Danika reviews The Family Tooth by Ellis Avery

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As soon as I finished The Last Nude by Ellis Avery, I immediately added her to my mental list of favourite authors, despite the fact that it was the only thing I’d ever read by her. Some stories are like that. The Family Tooth is a very different book, but it definitely has helped secure her place on that list.

The Family Tooth is a memoir composed of linked essays. Some of these are available as Kindle singles, or the whole book is available zine-style in the author’s Etsy shop. At first glance, it can seem disconnected. The essays cover Avery’s grief over the death of her mother, as well as her journey through dealing with severe arthritis and later cancer, partly through radically restricting her diet. Because they do concentrate on different subjects, the essays can stand on their own, but I think they’re much more powerful when read in sequence.

In the introduction to this collection, Avery warns that part of this purpose of these essays is to detail her discoveries about treatment of her illness so that other people with similar symptoms can use her research to help in their own lives. She encourages the average reader to skip these dry medical passages. It’s a testament to Ellis Avery’s writing that I realized at the end of the book that I had totally forgotten this warning, and despite the detail given, I had never noticed any “dry” segments.

The book begins by discussing her mother’s death, and the complex relationship Ellis Avery had with her mother–an alcoholic and emotionally distant figure in her life. Later essays that are primarily concerned with Avery’s illness still bring in this processing, including thought-provoking parallels between her mother’s life and her own that recontextualize and complicate the initial impression we have of her.

It’s Avery’s writing that really makes these essays stand out. She knows just how to give a detail or mental image that elevates the whole narrative. She weaves in lines that link these disparate subjects together effortlessly. I found myself reading lines out loud to my roommate, and at one point we both paused after I read out a sentence and then said simultaneously “That’s such good writing.”

Grief memoirs and illness memoirs are not usually genres that I gravitate towards, but I will continue to read anything this author decides to write, and I would recommend you join me.

Rachel reviews Patience & Sarah by Isabel Miller

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First published in 1969 under the title A Place for Us, Patience & Sarah is a lovely classic lesbian novel by Isabel Miller. Like Nancy Garden’s Annie on my Mind, this book is one of the first and few books of the time to have lesbian female protagonists in love, and to have a happy ending. It is still popular today and one of the most beloved LGBT novels.

Taking place in Connecticut in 1816, the story follows the viewpoints of Patience White and Sarah Dowling. Patience is in her late twenties, which at that time labeled her as a spinster. She lives with her brother Edward, his wife Martha, and her little nieces and nephews. She not only helps Martha care for the children, Patience is a wonderful painter, which she would love to do for a living. Sarah Dowling is the second-oldest in a house full of sisters. Being strongest, her father picks her to help him do the “men’s” work. A hard worker and itching to buy her own land, Sarah one day goes to the White’s home to deliver wood, and she meets Patience. The two feel an instant connection as they share a meal together and look at Patience’s pictures. It’s love at first sight, and when Sarah reveals her plans to go to Genesee, New York, and start a farm, Patience asks to come too.

After sharing their first kiss, the two women are happily in love. However, their families find out about their love, and react badly. Initially worried about her reputation, Patience refuses to go with Sarah, and Sarah sets off, heartbroken and alone. En route to Genesee and disguised as a boy, she meets Parson Peel, a knowledgeable man in books and learning. After learning to read, Sarah returns to her community and reconciles with Patience. Finally accepting her feelings for Sarah, Patience travels with her lover to hopefully find a good life together.

Patience & Sarah is a simple read, but Isabel Miller conveys so much in her story: from what the characters are thinking and feeling to brief but beautifully written details of the scenery and other observations. The characters of Patience and Sarah balance each other out well, though there are personality clashes between them sometimes. At first, the idea of them deciding to move to New York together after only a second meeting seemed too quick and impulsive to me, but as the women’s story moved along, I was nonetheless still rooting for them.

The novel had a good cast of characters with their own personalities. Some of the more sympathetic and likeable ones were Sarah’s sister Rachel, and Parson Peel. The Parson especially was entertaining, with his acceptance of differences and his endless supply of facts from the books he read. He taught Sarah more than just letters; he showed her possibilities she hadn’t known existed.

