Glamour: Women, History, Feminism

By Carol Dyhouse
Zed Books

The word glamour has lost a lot of its allure and power these days, bandied about by fashion writers who use glamour interchangeably with polished, chic, elegant, and sophisticated. (Hey, I've been guilty of this occasionally!) That was the conclusion I came to after reading Glamour: Women, History, Feminism by Carol Dyhouse, a scholarly and well-researched book by a social historian.

Society's attitude towards glamour has changed depending on the fashions of the time, Dyhouse argues. Although it might be easy to peg glamour as a male-manufactured concept that traps women with rigid concepts of female attractiveness and breeds a vicious consumer cycle, she sees glamour differently. Instead, glamour is a force associated with "women on the make": women who use the trappings of glamour—clothes, cosmetics, furs, feathers, and lavish jewelry—to transcend class and gender barriers and prescribed societal norms, and to escape the drudgery and burdens of everyday life.

To support her arguments, Dyhouse looks at the evolution and vilification of glamour throughout the twentieth century. Screen sirens and Hollywood films popularized it in the 1930s and '40s and inspired working class girls to emulate the styles of their favourite actresses. However, even when glamour was at its peak, conservative societal elements objected to it. Older generations deemed wearing cosmetics immodest. The editor of British Vogue encouraged young girls to sport a "natural English look" instead of the crass painted-on look of American actresses. The upper classes disapproved of working class girls dressing "above their station" in the hopes of attracting suitors who were better off.

Glamour fell out of fashion in later decades. The 1950s saw the rise of Dior's New Look and domestic femininity, which stressed demure, elegant beauty over artifice and excess—more Grace Kelly than Gloria Swanson. The '60s marked the rise of the gamine girl (e.g., Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton, Audrey Hepburn), whose mod clothes and doe-eyed innocence stood in marked contrast to the womanly aura of glamour girls. The emphasis on natural looks in the '70s meant an even more radical departure from glamour. But there were some signs of a resurgence: musicians, Motown acts, and the founding of Cosmopolitan magazine paved the way for the glamazons of the 1980s and the resurgence of full-blown glamour.

I realize I'm being glib in my summary of Glamour, but a short blog post can't do justice to the wealth of detail and research that Dyhouse presents here (with lots of illustrated examples, no less!). A scholarly book can easily slip into joyless perfunctory prose full of -isms and jargon, but she writes with a genuine enthusiasm for her subject. I really enjoyed this glamorous romp through the twentieth century, and hey, if anything, I will never take the word glamour for granted again.

Review by Lisa Wong

Cross-posted at Solo Lisa

UK Feminista Summer School - Amnesty International Human Rights Action Centre: London, England (7/31 - 8/1/2010)

Despite only existing since March 2010 and operating wholly through the work of volunteers, UK Feminista organized "two days of feminist training, explaining, and gaining," a free event on feminist activism in London. Held at Amnesty UK, it was overbooked and a visible ninety-nine percent of the 350 registered attendees came. The most amazing feature of the event was that it provided genuinely fun and interesting talks for activism beginners and veterans alike.

UK Feminista was started by Kat Banyard, the author of The Equality Illusion: The Truth About Men and Women Today, who gave a particularly inspiring speech during the first panel, "The Importance of Feminist Organising."

The enormous strength of the first day of summer school was its focus on practice. The afternoon was split into workshops on different levels of involvement: from how to organize a Ladyfest to running effective campaigns, organizing demonstrations, and planning direct action. All the materials from the workshops will be available at the UK Feminista website in the coming days.

Simultaneously to the events, UK Feminista volunteers were tweeting, providing quote selections and links so well that I didn't feel the need to take many notes. Instead, I have an online record of what was being said under the #femschool hashtag on Twitter. It is a goldmine of news, information, and people!

What struck me about the event, aside from supreme organization, was the enthusiasm of everyone involved, organisers and participants alike. People were chatting away and forming new alliances all the time. There's no better feedback for an event than when people just don't want it to end.

The second day was a lot more opinion- and discussion-based, but great training was still being given. We learned how to use media and influence politicians, how to fundraise and include disabled people in campaigning, the importance of promoting diversity within feminist groups, and why is climate change a feminist issue. The two arguably biggest events of the day, however, were the opening and closing panels. The first was with Jess McCabe of The F-Word, Hannah Pool, and Kira Cochrane. All three talked about their experiences with the media, and all agreed that to be a female journalist takes more effort and more talent, but their examples showed it was possible, and important.

The closing panel, "Feminist Question Time" with Bidisha, Dr. Aisha Gill, Sunder Katwala, Karon Monaghan QC, and Julie Bindel, provoked a lot more controversy. Bindel said there was a lot of terrible anthropological research concerning women in the sex industry, and that they should not be treated as an anthropological field research group; she went so far as to say that if she had one bullet in a gun, it would not go for the pimp, but for the academic who's all into the sex industry. Bindel also said, "we make a lot of excuses for men to the point where we praise them for not being fuckheads," which made everyone laugh, but later someone angrily said that the men in the audience must feel very excluded in the current talk, to which both Bindel and Bidisha reacted heatedly.

Overall I am inclined to say this was the best summer school I ever attended. It was a really inspiring, great opportunity to learn, meet people, and acquire skills and information to proceed with conviction and fury.

Review by Marta Lucy Summer

A longer, more in depth review can be found at Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things

Photo credit: Kirsty McCall-Thornley

Reclaiming the F Word: The New Feminist Movement

By Catherine Redfern and Kristin Aune
Zed Books

What happened to the feminist movement that meant so much to all of us in the 1970s? Is it dead and gone for good? The answer is no, and UK authors Catherine Redfern and Kristin Aune are on a mission to spread the word. “Article after article proclaimed that feminism was dead,” they write, “and stated that young people in particular are uninterested in this once vital movement. This simply didn’t tally with what we had seen through our research and involvement with the feminist community.”

One of the most interesting things that Redfern and Aune do in Reclaiming the F Word is to compare the objectives of the previous movement with the objectives of the current one. According to their research, the demands of the 1970s’ women’s liberation movement were not all that different from our desires today. In chapters devoted to each of the seven issues they deem to be relevant in the past and today, they explore both issues as well as solutions.

For example, “Liberated Bodies” highlights a number of issues, from eating disorders to female genital mutilation to abortion to “jumping off the beauty treadmill.” The “Sexual Freedom and Choice” chapter opens with a discussion of what prevents women from making free choices. This can range from being forced to have sex with her husband to agreeing to an uncomfortable sexual practice in order to maintain a relationship. The authors go on to highlight specific sexual issues that women face today, including sexual double standards, objectification, sex education (or lack thereof), and homophobia. Redfern and Aune also analyze violence against women—including sexual assault, physical abuse, and harassment—and draw attention to the ways in which patriarchal attitudes impact violence, and how violence against prostitutes has its own specific concerns. They offer practical solutions such as organizing public awareness campaigns, better laws, and education programs.

