The Selves

By Sonja Elizabeth Ahlers

Drawn and Quarterly

Sonja Ahlers’ The Selves is a visual essay which combines collage, poetry, watercolor, calligraphy, prose and fabric. The result is a multi-layered and textured work that reveals something new every time you leaf through it. Although pastiche and mixed media immediately come to mind to describe Ahlers’ work, it may also be considered a new genre or a new way of looking at our lives as women in relation to mass media.

As passive consumers of pop culture, we assimilate the images and narratives that mass media serve us. Unable to discern the promoters from the products and the dreams they’re selling, we model our various “selves” from babyhood to old age around the ideals these promoters project. At least, that’s my interpretation of the book, but yours may be very different. Now imagine someone appropriating these same images and presenting them in a new way as social commentary. For instance, Ahlers presents an intellectual side of Marilyn Monroe using a rare photograph of her reading, next to a text by Gloria Steinem describing how hard it was for men to reconcile Marilyn’s love for books with her physical appearance. We also see repeated images of Princess Diana throughout her life, from a young woman who marries a prince, to a princess who never lives happily ever after. We also see a very young Angelina Jolie in the company of her father, reminding us that beauty and fame do not exempt anyone from pain. The public is indeed very different from the private.

Some serious themes such as suicide, child abuse, self-mutilation, female rivalry and abortion are raised in The Selves, but this book is not without humor. The images Ahlers uses are readily recognizable to any woman born in the 1970s or early '80s, and nostalgia is guaranteed. I enjoyed the author’s unapologetic acceptance of these images into her life and presenting them in a new light to show another side or expose another issue.

This visual essay may be hard for some to embrace, but I applaud any artist-cum-author who takes on this challenge and does it well enough to land a publisher. Moving away from the old confines means not letting others define what an acceptable genre is.

Review by Heather Leighton

Also Known As

By Elizabeth Robinson

Apogee Press

Being a writer is often a difficult endeavor. It’s the not the desire nor the passion that is constraining but more often the discipline, the dedication. Sometimes what writers struggle most with is the publicity of the written word. Once something is printed, with your name next to it–there is no going back. It may be one of the reasons so many authors choose to publish under a pseudonym, a fictional name created to hide the identity of the author in order to create a truly private space where creativity can thrive.

Elizabeth Robinson has taken this practice one step further. In her latest book of poetry, Also Known As, Robinson “interacts” with the work of Portuguese poet Fernando Passoa in an effort to “explore the opportunities and limitations of persona(e).” What is interesting and challenging about this task is that Passoa wrote most if his work under “heteronyms,” alter-egos with distinct personalities and unique poetic voices. As introduction, Robinson opens with a poem by Richard Reis, one of Passoa’s most well known and prolific identities.

Robinson doesn’t merely rely on the inspiration of Passoa’s work, but rather invokes an exploration of identity that is both darkly ambiguous and yet deeply personal. By refraining from use of gender based descriptors and pronouns, Robinson relies on the collective consciousness of anyone who seeks to be identified. Her work is simultaneously brave yet cowers to self-consciousness – I, who loved to fondle the antonyms, was caught red-handed. – “Intermediary”

Poetry is a form of literature that many people shy away from, out of fear of not understanding or lack of connection to the material, often because of the way it’s presented. Robinson balances gracefully on this tightrope, and offers a collection of work that is both intellectual and accessible. On the power of poetry, I must agree with Travis MacDonald who suggests “The cumulative result is a seamless (if eerily disjointed) whole in which the individual edges of authorial identity become indistinguishable from the tangible act of each poem’s performance on the page.”

Review by Alicia Sowisdral

Love, Race, and Liberation: ‘Til the White Day is Done

Edited by JLove Calderón and Marcella Runell
Love-N-Liberation Press

The subtitle of of JLove Calderón and Marcella Runell’s curriculum, Love, Race, and Liberation: 'Til the White Day is Done, comes from the poem “Dream Variations” by Langston Hughes.

