There's always a book or two I have to look at every time I'm in a bookstore. It's not always because they look like they'd be good either. Often, they don't. Citizen Girl, by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus, was one such book. Now that I've read it, I'll never feel that way again.
This book chronicles the post-collegiate adventures of Girl (yes, that's her name, although she occasionally goes by "G"). G, as I came to think of her, had the potential to be an interesting character. Her mother was the director of a writer's colony, and she majored in public policy at Wesleyan, with a minor in gender studies. This should make her interesting. Unfortunately, it doesn't.
When we first meet G, she's employed as an admin at a women's center run by a well-known feminist who turns out to be a total bitch. She gets fired and lands in the for-profit world, heading up a feminist marketing initiative for My Company, an internet start-up run by an asshole named Guy (OMG...Girl, Guy, My Company...OMG, it's like they read my diary!!!) In addition to heading up this initiative, she is also searching for a women's non-profit for the company to donate money to. However, all is not as it seems at My Company, and G quickly becomes disillusioned.
Let me get this out of the way: I hated G. There's no real sense of character there. She reacts to events without seeming to have any personality or direction at all. This is a flaw of the entire book, actually -- although it's densely populated, you would know none of the characters if you met them on the street. It utterly failed my Great Gatsby test (F. Scott Fitzgerald's editor told him that he'd know the character of Tom if he met him on the street and would know to avoid him.) If the authors had written in third person, it'd be more forgiveable, but this is (as I called them in second grade) an "I" book. Which brings me to my second point about G: we get to know every snide and snotty thought in her pompous little head. What little character she has is not likeable at all. You don't root for her.
G is meant to be a feminist, but really seems like anything but. She routinely rips other women apart based on what they're wearing and how their hair is. Everyone is either too plastic or too frumpy for her, and on the extremely rare occasion another woman actually impresses her with her appearance, she inevitably makes a fool of herself in front of her, and holds that woman up as a goddess, whether she deserves it or not. G's feminism manifests itself in tiresome ways: a refusal to dye her hair blonde (caramel is the lightest G can go without compromising her principles), an outrage over the casual use of the word "cunt" by a stranger at a hockey game (who was talking about the game, not about a man or a woman), her horror over learning that men's dinner clubs still exist (yes, let's focus on the important issues here!).
The exploitation of women is a leitmotif in this book: G goes on a date with a guy who takes her to a 20s-style burlesque review; she rents an apartment from a guy who used to shoot porn movies there; she walks in on her boyfriend watching porn during a bachelor party (which she shows up at unannounced). Late in the book, My Company is entering into a partnership with a lingerie company called Bovary, headed by a woman named Kat and backed financially by her girlfriend. G winds up in the middle of this deal and is given free underwear and taken to a club called Muffin (obviously modeled on the Pussycat Dolls shows) by Kat. You're supposed to get outraged every time, as G does, I guess.
But nothing productive ever comes out of G's outrage. I finished The Road to Coorain right before I started this one, and Jill Ker Conway let her belief in women's equality drive her career and take her all the way to the top. By contrast, G's feminism simply holds her back. Rather than stand behind her beliefs, she hides behind them. Despite the numerous opportunities for growth throughout the book, she fails to profit from any of them. You would think that if you'd been told bluntly by two bosses that you're too needy and don't take direction well, you would at least give it some thought. She dismisses the criticisms out of hand. She seems destined to become one of those feminist caricatures 10 years down the road, who bitches about sexist Lysol commercials and corrects generic use of the male pronoun.
She could've been more. She could've gone to law school or gotten her MSW and really helped women. She could've gone for her PhD and helped to shape new schools of thought on feminism. She could've done an internship in the legislative branch and used the connections she made there to work in government with a politician she believed in. But all of that would've required some actual work. And no Nanette Lepore dress like her heart desires (this is what passes for character development in this book, I guess).