Many of us know all too well that the fight is not over for equal opportunities in the workplace, while working women still struggle with being expected to take on the lion’s share of the housework and child-rearing. A chapter devoted to this issue once again illustrates the strengths of the book: providing statistics and stories from real women to back up claims, and then providing real solutions. Redfern and Aune suggest that expanding women’s career choices, challenging global poverty and working conditions, fighting for pay equality, challenging discrimination at work, and promoting equality in the home will make a huge difference for women. This is not just a book of “feminist complaining;” it is a call to arms against injustice and a blueprint for how to get there.

Chapter five tackles a sticky subject, one that people are not supposed to broach in polite conversation: politics and religion. Today, women are still fighting barriers when it comes to running for office and even getting to the polls. On the religion side, Redfern and Aune offer insight into how women perceive religion as well as how some feminists have tried to account for their faith.

Many feminists believe that sexism is so ingrained into popular culture today that it will require a major overhaul of media in all forms to fix the problem. In a chapter devoted to freeing popular culture from sexism, the authors tackle hip hop and its lyrical messages, sexism in advertising, gender stereotyping, and celebrity culture as it pertains to women like Paris Hilton or Miley Cyrus.

The final demand of feminists today is “Feminism Reclaimed,” as many of the women interviewed by the authors felt that feminism itself needs a revival. The backlash against it, leading many women to fear self-identifying as feminists, is not helpful. Neither is misrepresenting feminism or trying to typecast all feminists.

Reclaiming the F Word provides an excellent overview of all of the issues currently faced by women not only in the UK, but also around the globe. By highlighting the concerns women have today and offering powerful suggestions on how to eradicate sexism, readers feel empowered that they too can change the world.

Review by April D. Boland

The Last Living Slut: Born in Iran, Bred Backstage

By Roxana Shirazi
It Books

The Last Living Slut: Born in Iran, Bred Backstage, written by Iran native Roxana Shirazi, was a complete and utter waste of my time. The book was championed by writers Neil Strauss and Anthony Bozza, who met up with Shirazi one faithful day and immediately became enthralled by her tails of debauchery with bad up and coming rock ‘n’ roll bands, as well as some oldies, but not so goodies like Guns N’ Roses. Appetite for Destruction never did anything for me musically or otherwise, but apparently the mere appearance of Axl Rose was enough to give Shirazi “gushing orgasms” as a teenage girl and her sexual fantasies about him set her on her path to groupiedom.

I’m not surprised that two men would be impressed by a book in which an otherwise intelligent woman makes a fool of herself by revealing that she’s let musicians piss on her and has had sex while so wasted that she threw up on one of her many partners for the night. According to these boys, “This was a woman who was not a victim, but who made rock bands her victim—and she got off on pushing them to extremes that made them uncomfortable.” Did these guys read the book? From what I could tell, it didn’t take much coercing to convince the men to degrade her, and a person who’s completely at ease with their lifestyle isn’t prone to nervous breakdowns, depressive episodes, or the need to constantly be wasted, as was detailed by Shirazi.

It’s apparent that this book is meant to shock, but I found nothing shocking about it. Shirazi, who calls herself a feminist, defends her use of the word slut before her story begins. I don’t care about her use of slut; it’s not offensive to me in any way. What is offensive, however, is attempting to pass this book off as a heroic piece of writing by a fun and carefree young woman who happens to have a penchant for wild nights and rock stars. If anything, this book just verifies that being a groupie is a lifestyle often chosen by women with low self-esteem.

The first portion of the book details the author’s childhood in Iran where she was a “child basked in gunfire, Islamic law, and sexuality.” Raised mostly by her mother and grandmother, Shirazi was abandoned by her opium addict father, molested and raped by neighbors, and beaten by her step father. It seems to me that these are the kinds of things that shape a young woman.

Having suffered through similar circumstances, I can attest to the fact that burying the feelings that result from these occurrences only sets you up for disaster once your sexuality is blooming and your childhood has left you with the impression that men are supposed to hurt, yell, hit, and take anything they want from you—even when you say no. It seems absurd to me that Shirazi doesn’t make the connection in the book that her feelings as a child, a belief that the abuse she suffered at the hands of men was her own fault, was the most likely reason she grew up and allowed herself to be further taken advantage of, almost as if she felt like she deserved it and that it was her duty to be the thing that men used to get off.

What’s wrapped up to look like a fun package, a carefree romp in the hay, is actually a very depressing book that often reads like a bad romance novel. (“I don’t understand how Stuart found the energy and ability to fuck me so masterfully all night, nor how his testicles were able to produce such a huge amount of sperm.”) Shirazi is disparaging of other women, often only describing them in terms of their weight, makeup, clothing choices, and ability to be fucked by second rate rock stars. You get the impression that she’s the type of person who thinks calling another woman fat or ugly is the biggest insult that can be hurled.

If anything was shocking about The Last Living Slut, it was the author’s implication that the rockers she is sleeping with are fulfilling her “hunger for a free-spirited life, for breaking the rules, for laughing, for knowing the meaning of it.” If fucking teenage boys in bad bands and has-been rock stars in worse bands is the meaning of life—and the new face of feminism—I better bow out now.

Review by Tina Vasquez

It's Not That I'm Bitter...: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Visible Panty Lines and Conquered the World

By Gina Barreca
St. Martin’s Griffin

Challenging the norms of our modern society and how the feminist movement has evolved into a misfire of sorts (a mix of improvements with unexpected setbacks), Gina Barreca wrote her book It’s Not that I’m Bitter... to share her perspective. She covers a wide range of topics, from the beauty-obsessed culture women live in to how the holidays are unnecessarily stressful for women due to misguided expectations to our tendency toward behavior dictated by guilt and fear. Yet, she addresses these topics with a snarky sense of humor, regularly citing, “Not that I’m bitter…”

Immediately tackling being a woman in her fifties surviving in this world defined by body image, despite being a feminist and an intellectual, Gina admits that even she suffers from common women-only setbacks of bathing suit season-induced low self-esteem, and the like. The truth is that men and women are very different, and there are many aspects of being a woman that only other women can understand. Reading It’s Not that I’m Bitter... is like having a long chat with a close girlfriend, where she vents about the pressures and expectations of society, questions her own neurotic behavior in hopes of finding validation, proudly defines her stance, and proclaims judgments while admitting to some self-deprecation in the process. It’s amusing, a bit confusing, but ultimately relatable in a way only a woman would understand.

