherine M., the detached voice Millet writes with was a fascinating way to present such lusty endeavors. In Jealousy, that detachment becomes a wall between the author and her audience. It began to feel less like a narrative decision and more like Millet is detached from herself. When she casually mentions that her previous partner beat her, but “I never saw any anger in his face,” it is legitimately hard to judge how to take that information. Her descriptions of how she dealt with Jacques’ betrayal are similarly detached. “Discovering the name to match the initial, putting a face to it, piecing together a set of circumstances and a precise place, based on a given date. And above all, translating two or three words used by Jacques into a whole dialogue, with gestures and speech, between him and the figure I had created, with more or less accuracy.” She channels all of her angry, jealousy, and rage into sexual fantasies that both humiliate and empower her.

She admits that Jacques was not happy at her sexual life when they met, and that they had never discussed the boundaries in their relationship. She never connects his actions with her own. Because Jacques is so enigmatic, her reaction seems much more like an overreaction. He is so far removed that he is more of a concept than a person. The memoir needed him as much as her, and without him, it feels imbalanced.

I do not know whether to tell you to read the book or not. If you enjoyed The Sexual Life of Catherine M., Jealousy may be the perfect complement to it. If you did not like Sexual Life, you will not like Jealousy. Also, if you haven’t read Sexual Life, then this is not the book for you.

Written by: Taylor Rhodes, January 13th 2011

Girl Crush: Women's Erotic Fantasies

tina — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Edited by R. Gay

Cleis Press

Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to like Girl Crush. I wasn’t expecting well written girl-on-girl erotica. I wasn’t expecting to have my breath taken away.

My first crush was Elizabeth; she was my assigned seventh grade science lab partner. She was so beautiful that I was embarrassed to sit by her. I spent the whole semester in awe, watching her when she wasn’t looking, trying to talk to her, longing to touch her. I was smitten. I dreamed about being her friend, holding her hand, going to sleepovers together, and kissing her. I wanted to be just like her: beautiful, mysterious, alluring, and anything else she wanted me to be. She was the one constant in my sexual awakening; the girl I always had a crush on and the more I learned about what I wanted, the more I wanted her.

I never expected to see those feelings in print, but the stories in Girl Crush capture that extraordinary mix of longing and awe that comprise a crush on a girl. These writers know exactly what it is to be consumed by desire, to be overtaken by lust and envy. The characters experience the held breath, the tentative gesture, the sidelong glances, the profound hope that somehow, you will get to see this girl naked. These stories do not disappoint; the girls do get naked. The sex is wonderfully explicit and the details show that this is not just about sex, it’s about wish fulfillment. The hottest dreams made real, getting to do what you’d only imagined.

If you’ve ever had a girl crush, these stories will grab you and not let you go until you’ve turned the last page. Whether you’ve wanted a friend, a colleague, or a customer, this collection has a story for everyone. It’s a sexy reader for those still lusting from afar and a wash of memory for those lucky enough to have had their dreams come to fruition. If you’re like me, you’ll close the book just long enough to reopen it at the beginning.

As for Elizabeth, no, I never got to kiss her. We keep in touch and twenty-five years later, I’m still hoping to see her naked.

Written by: Melissa Ruiz, December 28th 2010

Fast Girls: Erotica for Women

tina — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Cleis Press

Fast. The word itself is a contradiction. By definition, fast can mean unrestrained and held tight; reckless and secure; promiscuous and faithful. A fast girl can be one way and then another or often both at once. A fast girl can be wild, even when caught in the firmest of knots.

In Fast Girls, fast means quick thinking and quicker action. Fast girls see what they want and take it, cleverly making the most of circumstances around them. Fast girls crave attention, thrive in the spotlight, and live in the moment. A fast girl goes all the way, every time, and loves it. A fast girl makes her own choices and loves to defy expectation. Taking her pleasure as she chooses, a fast girl follows no rules of conduct.

