Danika reviews The One Hundred Nights of Hero by Isabel Greenberg

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I have to start this with my Goodreads status update from 5 pages in:

I literally cannot handle how much I like this book. I can’t get through a page without cackling or exclaiming. The art! The narration! The surreal worldbuilding! The f/f couple in the middle of it!!! The feminism! The cleverness! Like, I actually can’t handle it. I have to read it a couple pages at a time or I get overwhelmed. I don’t think this has ever happened??

I don’t think I’ve ever been so giddy from the first pages of a book. I was already hooked from the premise: a graphic novel retelling of the Arabian Nights featuring a woman who has fallen in love with her maid. Once I had it in my hands, I was stunned by the cover alone. It looks even more gorgeous in person, with the text in shining gold letters. And best of all, the two women reaching for each other: no attempt to disguise the queer content.

I’m a sucker for experiments in story telling, and I love how this book is structured. From the page layouts to the narration, the design and writing of this book perfectly fits its story, even when it deviates from the norm. A book that starts with a creation story of “In the beginning there was the world / And it was weird” is going to immediately jump in my estimation. I haven’t read the previous book, The Encyclopedia of Early Earth, but this book stands on its own–while dropping enough hints that I want to pick up the earlier book to get an even richer understanding of this story.

The framing device here is that Cherry’s husband has made a bet with another man, Manfred, that he can’t seduce Cherry in 100 nights. In order to save Cherry from being forced into this arrangement, Hero (her lover and maid) tells Manfred stories over the course of these nights, with the promise that once he seduces Cherry, the stories will end. These stories are engaging in themselves, and resemble folk tales. They revolve around women, often sisters, and as those characters tell their own narratives, the nesting story structure grows.

Although there’s a timeless, folk lore feel to the story, there’s also some moments of great, clever humor thrown in, including the narrator cutting in for commentary, and Hero and Cherry using vocabulary I was not expecting! Mostly the humor is dry, feminist wit.

And, of course, there’s the romance. The unapologetic, unshakable love between Cherry and Hero. The moment that really made me trust this story was when it describes the two women getting into bed together and then cuts to after, with the narrator interjecting “No! Of course I’m not going to show what happened then! What kind of a book do you think this is?” It was setting up for a voyeuristic look into two women’s sex life, then makes a hard left and questions the reader’s expectations.

This a beautiful, epic love story that centres on two women. That fundamentally respects women and their love. This is a story that respects storytelling, that believes that stories can change the world.

This is the queer feminist mythology we deserve.

Jess van Netten reviews Secret Diaries Past & Present: Q&A with Helena Whitbread & Natasha Holme

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In understanding my consumption of the diary of Anne Frank, my devouring the entirety of Anne of Green Gables, Susan Howatch’s Cashelmara, Bryce Courteney’s Jessica and later in life pouring through Ruth Maier’s diary in one sitting, you could say I have a fascination with the personal details of others; particularly women. As such, I found great delight in reading about the writing of such personal details in the recent conversation between Helena Whitbread (Anne Lister’s editor and reader) and Natasha Holme (lesbian diarist).
Published as Secret Diaries Past & Present. Q&A with Helena Whitbread & Natasha Holme, you as the reader are the proverbial fly on the wall while diaries separated by generations are casually, critically compared. To my surprise, I had never heard of Anne Lister or Natasha Holme’s diaries prior to this encounter and just one chapter in, I commit to buying all related materials.
The account of the interview between the editor and the diarist flicks possession throughout with both asking questions lending themselves to personal and professional reflection. Even without any earlier knowledge, a picture of both women (and the third, omnipresent diarist Anne Lister) forms fully and intimately in my mind. In the same way that reading a diary creates a relationship between you and the author, so too do I feel privately connected to all three protagonists in different ways. Both Anne and Natasha struggle with religion, sexuality and self acceptance and express their feelings with the written word. Further, editor and historian Helena’s own developed interest in revealing history and understanding through learning strike a chord with my sense of self.
Almost inextricably, while reading about these three women, I find myself feeling contemplative and self-reflective; both challenged and embraced. The interview is easy to read and gaps are filled with actual entries from the different diaries mentioned to further contextualize the comparisons. I also wonder about prolific and current diarist Natasha’s experience during these conversations. As she mentions, she diaries obsessively – often every detail within the day is recorded – and I can’t help but wonder about her keeping note of these conversations and interviews about her own diaries within her own diaries. Even more meta, to consider her reading this review about her writing in her diary about me reading the interview and writing a review of it. As they say, does life imitate art or does art imitate life!
Secret Diaries Past & Present. Q&A with Helena Whitbread & Natasha Holme is recommended for lovers of history, diaries and all those who enjoy a good conversation between educated and interesting women. With or without any other information, the interaction is intriguing and well developed; an easy entry read for someone just dabbling in both stories or a fulfilling connection for the well-read reader.