The title of this book made it sound as if this author had found personal peace with all that ails womankind in our modern world. Apparently not, and I was very disappointed with the ending. It abruptly stops on a note of Gina’s advice and curious questions for the main female figures of the previous presidential election (i.e., Hilary Clinton, Michelle Obama, Sarah Palin, and Cindy McCain). Yes, it was amusing, but I was expecting some grand conclusion, not another random capsule of thought. Conquering the world is apparently still a work in progress for Gina, as it is for the rest of us too. And this helps the author to come off as a pal rather than a patronizing professor.

A mix of feminist perspective, humorous angst about our beauty-obsessed culture, and random (albeit amusing) ramblings make up It’s Not that I’m Bitter.... You won’t find any solutions to the problems you face as a woman (though a man would surely gain insight into women… and probably run screaming), but you will find a comedic look at today’s society, and where women need to stop holding themselves back.

Review by Sarah Eve Nichols-Fulghum

All Over the Map

By Laura Fraser
Harmony Books

Author Laura Fraser has just celebrated her fortieth birthday and is attending a college reunion. While observing the range of accomplishments that have been accumulated over the years by her former classmates—and mentally comparing herself with them—a friend shares with Laura the idea of a the Manhattan trifecta: you can, over the course of your life, have the perfect relationship, the perfect job, and the perfect apartment. Just not all at once. Laura realizes that she has a great apartment and a great job, but there is no great man in her life and she wants to change that.

All Over the Map is a like a less self-indulgent Eat, Pray, Love. Laura Fraser is a freelance writer who travels frequently for her work. In her previous book, An Italian Affair, she wrote about the breakup of her marriage and finding solace in an Italian romance—a cleansing, hedonistic break. In All Over the Map, Laura is in her forties and trying to find balance in her life. The book chronicles several years while she tries her hand at settling down, all while traveling frequently on assignment.

For Laura, the idea of what constitutes "settling down" changes gradually over the duration of the book. Initially, she thinks that she wants a husband and children, but after a series of half-hearted romances, and as her fertility wanes, she realizes that she'd rather find a place to settle herself as an individual, while remaining close to a circle of friends. You can feel her mood lightening as she shifts from an intense focus on finding a man and starting a family, to being a happy woman with a house in Mexico in a town full of artists and divorcees.

Laura Fraser is a frequent contributor to glossy women's magazines, and knows how to craft a gripping sentence. While All Over the Map could be considered a beach read, there are darker and more complex moments in the book. Among the most engrossing chapters are when Laura describes her travel to Italy and Samoa to interview sex workers for articles. These chapters begin as typical travel pieces, singing the beauty of these locations, and end up darker and more menacing. The men and women involved in the sex trade that Laura speaks to are full of anger, fear, and desire, and dealing with women's new roles as breadwinners around the globe while living in largely paternalistic societies. These chapters have really meaty implications about the shifting role of women around the world, and come at a point in Laura's life where she's struggling to become a wife and mother. It's an interesting contrast and comparison, though one Laura doesn't choose to explore.

Ultimately, the book shifts back to Laura's story and the happiness she's able to find for herself. It's a quick read with interesting implications about female vulnerability and independence around the globe. Buy it if you'd like a light, feminist read with some intellectual heft.

Review by Catherine Nicotera

The Carrie Diaries

By Candace Bushnell
Balzer and Bray

Sex and the City the television series ended six years ago. One might find this hard to believe, considering the characters and the lavish lifestyles they live have been far from gone in the mainstream media. The latest installment in the SATC enterprise is The Carrie Diaries, author Candace Bushnell’s young-adult novel that introduces audiences to Carrie Bradshaw as they’ve never seen her before—seventeen, virginal, and unsure of how to fulfill her dream becoming a writer. The young Bradshaw struggles through adolescence the same way her adult self struggled through her thirties, and with just as much, if not more, wit and insight. It’s easy to see how Carrie became Carrie as Bushnell chronicles a very real, and entertaining, teenage experience using the skills we’ve come to know her for: realistic dialogue, relatable, yet flawed, friendships; and capturing the excitement and emotion the first moments of love.

As a feminist scholar and critic, and an advocate for girl-friendly media, I was plagued by very familiar annoyances in the reading. Although adult Carrie admits in SATC (season four, episode seventeen) that her father left when she was a toddler, Bushnell posits high-school Carrie as the eldest of three girls being raised by their father since their mother died a few years earlier. Although a single dad raising three young women is certainly an alternative to the status-quo, it is not more or less feminist than a mother working full time and raising three daughters. And in the case of the latter, it provides something very important missing in both fiction and film—positive female role models.

The debate over Bushnell’s characters and their choices has been raging since the debut of the original series. In The Carrie Diaries, the author offers her own feminist commentary that is neither subtle, nor convincing. In a chapter dedicated to Carrie’s discovery of feminism, the twelve-year-old visits her local library to see her mother's favorite (fictional) feminist Mary Gordon Clark speak. The young Bradshaw is chagrined by the woman’s gruff and judgmental manner, leaving her to ponder “How can you be a feminist when you treat other women like dirt?” An excellent question, though I’d be interested in asking Bushnell “Why all feminists must be represented as angry, elite meanies?”

Unlike her adult counterpart, whose friendships offered support, honesty and resilience in the face of obstacles, the high school Carrie is surrounded by a group of friends that are competitive, highly emotional, or just plain bitchy. Her most passionate moments include falling for a narcissistic but gorgeous guy who eventually cheats on her with her best friend, developing her voice as a writer with the support of the Brown-attending George, and eventually being published in the school paper, with the help and support of the paper’s editor—her friend’s boyfriend.

As lover of pop-culture and an advocate for media literacy among the youth, especially girls, I was encouraged to find the positive elements of a story that will surely resonate with a large audience. Although Carrie’s mother is absent in reality, she is ever present in the lives of her daughters, all of which are struggling to maintain her legacy while evolving into who they will be as individuals. The biting yet quirky humor that endeared me to Carrie on SATC punctuates the tensest moments in the novel as Carrie offers teen-appropriate insights like, “Funny always makes the bad things go away.”

Unfortunately, comparing the young Carrie to the character she became on the series leaves me no less than disappointed. The Carrie created here comes out an evolved and matured being, moving forward into the next phase of her life, something that was remiss of her character when the SATC series ended, and further exacerbated in the following two films. In fact, I’d favor a film version of The Carrie Diaries over both SATC films.

Review by Alicia Sowisdral

The Promise of Happiness

By Sara Ahmed
Duke University Press

In the introduction to her new book The Promise of Happiness, Sara Ahmed asks readers a provocative question: “Do we consent to happiness? And what are we consenting to, if or when we consent to happiness?” Ahmed takes on the elusive topic of happiness not to define it, but to look at how it works. Amazingly, this book does not get trapped in abstraction. Sara Ahmed approaches her critique of happiness with explicitly feminist, anti-racist, and queer analysis, always attentive to the historical moment in which she’s writing. She moves through what she calls an “archive of happiness,” comprised of novels, philosophical treatises, films, utopian proposals, and dystopian visions that all deal in some way with happiness.