The women here are connected by their willingness to experience life as it comes, taking chances and being handsomely rewarded for their bravado. These stories cut directly to the action, focusing on the sex rather than on preliminaries. From quiet arousal to public masturbation, sex in a communal shower to exploration of marital roles, this collection has something for everyone. Many stories explore the darker side of erotica, as women find their pleasure in pain, submission, and public displays of need and desire.

Orgasm is a given in each of these stories; each woman knows what she needs to reach it and she will not be denied. Explicitly detailed, you are privy to each woman’s thoughts, her reactions to every touch, lick, slap. With a lover, stranger, or customer, the woman’s body is the focus and her pleasure the priority.

Fast Girls is a celebration of sexual liberation, where women single-mindedly follow their desires. They have girl on girl sex, sex with boys and sex in groups. They have sex where, when, and with whom they want, without offering any apology. If you are looking for explicit, edgy erotica, dive in anywhere. These girls like it fast.

Written by: Melissa Ruiz, December 15th 2010

Cuntastic

andrea — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Laurel Ripple Carpenter

With the popularization of blogs and personal websites in the past decade, there has been a sharp decline in the zine phenomena. I have longed for the days when the magazine rack at independent bookstores was lined with photocopied feminist zines, daring to say the things mainstream magazines cannot. Thankfully, there are still some zinesters willing to invest the time and money needed to undertake the taxing task of putting out a zine. Radical doula Laurel Ripple Carpenter is one of these few remaining idealists (however, a blog version of her zine does exist at blog.cuntastic.org).

As the name would imply, Cuntastic deals with “all things cunt,” meaning anything related to reproductive health, pregnancy, sexuality, etc. As Carpenter is both a doula and a mother, the zine has a large focus on pregnancy and children. The premiere issue, focusing on pregnancy and placentas, delved into multiple women’s experiences of being pregnant, including Carpenter herself. Carpenter shares her own pregnancy journal, giving an honest account of the concerns, fears, and elation a new mother faces. Another new mommy also gives an account of using a midwife assisted birth as opposed to a hospital birth, noting her reasoning behind her preference. As someone who has never been pregnant, or contemplated pregnancy, it was fascinating to read multiple graphic descriptions of the experience of being pregnant and giving birth. The zine also deals with the squeamish issue of new mothers taking placenta pills or eating their placenta, offering instructions both for tablets as well as meals meant to complement the inclusion of placentas.

The second issue, the menstruation issue, deals with women’s’ experiences with their menstrual cycle and alternative menstrual products like cups (i.e The Keeper) and sea sponges. The zine explores menstrual related traditions such as “menarche parties” for girls who receive their first periods. (There is also a humorous story from a male writer on his first time having sex with woman during her menstrual cycle.)

The third issue, the radical parenting issue, deals with feminists (and other left wing folk) becoming parents. The issue asks such key questions as how to not gender condition a child, how to go without disposable diapers, and generally how to raise a child while sticking to your ideals. It is fascinating to see the issue of motherhood explored by feminists as this was often a murky issue for the movement in the past. It is inspiring to hear about women using their feminist ideologies to raise their children. Within the issue, Carpenter also details her experience going into labor while at a DNC protest.

Overall, Carpenter has created a compelling and likable feminist zine with Cuntastic, in which she answers such questions commonly discussed by feminists (menstruation) and questions that need further exploration (motherhood and pregnancy.) I hope to see future issues of Cuntastic soon and hear more about Carpenter and her new life as a feminist mother.

Written by: Adrienne Urbanski, December 12th 2010

Feminaissance

barbara — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Edited by Christine Wertheim

Les Figures Press

French theorist Hélène Cixous first coined the term ècriture feminine in her 1975 essay “Laugh of the Medusa,” in which she wrote “Woman must write her self: must write about women and bring women to writing, from which they have been driven away as violently as from their bodies.” Within the essay, Cixous posited that women write their gender into their writing, that gender is embedded in the language women use.

