Marthese reviews Dare Truth Or Promise by Paula Boock

Posted on February 29, 2016 by Danika Ellis

“It’s dynamite, Mo. It’s dynamite”

I have not read many classic queer literature, so when my friend lent me this book – no matter how many ebooks I have, nothing beats a paper book- I jumped on the bandwagon.

Dare Truth Or Promise is a classic romance that takes place in Dunedin, New Zealand between Louie and Willa. Willa just moved in to town. She and Louie meet at Burger Giant where they both work but soon they discover that Willa will also be going to the same school. The story is told from both of their perspectives.

From the moment that they meet, there is great camaraderie between the two protagonists and although they aren’t open with everyone, they aren’t scared. Until they are.

Louie is a theater geek who is very hardworking. Sometimes she puts words to a feeling by quoting literature. Willa is more reserved because of what happened to her in her past school probably. Willa is a no non-sense type of person while Louie is always jokes, but somehow they are both serious with their feelings and try to support each other in life, more mature than one would think for their age.

A scene that I found really great was in the beginning where Louie was performing in the comedy club. I think most of the performance can still be applied today. It is also I think where Willa seriously starts to have feelings for Louie.

Their first date (or second depending how you see it) was adorable. It was something very Willa and she shared it with Louie and they both had fun and did it again after. Their love started as a bit clueless, although they both seemed to know where it was heading just shy to act, however, I think it evolved into them being able to read each other so well.

This book, while short and really easy to ready, highlights a point that everyone going through maturity (and coming out but not only) has felt at least once: the difference that parents make. Jolene, Willa’s mother and Tony and Susi, Louie’s parents have different lifestyles and different ways of interacting with their children.

Another point which was important to the plot and gave it depth was the namesake of the book. Willa and Louie played Truth Dare or Promise between themselves. I thought of this a childish game but with decisions and actions being taken that are mature so in a way this game helped them bridge their past with their future.

The book has a great introduction, which I found funny and a great conclusion which reminded me of movie type closings. There is a light beginning with some angst in the middle and a hard but sweet ending- a happy ending! Although the book is not all lovey-dovey with some dark themes brushed upon, overall it’s pretty light-hearted with some frustration and fear thrown in.

This is probably the first book I read that is set in New Zealand. You will learn some fact and want to look up more. A handy glossary of terms is found in the beginning of the book. As well, the writing sometimes picked up small details mentioned previously and continued on them.

I would recommend this book for people that want to read something quick and fast flowing that is mostly light-hearted with some drama thrown in.

Danika reviews Murder Under the Bridge by Kate Jessica Raphael

Posted on February 23, 2016 by Danika Ellis

Murder Under the Bridge is a mystery novel set in Palestine. It follows two characters: Rania, a Palestinian policewoman, and Chloe, a white Jewish-American journalist doing activism in Palestine. Although Rania is the main character, we do see a lot from Chloe’s perspective, who is the lesbian character. The mystery at the center of the story is about a young foreign woman found dead near the border of Israel and Palestine. Rania, one of the few women in the department, is forced to work closer with Israeli police than is comfortable.

What I found fascinating about this book was the setting. I haven’t read any other book set in Palestine, and this one felt so immersive and well-researched. It begins with several maps and “a note about names”, and it ends with a glossary. Kate Jessica Raphael is, in her words, “a white Jewish American who spent around eighteen months in Palestine, with brief forays into Israel.” She also spent six weeks in an Israeli immigration prison because of her activism. Although the plot revolves around investigating the mystery, the tension is around the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. There is never a moment of absolute safety or certainty for the Palestinian characters, and the threat of violence or imprisonment is always just around the corner.

In addition to the setting, Rania and Chloe are both very well established characters. They are complex and compelling, and I felt equally invested in both of their stories, so switching perspectives never felt jarring or unwanted. I do wish the side characters got more development, however. There is a large cast of characters that I found myself losing track of (which is likely my own fault–I’m terrible with names), and I felt like Rania’s husband especially was a character that appears often but does not seem to be a round, interesting character. I wanted to see more from him, and from their relationship. Chloe’s love interest was intriguing, but I also wanted to know more about her, and it felt like their relationship popped up fairly suddenly.