The love story between the two women blooms as they travel and build their own farm. They endure some trials as well as their own worries and doubts, but both Patience and Sarah really are in love, and believe that as long as they have each other, they can get through anything. Their unyielding bond is admirable.

Isabel Miller based Patience & Sarah on two real historical women. Painter Mary Ann Willson and her companion Miss Brundidge settled together in Greene County, New York around 1820. Miller even dedicated her book to them, which I found very touching.

All in all, Patience & Sarah is a wonderful historical lesbian romance that warms the heart. Anyone who is interested in LGBT literature be they gay or straight, should take the time to read this amazing novel.

Marthese reviews Their Story (Tamen De Gushi) by Tan Jiu

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“What’s up with her today?” “Youth”

Their Story (Tamen De Gushi) is a full colour Manhua (Chinese Comic) that is still ongoing, about Sun Jing and Qiu Tong, two girls from neighboring schools.

Sun Jing, a popular girl at her school has a crush on Qui Tong, who she sees at a bus stop but cannot talk to her. Despite being confident and coming off as a bit of a player and heart breaker, one smile from Qui Tong make Sun Jing redden and unable to speak. After a burst of confidence however, the two become friends.

We get to see short glimpses into their interactions, with some subplots and side characters. There are even holiday special strips, with one of them including a recipe! I really like when comics or books teach you things (I read a 4 volume manage called Stretch by Higashiyama Shou that has two female main characters that teach readers how to do stretching in everyday life! It’s a series that you never knew needed in your life)

The art is rather nice. It feels like a mix between simple and detailed and the colours are really warm. The plot starts almost immediately and we get to see scenes, then after a couple of chapters we get to see the actual backstory.

The interactions between Sun Jin and Qui Tong are super cute, sometimes awkward and very realistic. Sometimes we get to see the same scene from the two protagonists’ perspectives, which gives us more of an insight in their mind rather than the scene just being narrative.

Sun Jing is rowdy, has mostly male friends – her main best friend is Qi Fang who is also rather popular and tends to be ditched by Sun Jing and serves as her wingman- and is refreshingly honest. She does not over-think too much. She’s also a bit of a tomboy and rather funny.

Qui Tong is also popular but does not have that many friends. She misunderstands Sun Jing at first but soon learns the truth, twice. She does cute things from Sun Jing and it will make your heart melt and squee sound effects are guaranteed.

Because the narrative part are mostly told from Sun Jing’s perspective and in the setting is mostly her school, Qui Tong is more mysterious. Let’s hope for more development in her character soon!

I wanted to review this manhua because, let’s admit, there aren’t that many manga/manhua/manhwa  featuring queer women as main characters that are great. Despite Tamen De Gushi being still ongoing, it may be worth a read, or a bookmark. That’s right, as it is not officially sold in English, Scanlators (people that scan and translate than upload on the internet) have taken it upon themselves to show us this great story. This reddit topic may help: https://www.reddit.com/r/manga/comments/2s0vue/disc_their_story_ch_3137/

A reminder that Manhuas are read from left to right not from right to left like Mangas!

Link Round Up: November 30 – December 20

Sorry for the delay in posting round ups! December has been really hectic around here. But there’s been lots of fantastic stuff posted lately, so let’s just dive right in!

dirty-river  chelseagirls   theargonauts   supermutantmagicacademy   lumberjanes

Autostraddle posted

jamonthevine   undertheudalatree   HopeintheHeartofWinter   hungermakesmeamoderngirl   lilliantrilogy

Lambda Literary posted

carol   beebo   olivia   ifnotwinter   TheColorPurple

Queerest. Library. Ever. posted Patricia Highsmith’s Yuletide Carol.

She Winked posted Ann Bannon and The Beebo Brinker Chronicles.

Women and Words has been hosting its Holiday Hootenanny with giveaways every day! They also posted Hot off the Press, December 2015 and Coming Attractions, January 2016.