Écriture feminine is the focus of the anthology Feminaissance, which began as a Cal Arts conference held in 2007 on the topics of feminism and women in writing. One of the key questions that arose at this conference was the concept of ècriture feminine, and whether there were in fact specifically feminine forms of text. The ideas expressed at this conference later lead to the creation of this rich anthology, in which multiple women explore the concept of feminine writing and gender in language through a myriad of methods. All of the pieces of the anthology are laid out on the page in halves and thirds, so that each page shows a discussion of the topic from many voices.

The responses vary vastly, with some women exploring theory, some women exploring concepts of what it means to be a woman, and some women writing fiction and memoir related to gender and sexuality. As a whole the book presents a compelling and thought-provoking discussion on the concept of feminine language and what it means to be female within today’s society.

Among the most compelling pieces within the anthology is Dodie Bellamy’s short story “Sexspace.” Bellamy explores the connections between language and gender and sexuality by depicting characters that enter into an Internet-like world in which sexuality is expressed through energy and language, rather than merely imprisoned within our physical bodies. The protagonist’s femaleness then becomes something that transcends her body, and is rooted instead within her language and energy. In a day and age where much of the communication around sexuality now happens online or via text message, this concept seems highly relevant. Eileen Myles then depicts the reverse within her work “Tapestry,” in which she explores women whose sense of self and sexuality is linked to their bodies; the protagonist then remembers her own female lovers by describing their breasts and vaginas in detail, linking them to their physicality and sexuality. In “Continuity” Chris Kraus laments on the state of female writing, declaring that such writing has a “pervasive schizophrenia” as the identity of women within society is constantly in flux.

As a graduate student in English reading the writing of Helene Cixous and Luce Irigay, ècriture feminine often felt a bit disconnected from real life, mired down in academic purposes. Feminaissance makes the ideas behind ècriture feminine far more accessible by applying and exploring Cixous’ ideas within the context of real life. Much like Inga Muscio’s groundbreaking book Cunt, Feminaissance succeeds in its ability to take feminist theory and apply it both to artistic expression and real life experience, making feminism feel more relevant and accessible.

Written by: Adrienne Urbanski, December 8th 2010

Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

gita — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Kathleen Warnock

Cleis Press

The photo on this anthology’s cover, of two near identical women in rapturous embrace serves to convey the collection’s reoccurring theme: sex with one’s doppelganger. While the majority of stories in this collection do not adhere to this theme, two of the most unusual tales in this collection do. As one would assume, the stories within this collection often veer outside of the clichéd, cookie-cutter lesbian erotica setups. While many of the traditional ingredients are here, this anthology manages to put them together in new ways, offering a bit of variance for those familiar with the typical erotica set up who are perhaps looking for some new spins. We can thank the selectors of the stories, the musical group Betty (most recently of The L Word fame), for choosing works that stray off of the usual path.

While there are many tales that adhere to the butch/femme setup, the outcome differs in many of the tales with femmes being the dominant party (oddly, the butch/femme tales are also almost exclusively told from the butch’s point of view.) Among the most stimulating and heartfelt of the stories including the butch/femme dynamic, is “Bloodties,” by Alex Tucci in which a young butch finds relief from her grief at a funeral by having a steamy sex session with her second cousin in a church bathroom. Tucci delivers stimulating sexual description while combining genuine plot and character development—attributes not always found in steamy erotica. In “Shameless,” writers Kymberlyn Reed and Anais Morten surprisingly include heterosexual men in their tale. However the two lesbian characters do not engage in heterosexual sex with the two men. Instead, they are allowed to drool over the two while they engage in sex. Later on, the lesbian couple uses their strap-ons on the two men, convincing them into such a position by offering it as their only means of sexual release. This creative setup offers an interesting spin on the heterosexual male fetishization of lesbian sex.