I don’t read a lot of mysteries, so I can’t speak with authority about how the mechanism of the mystery functioned, but it worked well for me. The chapters are short, so it always felt easy to race through, although I felt like the focus was more on the setting and characters than fast-paced action (which isn’t a complaint).

I think that this is a fantastic read for anyone interested in reading a well-researched novel set in Palestine, and it has definitely spurred me to want to pick up more, especially from a Palestinian author.

Megan Casey reviews When the Dancing Stops by Therese Szymanski

Posted on February 17, 2016 by Danika Ellis

This is advertised as a different kind of lesbian mystery, and it is. Brett Higgins is a young woman from the wrong side of the river in Detroit, who manages to work her way up to becoming the manager of a sleazy porn operation that has sidelines in drugs, lap dancing, and intimidation. She is as butch as they come, and as fearless. She also has a taste for 17-year-old babydykes.

If Brett doesn’t seem like a very sympathetic character it’s because she isn’t. And if the setting seems gritty and unappealing, it’s because it is. It’s hard not to get the feeling that Szymanski is making it as difficult as she can for the reader to like Brett and her job—and also that she seems to enjoy making the reader squirm. Well, an old professor of mine once told me that just because a certain book might not be to your liking doesn’t mean it’s not good. I’ve never quite agreed, but in this case, she might have a point.

For one thing, the author’s use of roving third-person point of view is one of the best I have seen—it may even be considered omniscient, which is the hardest POV to work with. The reader experiences what is going through the minds of several characters, but you are never confused about who is doing the thinking. She also limits herself to the points of view of only the important characters—which might seem a no-brainer, but evidently is not. The book is tough and honest and gives us a view of a world we rarely see in lesbian mysteries–or anywhere.

The problem is, though, I just don’t like Brett Higgins. The fact that she can get any lover she desires irks me, but I know enough about human nature to realize that this is not impossible; not even implausible. Many of my friends have gone off with people that I can’t for the life of me respect. It happens. But when Brett gets the hots for Allie Sullivan I can only watch with dismay, because Allie is one of the only halfway sympathetic characters in the book. I watch the relationship unfold with the eyes of a disapproving mother.

Along the way, Brett’s best friend and ex-lover are both murdered. Later, her boss it also murdered—allowing Brett to take over his shady business. She vows to find out who murdered them, but at the same time an obsessed cop with a vendetta against Brett vows to prove that Brett herself is the killer.

The book has twist after twist and a fairly surprising ending. Yet the climactic scene is not rendered very clearly and is improbable and forced. Yet none of this really maters—most denouements in mysteries are implausible, and we know which way this one is going to go anyway, even if the author has to transform the personalities of all the main characters midway through the book for it to happen. Everybody ends up questioning their life choices at the same time. Well, call it growth if you like.

As an intellectual, I would give this book a 3.5 or a little higher. As a reader, less than 3. As Allie’s mother, I am going to have to call my lawyer and have a new will drawn up. The original Naiad book was republished by Bella with 100 fewer listed pages. I’m sure it would be interesting to see if the book has changed much and to see how Brett fares in the next book under different circumstances. But I fear I am going to have to learn these things second hand.

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

Link Round Up: February 1 – 16

Posted on February 16, 2016 by Danika Ellis

AfterEllen posted “Heathen” is the Queer Viking Warrior Comic of Your Dreams.

Autostraddle posted

Lambda Literary posted LGBTQ Writers on Their Favorite Music and New in February: Darryl Pinckney, Alexander Chee, Vanda, Joel Grey, and Allen Ginsberg.

social media lesbrarian posted Using Social Media for LGBTQ+ Reader’s Advisory.

Vintage Lesbian posted an interview with Natalie Clifford Barney from 1962.