“A Queer Girl’s Gift Guide To Holiday Book Giving” was posted at Bustle (inexplicably includes a trans guy book, but otherwise great).

longredhair   secondmangocover   repercussions   teamachine   aimeeandjaguar

Long Red Hair by Meags Fitzgerald was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

The Second Mango by Shira Glassman was reviewed at Queer Media Representation.

The Repercussions by Catherine Hall was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

The Tea Machine by Gill McKnight was reviewed at The Rainbow Hub.

backcast   undertheudalatree   princessandtheprix   9780373211753_BB.indd   slowriver2

Backcast by Ann McMan was reviewed at Lesbian Reading Room.

Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta was reviewed at ALA GLBT Reviews.

The Princess and the Prix by Nell Stark was reviewed at Romance Novels for Feminists.

What We Left Behind by Robin Talley was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

This post, and all posts at the Lesbrary, have the covers linked to their Amazon pages. If you click through and buy something, I might get a small referral fee. For even  more links, check out the Lesbrary’s twitterWe’re also on FacebookGoodreadsYoutube and Tumblr.

Thank you to the Lesbrary’s Patreon supporters! Special thanks to Jennifer Holly, Martha Hansen, Emily Perper, and Kath. Support the Lesbrary on Patreon at $2 or more a month and be entered to win a lesbian/queer women book every month!

SPONSORED REVIEW: Danika reviews The Apprentice Queen by Nel Havas

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The Apprentice Queen is a story about how an ordinary person becomes a monster.

Mitti grew up in a happy, not particularly well-off family in ancient Egypt. When she was ten, she found herself suddenly whisked off into the royal court, a snake pit of deception, betrayal, and political games. She is trained by the queen herself to become an expert at maneuvering in this toxic environment. Mitti is horrified by Queen Sekma’s callousness, her willingness to sacrifice innocent people for the greater good, or even just to further her own power. But as Mitti becomes the princess Kham, she develops an aptitude for the same manipulation that she always resented in Sekma. Eventually she finds herself making an impossible choice between her beloved and the safety of both her son and the kingdom.

I found The Apprentice Queen to be a little overwhelming at first: we are plunged into this story and have to quickly find our feet. The novel also bounces back and forth in time often, usually beginning a chapter with a dramatic scene and then backing up to explain what lead up to it. I was immediately intrigued by the world of court politics, however. The intricate machinations are fascinating to read about. At its heart, this is about how Kham becomes corrupted by her environment, or at least how she is forced to make impossible choices. As a child, Mitti is horrified to realize that on some level she in enjoying this intrigue and manipulation, and I felt the same way reading it. The options are laid out so that something like sentencing a person to death for a minor offense can seem reasonable while I’m immersed the story, and it only after I’ve put the book down that I realize how reprehensible it is.

Sekma makes for a fascinating character. She is brutal, but incredibly intelligent and skilled. Relentlessly practical, she has a clear worldview and is willing to sacrifice anything in order to make the kingdom stronger. She sneers at the idea that war has “honor” over poisoning a single person in order to prevent thousands of deaths on the battlefield. Kham struggles with her own feelings towards Sekma, loathing her at most times, but growing to respect her as she struggled to fill the old queen’s shoes.

It is Kham’s relationships with the key women in her life that form the core of the emotional arc of the story. Although she is motivated by the love she has for her son, he does not demand the attention that Sekma, Nyserra, and even her sometimes lover Tasima do. I loved the rapport that Tasima and Kham had together as friends and lovers while not in the context of  a romantic relationship. It’s also always nice to have a story that integrates lesbian relationships seamlessly. This isn’t a “lesbian romance”, but it does include one.

I did feel uncomfortable about the attitudes around disability. Although I liked that Kham and her husband had a friendly relationship, most of the discussion around people with disabilities in this novel is about preventing their existence. At some point Kham contemplates what a “miserable” existence Oskhama, though we never have any indication that he is unhappy.

Aside from that, I did have some minor quibbles, including a few typos and that one of the sex scenes has one of the women say “Stop! Oh Stop!” to no response, though clearly the scene is supposed to read as consensual. Other than that, the writing is serviceable and communicates an engrossing narrative of one person’s gradual transformation into someone remarkably like the person they most detest. This conceit is captivating and so well executed that I would definitely recommend picking this up regardless of the minor flaws I found with it.