Despite all this, the book is oddly compelling. Like a reality-TV marathon, you know it sucks, but you can't look away. The ending, however, completely destroys any sense of fun the book had. I will not spoil it in case anyone still wants to read this book after all this, but I will just say that I kept waiting for her to wake up during it. Except she doesn't. It's supposed to have really happened, and I don't believe it one bit. I don't think, after all this, that I have the stomach for The Nanny Diaries, Kraus and McLaughlin's other ouvre. If anyone out there has read it, let me know if it's as sickening as Citizen Girl.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Old Friends
Lately, I have not been reading anything new...which accounts for the shortage of posts. The source of this is actually the fact that someone else loaned me a book. I've been trying to get into it, but I haven't been able to. It's an interesting enough book -- The Road To Coorain by Jill Ker Conway, maybe some of you have read it. I guess I'm just not in the mood for it right now. But I feel an obligation to finish it fast, since it's not mine. And I don't want to give it back and admit to not reading it, nor do I want to give it back and lie about having read it. And I'm trying not to start anything else until I've finished it.
So I've been cheating. I dug out a couple of old friends, books I've read over and over, books that I know so well, I almost don't need the book to read them again. It's been a few years since I've done that type of reading. Sometimes I would in grad school, but mostly I read books for school. But then afterwards, I was so excited not to have to read schoolbooks, that I made up for lost time, big time.
I bought Buster Midnight's Cafe by Sandra Dallas at one of those "Book Sale" places that will set up shop in an empty storefront for a few weeks and sell remaindered books. I believe I was around 15, and bought it to read when I went on a cross-country driving trip with my family. Sandra Dallas has since gone on to write historical fiction novels with strong feminist themes (often with quilting mixed in there too). There's a particular image from one of her books that will be seared into my brain forever, of a woman (a neighbor of the main character) beaten by her husband, then tied to a post until she froze solid.Buster Midnight's Cafe is different from the rest of her books. The narrator Effa Commander, now in her 80s, recalls growing up in Butte, Montana in the 1930s and 1940s with her friends. Effa was part of a clique called the "Unholy Three", one of whom, May Anna, grew up to become a movie star. May Anna's boyfriend growing up, Buster, became a famous boxer.
The book kind of chronicles the dark side of these dreams, however. An incident of murder at May Anna's house in Hollywood, for which Buster is blamed, tanks his career while allowing hers to soar to new heights, but costing her Buster's love and making her distant from her friends. May Anna's story will have a familiar ring to anyone who's watched shows like VH1 Behind the Music or the E! Hollywood True Story. But by telling it through her friend Effa Commander's eyes, it makes it seem fresh. Effa (and the other member of the Unholy Three, Whippy Bird) remain in Butte except for a few visits, so the viewpoint is basically that of a privileged outsider. Effa is also leading a life of her own, which she shares with us. It's an entertaining read and has long been a favorite.
My other old favorite that I've dusted off is She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb. I think this was probably one of the most widely read novels of the late 90s, so I won't say too much about it except that it's still good, and that it still impresses me how well he managed to write from a woman's viewpoint. I remember checking the author's bio after I read it just to make sure that Wally was, indeed, a man's name.
What are some of your old favorites?
So I've been cheating. I dug out a couple of old friends, books I've read over and over, books that I know so well, I almost don't need the book to read them again. It's been a few years since I've done that type of reading. Sometimes I would in grad school, but mostly I read books for school. But then afterwards, I was so excited not to have to read schoolbooks, that I made up for lost time, big time.
I bought Buster Midnight's Cafe by Sandra Dallas at one of those "Book Sale" places that will set up shop in an empty storefront for a few weeks and sell remaindered books. I believe I was around 15, and bought it to read when I went on a cross-country driving trip with my family. Sandra Dallas has since gone on to write historical fiction novels with strong feminist themes (often with quilting mixed in there too). There's a particular image from one of her books that will be seared into my brain forever, of a woman (a neighbor of the main character) beaten by her husband, then tied to a post until she froze solid.Buster Midnight's Cafe is different from the rest of her books. The narrator Effa Commander, now in her 80s, recalls growing up in Butte, Montana in the 1930s and 1940s with her friends. Effa was part of a clique called the "Unholy Three", one of whom, May Anna, grew up to become a movie star. May Anna's boyfriend growing up, Buster, became a famous boxer.