In the first chapter, the author reads older European philosophical and psychological accounts of happiness, many of them concerned with the family as a site of happiness. This history of ideas sets the groundwork for the ways in which happiness is constructed in contemporary times. Ahmed introduces the figure of the “affect alien” as a person who challenges the happy family ideal. This figure takes shape in the next three chapters in the form of “feminist killjoys,” “unhappy queers,” and “melancholy migrants.”

These chapters demonstrate how happiness gets used as a form of social control. In looking at how feminists challenge the notion that people are naturally happiest in rigid gender roles, Ahmed writes, “The struggle over happiness forms the political horizon in which feminist claims are made.” Her reading of the classic novel The Well of Loneliness considers how an unhappy ending for a queer main character opens up a possibility for social critique that a “happy” one might not. In her reading of the film Bend It Like Beckham, Ahmed asks why certain kinds of rebellion (say, against one’s immigrant parents) get celebrated in mainstream film while other kinds (say, against British imperialism) don’t. She also recasts the age-old parental plea of “I just want you to be happy,” as a way in which a child is obligated to be happy in order to make the parent happy (a kind of debt).

In concluding chapters, Ahmed cleverly turns her gaze to the future by looking at the varied promises of happiness presented in speculative fiction. Dystopian visions, such as Ursula LeGuin’s short story “The People Who Walked Away from Omelas,” can show how insidiously the happiness of the majority might be used to justify cruelty toward the marginalized. Ahmed acknowledges that positioning happiness as a goal has disturbing implications. She suggests a new approach to living: “...if we no longer presume happiness is our telos, unhappiness would register as more than what gets in the way. When we are no longer sure of what gets in the way, then ‘the way’ itself becomes a question.” In her conclusion, Ahmed uses the word hap (itself so much more buoyant in sound than the heavy happiness) as a way to work through new ideas at the level of language.

Ahmed writes in her introduction, “To kill joy... is to open a life, to make room for possibility, for chance. My aim in this book is to make room.” I think Sara Ahmed succeeds in her project. Fresh in its premises and elegant in its follow-through, with plenty of incisive questions to move it along, The Promise of Happiness offers new lenses on an emotion rarely challenged. I suggest you make room for it on your shelf.

Review by Vani Natarajan

The Twilight Saga: Eclipse

Directed by David Slade
Summit Entertainment



Bella Swan has never been a character I’ve related to. She’s frustratingly timid, overwhelmingly insecure, and apparently has no interests or hobbies aside from her obsession with Edward Cullen. Sure, she’s had her redeeming moments, and yes, it was Bella who saved Edward from exposing himself to the Volturi in New Moon. But it wasn’t until the final moments of Eclipse that Bella became someone I can respect, and even admire.

The Twilight Saga has been heralded by many as a positive step for women in Hollywood, primarily credited for its representation of the female gaze. While I find this argument both positive and necessary, it is also problematic because it operates around a binary understanding of gender; if men do something this way, women will flip it and do it the opposite way. Feminist research and scholarship aim to disrupt this way of thinking and urge us to seek alternatives by exploring the gray area. It is in this gray area that Eclipse offers the most feminist perspective of all the Twilight films yet.

Consider the term twilight as a useful analogy: the time between day and night that can’t be classified as either, but is rather a little of both. The same is true for Bella’s struggle throughout the series, and it is never more apparent than in Eclipse. She is human, but has never felt at home in that world. With Edward, and the Cullen Clan, she feels things she hasn’t felt before: real, strong, and capable. But as any card-carrying feminist knows, leaving your “natural” world, seeking alternatives, and disrupting the status quo is never easy, and never without doubt.

Unfortunately, for Bella, her doubt comes in the form of a warm-blooded, hot-bodied fella, her best friend Jacob. While most of the film, and nearly all the witty dialogue, focuses on the jealousy and tension between Edward and Jacob, in the end it is Bella who makes the choice. And as she articulates at the close of the film, her decision is not based on pleasing Edward or Jacob, or anyone else for that matter, but rather on fulfilling her own desires.

Cinematically, the film has found balance amid the Hollywood effect; Eclipse lacks the low budget kitsch of Twilight without falling victim to the highly dramatized vampire visuals, and indulgent makeup, of New Moon. Though it is full of action and violence, the filmmakers should be commended for opting away from blood and gore, and instead crystallizing the vampire skeletons so they shatter like glass.

There are quite a few threads of social commentary being made throughout the film that offer plenty of fodder for further analysis, primarily around issues of choice. The ongoing battle between the dark-skinned, warm-blooded Quileutes versus the cold, soulless White people is an easy analogy for colonization. But when Jacob is injured during battle, Dr. Cullen is not only allowed on the Rez, but genuinely thanked by the tribe. We also learn the sad and violent story of Rosalie’s turning, and are provided insight into her disdain for Bella. “None of us chose this,” she reminds her, offering a subtle but important acknowledgment of the privilege of choice, and the power of having one.

Review by Alicia Sowisdral

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem

By Maryse Condé
University of Virginia Press

This fascinating novel, which won France's Grand Prix Littéraire de la Femme, offers readers a vivid re-imagining of the life of a historical figure mentioned only briefly in the transcripts of the seventeenth-century Salem witch trials: a slave woman of Caribbean origins, accused of practicing voodoo. Angela Davis, in her foreword to the current edition, asserts the importance of “the retelling of a history that is as much mine as it is hers,” a story of great significance to Black women who are “Tituba's cultural kin.” The first person narrative gives Tituba an opportunity to recount her life as she sees it, to overcome the silence imposed on her by official histories of the period. Maryse Condé, herself born in Guadeloupe, begins by evoking the beauties and horrors of the West Indies—of Barbados in particular—where Tituba is born to an Ashanti woman “as lithe and purple as the sugarcane flower,” who had been raped by a British sailor. Little Tituba flourishes at first in her island home, but her mother comes into conflict with their master and is hanged for striking a white man. At the age of seven, Tituba is taken in by old Mama Yaya and raised in the traditional healing ways inherited from African ancestors. The growing girl learns to respect everything in nature, to make the proper prayers and sacrifices, to devise “potions whose powers I strengthened with incantations,” and to communicate with the spirits, including her deceased mother.

The idyll in the wilderness ends abruptly when the adolescent Tituba falls in love with a merry rascal, a slave named John Indian. She soon moves to the capital, Bridgetown to be with him. John Indian jokingly calls her a witch, because of her special magical gifts, but others suspect her of commerce with the devil even though, as she protests, “Before setting foot inside this house I didn't know who Satan was!” In an interview published in the afterword to the present edition, Maryse Condé describes Tituba as “doing only good to her community” through her relations with “the invisible forces,” and therefore not a witch in the bad connotations of the term, but the bigoted people with whom she comes in contact—especially after she is sold along with John Indian to a Puritan minister, Samuel Parris—do not see her in a positive light.