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.

Love, Race, and Liberation is a multimedia project that aims at heart-level transformation, even while it equips activists for ground-level work for racial justice. The work is sponsored by NYU’s Center for Multicultural Education and programs, Eradicating Racism (1 + 1 + 1=ONE), and World Up.

This text includes twenty lesson plans, which can be used together or individually, and eleven love letters from performers, writers, educators, activists. The lessons, suitable for grade eight (approximately age thirteen) and above, are designed to take 90-120 minutes. Extension activities are included in many lessons, as well as supplemental resources. A couple of the lessons make use of the PBS film, Race: The Power of an Illusion (California Newsreel), and the film is recommended in the introductory notes. The topics covered include social identity, racial socialization, white privilege, immigration, cultural appropriation, and being an ally. There are lessons on newsworthy aspects of racial justice, notably housing, education, health care, and criminal justice.

Love, Race, and Liberation makes an excellent resource for a classroom teacher or community organizer. Whether a reader uses every lesson in the book, or chooses those topics most relevant for a given group of students, this guide will be very useful. From my reading of this book, I have already covered a couple of index cards with book titles, author names, and websites to explore.

The lessons on social identity had me remembering my undergraduate Sociology courses, when many of my classmates had not considered the multifaceted nature of our identities, or the ways in which our ideas of ourselves are socially constructed. As a white woman, I continually welcome lessons on being an effective ally in the struggle for racial justice, and Love, Race, and Liberation includes many practical reminders in this vein.

I found the love letters sprinkled throughout the curriculum very powerful. All of them reinforce the question that is the heart-matter of this volume: why are we in this struggle? To paraphrase Sofia Quintero: I am not in this to save anyone, but to liberate myself. Love, Race, and Liberation provides a welcome new set of tools for the job.

Review by Lisa Rand

I Am Love

Directed by Luca Guadagnino
Mikado Film



The story is simple—and familiar, at least to feminists: years after being plucked from her home, stripped of her individuality, and thrust into a loveless marriage, a woman is shocked back to life and inspired to flee. But from A Doll's House to Titanic, it's not so much about the story itself as it is about how it's told. The "doll" of I Am Love is Emma Recchi (Tilda Swinton), a Milanese transplant who, upon arriving from Russia years before, inherited both a husband and the wealth of his prosperous family business. Being the matriarch-in-waiting of the elite Recchi clan is a privilege for Emma, complete with a sprawling mansion and a slew of servants, but one that comes with the price of a stifling lack of privacy, not to mention the complete loss of her identity.

Of course, it's not clear that all this is going on in the film, at least not at first. The way director Luca Guadagnino decides to approach Emma's story is the opposite of obvious, even experimental at times. For the first twenty minutes or so, it's not even clear that it's Emma's story, as the camera maintains a cold detachment from everyone, even allowing objects to partially obstruct its view, like a hidden surveillance. As the Recchi clan gathers around the dining room table for a formal dinner, Emma fades into the background, almost more so than the family's servants. Then, after Emma meets her son's friend and potential chef Antonio (Edoardo Gabbriellini), a seemingly innocuous introduction, Guadagnino starts to ease us closer and closer to her, finally arriving at a crescendo of close-ups when she samples his food for the first time. The meeting of Antonio, who will soon become her lover, and the way it is shot, beautifully marks Emma's transition from a sterile, colorless life to something brighter, more vibrant, and more immediate.

Emma and Antonio's scenes together are a sensory assault, the robust, invasive music and the sounds of nature rising in counterpoint to a similar crescendo at Emma's most dramatic revelations. Their first kiss is impressionistic, and their love scenes are experiential rather than voyeuristic. While revealing, they are not graphic or gratuitous but sensual and deeply erotic. (Afterward, my friend remarked that Hollywood could take a couple of pointers from Guadagnino on how to shoot sex.)