Among the collection’s most unique tales are the two that adhere to the cover’s theme, tales that I did not find to be sexually arousing, but instead intellectually stimulating. In “Self-Reflection,” by Tobi Hill-Meyer, a female to male pre-op transsexual runs into her time traveling post-op self and gives new meaning to the phrase “having sex with yourself.” My favorite, and the most literary tale in the collection, is “Uppercasing,” by Charlie Anders. It tells the story of a near identity-less girl who travels to San Francisco to find herself. Instead, she finds an arrogant artist, with the same name who proceeds to transform her into her double. The strange sexual situations that unfold between the two are undercut with such statements as: “I’ve always wanted to see the look in my own face when someone fists me…And now I can.”

While the sex that occurs between the two serves to only be the stuff of humiliation and rampant narcissism, the tale offers an interesting lament on the concepts of identity and ego. I was unsure as to why this story was in an erotica collection, but I found its strange theme to be one that stayed with me weeks after I finished reading the collection, and finding well crafted writing amidst a book of erotica was a pleasant surprise.

Overall, this collection succeeds in offering up unusual and eclectic tales that are a nice diversion from the standard erotica that gets dull much too quickly. While the unusual tales may be too far out to be stimulating for some, there is most likely at least one story to get your motor racing.

Written by: Adrienne Urbanski, November 23rd 2010

Erotic Revolutionaries: Black Women, Sexuality, and Popular Culture

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

By Shayne Lee

Hamilton Books

Shayne Lee, an Associate Professor of Sociology and African Diaspora Studies at Tulane University, sets out to make feminism more “chic” and release black women from the shackles of respectability in his latest book Erotic Revolutionaries: Black Women, Sexuality, and Popular Culture. To accomplish these goals, Lee applies a combination of scripting theory and third-wave feminism to numerous women in popular culture whom he sees as models of empowerment, thus diversifying black sexual politics, which he sees as too focused on women’s sexual victimization and objectification.

The introduction presents a clear foundation by providing the reader with background information regarding past and current scholarship in black female sexuality, establishing the methodology for his study, and outlining the overall trajectory for the book. Then, Lee jumps in with a quick rundown of sexuality’s social construction before treating his readers to a succession of eight relatively short chapters, each offering snappy observations of “erotic revolutionaries” from such popular culture arenas as music, sports, comedy, talk shows, and books. A few of these revolutionaries include Beyonce, Serena Williams, Wanda Sykes, Tyra Banks, Karrine Steffans, Mo’Nique, Laila Ali, Zane, and Sheryl Swoopes. Clearly, a strength of Lee’s analysis is the shear variety of women he includes in the study as well as the fact that his focus is not exclusively heterosexual.

However, while I appreciate the breadth of Lee’s scope and number of textual examples, I couldn’t help but want a more nuanced, complex analysis of them. Too often Lee’s discussion of books, songs, videos, images, etc. read more like a review than a careful examination anchored in precise features.

As Lee asserts, such cultural studies are vital contributions to the scholarship of black female sexuality because they are sorely lacking, and a more complex vision of what it means to be an empowered woman who enjoys a healthy and active sex life is needed. For that reason, this book is a notable contribution to the field. Yet, for me, there is a fundamental flaw in Lee’s project. He claims that “flipping the sexual script” ushers in a new discourse of black female sexual expression and in some ways, he’s correct. Women having and talking about sex “like a man” graphically exposes the sexual double standard and denaturalizes conventional gender roles as they relate to sexual practice and expression. This certainly offers women a wider range of roles to play and provides them with venues in which to practice more sexual agency.

That being said, the script seems to essentially remain the same. Sure, the actors performing the script are exchanged, but they are reciting identical lines. So, while “flipping the script” permits black women a greater range of sexual expression and certainly challenges the politics of respectability, I’m left wondering if it’s truly revolutionary. For instance, Lee praises Carmen Bryan’s memoir It’s No Secret because its “vivid descriptions of the physical anatomy and sexual habits of powerful famous men expose how memoirs embolden women with the rare opportunity to objectify men.” This is just one of many such instances where Lee praises men’s objectification. In another example, Lee praises Zane’s novels featuring the secret sorority Alpha Phi Fuckem (APF), whose members treat “men like disposable resources or ‘cum daddies.’”