Women and Words posted Hot off the Press, February 2016 and Coming Attractions, March 2016.

Ylva Publishing posted Valentine’s Day Lesbian Romance Recommendations.

Alison Bechdel posted My 10 Favorite Books at NY Times.

“Golden Crown Literary Society Names 2016 Lee Lynch Classic Award Recipient” was posted at PR.com.

“National Book Foundation Creates After-School Reading Club for LGBTQ Teens” was posted at Publishers Weekly.

For Your Own Good by Leah Horlick was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

Backcast by Ann McMan was reviewed at C-Spot Reviews.

Heiresses of Russ 2015 edited by Jean Roberta and Steve Berman was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

The Mystics of Mile End by Sigal Samuel was reviewed at Austostraddle.

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Julie Thompson reviews The Warrior, the Healer, and the Thief by Diane Jean

Posted on February 16, 2016 by Danika Ellis

The Warrior, the Healer, and the Thief (WHT) by Diane Jean is a bite-sized, action-packed adventure across the rugged terrain of the Western United States. WHT is incredibly fun and entertaining. It re-imagines the Oregon Trail within the lens of magical realism. Chase, Mara, and Ari, three women with different motives, join forces against demonic energies and black magic as they head west. Jean avoids story-stopping exposition, relying instead on character revelation through events and flashbacks. The pacing is quick and lively, but doesn’t run roughshod over the plot. At the outset, Chase embodies the warrior, tough on the outside and a bit brisk; Mara, as the sensitive healer; and Ari as the thief, slipping in and out of sight. However, the women aren’t limited to any one job, emotion, or social category.

Magic, for the most part, possesses a practical nature in this world. People with any degree of magical ability are referred to as “users”. Many families have only enough power to aid in simple tasks, such as starting a campfire. Other people use their magic to attain political power, while others pursue more insidious occupations. Magic does not prevent drowning or dysentery or any other common ailment on the road.

The mythical creatures that populate this world integrate seamlessly into the rugged terrain of the Oregon Trail, a place that seems almost mystical and unreal to people on the East Coast. These creatures transform into flesh and blood, beak and claw, among the mountains, sagebrush, and canyons. They mingle with more familiar animals, such as bison. Thunderbirds terrorize from the skies; wild hodags threaten from the ground; and herds of bison plow through the fields. Cue our early season wagon party, featuring the Warrior, the Healer, and the Thief.

Chase Templeton (never, ever call her Chastity) descends from a prestigious line of Old World dragon slayers. Although this is all ancient history by the time Chase was born, this badass shortie still finds uses for her family’s extensive weapons training and magical beast lore. Early on, Chase recoils from the idea of living a conventional, stay-at-home-and-get-married kind of life. She loves the rugged terrain and the colorful people who call west of the Mississippi their home. For her, wilderness and civilization are a state-of-mind, an opinion she shares with her companions. Every wagon train she guides west is full of people she believes are escaping past lives, their hopes pinned on the shimmering horizon. Chase’s personal conflicts with the expectations laid out for her by her family and her own beliefs, play out along the trail.

After years of fruitless supplication to the Goddess, Mara (née Aurora Nacht) flees Princeton Seminary and her illustrious family, and hits the open road heading west. West is the land with all the answers, at least that’s what she wants to believe. When she signs up for a wagon party leaving Independence, Missouri, she strives to keep a low profile. Her education and upbringing allow her to pose as a missionary out to spread the word of the Goddess. She values her faith, but doesn’t push it onto others. As her fellow travelers risk injury and death, Mara’s resolve to stay silent on her identity and personal mission, weakens. Mara is a character that, written another way, could have ended up mousy and dry. Instead, she channels newfound strength, while retaining her empathic qualities.