I Am Love is terribly rich, and not just for its style. Although it is Emma's story, there is so much more going on in the film. Emma's children provide interesting foils for her: daughter Betta (Alba Rohrwacher) is following her heart into the arms of another woman, while son Edo (Flavio Parenti) is about to enter a marriage based mostly on sex. It is fascinating to realize, as the film progresses, just how much of their spontaneity and spirit was inherited from their mother.

In stories such as these, and throughout film history, the unfaithful woman is typically punished for her infidelity. When an unexpected tragedy befalls the Recchis at the height of Emma's affair, it seems that this will be her fate as well. Interestingly though, she takes this devastation as an almost needed inspiration to follow her heart and abandon her marriage.

I Am Love is certainly an experience. The director and cast are so deeply committed to inhabiting the film's world and telling its story that you can't help but get pulled right in with them. Like the best films, it makes you feel like you've been somewhere, or at least been through something, and it takes a while after the credits have rolled to readjust your eyes and return to the real world.

Review by Caitlin Graham

Desigirls

Directed by Ishita Srivastava



Sometimes you stumble upon really small, obscure films that leave such an impact that you just want as many people to see it as possible. Desigirls by Ishita Srivastava is one such film. Filmed as a graduate thesis project at New York University, this twenty-minute documentary explores a refreshingly new topic—the South Asian lesbian community in New York City. I had the opportunity to watch the film and speak to the director afterward. Even though Desigirls is a student film, Srivastava approaches the topic with maturity and a sincerity that makes it a truly engaging film.

The film follows two women—Priyanka and ‘A’—as they discuss their sexual identities and their role within the South Asian queer community in New York, represented by two key institutions – the ‘Desilicious’ parties and the South Asian Lesbian and Gay Association (SALGA) meetings. Priyanka is an openly pansexual woman who embraces her sexual identity and is an active member of the community. ‘A’, on the contrary, is living a double life, afraid to come out to her parents and secretly exploring her sexual identity.

Srivastava explores the lives of the two women with sensitivity, never intruding too much on their space. While Priyanka willingly offers herself to the camera and interacts freely with it, ‘A’ turns out to be the more interesting character to follow since her anonymity allows her to be emotionally vulnerable in front of the camera. The segment where she discusses her relationship with her brother is particularly moving. Srivastava does a commendable job of letting the characters be, without forcing much upon them or from them.

At times the film becomes ambitious in its scope, trying to accomplish too much in its very short runtime. Srivastava attempts to develop the two main characters and also explore the various events centered on the community. There’s enough in there to be expanded to a longer documentary. Of the two main events, the film focuses more on the SALGA meetings even if that wasn’t the original intention. Srivastava has the ability to make the viewer feel comfortable with what’s going on in front of the camera. The presence in the SALGA support meetings doesn’t seem intrusive, and shadowing Priyanka and ‘A’s lives keep the viewer hooked.

The most fascinating elements in the film emerge from the observations and statements made by the various characters. At one point Priyanka decisively states that her friends from India are far more tolerant of her sexuality than the Indians she knows who have been raised in the U.S. Meanwhile ‘A’ exhibits certain resentment in the dichotomy of never being able to come out to her conservative parents yet witnessing her brother having much more freedom in lifestyle choices than her. Thus the film effectively presents the fractures present within this very small community. All in all, Desigirls is a low budget student film for sure, but the story it tells is very powerful nonetheless, and one that desperately needed to be told.

Review by Pulkit Datta

Click here to read Pulkit's interview with Ishita Srivastava at The NRI.

Desigirls will be screened at the Queerin’ Queens film festival at the Queens Museum of Art in New York City on June 20th.

I Just Lately Started Buying Wings: Missives From The Other Side of Silence

By Kim Dana Kupperman
Graywolf Press

I Just Lately Started Buying Wings is a collection of memories and letters, speaking out from places of silence. Throughout the text, Kim Dana Kupperman conveys an enduring need to bring chosen tragedies to light and does so vigorously. She talks about her past in a cautious and gentle style, like cleaning a raw wound with salt water: painful yet cleansing.