One of the themes of the book is the unlikely (and, unfortunately, often temporary) alliances that can form between persons divided by race, class, or religion. When Parris moves with his household to Boston, a strong friendship develops between Tituba and Elizabeth Parris, the minister's wife, as well as with her child Betsey, It is one of the ironies of the novel that Tituba's efforts to amuse and aid the girls in her charge at Salem Village arouse the villagers' fears and turn them against her. The Caribbean folktales she tells about sorcerers and vampires titillate everyone and feed their fears of damnation and demonic possession. When Betsey tells her cousin Abigail about the secret magic rites Tituba has used to protect the frail little girl, the situation gets out of control. Condé locates the ultimate source of the hysteria that sweeps through the village as a combination of the repression of healthy sensual pleasures along with the accumulation of small-town jealousies and resentments among the populace, together with unacknowledged guilt at the mistreatment of Blacks and American Indians by the white settlers. The village girls accuse many local figures of magically tormenting them.

Arrested and interrogated in 1692, Tituba at first protests her innocence: she has done no wrong, has not hurt any of the afflicted children. Her husband John Indian advises her to play along with her accusers, to tell them what they want to hear. He even pretends to be possessed, himself. In a controversial sequence criticized by many reviewers, the novel's heroine encounters a character called Hester in prison, clearly based on the wholly fictional heroine of The Scarlet Letter. Certain historians have condemned this intrusion of Romantic literature into a historical novel, yet Condé in her interview defends it on two different grounds: a) that her work “is the opposite of a historical novel,” that her Tituba is an invented “female hero, ... a mock-epic character,” and b) that as a novelist, she felt “there was a link between Tituba and Nathaniel Hawthorne,” persons inhabiting the same region at times not too far apart for comparison. The conversation between the two prisoners gives Condé a chance to explore the social constraints on women and the difficult relations between men and women. Ann Armstrong Scarboro's afterword asserts that here Condé “parodies modern feminist discourse,” but it seems to me that Condé gets to play both sides against the middle in these passages by intermixing humorous and serious notes and leaving it up to the reader to decide how to interpret them.

While Tituba's testimony at trial is quoted from actual transcripts, the additional context Condé provides suggests that the accused woman is merely mouthing words that others are saying, going along with other people's superstitions. As a confessed witch she is sentenced to jail but escapes the death penalty. Thus she survives, while many of the people condemned for witchcraft are executed. The historical note to this edition of the novel states that in 1693 the slave Tituba was sold to pay her prison fees and the price of her chains. It is unclear what happened thereafter to the historical woman, but Condé chooses to have her Tituba purchased by Benjamin Cohen d'Azevedo, a Portuguese Jewish merchant whose wife had died. Benjamin and Tituba slowly become friends and eventually lovers. After a terrible house fire set by Puritan persecutors in which Benjamin's children are killed, he frees her and buys a ship passage back to Barbados for her. There she becomes involved with a group of maroons—wild Blacks who seem to be working towards freedom for the plantation slaves—but even there she finds betrayal and a revolt that fails. She is finally hanged by the British authorities. The epilogue finds the spirit of Tituba still active in the island, heroine of a popular song going about encouraging the slaves to fight for liberty.

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem is a work I highly recommend to people interested in African-American and Caribbean literature, colonialism and post-colonialism, post-modernism and feminism, as well as to any reader interested in a colorful adventure tale. The additional scholarly materials provided in this edition make this book helpful even to readers familiar with the original French text.

Review by Kittye Delle Robbins-Herring

The Feminist Promise: 1792 to the Present

By Christine Stansell
Modern Library

The appropriate feminist response to The Feminist Promise is to send truckloads of gratitude to Christine Stansell, professor of history at the University of Chicago, who collected and digested a vast array of material, much of it ephemeral, and put it in a history book. Some of us hang on to the materials of history—like Laura Murra and my late friend Arlene Meyers, who preserved so much of the material base of second wave feminism as it was happening. Others, like Alice Echols, tracked down those of us who lived the history and captured these accounts lost in mainstream versions. The Feminist Promise takes a wider view of this idea, starting with the 1792 publication of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman and ending with the problematic high profile attained by global feminism in foreign policy.

Neither from the “great woman school” nor the annales philosophy, The Feminist Promise is a narrative history of feminists in both their public and personal lives, and the great opportunities, victories, and defeats of a social movement. Stansell profiles the Grimke sisters, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem, Hillary Clinton, Mavis Leno, and other major figures; includes (and misses) some less well-known feminists in this “herstory”; and airs some dirty linen. The material masterfully presented makes The Feminist Promise worthwhile. It’s a long, scholarly, but remarkably rollicking read. My criticisms lie in the tone, the Freudian shaping, and the “promise” of feminism she posits.

A couple of decades makes a huge difference in the tone of even a friendly, and openly participating scholar. There’s a distance not just from lived experience but from living, wild, raw, social movement feminism and the introduction to the shorter anthology focused on sexual politics that Stansell helped edit, Powers of Desire. The Feminist Promise takes a necessarily more comprehensive view. Its changed tone may well result from the trough between feminist waves, the ascendancy of theory over the practice of a lived movement, and historicity itself. She takes note of the periods of lassitude that interrupt the movement forward, while ending on a note of problematic triumphalism with feminism as geopolitics.

Stansell’s organizing trope is the familiar one of mothers and daughters and brothers and sisters, which distorts the complexity of feminism by jamming it into a family drama. (To be fair, she acknowledges in her conclusion that feminism has now moved beyond the family romance.) Feminism’s almost bipolar, cyclic nature, and the back-and-forth between those confronting and those pragmatically working within the system, are two alternative explanatory devices that come to mind. Still, she who collects the records plays the tune. In trying to arrange a marriage between feminism and democracy, the promise of the title, she doesn’t really ask “whose democracy?” though she differentiates between feminisms.

Speaking of lived history, I have long misremembered this quote as from Susan B. Anthony:

Our history has been stolen from us. Our heroes died in childbirth, From peritonitis, Of overwork, Of oppression, Of bottled-up anger. Our geniuses were never taught to read and write, We must invent a past adequate to our ambitions. We must create a future adequate to our needs.

Because I first saw this quote on a poster illustrated with a woodcut of Anthony that hung in the women’s liberation office on Mintwood Place in the District of Columbia, my mind leapt to the conclusion this anonymous quote was Anthony’s, and stuck there. I stand corrected. More important, thanks Professor Stansell for clawing some history back.