Enter the third member of this dynamic trio: Ari. Ari’s jocularity, wide open heart, and special ability, help her survive and thrive. She wants snuggles, bright lights, company, and sexy good times, not pity and loneliness. Ari doesn’t define herself by the obstacles and sinister forces that seek her soul. Her journey reflects her struggle to keep dark elements at bay. Racism and slavery still exist in this alternate Oregon Trail universe. The amorphous evil that follows first Ari’s mother, and then Ari herself, originates on the plantation from which her mother escaped before Ari was born. After performing a few favors for the New Orleans’ elite, Ari learns from Io, an elderly witch, how slaves were used against each other to enact punitive measures. Ari’s mother and Io the witch gift her with tools that enable and drive her forward. The story doesn’t linger on slavery, but it does give you some idea of how it affects the Ari and her mother.

As the narratives of these women unfold, their lives become increasingly intertwined. The romantic relationships I’ve read about usually involve two people and perhaps a few others known in the novel as speed bumps on the way to some kind of bliss beyond the final page. Third or fourth persons are regarded as complications, with love as a contest between opposing parties. Their burgeoning friendship and romance stutter steps over some petty jealousies, but most of those incidents arise from Chase’s initial mistrust of Ari. I think it’s pretty understandable to reserve trust from a person who pops out from under your wagon. The women don’t agonize over whether what they feel is “right” or “wrong”. Instead of stalling the story with introspection, the romance is one of many elements that move the story forward. The trio becomes closer over the course of events despite differences in their backgrounds and personalities. All of the elements of a meaningful relationship are present, but the women, apart from Ari, have no frame of reference for emotional and sexual unions among three persons, so they don’t fully recognize the possibility at first. They help each other grow into the best possible version of themselves. Nothing about their relationship feels forced or tacked on. It develops as organically as the rest of the story.

The tale is complete as a stand-alone volume, but has enough leeway for a sequel. I’m crossing my fingers for a sequel or maybe some prequels! If you love adventure, the extraordinary mixed with the pedestrian, and history seasoned with magic, then what are you still doing reading this review? Hitch up your internet oxen and get your copy today! And then go play Oregon Trail.

Available from Less Than Three Press’s website as an e-book, as well as from Barnes & Noble and Amazon (e-book and paperback formats).

Oregon Trail → Internet Archive at https://archive.org/details/msdos_Oregon_Trail_The_1990

Audrey reviews Ask a Queer Chick by Lindsay King-Miller

Posted on February 13, 2016 by Danika Ellis

Obviously, it’s an advice book. Yes! It’s based on an advice column from the website the Hairpin. Ask a Queer Chick is in chapter format, not Q-and-A, so it’s nicely conversational, but it’s derived from a whole mess of questions from a whole phalanx of queer chicks (and not queer chicks) of varying degrees of queerness. One of the book’s challenges is finding its audience, as it’s not easily targeting the asker of one question, but a sea of readers, whose makeup, never mind experience, is unknown.

King-Miller confronts this challenge by making this more of an “I think I might be…so what do I do now?” type of book, and she includes lots of food for thought. It’s tough. She’s not selling this as the newbie manual that I should have gotten when my girl got yet another toaster, which is at the level of ally-moving-into-needing-to-know-practicalities, and she’s also not marketing this as relationship advice from a guru among the flock. This title will probably best fit those exploring a newly discovered or claimed identity. There’s a lot of self-empowerment, a lot of self-protection, and a lot of context.

There are some big strengths here. I love reading advice books, especially when the advice is heartfelt and real, and when the advice giver clearly cares for the welfare of her readers. That’s the case here. There are sections on coming out, queer subculture, queer sex, breaking up, discrimination, marriage, and looking at your life with an eye to making it amazing. One of the biggest strengths of the book is in chapter 6, “Bi Any Means Necessary: Notes on Non-Monosexuality.” Please, someone, correct me loudly on this if I’m wrong, but I found the book in general to be nonbinary-positive and affirming.
Ask a Queer Chick should be a good resource for a few different groups of readers. Those who are questioning, those who are allies, and those who simply want some support can all draw excellent stuff from this volume. Additionally, King-Miller notes right off that she’s a cisgender queer chick, so she’s not claiming to be an authority on trans issues; however, she still thinks for trans chicks whose “sexual and romantic compass (doesn’t point) dudeward,” there’s plenty of useful material herein.