The book kind of chronicles the dark side of these dreams, however. An incident of murder at May Anna's house in Hollywood, for which Buster is blamed, tanks his career while allowing hers to soar to new heights, but costing her Buster's love and making her distant from her friends. May Anna's story will have a familiar ring to anyone who's watched shows like VH1 Behind the Music or the E! Hollywood True Story. But by telling it through her friend Effa Commander's eyes, it makes it seem fresh. Effa (and the other member of the Unholy Three, Whippy Bird) remain in Butte except for a few visits, so the viewpoint is basically that of a privileged outsider. Effa is also leading a life of her own, which she shares with us. It's an entertaining read and has long been a favorite.
My other old favorite that I've dusted off is She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb. I think this was probably one of the most widely read novels of the late 90s, so I won't say too much about it except that it's still good, and that it still impresses me how well he managed to write from a woman's viewpoint. I remember checking the author's bio after I read it just to make sure that Wally was, indeed, a man's name.
What are some of your old favorites?
Friday, March 9, 2007
Have you ever come across a St. Maureen?
Last weekend, my boyfriend was in a generous mood, and also bought me the DVD of "Millions", directed by Danny Boyle. It's a very uplifting movie, if you haven't seen it. It's about two little boys who find a lot of money, and the effect the money has on them, and their family. Saints are a major element of the story, and the main little boy, Damian, encounters several saints during the movie. His mother just died, so he asks them all if they've ever come across a St. Maureen.
Although I'm not religious, I do like the saints. I'm not really sure why. I think their lives are interesting, as is the whole concept of saints. Perhaps it's the idea of ordinary individuals achieving extraordinary things. Perhaps it's just that they're easier to relate to than a divine being. I don't know. I first saw this movie over the summer and got a saints book for my birthday, entitled Lives of the Saints by Richard P. McBrien. I don't think it's the sort of thing you read cover-to-cover, but I'm going to try for a little each day, since it's organized by day. Starting today.
Today is the feast day of Frances of Rome. She lived from 1384-1440 and devoted her life to the service of the poor, especially in hospitals. She had a number of visions during her life, became a nun, and is the patron saint of motorists and of widows. Also, of Dominic Savio, who died of tuberculosis when he was only 15, and is the patron saint of young boys and choirboys. Just thought you might like to know.
Although I'm not religious, I do like the saints. I'm not really sure why. I think their lives are interesting, as is the whole concept of saints. Perhaps it's the idea of ordinary individuals achieving extraordinary things. Perhaps it's just that they're easier to relate to than a divine being. I don't know. I first saw this movie over the summer and got a saints book for my birthday, entitled Lives of the Saints by Richard P. McBrien. I don't think it's the sort of thing you read cover-to-cover, but I'm going to try for a little each day, since it's organized by day. Starting today.
Today is the feast day of Frances of Rome. She lived from 1384-1440 and devoted her life to the service of the poor, especially in hospitals. She had a number of visions during her life, became a nun, and is the patron saint of motorists and of widows. Also, of Dominic Savio, who died of tuberculosis when he was only 15, and is the patron saint of young boys and choirboys. Just thought you might like to know.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
All chick, no lit?
I've been meaning to post about this column by Maureen Dowd (linked to The Unknown Candidate's blog because only NYT subscribers can access columns on their webpage). I like chick lit as much as the next chick, but I agree with her that the stuff has become the literary equivalent of bamboo, choking everything else off the shelves. I mentioned last night that my boyfriend bought me a copy of Traveling Pants this weekend. What I didn't chronicle was that the original idea was just to buy me any book of my choosing (awww...he's so sweet) but that Barnes and Noble didn't have any of the books I wanted. I was going to get the new George Saunders, or maybe a book of short stories by Steven Millhauser (I liked the movie The Illusionist, and I like some of his other short stories, like "The Knife Thrower" and "The Barnum Museum"). It was just a sea of pink books with shoes on them in there!
Chick lit is an enjoyable distraction, and lots of fun. And there is definitely a range of quality out there. I myself enjoy Jennifer Weiner, Candace Bushnell, and the Stephanie Plum mysteries by Janet Evanovich. But then there are others, like Plum Sykes and Lauren Weisberger (The Devil Wears Prada), which will probably age as well as that 200-page book on how to surf the internet that I saw in the computer section of our local library.