Review by Frances Chapman

Click: When We Knew We Were Feminists

By Courtney E. Martin & J. Courtney Sullivan
Seal Press

Seeking inspiration for a novel she was writing a few years ago, J. Courtney Sullivan sent an email to several friends asking them, “What was the moment that made you a feminist? Was there one person, event, book, or idea that made it happen?” The conversation that followed was so fruitful that she decided to keep it going, and Click: When We Knew We Were Feminists was born.

In Click, editors Courtney E. Martin and J. Courtney Sullivan present twenty-nine essays by young feminists from all walks of life with the intention “to collage together a picture of contemporary young feminists…to discover what it is that still brings a diversity of young people to try on the feminist label despite the obvious risks.” The collection they’ve compiled is inspiring, insightful, and funny in all the right places, and I had to resist the urge to shout, “Preach on!” as I read it.

The voices in Click are as strong as they are varied, and the themes that emerge—the desire to break boundaries and prove men wrong; the need to create a personal feminism that is different from our mothers’; the struggle to balance sexual empowerment with feminist strength; and the tension created by identifying as feminist and as a member of another minority group—offer something for everyone. I saw myself and every feminist I know in the pages of Click, and that speaks to how well Martin and Sullivan succeeded in fulfilling their mission with this book, even if very few of the pieces are actually about singular moments of realization.

Rather than try to sum up twenty-nine fabulous essays in what would doubtless become a superlong review, I’ll now share some of the themes and excerpts that spoke to me, just to give you a taste of what you can find. In “Not My Mother’s Hose,” Courtney E. Martin recalls meeting Jennifer Baumgardner (author of Manifesta, a book that changed my life and many others) and experiencing her “click” upon realizing that modern feminism means that women can be both smart and sexy. That fishnet stockings and high heels are just as acceptable and empowering as menswear slacks and practical shoes.

Click gave me an opportunity to think more deeply about the moments and experiences that helped me the define the feminism that I live daily, and it reminded me that women are not the only ones who suffer from constricting definitions of gender. The strict definition of masculinity is also responsible for many writers experiencing their click moments when they decided to prove the boys wrong and do something they were told they couldn’t do. For Elizabeth Chiles Shelburne, whose piece is titled “Killing in the Name Of,” it happened on her eleventh birthday, when she insisted on going hunting, an eleventh birthday tradition usually reserved for the boys in her family.

Other women in the collection write about click moments that were sparked by sports, abortion rights, and even Kurt Cobain’s death. Black and Latina feminists describe the struggle to take on the feminist label while maintaining their cultural identities and defending their choices to women who didn’t understand or agree. I appreciated something about every essay in this collection, and I relished the opportunity to spend time reflecting on my personal definition of feminism and the experiences that shaped it.

Review by Rebecca Schinsky

This is an excerpt from a longer review that can be found at The Book Lady’s Blog.

Reclaiming the F Word Book Launch - The University Women's Club: London, England (6/3/2010)

I went to the launch event for Catherine Redfern and Kristin Aune's book Reclaiming the F Word at The University Women's Club. When I signed up to the event on Facebook, I just assumed from the name that this was perhaps a part of the University of London and was expecting to just wander down the road from where I work and into a student union building. On closer examination (i.e. after some Googling) I discovered it is a private members club in Mayfair, and perhaps an unusual place to host a gathering of rowdy young feminists! Slightly pleased I'd worn a nice frock for the occasion, I set off from work to catch the tube to Green Park and finally meet a woman I've admired for a long time.

When I first discovered The F Word website in 2001, it was quite a revelation. Full of articles by young women on a variety of subjects from a feminist perspective, it satisfied my need for something intelligent and 'bite-sized' to read and also inspired me to write. I wrote seventeen feature and review articles for the site over the next couple of years (you'll find me listed as Lorraine Smith on the contributors page) and every one was sent to Catherine Redfern before publication. We never met, as I lived in Manchester at the time, but we chatted a bit via email and so I was a little bit sad to see her step down as editor in 2007. However, this was because she wanted more time to devote to writing a book with Kristin Aune and so I was keen to see the results of all her hard work.

Last night I got my hands on a copy and Catherine kindly signed it for me. Everyone in that room was there to celebrate the work Catherine and Kristin had done, but also to celebrate feminism. The mood was one of excitement, hope and optimism. Now the book is out there, we can all help to promote it and get the message across that feminism is not dead or outdated. After finally getting to say hello to Catherine, I caught up with Helen and Hannah and then, surprisingly for someone who is usually extremely shy in many social situations, I chatted to a lot of new people. People I've encountered online but had never met in person. People I admire.

I met Sarah Barnes who is the brains behind the fantastic Uplift Magazine. I said hello to Holly Combe who has written an outrageous number of articles for The F Word site over the years. I chatted to Suraya Sidhu Singh, editor of Filament Magazine, about the magazine and the lack of decent 'boylesque'. I said hi to Jess McCabe and promised to write for The F Word again soon. I even approached Laurie Penny and told her how much I enjoy reading her blog. I'd been discussing with Hannah earlier in the evening about how it was Laurie who helped me understand my privilege, so it was wonderful to be able to say hello in person... although the wine seemed to help me forget all the eloquent things I wanted to say!

I started reading the book on the train home and I'm really impressed so far. However, as I'm a notoriously slow reader, please don't wait for a review from me before you buy yourself a copy. Come on, join the gang. Let's reclaim the f-word!

Review by Lori Smith

Cross-posted at Rarely Wears Lipstick

Taking Women in New Directions: Stories from the Second Wave of the Women's Movement

By Paula Kassell
Hudson House

Paula Kassell's Taking Women in New Directions is not what it sounds like. Rather than being stories about the women's movement in the '70s and '80s, it is primarily a collection of articles that Kassell wrote for the feminist newspaper, New Directions for Women (which she also co-founded and ran out of her own home for seven years). The newspaper was published from 1972-1993, and at its peak had a circulation of 65,000.

The articles themselves are in the form of newspaper clippings, one every page or two (for a total of sixty), and are accompanied by family and personal photos, all of which makes the ninety-seven-page book seem more like a scrapbook than a text. Other than the clippings and photos, there is an eight-page history of the newspaper, also written by Kassell; a couple of pieces about Kassell written by others, Kassell's feminist curriculum vita; and some correspondence between Kassell and an editor. The result is an odd mix of self-promotion and social history.

This doesn't mean that the book is without value. It functions well as a primary source of second wave feminist writing. Kassell always documented her sources and was careful to provide detailed information about the books and organizations she referred to. The articles, editorials, book reviews, and columns, which are presented chronologically, cover a wide range of feminist issues, from equal pay to reproductive rights. One thing that was interesting about reading the book was seeing how many of the issues Kassell wrote about are still not resolved today.