The book unravels stories about difficult moments in life, describing the deaths of her mother and father, the after effects of radiation pollution in Chernobyl, and failed intimacy in her romantic relationships. She explores the many inner emotions that come along with these trying stages in life, and exposes her past bravely. One of her stories describes her trips to Russia and Ukraine, a private quest to learn more about her family's history. She constantly uses her imagination to investigate her ancestors, like fantasizing her grandmother walking the streets of Kiev. She is constantly searching for a connection between her identity and kin, but instead, she finds herself detached and is “reminded that the business of returning to a place that doesn't belong to me is impossible.”

This intimately detailed storytelling releases sweet sorrow that is rich and poetic. Each chapter is full of vivid imagery that fully traverses all the senses. She inspects small details in her memories: the smell of her lover's breath, or the texture of her mother's feet. The reader is brought daringly close to these personal realities. However, within the numerous events and settings, there is a pervading disconnectedness that distracts from the powerful writing. The loose themes of ancestry and “failed flight” ineffectively tie all these tales together.

Apart from the dispersed themes, Kupperman's “missives” are pungent; full of pain, resentment, and bitter love.

Review by Cinthia Pacheco

Becoming Indian: The Unfinished Revolution of Culture and Identity

By Pavan K. Varma
Penguin Books

Pavan K. Varma’s most recent book, Becoming Indian, argues that cultural freedom has eluded formerly colonized nations, specifically India. He sees a need for a cultural revolution in India. Although it reads at times like an extended opinion piece, Varma makes convincing arguments highlighting the importance of reclaiming language, architecture, and art in a way that empowers indigenous knowledge rather than oppressing it. He examines concepts and examples related to language, architecture, and art with regard to modern Indian history, contemporary events, and personal experiences.

Varma believes that the real strength of empires lay in the colonization of minds, and he views modern history as one that has resulted in cultural and ideological consequences. He explores how English has become a tool for upward mobility and questions the cost, as the loss of one’s own language is seen as a gain in India. He uses the example of young people performing Shakespeare in English with no knowledge of theatre in their own languages to illustrate this pervasive ignorance. He also compares the success of writing in English to the sure failure of writing in Indian mother tongues to illustrate a flaw in today’s Indian value systems. Convincingly, he critiques the concept of providing important information, such as health and traffic signs on the highways, in English.

Although India has been independent since 1947, Varma argues that colonialism persists in the realms of language, politics, and self-image. Varma believes that globalization is leading to the desire for a homogeneous identity. To counteract this, he believes it is important to know one’s cultural roots in order to move forward into the future.

From a feminist perspective, it is interesting to note the ways in which the British have historically seen Indians as effeminate, and thus treated them with less respect. The power dynamics within post-colonial societies are especially tricky as colonization has already permeated people’s minds. According to Varma’s arguments, what may be necessary is not only a contemporary Indian cultural revolution but also one that involves all sectors of society, from the lowest to the highest castes and socioeconomic backgrounds.

Review by Lakshmi Saracino

Masculine Identity in the Fiction of the Arab East Since 1967

By Samira Aghacy
Syracuse University Press

It is widely acknowledged that limited gender constructs and highly patriarchal social structures, the kind that are prevalent in the Middle East, are often harmful to women. Across the spectrum of thought and knowledge—from columnists like New York Times' Nicholas Kristoff to 2010 Time 100’s Reem Al Numery—we have all become familiar with how harmful the effects of male-centric, male-dominant societies can be to women.

The questions then become: How do these constructs effect men? How does the amplification of the importance of men as a group effect men as individuals? Are the gender constructs and societal norms that are so often harmful to women exclusively beneficial to men, or does some harm come to men as well?