But it would be a shame if chick lit choked out everything else. Novels can be so much more than an escape. They can give you a new perspective on your life, give you a window into places and cultures that you'd never experience otherwise, or even teach you stuff. I actually learned a lot about economics and finance from Sabin Willett's Present Value, for example. Yesterday, I went to the library to stock up on books to take to Florida with me next week. I wanted a serious novel and a trashy biography. It seemed weird to me to find them flipped: there were plenty of biographies of upstanding Americans who'd led inspirational lives (I wanted to read about a slutty, drug-addled star who turned up mysteriously murdered at the age of 30). And on the fiction side, it seemed to be all chick lit, or "dude lit" (new term, referring to books by authors like Tom Clancy and John Grisham). I wonder if this trend might help to save the independent bookstore. I haven't visited one just to visit it in a while now (I'm always looking for gifts for others). Maybe they, too, have succumbed.
Chick lit is an enjoyable distraction, and lots of fun. And there is definitely a range of quality out there. I myself enjoy Jennifer Weiner, Candace Bushnell, and the Stephanie Plum mysteries by Janet Evanovich. But then there are others, like Plum Sykes and Lauren Weisberger (The Devil Wears Prada), which will probably age as well as that 200-page book on how to surf the internet that I saw in the computer section of our local library.
But it would be a shame if chick lit choked out everything else. Novels can be so much more than an escape. They can give you a new perspective on your life, give you a window into places and cultures that you'd never experience otherwise, or even teach you stuff. I actually learned a lot about economics and finance from Sabin Willett's Present Value, for example. Yesterday, I went to the library to stock up on books to take to Florida with me next week. I wanted a serious novel and a trashy biography. It seemed weird to me to find them flipped: there were plenty of biographies of upstanding Americans who'd led inspirational lives (I wanted to read about a slutty, drug-addled star who turned up mysteriously murdered at the age of 30). And on the fiction side, it seemed to be all chick lit, or "dude lit" (new term, referring to books by authors like Tom Clancy and John Grisham). I wonder if this trend might help to save the independent bookstore. I haven't visited one just to visit it in a while now (I'm always looking for gifts for others). Maybe they, too, have succumbed.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Forever
Over the weekend, my boyfriend bought me the new Traveling Pants book. I finished reading it two nights ago. This more than likely marks the end of the series, because the Pants get destroyed at the end of the book (you learn this on the first page, so I am not giving much away).
It's hard to say too much about this book without making constant reference to the rest of the series, or without ruining it for those who haven't yet read the book. And since the book was released within the past six weeks, I'm sure there are some of you out there.
I think that if you liked the rest of the series, you will like this one too. It was a good, and realistic, ending to what has been, overall, a good and realistic series. I've written before about how Bridget, Tibby, Lena and Carmen appear as real people, not archetypes. But there's also a consistency of character there. Despite changes in their lives, you see them grow as people and experience ups and downs. When the book opens, we see (much to our surprise) that of the four, it's the emotional, outgoing Carmen who has not adjusted well to university life, whereas the two less outgoing girls of the group (Tibby and Lena) both successfully carved out niches for themselves.
At some points, the book dragged. And there were a few parts that felt less than realistic. We know from the other books that the girls grew up in Maryland, in the DC-Metro area. Tibby spent this summer taking classes at NYU, yet several of the characters repeatedly and spontaneously make the journey up there, only to talk to her for a half hour. There were a few times when I was practically screaming "Come on! That's a 600 mile round trip!"
But overall, the takeaway lessons of the series are positive: be true to your friends. Rely on yourself, but don't forget the people who care about you, either. It's OK to fuck up -- everyone does it occasionally. Things don't always work out for the best, but every situation you'll be in will ultimately resolve itself one way or another, and there's nothing so bad you can't move past it. Don't be afraid to take chances. And above all, as the series shows, have fun while you're doing your thing! This series, for all of its morals, was a lot of fun. I will be interested to see what's next for Ann Brashares.
It's hard to say too much about this book without making constant reference to the rest of the series, or without ruining it for those who haven't yet read the book. And since the book was released within the past six weeks, I'm sure there are some of you out there.