Kalyanii reviews The Morning After by Jae

Posted on February 11, 2016 by Danika Ellis

If ever there were a lesson to be learned in distinguishing between the intentions of the author and those of her protagonist, it would be within Jae’s short story, “The Morning After,” which recounts the Valentine’s Day misadventures of actress Amanda Clark. Whereas I assumed the role of the indignant reader on my first pass, pinning Amanda’s tendency to stereotype on the author herself, I found myself remorseful for my misunderstanding on the second. To my chagrin, what Jae accomplishes within the piece is the very dismantling of her protagonist’s stereotypes with a subtlety and profundity that is nothing less than masterful.

Having barely made it to the entree before ditching her dinner companion who had begun planning their future together in the midst of their first date, Amanda decides to pop in on an Anti-Valentine’s Day party, advertised on a flyer that had been placed beneath the wiper blades of her car, for a quick drink before heading home. What she doesn’t anticipate is the effect of the first “Mind Eraser” the bartender hands her or those to follow, which land her in a state of undress upon awakening the next morning in a complete stranger’s bed.

As much as I appreciated the tone and pacing of the story overall, the handling of the “morning after” was what I found to be most impressively executed. It’s as though the reader rises alongside Amanda, desperately trying to deduce where she is and how she got there. The detailed description of her surroundings — the smell of masculine cologne, the man’s watch on the nightstand — bring the story so vividly to life.

However, if one were to remain mired within the smug displeasure to which I initially clung, all of the strengths exhibited within the tale would surely be overshadowed by Amanda’s references to the person who rescued her the evening before as “the butch,” expressing surprise that she knows how to cook and just so happens to enjoy the company of children. Over the course of the morning, Amanda does begin to question her assumptions but not to a degree anywhere near true acceptance. And there we have what is known as damn good (and realistic) character development.

Initially, I was befuddled as to how Jae could have broached Amanda’s lack of respect and misguided assumptions in a way that might prove less alienating. Then, I allowed Amanda the freedom to be precisely who she is, in spite of her biases, which stuck so firmly in my craw. Although it remained a challenge to cut Amanda slack, her character arc revealed promise, which is, indeed, something.

It’s my understanding that Amanda and “the butch” appear once again in Jae’s novel, Departure from the Script, which I will no doubt purchase. Jae’s narrative is just that engaging. Thus, I am willing to give her characters the benefit of the doubt, banking on the hope that they will evolve in a manner that allows them deeper insight into themselves and one another, so they might ultimately enjoy all that resides beyond the scope of their own limited worldview.

Elinor reviews Gay and Lesbian History for Kids: The Century-Long Struggle for LGBT Rights, with 21 Activities by Jerome Pohlen

Posted on February 10, 2016 by Danika Ellis

There isn’t a lot of nonfiction for young readers out there about LGBTQ people or issues. For this reason alone, Gay and Lesbian History for Kids: The Century-Long Struggle for LGBT Rights, with 21 Activities stands out. With just over 150 pages, tons of beautiful photographs, and a century of gay history, there’s nothing else like it on the market for children. Public and school libraries should stock it and let interested readers learn about the context and story of gay activism in the United States. There is nothing overtly sexually in this book and nearly all the language is totally school-appropriate, so there is little for adults to object over, except for the folks who are upset about the spotlight on gay history itself. The book also lists resources so interested readers can find out more.

Is it something you should buy for the kids in your own life, though? That depends. I’m a middle school teacher and a former elementary teacher, and I received a copy of this book for my class library in exchange for an honest review. I currently work at a school in the Bay Area with an active gay-straight alliance and a handful of out teachers, including me. While I was very excited for this book and think it would be great for some kids, it has limitations.