The publisher, Hudson House is a “vanity” press. I give Kassell credit for putting forth the effort to compile the contents, have the book published, and undertake book signings at the age of ninety-one. (The book was published in 2008.) The impression I got is that Kassell wanted to leave behind a testimonial to her work in the feminist movement, primarily, but not solely, in terms of her contributions to New Directions for Women. For example, one of the her accomplishments was to help persuade the New York Times to begin using the honorific “Ms.” (It was one of the last major newspapers to do so.) And she is justifiably proud of all the organizations she joined or helped to found over the years.

The strength of this book is that it shows how the personal life of one woman can contribute to the impact of an entire movement. It is a good answer to those who say that the feminist movement is no longer necessary because all of its goals have been met. And yet the things that have changed have been through the efforts of women like Paula Kassell.

Review by Ellen Keim

Robin Hood

Directed by Ridley Scott
Universal Pictures



Being the rabid Ridley Scott fan that I am, last week I went to go see his new movie, Robin Hood, at the theatre. (Being the cheapskate that I am, I went in the morning and paid four dollars less than going at night, because really, ten dollars to see a movie is ridiculous.)

Robin Hood isn't Kingdom of Heaven, let's start with that. I know a lot of reviewers, myself included, went in thinking it would be much of the same material, and it wasn't... to a point. Robin Hood takes place about nine years after the events in Kingdom of Heaven, close to the end of Richard's wars in France, which come to an unforeseen halt when Richard dies. The main character, Robin Longstride, is an average man in the ranks of Richard's army, pulled to the king's attention when Richard, on a whim, goes through the camp looking for "an honest man." Scott set out to retell Robin Hood, and in that he succeeded. And while he was doing it, he took a lot of the fun out of the Robin Hood story and inserted a lot of politics.

I think the big draw of Robin Hood is that he's a man who exists outside of political interests, or if he is involved, his intentions are always very clear: he's King Richard's man, he supports Richard's causes, and he supports the people. Simple and easy to remember. Scott's Hood should be simple, but instead comes off as much more complicated and politically embroiled than a character who, up until a half hour into the movie, was just a common archer. He expresses himself much better than a common man would have. That's kind of a theme in Scott's movies, which Balian somehow got away with, but Robin's high-handed speeches just sound dull.

What's interesting about this movie is the extremely mixed response it got throughout the reviewing world. Most people disliked it, and I can see why. Two sources that liked it a little more than the rest, however, interested me. One major feminist blog reviewed it with evident enthusiasm, the writer reporting that she loved the strong female lead offered by Cate Blanchett (appropriate sentiments for a feminist blog) and the revolutionary aspects of the idea that you didn't have to be a noble to speak up an affect change in a society.

The other interesting review is from the National Catholic Register, which is the only weekly paper my house now receives. Their film critic, Steven Greydanus, said it was "more watchable in most respects" than Kingdom of Heaven (a statement I'd like to vehemently disagree with) and judged that "the moral issues [were] less muddled, the hero more compelling, the heroine more relevant, and the romance at least relatable, if not especially engaging."

As much as I love Blanchett and the idea of a feminist Marian, that was one of the elements in the movie that didn't sit well with me. Both critics bring it up as something to be praised in Scott's epic, and I'm going to have to disagree. Kingdom of Heaven had a strong female lead in Princess Sybilla, a woman who was interesting because she was hard to understand at times and remarkably transparent in others. Sybilla made sense in the context of her story; for part of her life she had been a political pawn and needed to continue being a political pawn (something that went against her personality) if she wanted to see her kingdom survive.

Marion, on the other hand, makes less sense. Even if her husband had been gone with Richard for ten years, the idea that she would have become this Amazonian leadership lady in that time didn't seem possible in England circa 1200. Is she more relatable? Yes, more people could probably relate to Marion than they could to Sybilla. That doesn't necessarily mean she belonged in the story. A woman taking up a sword at the end of the film? It doesn't even begin to make sense. The feminist element in Robin Hood contributes just as much to the revisionist view of history that Greydanus (rightfully) accuses Scott of as any of the other wildly inaccurate historical elements in the film.

As I tried to figure out how to write this review, I attempted to find some lesson I could take away from the different ways these different people reviewed this film. Anna watched it as a feminist and found something she liked. Steven watched it as a Catholic and found it lacking. As for myself, watching the film as both a Catholic and a feminist (as well as a lot of other things), I found my lens as an amateur historian taking more and more of my attention away from the others.

I won't claim that I took note of all the inaccuracies in Robin Hood, and I'll certainly admit to ignoring some of the revisionist elements in Kingdom of Heaven. Both movies inspired me to do more research on the period in question. I have four books from the library on William Marshall and a growing collection of literature on what life was like in Europe and the Latin East in the 1100s. To me, the idea that a piece of media can be a gateway into a wider world of fact checking and research is a valuable one, and one that is helping me find the joyful Middle Ages behind Hollywood's "faux-realist medieval world," the real links of mutual respect between the Muslim world and the Christian one, and the real proto-feminist figures in the medieval history (women like Eleanor of Aquitaine, Hildegarden of Bingen, and Queen Melisande of Jerusalem).

Overall, I'd recommend avoiding the admission price (however low) at the theater and waiting for the DVD if you were thinking of going to see Robin Hood. In the meantime, you're welcome to join me in reading Warriors of God by James Reston and Four Queens by Nancy Goldstone for a more historically accurate look at the the Crusades and women in the middle ages.

And if you must have your ridiculous but fantastic crusades, there's always the other Scott named Walter.

Review by Mercury Gray

Cross-posted at The Village Wordsmithy

The Next Generation of Women Leaders: What You Need to Lead but Won’t Learn in Business School

By Selena Rezvani
Praeger

Has the glass ceiling been shattered? There is a widely accepted perception that it has. However, as author Selena Rezvani points out in chapter one of The Next Generation of Women Leaders, although women make up 46.5 percent of the U.S. workforce, they constitute only 15.7 percent of corporate officers. What you won’t learn in business school, which Rezvani discovered from interviewing top women executives, is that social, economic, psychological, and even generational barriers still prevent women from reaching the top. But don’t despair. This book is chock full of highly useful tips and information to help women of all ages creatively circumnavigate these roadblocks and negotiate their way to the top.

A John Hopkins University MBA graduate and successful consultant, Rezvani conducted thirty interviews with top women executives in the corporate, non-profit and government sectors. She then analyzed her data for trends. The overarching themes of her analysis are covered in chapters two through nine, and address everything from career orientation to maneuvering office politics, networking and negotiating. Although this may sound like any other book on how to succeed in business, it contains plenty of information that might otherwise take you your entire career to learn. In fact, The Next Generation of Women Leaders reads more like a handbook that you will go back to at different stages in your career.