In Masculine Identity in the Fiction of the Arab East Since 1967, Samira Aghacy attempts to answer these questions. While her analysis focuses on fiction, there is no denying that the truth is often found in what has been imagined. The stories constructed simplify the present being experienced, often making it less personal and more manageable. By surveying the fiction written in what she calls the "Arab East" (Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine, Syria, and Iraq) after the various wars of 1967 (the Six-Day War with Israel, the state breakdown in Lebanon, etc.) caused a nadir in the region, Aghacy brings to the fore men’s vision of their constructs.

Aghacy emphasizes her identification with a view of the world that sees masculinity as operating independently of men, at times. Thus, men can be victims of masculine societal norms. In this light, the archetypes Aghacy finds in the literature are both abusers and abused, those who inflict and enforce societal norms of masculinity unto others and those who are the Others. The writings she examined also use male stereotypes to make judgments about their societies. According to Aghacy, in a story a dysfunctional male may represent a dysfunctional state, an oppressive male can represent an oppressive state, etc.

Viewing the world through a feminist lens, it is easy to forget the effect of repressive structures on men. Masculinity, which so often limits women, can also limit men, and often profoundly so. While the experience is in no way comparable, patriarchal structures are torturous in a distinct way for all members of the patriarchy.

Review by Elisheva Zakheim

Lahore with Love: Growing Up with Girlfriends, Pakistani-Style

By Fawzia Afzal-Khan
Syracuse University Press

A poet’s power lies not only in her well-crafted images but in the rhythm of her recitation. As I read Lahore With Love, the memoir of Fawzia Afzal-Khan, I longed to hear her read the volume aloud. Many parts of her story poured out in a stream of consciousness, and her anecdotes deftly wove between youth and adulthood, lighthearted desires and the pain of loss, politics and the laughter of girlfriends.

Afzal-Khan interweaves her personal story with key elements in the history of the establishment of Pakistan, her homeland, which was formed just ten years before her birth. The painful string of military dictatorships running her country creates a mirror for the tragic experiences endured by her girlfriends. As she writes, with foreboding, “I have sensed disaster coming their way, my way, my country’s way.” In some ways, Afzal-Khan escaped disaster: she is a professor in the English Department at Montclair State University (New Jersey), a scholar of postcolonial studies, a poet, and an actress. Yet while she lives a successful life in the United States, she carries with her a complicated sorrow and relief, a pain of loss that is aggravated each time she visits Pakistan and sees some new wounds inflicted upon her home and her loved ones.

Lahore With Love gives us vignettes of upper middle class life in a culture where propriety called for gender-segregated social gatherings, but someone was always ready to break rules. The line between acceptable “colonial” habits (Catholic school) and the dangerous “Western decadence” (art school) was at times thin and slippery. As the author forges her own self-identity, the nation also seeks a shape; she heads to the U.S. to obtain her PhD, and Pakistan begins to undergo Islamization, with new layers of reactionary rules added to the old. There is nothing dry about the presentation of material; in one bloody chapter, the story of Shia martyrs is juxtaposed with bullfighting in Spain.

At times I would have enjoyed seeing the vignettes fleshed out more fully, and I suspect some readers will want a volume of Pakistani history by their side to read further about incidents to which the author refers. However, any changes to the unique narrative structure would detract from the author’s intense style. Her voice is the one we use when we long for a reunion with dear friends who are now gone, or hunger to return to the past to stop tragedy from striking, or barely restrain our anger at the callousness of our fellow humans.

Afzal-Khan asks, “Are we doomed to inhabit this binary universe or can we challenge the system that turns us into the roles we wear like selves?” She sets for the reader a powerful mold-breaking example when she self-identifies as “actorsingerpoetactivistmemoirist.”

Review by Lisa Rand

Creating Ourselves: African Americans and Hispanic Americans in Popular Culture and Religious Expression

Edited by Anthony B. Pinn and Benjamin Valentin
Duke University Press

The topic of cross-cultural communication has fascinated me for a number of years, partly because of my own experiences in Latin America, and partly from observing the interaction between the Latino/a and African American communities. Watching these two groups interact has taught me a great deal about differences in the ways of communication, how what may be "appropriate" in one culture may not be in the other, and the need for discussion to avoid potential misunderstandings.