The biggest of these is that the intended audience is more unclear than it seems on the surface. The reading level is advanced, at least upper elementary if not middle school, but the tone is clearly for children, not young teens. Teens and tweens who see themselves as mature or who already have some awareness of LGBTQ history and politics may find it patronizing. Many sections struck me (and some of my volunteer eighth grade readers) as talking down to the reader. This wouldn’t be as noticeable to, say, a third grader but the vocabulary and writing style is beyond that of most third graders. A child would likely find it frustrating to read unless they are a very fluent reader with a great vocabulary or they are reading it with an adult. The activities are all for students in elementary school, some of them best for students in early elementary grades. These activities don’t add much to the book either. Gay and Lesbian History for Kids would have had a wider audience with an easier reading level, without activities, with “young people” instead of “kids” in the title, and/or with a little more faith in its readers.

It’s noteworthy to me that the title and subtitle don’t really line up in this book, which is reflected in the book itself. Bisexuals don’t get mentioned very much. Trans people and trans rights get more attention, but huge chunks of trans history in the 20th century are absent. Even the lesbian history sections are condensed to the point that I felt important parts of the story were missing. Part of this is just that summing up a century in the space allotted means things will be left out. Yet as a history buff, and history teacher, I know that what we cut for space is often as telling as the history itself.

Similarly, the book briefly explores homosexuality and gender variance in ancient history in ways that didn’t read as balanced to me. Africa’s left out of the early history section entirely and Asia’s section mentions only a gay emperor in China and a gender flexible Hindu god/dess. In reality, pre-colonial queer and trans history around the globe is really interesting! Many homophobic laws and cultural influences in Asia, Africa and the Americas are leftovers from European imperialism and colonialism. It’s fascinating to look at how that lingers. In some places globally there’s never been a large scale gay rights movement because queerness is more culturally normalized, even if that normalization occurs in flawed ways. I wish, if pre-modern LGBTQ history were going to be mentioned in a global context, it had been explored more deeply. The rest of the book is about LGBT history mainly in North America and somewhat in Western Europe. The bits about Two-Spirit Native peoples are all in the past but not the present, and queer and trans people are discussed in ancient cultures when the modern descendants of those places are never mentioned in modern history sections of the book. The attempt a global multiculturalism feels more like spice than substance.

Along those same lines I wish this book took a more intersectional approach. A featured picture in the book shows the first Annual Reminder in 1965, with Frank Kameny holding a sign reading “Homosexual American Citizens–Our Last Oppressed National Minority.” A similar idea later popped up unchallenged in a Larry Kramer quote from the 1980s. But obviously when we look back at the 60’s or the 80’s or even when we look at the U.S. today, we can see racism, sexism, ableism and other forms of oppression had and have devastating effects on people, that homophobia isn’t necessarily “the worst,” and that trying to pick a “worst” oppression isn’t really the point. The fact that gay white men thought that gay people were the last or most oppressed minority strikes me as pretty clueless. The idea that it’s possible to experience oppression and privilege in a variety of intersecting ways isn’t presented at all. It is a complex idea, but a valuable framework for people who may be reading about activist history for the first time.

Despite all the criticism, I am really glad to have this for my classroom. I absolutely think it should be in libraries for young people. I don’t think it should be the only book on LGBTQ history available, and I hope future authors fill the gaps. If you’re thinking of buying this book for an individual child or teen you know, consider their reading level, age, and how much support they’ll get reading it. If you’re there to bridge the gap between the tone and the reading demands, and ready to provide information about what’s left out, go for it. If not, you might want to read it yourself before you decide if it’s really right for the young person you have in mind.

Danika reviews Orlando by Virginia Woolf

Posted on February 1, 2016 by Danika Ellis

Orlando is the book that I’ve been most ashamed of never having read. It’s a queer classic! So when I was picking out which book should be my first read of 2016, it seemed the obvious choice. The funny thing about reading the classics is that I always go in thinking that I have a general idea what this book is about and what’s going to happen, and they always surprise me. The societal interpretation of the classics is never the same as the actual text. Which is all to say that I was pretty surprised when the book started with Orlando as a kid batting at a shriveled head strung up from his ceiling. Apparently, his ancestors had a habit of decapitating “savages” and keeping the heads as trophies. That’s the sort of bizarre and racist content that people usually don’t mention when discussing it.