I, for one, would like to see more representations of female sexuality that don’t walk within the well-established footprints of conventional male sexual expression and don’t rely on using men as a means to an end rather than as equitable partners of pleasure. That said, I’m heartened that the conversation about an empowered and active black female sexual landscape has begin in earnest with Lee’s book, but I am also left wondering: what does an empowered female sexuality look like that doesn’t repeat the vision of sexual agency assigned to men? Give me an expression of female sexuality that is not predicated on acting “like a man” and that would be truly revolutionary.

Written by: Dr. Jennifer A. Smith, November 22nd 2010

Lesbian Lust: Erotic Stories

payal — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Edited by Sacchi Green

Cleis Press

The stories featured in Sacchi Green’s edited collection of lesbian erotica are intensely sexual. As the name of the volume, Lesbian Lust, implies, each of the stories focus on the deep sensual and sexual desires of the characters featured in them. The narratives are varied in their settings, characterizations, and kinds of sex offered for the reader’s (and their companions’) interest. As Green writes in her introduction to the volume, “Variety is also the spice of lust.”

Many of the stories are not for the faint of heart; there are few typically “vanilla” sex acts and story lines included in Lesbian Lust. This said, the volume presents a wonderfully wide-ranging assortment of active, desiring lesbian subjects who are in charge of their own sexuality, whether they play out their own fantasies or submit at their own will to the desires of their partner(s). The stories are kink-friendly and as one might imagine of a collection written by and for lesbians, sex- and woman-positive. Overall, this was my favorite aspect of the collection of stories. Even if any one story didn’t fall within my own particular set of turn-ons, I appreciated reading the entire group of stories for their collective interest in portraying lesbians in powerful positions, engaging one another in both playful and serious emotional, psychological, and/or physical situations.

Perhaps my favorite story of the collection, “The Office Grind” by R.G. Emanuelle, brings sex to the boardroom as Casey secretly tends to Nina, company Vice President, while Nina participates in a business meeting with her pompous and oblivious male co-workers. The story is simultaneously sexy and funny, and makes the introduction of cunnilingus to the workday seem a brilliant idea to chase away the staid boredom all too typical of a desk job, especially for a female executive who is used to being treated as a second-class citizen both by her boss and her subordinates. “The Office Grind” turns on its head the conventional voyeuristic tale of men getting off on watching lesbians having sex, emphasizing Nina’s business and sexual power in the face of her ignorant co-workers. Using wordplay to drive the story home, “The Office Grind” brings a whole new meaning to the terms “powerpoint” and “working lunch.”

I highly recommend this story, and the Lesbian Lust collection as a whole to the reader looking for multi-layered tales of sex, romance, and power in all sorts of lesbian relationships.

Written by: Stefanie Snider, November 18th 2010

O Fallen Angel

payal — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Kate Zambreno

Chiasmus Press

Mommy, Maggie and Malachi may be the first to give Mrs. Dalloway a real run for her money. In O Fallen Angel Kate Zambreno deconstructs stream of consciousness and successfully reworks it for the twenty-first century. The inner most thoughts of Mommy, a homemaker in Juicy pants with more than a feminine mystique; her adult daughter Maggie, the product of nature and nurture with a penchant for penis and depression; and Malachi, a mysterious prophet of sorts, are interwoven into a story less about the inner workings of a family and more about commenting on everything from therapy to grandparenting.

Each character’s interspersed sections has its own consistent rhythm and structure, which is how the book garners its real power. Mommy with her nearly constant declarations and commands! Maggie with her brooding staccato blocks. Malachi with his poetry and delusions. Their thoughts run on parallel tracks with very little intersection, yet the book feels completely cohesive. Zambreno defers to her characters to tell their own stories while using the third person throughout. This is no easy feat, and she seamlessly pulls it off.