This has been a sponsored review. For more information, check out the Lesbrary’s review policy.

Megan Casey reviews Torrid Zone by ReBecca Béguin

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In the early days of modern feminism, when women were wimmin (or womyn), girls were grrrls, and men were the enemy, Ida Muret joined seven other communal lesbians on a collective farm in central Vermont. They called their group Blue Corn. Their goals were many, but boiled down to living self-sufficiently off the land and away from patriarchal oppression of any kind—social, religious, or political. They succeeded for ten years, until tragedy came to break the group up for good.

Seven years later, Ida is working as a ranch hand and stone builder when 19-year-old Viv Lovejoy—a victim of sexual harassment at her college—needs a safe house for a while. Ida, a loner by choice, unhappily agrees to take her in. But it turns out that Viv is also writing a paper about women’s collectives in general and about Blue Corn in particular. And Viv whines and harangues Ida until Ida agrees to tell the younger woman her story. And what a story it is.

“We were all into being lavender Amazon wimmen with labryses between our bare breasts” Ida tells Viv in a voice that is almost post-apocalyptic in its regret and sadness. And “You must understand, we didn’t have TV spoiling our visions!” And in Ida’s brilliant point of view, author Béguin segues into the saga of Kite, Spence, Rune, Kristy, and the others as they farm their land and try to sculpt, paint, write, and love in their spare time. We get to know them all intimately. On one level it is Ida’s chance to unburden herself of many of her secrets; on another it is the chance to introduce feminist history and philosophy to the new generation of lesbians that Viv represents.

Torrid Zone has many meanings in this book. It is, for instance, the name of Ida’s wood stove, which she salvaged from Blue Corn. It can mean great sex or a hot day in the fields. It is the term one of the Blue Corn members gave to the collective because they were “hot shit” because they had created a utopia. But most of all, I think it represents Ida’s memories of that ten years with her friends—a busy, creative, and sometimes disruptive time that she has held inside her for too long. Viv is a breath of relief, she brings new excitement to Ida’s life, not only in her research, but in her own adventure, which comes to an exciting head at the conclusion of the book.

But whatever meaning you take from the title, The Torrid Zone is one of the most interesting, well-written, and important books in both the mystery and utopian genres. Ida’s voice is unique in the literature, her story inspiring and enjoyable. Give it as close to a 5 as you can without going over. It is a book that should be in anyone’s Top 20 list. It is certainly in mine.

For more than 175 other Lesbian Mystery reviews by Megan Casey, see her website at http://sites.google.com/site/theartofthelesbianmysterynovel/  or join her Goodreads Lesbian Mystery group at http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/116660-lesbian-mysteries

Audrey reviews Warm and Willing by Lawrence Block writing as Jill Emerson

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Lawrence Block isn’t known for his lesbian romances, but the novelty factor of the mystery author’s name showing up on an LGBT-tagged book in my Oyster suggestions was enough to make me give this a try. Block wrote a few lesbian romances under the name Jill Emerson, but these were written way back in the day, and he’s not pursued this line of writing into the present day.

The writing is fine. Where modern readers will disconnect, particularly younger ones, is the basic scene. Warm and Willing’s e-cover is updated, and its publication date refers to e-publication date, but it takes only a few pages for the reader to realize that the story is not taking place in this century. The print book was published in 1964, and the story is set in New York City in the Village. Casual racism and xenophobia haven’t been excised from the text. Although not excessive, these things are certainly present, distancing the reader from a distinct point in time.

Rhoda has just had her two-year marriage annulled and is living on her own. She married too early, and it didn’t work out at all. She’s not sure why things didn’t work, but she’s much happier on her own, with her little apartment and her job selling curios. And then one day Megan comes in looking for a present for a friend. And Rhoda’s catapulted into a world she never anticipated. And her life truly begins.