This was my first Virginia Woolf book, and I spent most of the novel not sure whether I liked her writing style or not. It can be ornate, even long-winded or overwrought, but it’s also so clever and sometimes hilarious. The whole book is also framed as a biography, and the biographer narrating often interjects to talk about the difficulties of writing biographies, including one section where they explain that Orlando is not doing anything interesting right now, so they narrate what’s happening outside the window with the birds, instead. It’s her writing that takes central stage in the reading experience.

Orlando has some magical realism elements, including the sex/gender (conflated) change in the middle of the book, but also that Orlando lives for several centuries. This huge time range is accompanied with some odd pacing: often a moment will be described for several pages, even just to detail how little is happening, while decades pass within a paragraph. Enough happens in the first 50 pages that it could easily have been an entire novel to itself, but other points the action slows to a crawl. The machinations of the plot are fairly irrelevant, though: the focus is much more on Orlando’s internal life.

The unexpected highlight of reading this classic was the humor. I love Virginia Woolf’s winks throughout the novel, often feminist ones. One of my favourite things is when she pokes fun at her own writing, like writing–in the middle of a sentence that runs almost an entire page- “… nature, who has so much to answer for besides the perhaps unwieldly length of this sentence”. She also has an expert way of describing the ridiculous ways people behave, like Orlando’s housekeeper, after Orlando comes home a woman overnight, conspiratorially telling the other servants over tea that she always had her suspicions. But the character I had the most fun reading about was Orlando themselves, especially as a young person, because he is incredibly melodramatic. At some point he just lays facedown on the ice, contemplating death. Later, he gets a bad review of his poetry, and after burning all of his work, he bids his servants to go get two more dogs (with haste!) that he can sulk with in his study because he is “done with men”.

I don’t think there’s any doubt that Orlando is worth the read as a classic novel and as a feminist one–but is it queer? I’ll wave away the magical sex/gender change, because the conflation of the two doesn’t seem to anything for trans representation, but is there queer content? Orlando is famously a love letter to Vita Sackville-West, but that aside, there are still some nods to Orlando as a queer character. She does get romantically involved with men as a woman, but there are two instances that suggest that she is still attracted to women:

And as all Orlando’s loves had been women, now, through the culpable laggardry of the human frame to adapt itself to convention, though she was herself a woman, it was still a woman she loved; and if the consciousness of being of the same sex had any effect at all, it was to quicken and deepen those feelings which she had had as a man.

Later, when Orlando mentions girls in her poetry, a “power” stops her, saying that the poetry about flowers is all well and good, “but–girls? Are girls necessary? You have a husband at the Cape, you say? Ah, well, that’ll do. / And so the spirit passed on.” but Orlando is extremely doubtful whether “if the spirit had examined the contents of her mind carefully, it would not have found something highly contraband”. Orlando feels that by marrying a man, she has escaped from being judged too harshly for her unorthodox inner life. The only disappointment I had with the book was the ending, which focuses on her husband in a way that doesn’t seem to reflect the rest of the novel. The romance and marriage between them didn’t really interest me, though it didn’t seem out of character, and having the story end with the spotlight on him seemed insincere.

I’m glad that I finally picked this one up, and I look forward to reading more Virginia Woolf (especially her diaries and letters). I wish this was one I had studied in school, because I’m sure I would get more out of it by digging a little deeper. I may have to have my own little study session around it! If you, too, have been putting off reading Orlando, consider this your signal to give it a try!

Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth. Roll up that tender air and the plant dies, the color fades. The earth we walk on is a parched cinder. It is marl we tread and fiery cobbles scorch our feet. By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. ‘Tis waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life–(and so on for six pages if you will, but the style is tedious and may well be dropped.)

The Lesbrary

Lesbian and Bi Book News and Reviews

Month: February 2016