There is an emphasis in this book on networking, which many of us are tired of hearing about. However, Rezvani’s presentation is empowering. She describes networking as a lifetime activity that helps women forge lasting relationships, learn more about their areas of business, discover other career paths and develop outside interests and skills. She also emphasizes the importance of women’s networks and having women as role models. The author includes some helpful tips on networking etiquette and where to focus your energy.

Given my own particular situation as a mother and professional, I was interested in the chapter on work-life integration. The author tackles the “You can have it all” message that women have bought into and addresses the underlying societal pressures on women to be the successful executive, the cookie-baking mother, the physically fit and attractive partner, the friend, the crafter, the daughter, etc. Rather than attempting to balance, or juggle work-life demands, we are instead to integrate a select few work-life priorities that give us the most satisfaction. In a nutshell, the “you can have it all” message does little more than hold us back.

The author originally wrote this book because of the dearth of business books targeting Gen X and Y women, but there’s something in this book for women of all ages, especially those trying to rejoin the labor force or attract talent to their companies. I usually give away the books I review, but this one is now on my bookshelf.

Review by Heather Leighton

Motherhood and Feminism

By Amber E. Kinser
Seal Press

I doubt any role is more judged than mother. Add sexuality, class, and race into the equation and, for some of us, we will never be a "good" mother. But what are we really comparing ourselves to?

We are trying to live up to a myth. A myth of Biblical proportions that has been around for less than sixty years. Stephanie Koontz’s The Way We Never Were does an excellent job at debunking the myth of a Leave It to Beaver family and letting Donna Reed be our benchmark. Amber E. Kinser picks up that conversation and runs with it.

In Motherhood and Feminism Kinser outlines the evolution, both natural and government imposed, of the role of motherhood in American society. At the same time she is tracking the evolution of the feminist movement in the United States. Sometimes both areas collide; other times they complement each other. And that is what is fascinating about this book: how easily motherhood and the role of women in families can be shifted by outside economic pressures and government propaganda, as well as how the feminist movement often takes its cues from how motherhood is framed.

During the first wave of feminism, it was obvious that many of the women who were engaged in the fight for suffrage took a look at themselves and said, “Hey, women need the vote so we can be better citizens for our children and because women are just better people than men.” The theory that infusing women into politics would clean it up remains with us today. The fact that women could not ask for their own rights for their own sake, but rather used their children as the reason why they shouldn’t be left penniless after her husband dies, also remains with us. Consider how many mothers' organizations fight for rights on behalf of children rather than for women themselves.

In many ways the fight for women’s rights has and continues to be fought in the home. The so-called Mommy Wars are a proxy for where a woman should be in society and not about the well-being of children. It is also a proxy for who is worthy of support. (How dare that woman take government money to stay home with her children when my husband works hard and I budget so I can be home?) The backlash against mom bloggers earning money, directly or indirectly through free samples, is yet another battle over where a woman’s priorities should be: her career or her children.

Kinser makes the point over and over again that not all mothers movements are feminist, nor do they want to be. It is honestly easier to get a thousand women to rally for children’s health care than to rally for their own health care that includes access to full reproductive health services. And that’s where the gruff lives.

I've talked with feminists who wished that mothers organizations would just claim the damn label, but I get it. And yes, it usually falls to the abortion question. Kinser has one of the best rationales on why feminism must include a pro-choice stance—no ifs, ands, or buts. She also does a good job at tackling moms of color, queer moms, and low-income moms. This is not a history of white middle class feminist motherhood, although she correctly states that much of mainstream feminism and motherhood expectations are modeled on white middle class norms, and then she rips it apart.

Motherhood and Feminism is well written and documents a shared history that many moms and feminists often forget or aren't even aware of. Without moms, we wouldn't have won the right to vote. Without feminism, moms wouldn't have the rights they have today. We're like peanut butter and chocolate—and some us are peanut butter cups.

Review by Veronica I. Arreola

Cross-posted from Viva La Feminista

Seven Minutes in Heaven: Coming Out!

Directed by Courtney Trouble
Reel Queer Productions


**This video is not in the least bit suitable for work!**

Courtney Trouble, the creator of Seven Minutes in Heaven: Coming Out!, is one of the hottest new directors of queer porn. After creating No Fauxxx in March 2002—a website with 150 models, twenty videos, and a free social networking community—Trouble started making full-length queer porn videos. She has also been in a few porn films herself, which she says adds to her respect for those in front of the camera. To date, she has ten feature films available.

Seven Minutes in Heaven is the first film of a three-part series of “reality porn,” unscripted amateur porn where the participants get to choose partners, sex toys, and chat about their experiences. It is set up like a wild slumber party night, with scenes being fueled by those timeless junior high games, spin the bottle and truth or dare, though these versions definitely end up in a lot less awkward and a lot sexier scenarios then making out sloppily in a closet! The truth or dare sequence leads to some brief food play and some of the hottest group sex scenes in the film. Seven Minutes in Heaven was nominated, like many of Trouble's films, for the 2010 Feminist Porn Awards.

I liked the parts where participants talked about their experiences or discussed certain issues, like sucking cock and having it be your first time in a porn—though at times the conversations dragged on a little long and were a bit too reminiscent of the familiar reality television confessionals, leaving a viewer feeling like they want the action to get going already! A lot of new queer porn films, including this one, have real musicians add to the soundtrack, which I think is a cool idea in theory. Seven Minutes in Heaven included Purple Rhinestone Eagle, Jenna Riot, DJ European DJ, and Diamond Beats. However, when it comes down to it, I don't generally feel like there truly is good porn music. The way I see it, if you barely notice it, that's probably the best. This soundtrack, at times, sounded pretty riot grrrlish, though that might be a turn-on for some!

The inclusion of S&M and kink was prevalent throughout, though pretty mild with some role play, flogging, gagging, fisting, and a few moments of knife play. There was definitely a lot of use of sex toys, mainly vibrators; a crop; and a good amount of dildo use for some steamy fucking and lessons on sucking. Many times there were multiple scenes going on at the same time, though you could only hear or get a glimpse of the indirect scenes, which definitely spiced things up.

Though the cast wasn't super diverse, it is always refreshing when there is a variety of real-sized bodies. Also of note was the use of safer sex; gloves and condoms were utilized throughout. Since there is generally not a lot of sex education oriented towards queers, I was glad to see a film where it encourages the notion that safe sex can be both easy to do and not make sex play any less erotic.

Seven Minutes in Heaven: Coming Out! has a lot to offer, and scenes get better and better as the film progresses and the participants get more comfortable with each other. Watching this film certainly made me very curious to explore Courtney Trouble's other films. If they are as appealing as this one, I would say she deserves all the credit she has coming her way.

Review By Lesley Kartali