I think that if you liked the rest of the series, you will like this one too. It was a good, and realistic, ending to what has been, overall, a good and realistic series. I've written before about how Bridget, Tibby, Lena and Carmen appear as real people, not archetypes. But there's also a consistency of character there. Despite changes in their lives, you see them grow as people and experience ups and downs. When the book opens, we see (much to our surprise) that of the four, it's the emotional, outgoing Carmen who has not adjusted well to university life, whereas the two less outgoing girls of the group (Tibby and Lena) both successfully carved out niches for themselves.
At some points, the book dragged. And there were a few parts that felt less than realistic. We know from the other books that the girls grew up in Maryland, in the DC-Metro area. Tibby spent this summer taking classes at NYU, yet several of the characters repeatedly and spontaneously make the journey up there, only to talk to her for a half hour. There were a few times when I was practically screaming "Come on! That's a 600 mile round trip!"
But overall, the takeaway lessons of the series are positive: be true to your friends. Rely on yourself, but don't forget the people who care about you, either. It's OK to fuck up -- everyone does it occasionally. Things don't always work out for the best, but every situation you'll be in will ultimately resolve itself one way or another, and there's nothing so bad you can't move past it. Don't be afraid to take chances. And above all, as the series shows, have fun while you're doing your thing! This series, for all of its morals, was a lot of fun. I will be interested to see what's next for Ann Brashares.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
"Men's genitalia have no place in quality literature!"
So says a librarian who is seeking to keep this year's Newbery Medal winner, The Power of Lucky by Susan Patron, off her shelves. Apparently, there is a passage in the book where the main character overhears someone talking about how a rattlesnake bit their dog "on the scrotum." Unlike the thematic concerns with the Harry Potter books or Catcher in the Rye, the firestorm over this particular book seems to center around this one word.
In reading this article, I find it striking that several of the librarians who aren't stocking the book are doing so over fear of parental backlash, not because of their personal objections. While there may be some parental backlash, I don't think it's right to deny all the kids in the school a chance to read the book. The book is aimed at children aged 9-12, so it seems age-appropriate to me. Kids are learning about sex and reproduction at that age, and they probably already know several slang expressions for "scrotum". What's wrong with teaching them the real word?
There are also creative ways to teach it without going into graphic detail. When I was in college, I was staffing the table for the Center for Womyn's Concerns. We had brochures, buttons, stickers and free condoms. For some reason, there was a 10-year-old boy on campus and he was looking at amy stuff and asked me what the condoms were. I told him that people who didn't want a baby used them to make sure they didn't get one. And you know what? He was satisfied with that. I didn't have to launch into a lengthy explanation about what sex was and how the condom was used. And if I, as a 20-year-old who hadn't been around kids that age since they were my age peers, could come up with that, shouldn't someone who spends all day with kids and holds a master's degree in teaching them be able to do just as well?
I would be interested to hear from anyone who has actually read this book, or has a differing opinion as to whether or not it belongs in schools.
In reading this article, I find it striking that several of the librarians who aren't stocking the book are doing so over fear of parental backlash, not because of their personal objections. While there may be some parental backlash, I don't think it's right to deny all the kids in the school a chance to read the book. The book is aimed at children aged 9-12, so it seems age-appropriate to me. Kids are learning about sex and reproduction at that age, and they probably already know several slang expressions for "scrotum". What's wrong with teaching them the real word?
There are also creative ways to teach it without going into graphic detail. When I was in college, I was staffing the table for the Center for Womyn's Concerns. We had brochures, buttons, stickers and free condoms. For some reason, there was a 10-year-old boy on campus and he was looking at amy stuff and asked me what the condoms were. I told him that people who didn't want a baby used them to make sure they didn't get one. And you know what? He was satisfied with that. I didn't have to launch into a lengthy explanation about what sex was and how the condom was used. And if I, as a 20-year-old who hadn't been around kids that age since they were my age peers, could come up with that, shouldn't someone who spends all day with kids and holds a master's degree in teaching them be able to do just as well?
I would be interested to hear from anyone who has actually read this book, or has a differing opinion as to whether or not it belongs in schools.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A new entry in the troubled young girl genre
The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath, defined this genre. Ever since, there has been a new one for each generation. I never Promised You a Rose Garden was popular in the 1970s.Girl, Interrupted and Prozac Nation were popular during the 90s. Abigail Vona's book, Bad Girl, intrigued me during a cruise of the Barnes and Noble discount section. I just finished it.