Therefore, it was with great interest that I read Creating Ourselves, a study on cross-cultural communication and collaboration between religious scholars of the two largest minority groups in the United States. The timing of the publication of this book is of great importance, as both groups have, to a certain extent, been viewed as "foreign elements" that might threaten the national identity of Americans, especially in the current economic climate. Scholars from both communities engage in a dialogue, an exchange of opinions, perspectives, and hopes, as their history and identity is linked through the cultural production via representations in popular culture.

I found the structure of the work innovative and very much needed in scholarly circles. The book consists of seven sections with two essays in each of them, one from each group. Every article is followed by a response written by a corresponding essayist from the opposite group, each contributor using their own personal experiences to further engage readers.

Teresa Delgado analyses the novel América’s Dream by Esmeralda Santiago, which delves into the life of América González, a single mother who takes a job as a maid in a hotel in New York after suffering abuse by her daughter's father in Puerto Rico. Although América finds freedom in New York, she remains isolated and silent, as she has not broken the dependency of oppression. Cheryl Kirk-Duggan, in response, reflects on the "womanist theory" that calls for revolution in the ways of seeing, living, and being. The term "womanist," coined by Alice Walker, refers to women who are in charge, who champion freedom and who transform the oppressive forms affected by race, gender, and class domination. Kirk-Duggan uses hip-hop artist Lauryn Hill as an example of just one of these extraordinary women.

In "Television and Religion," Jonathan Walton analyses the dramatised faith in megachurch movements; the colossal buildings that house sanctuaries, gyms, daycare, bookstores, and more are especially attractive to African American communities, with their charismatic pastors who even hold worship through an electronic church. Another form of melodrama is found in the Latin telenovelas (soap operas) that have become extremely popular for millions around the world; Kassandra, a Venezuelan soap opera attracts people as far away as Serbia, while The Rich Also Cry is popular even in Moscow.

Overall, I enjoyed reading Creating Ourselves as the subject of creativity in all different forms, styles, colours, and shadows is part of our daily life.

Review by Anna Hamling

The Opposite of Me

By Sarah Pekkanen
Washington Square Press

Lindsey Rose’s life is perfectly in order when The Opposite of Me opens: She’s hours away from being made a vice-president at a large advertising firm, she weeks away from owning a piece real estate in a tony New York neighborhood, she’s got a closet full of designer clothes, and, oh, she’s only twenty-nine years old. Sarah Pekkanen’s debut novel may sound like a familiar chick lit story, but over the course of nearly 400 pages, it wades into deeper waters.

At the book's beginning, the heroine is comfortable with being the successful, smart, and serious twin to Alex's breathtaking beauty, charm, and popularity. The two have orbited around each other since birth, but were never able to connect until an unexpected and catastrophic chain of events bring Lindsey back home to the DC suburb of Bethesda. Here, with her two hilarious and long-bickering parents, sister, and a childhood friend who’s always had a not-so-secret crush on her, Lindsey begins to discover and embrace her true self. Though The Opposite of Me is billed as being about sisters (and it is, in a way), the central theme seems to be identity, which even the four markers that divide the book suggest: “Success,” “Home,” “Jump,” and “Trading Places.”

Lindsey’s characterization of her twin was disturbing to me at first because the smart = ugly and pretty = dumb stereotypes for women are, generally, false. Because readers meet Alex first through Lindsey’s jealous eyes, I found the prettier twin to be unreal. Yet, I identified with the sisters. As the story unfolds and Alex is allowed to speak and feel and express herself on her own terms, readers see that there’s a lot more to her than meets Lindsey’s eye, including a devastating diagnosis that throws the entire trajectory of the novel a-plop.