Block’s stereotyping of the LGBT community seems at times more like a sociology primer; he walks Rhoda through learning about basic social conventions and lesbian rituals, and her response is generally, “Goodness, I have a lot to learn.” I found this an interesting curiosity of a period piece, but it’s not hugely satisfying as a romance. Rhoda searches for self, stumbles, comes to realizations, has renewed sense of purpose. That’s pretty much it. The book is very light on explicit sexuality, but please note trigger warnings for self-harm (not Rhoda, but an acquaintance). I finished the book exceedingly grateful to be in 2015.

Elinor reviews Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl by Carrie Brownstein

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As a long-time Sleater-Kinney fan and a Pacific Northwest transplant, I was thrilled that Carrie Brownstein had written a memoir. I picked up a copy of Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl right away and I’ve been telling everybody about it ever since. I’ve been recommending it right and left and I’m excited to tell you why.

Brownstein’s book is at times devastating, insightful, and hilarious. It traces Brownstein’s childhood in a Seattle suburb through her early days as a fan making music with friends and onto her life as a touring musician and briefly features her life during Sleater-Kinney’s long (and at the time, seemingly indefinite) hiatus. Though Brownstein explores coming of age under the shadow of mother’s eating disorder and her father’s later-in-life coming out, the bulk of the book is devoted to her time in Sleater-Kinney.

This means that you’ll find out a lot about the miseries of touring in general and Brownstein’s variety of on-tour ailments in particular, including a torn ligament, a surprise food allergy that made her face swell up, and shingles. Brownstein deftly deflates any rock star mystique we may have projected on the incredible musician. Readers are treated to other tidbits about the band as well, including backstories to some songs, bands they toured with, and where and how they recorded.

Brownstein also shares some of the incredibly sexist media coverage Sleater-Kinney has gotten over the years. She exposes her still-raw pain of being outed, along with fellow band co-founder Corin Tucker, by a reporter from Spin. The report had never spoken with either woman about their sexuality or personal relationships and Brownstein was stunned when she learned of the article’s content. In her early twenties at the time and not out to her family, and not completely clear how she wanted to identify, the experience clearly hurt Brownstein deeply, made worse by the reporter’s portrait of her as Tucker’s gushing fan rather than a competent and creative musician in her own right.

Perhaps these negative media experiences help explain the one aspect of the book I found wanting: Brownstein’s guardedness around her personal relationships, especially about her relationship with Tucker. Tucker and Brownstein were dating when they formed the band and recorded its first albums. Though Brownstein writes about the break-up and the impact it had on the music–more than one song on the album Dig Me Out deals the fall out from their relationship–she doesn’t let readers know much about the relationship itself. Their connection is described somewhat ambiguously until their breakup, which is confusing and mutes its emotional impact on readers. Brownstein tells of the sometimes-difficult relationship she and bandmembers Tucker and Janet Weiss have had with one another over the years (the band briefly went to couple’s therapy lead by a pair of married lesbians), but you can’t help but feel a piece of the puzzle is missing. Obviously, staying a creative partnership with her ex brought challenges, especially as Tucker got into a new relationship, married, and became a parent while Brownstein got sick on tour, had a series of girlfriends, and considered going to grad school. As Sleater-Kinney is an active band with a new album to promote, it’s equally obvious why Brownstein seems a bit protective. Spilling every emotionally gory detail wouldn’t be good for the band that’s finally making music together again. Besides, Brownstein is open about her tendency to live in her head and intellectualize her experiences. It doesn’t mean it’s not disappointing as a reader though. When later in the book Brownstein paints a heartbreaking and horrific scene around losing her cat, I wished she’d tackled her personal relationships with people as intensely and vividly.

That being said, the book is great. This memoir turns the idea of a rock star on its head. Brownstein is an unabashed geek and a serious nonfiction writer, as well as an excellent guitar player and singer. She takes her music seriously, cares about giving a good show, and spent most of her career acting as her own roadie. Being on tour isn’t billed as glamorous or sexy or filled with groupies. When Brownstein breaks down before a show and sets in motion a hiatus that will last over a decade, I empathized. The band was hard work.

Those who know Brownstein only from Portlandia might be disappointed, as the show only gets a shout-out in a single sentence. On the other hand, the ideas the show explores pop up periodically in the book. More importantly, it’s a waste to only know Brownstein from her acting. She an amazing musician and a great writer. I highly recommend this book.