Vona's book differs significantly from the others because she was not mentally ill by anyone's standards. Rather than facing institutionalization, she was sent to a behavior modification camp, often called "boot camps" in the media. Vona was an out-of-control teen, but a typical one: she snuck out, she occasionally smoked pot and drank, and she fooled around (but never had sex with) boys. She got sent to this boot camp by her father and found herself among girls with serious issues. One girl was an anorexic and bulimic and a self-injurer, and talked about putting broken glass in her water at dinner when she lived at home. Another girl beat up her parents. A third molested her sister.
The first few chapters of the book are hard to take. Vona had believed she was going to summer camp and was immediately put in a situation where she had to follow thousands of rules that she was totally ignorant of. Not surprisingly, she had a very difficult time. As time wore on, she began to work on herself and her family issues, and she ultimately leaves a more functional person.
The opening chapters of the book are written the way you'd expect a teenager like Vona to speak: lots of slang, lots of swear words. As she learns to live by and respect the rules at The Village (her boot camp), the amount of cursing diminishes and she's more honest with readers about what she feels. Since she works the Twelve Steps, the first chapter is -12 and continues to count down to zero, then back up to 12. As Susanna Kaysen does in Girl, Interrupted, Vona contrasts her experiences with the clinical notes. Sometimes it will make your blood boil ("Patient appears selfish and needy" when Vona reports having done nothing in particular that day), sometimes it will reflect the day's events with a dark humor (after witnessing a takedown gone so wrong that she had to run for help and wound up staying awake until 2AM, the night staff notes "Patient slept soundly.") Other times you're unsure how her report of the day is supposed to work with the clinical notes. But given the fact that Vona has some serious learning disabilities, the book itself is a remarkable achievement.
After finishing the book, I was left with some larger questions. Why do books like this continue to be popular? How come they are rarely, if ever, written by men? The Bell Jar was released in 1963; although treatment for mental illness has advanced since then, has it come as far as we like to believe? And what do we do with those who just don't fit in, who, like Vona, defy labeling? These questions have been with us for along time. Perhaps stories like Vona's have staying power because they encourage us to work towards better answers.
Vona's book differs significantly from the others because she was not mentally ill by anyone's standards. Rather than facing institutionalization, she was sent to a behavior modification camp, often called "boot camps" in the media. Vona was an out-of-control teen, but a typical one: she snuck out, she occasionally smoked pot and drank, and she fooled around (but never had sex with) boys. She got sent to this boot camp by her father and found herself among girls with serious issues. One girl was an anorexic and bulimic and a self-injurer, and talked about putting broken glass in her water at dinner when she lived at home. Another girl beat up her parents. A third molested her sister.
The first few chapters of the book are hard to take. Vona had believed she was going to summer camp and was immediately put in a situation where she had to follow thousands of rules that she was totally ignorant of. Not surprisingly, she had a very difficult time. As time wore on, she began to work on herself and her family issues, and she ultimately leaves a more functional person.
The opening chapters of the book are written the way you'd expect a teenager like Vona to speak: lots of slang, lots of swear words. As she learns to live by and respect the rules at The Village (her boot camp), the amount of cursing diminishes and she's more honest with readers about what she feels. Since she works the Twelve Steps, the first chapter is -12 and continues to count down to zero, then back up to 12. As Susanna Kaysen does in Girl, Interrupted, Vona contrasts her experiences with the clinical notes. Sometimes it will make your blood boil ("Patient appears selfish and needy" when Vona reports having done nothing in particular that day), sometimes it will reflect the day's events with a dark humor (after witnessing a takedown gone so wrong that she had to run for help and wound up staying awake until 2AM, the night staff notes "Patient slept soundly.") Other times you're unsure how her report of the day is supposed to work with the clinical notes. But given the fact that Vona has some serious learning disabilities, the book itself is a remarkable achievement.
After finishing the book, I was left with some larger questions. Why do books like this continue to be popular? How come they are rarely, if ever, written by men? The Bell Jar was released in 1963; although treatment for mental illness has advanced since then, has it come as far as we like to believe? And what do we do with those who just don't fit in, who, like Vona, defy labeling? These questions have been with us for along time. Perhaps stories like Vona's have staying power because they encourage us to work towards better answers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