What Zambreno fails to do is hide her blatantly feminist stance. The themes of gender, sex and relationships are everywhere. We see a relatively mainstream feminist perspective peeking through. We know what messages Zambreno wants the reader to leave with—reproductive justice, failures of gender norms, etc. Only Maggie really pushes these ideological boundaries with her fantasizing about men loving her, and when that reality fails, taking advantage of her, and when that fails loving her again. But the issue is not her ever-lost love but her perception of it. Maggie really plays in the grey areas of empowerment and sexual freedom and promiscuity, pushing the reader to question their own views.

In comparison, Mommy embodies the prototypical vices of the fifties housewife, loneliness cloaked in exuberance. She spends most of her days thinking of how good she is to her husband, making him sandwiches with extra mayo just the way he likes them. She seems to stand in for all that the second wave was fighting against.

Malachi would be the comic relief to all of this theory if any of what he had to say was comic or a relief. Instead his doomsday poetry, possibly the nearest thing to truth in Zambreno’s eyes, comes from the only man featured, throwing yet another wrench in the feminist mix. Is Mommy’s black and white and Maggie’s grey area just eking for the space of something greater beyond gender—like humanism? I’ll let you be the judge.

Written by: Nicole Levitz, October 3rd 2010

In the Next Room or The Vibrator Play (8/29/2010)

annette — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company

Washington, D.C.

“Please turn off anything that beeps, buzzes, or vibrates.” And with that comic admonishment to the audience, Pulitzer Prize-nominated writer Sarah Ruhl’s play about the advent of vibrators began.

The setting is Dr. Givings home, where his living room is located next to, and within earshot of, the “surgical theater.” Here, Dr. Givings (played by Eric Hissom) treats hysteria, a “medical ailment” dating back to about 300 BC, when Hippocrates thought women’s madness stemmed from their womb. Meanwhile, back on stage, the good doctor’s wife (Katie deBuys) wonders why patients come in with symptoms of anxiety and leave, only anxious to come back again—and soon.

Above the noise of “oh-ooh-oooh,” Dr. Givings himself groans about the bygone days of manual stimulation: “It was like a child’s game–trying to rub the head and the stomache at the same time.” Why, the procedure could take up to an hour! With the electric massager, “paroxyms” can be had within three to five minutes time and, if they don’t, um, come, Dr. Givings hands the tedious task over to his competent assistant Annie (played by Sarah Marshall).

While patients such as Mrs. Daldry (Kimberly Gilbert) and a male patient named Leo Irving (Cody Nickell) make it clear their emotional needs are not being met–Mrs. Daldry cannot have children and Mr. Irving cannot find the passionate love that his creative soul desires—the doctor steadfastly believes their symptoms can be treated with the latest technology of the day, the electromechanical vibrator for her and the anal dialater for him.

So the new device makes patients happier—so happy that Mrs. Givings breaks into the room and tries it out herself for her own hysteria–feeling unfulfilled in her marriage and inadequate in nourishing her newborn—but, alas it’s not fixing the problems.

Aside from having unmet emotional needs, women’s sexuality is still not recognized and even feared, as the men highlight in their joke about a friend that thought women looked like marble statues you see in a museum—and then ran like a mad man from his wife when he saw she had beastly hair “down there.” Only the wet nurse Elizabeth (played by Jessica Frances Dukes) hired to feed Dr. and Mrs. Givings’ baby, understands the connection between the vibrator and sexual pleasure. Otherwise, the technological wonder is thought to produce a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure. So confusing it brings them back daily to figure out if they like it or not!

Behavior like this and many other comedic opportunities make director Aaron Posner’s In the Next Room a humorous, but not insensitively so, play about the history behind the medical use of vibrators. It subtly and sometimes not-so-subtly highlights the utter lack of knowledge and understanding of women’s physical bodies, sexual desires, and emotional needs. It beautifully portrays women’s roles, relationships, and subordination to men during Victorian times and reminds us that even today, we still grapple with some of these issues. However, the play about vibrators will make an historical imprint itself—made many years after we laughed about the link between masturbation and mental illness in men-and will stimulate discussion of female sexuality for years to come.

Written by: Joan Dawson, September 22nd 2010