As grown women, some of us would like to believe we were born with our personalities, that all of our little quirks were predestined by nature. But anyone with a sibling—particularly one of the same sex—knows that, as much as our DNA plays a part, our identities can also be formed by a desire to compete with or be different from our familial relations. In this regard, Lindsey’s extreme Type A personality juxtaposed against Alex’s seemingly carefree and lovable nature seems a lot more believable and relevant, as if years of rubbing against each other had molded polar opposite personalities.

The meat of this story involves many of the issues that engross twenty-somethings: career, family, and relationships. Both women are initially presented as perfect fodder for bragging parents, but as each begins to discover hidden talents, the sisters commit to the rough-and-tumble work of living lives of passion. Pekkanen successfully leaves many of the genre’s cliches in the trash, but that didn’t stop the writer from indulging in a few tried-and-true chick lit plot points, including The Makeover. After sexifying her image and going on a six page shopping spree, our heroine makes one last stop for new shoes.

"Your boyfriend’s going to love them," a salesperson tells Lindsey.

"Boyfriend?" I said, winking. "Don’t you mean boyfriends?"

"You go girl!" she said.

What’s not to love about that?

Review by Whitney Teal

Cross-posted from Uptown Literati

Off and Running

Directed by Nicole Opper
First Run Features



Considering the number of children in need of adoption—and the number of children who are actually adopted each year—it's surprising there aren't more adoption stories being told. Aside from “The Locator,” we've had especially limited access to stories about adopted children reaching out to their birth parents. The delicate, vulnerable position of someone sending a letter out into the world, waiting and hoping to hear back about where they come from, is still a bit of a mystery, and more than worthwhile. In fact, I knew little about it until my own adopted mother finally reached out to her birth parents at age fifty-six.

Not only is that seminal search a matter of discovering identity for the adoptee; it is, potentially, a matter of deep-seated tension between the child and her adoptive parents. My mother actually waited until both of my grandparents had passed before seeking her own answers, to avoid the risk of hurting them.

Nicole Opper's Off and Running provides a candid, thoughtful portrait of such a situation in all its complexities. The documentary follows Avery Klein-Cloud, a charismatic star high school athlete from Brooklyn, who attempts to continue living the life she and her adoptive parents carved out for her while waiting on correspondence from her birth mother. The fact that Avery is transracially adopted—the African American daughter to two White Jewish mothers—makes her quest for identity that much more significant.

At the beginning of the film, Avery frankly admits her persistent discomfort in Black social spheres growing up, and later, when a counselor asks, “Do you feel Black?,” Avery says she doesn't know what that means. Her brother Rafi, also adopted but of mixed race, provides an interesting contrast; not only does he seem to have little interest in contacting his birth parents, but he seems entirely unconcerned with his origins. At the very least, he doesn't seem as dependent on where he came from for a sense of self.

Still, Avery's bravery in her search for answers is admirable, and considering how obviously torn she is about her particular situation, she is incredibly forthcoming and self-aware. We get an unexpected amount of access to her private thoughts and feelings about what she's going through, often things that she doesn't even share with her mothers. But as the tension in the Klein-Cloud household escalates, Opper seems to pull back and even gloss over certain pivotal incidents, like a falling out between Avery and her parents that results in her moving out for a period. Opper barely addresses an abortion Avery decides to get when an unwanted pregnancy threatens to impede her track career. In fact, this part of the story is so glossed over that I wasn't entirely sure that it happened.

In the end, Avery's coming of age—and to terms with the fact that she may never meet her birth mother—feels undeserved though still inspiring. Perhaps the fact that Opper has a personal relationship with the family (she was one of Avery's teachers in middle school) can account for her trepidation in handling such sensitive issues. But her reluctance does take away from the moral lesson of the film: that adopted children need to stand by those who've cared for them and showed them support every step of the way, which, in this case, is Avery's unconventional but extraordinary family.

Review by Caitlin Graham

** Sometimes we accidentally duplicate a review. What can we say? Perfection is an illusion. Click here for another Feminist Review writer's perspective on the film.