Tierney reviews Here’s the Thing by Emily O’Beirne

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When Zel’s family moves back to Australia from the United States, she has to find her bearings in Sydney, while also making sense of the relationship she left behind: as Zel narrates the process of settling in and making friends at her new school, she also uses flashbacks to tell the story of meeting and falling for Prim in New York. It’s a sweet young adult novel – the story focuses thoughtfully on adolescent relationships, and as the present unfolds and the past is slowly revealed, you eagerly start to fit together the pieces that make up the puzzle that is Zel’s life.

Here’s the Thing is a thoroughly enjoyable read – Zel is a well fleshed-out character, and her first-person narrative (and copious endearing parenthetical asides) really draw the reader in. It’s refreshing to read a YA novel with a lesbian protagonist whose story doesn’t revolve exclusively around coming out or finding one true love. Coming out is an important step, and a process that never really ends (Zel even talks about coming out to people and clocking their reaction), but it’s great to see a YA character who is gay right off the bat, and for whom romance is just one aspect of the story (though there is certainly romance in Zel’s life – an excellent slow burn romance with one of her new friends, built up in just the right way that has the reader wholeheartedly rooting for them).

The novel does have a few missteps. There are a few regrettable comments: for example, there is an odd interaction between Zel and her father in which he proclaims that she couldn’t have been asexual because they are Italian and they need to love. Zel also seems to live that special shiny kind of life found only in YA novels: she has moved across the globe twice, her mother works for a modeling agency, and her father makes costumes for the opera. Some of these details detract from, rather than add to, the relatable nature of Zel’s story – but these qualms are minor, and easily overcome.

The novel’s greatest strength is its focus on the characters’ relationships. The account of Zel’s relationship with Prim, in both the past and the present, is an excellent exposition of unreciprocated teenage love and teenage angst – their emotions and actions feel raw and real. At the heart of Zel’s story is the process of figuring out friendship and love, and the messiness that can come in trying to distinguish between the two – Zel’s journey is both universal and wholly her own.

Danika reviews Ice Massacre by Tiana Warner

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Why did no one tell me about this book earlier?? Honestly, this should be much more well known. Ice Massacre is about Meela, and 18-year-old girl who has been trained to fight killer mermaids. She’s needed to defend her island, but she has qualms about being sent out to massacre the “sea demons”: she befriended one as a kid.

I was completely sucked in by this book. I can’t help but make Hunger Games comparisons: this is a story about teenagers at war, and it has some brutal violence. Each girl reacts to being in a war situation differently, some numbing themselves with drugs and others becoming vicious and unfeeling. Meela struggles to steel herself to the killing of mermaids–creatures who look eerily human–and it’s made worse by the fear that the next one she kills will be her childhood best friend.

In addition to the war with the mermaids, the girls turn on each other on the ship, splintering their ranks. The tension is high, and I ended up reading this book in a day, which is not a common occurrence for me.

The queer content of this book is understated, and it could easily be missed by someone who wasn’t looking for it, but it’s impossible to misinterpret by the end. If you’re someone who wants to get queer books in the hands of people who might not seek them out–or who aren’t able to openly read queer lit–this would make a great choice.

Ice Massacre also has a mostly indigenous cast of characters, but they are a fictional indigenous group. In the book, Eriana Kwai island seems to be an independent indigenous nation between BC and Alaska. The language is loosely based on Haida. I can’t speak to this representation, especially because the author did invent an indigenous group. I would be very interested to read a review from an indigenous reader, especially someone from the Pacific Northwest Coast.

With that caveat, I highly recommend Ice Massacre, as long as you can stomach some violence. Killer mermaids! It’s like Fox and the Hound, but with mermaids and lesbians! This deserves a much more prominent spot in queer YA and queer SFF.

Kalyanii reviews The Bricks that Built the Houses by Kate Tempest

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Everybody’s looking for their tiny piece of meaning. Some fleeting perfect thing that might make them more alive. ~The Bricks that Built the Houses, Kate Tempest

Dream, if you can, a courtyard… where your view of the sky above is condensed by the high walls that surround you into the smallest swath of blue, where beyond these walls, those who are not your friends show themselves shallow with pretense, hungry for money and celebrity, concerned only with their own self-interest, where luxury apartment buildings take root in the neighborhood where the hairdresser, greasy spoon and bridal shop once stood, and you find yourself numbing the longing for your own untenable dreams with soul-sucking work and too much gak. If this picture blossoming within the recesses of your mind feels even the slightest bit familiar and you’ve known the loneliness that resides within the determination to push forward in spite of an incessant urge to keep turning back, chances are, The Bricks that Built the Houses by Kate Tempest, is the very story you, yourself, crave to tell.

The novel begins and ends with three friends—Becky, a contemporary dancer and erotic masseuse; Harry, a high-end drug dealer with dreams of establishing her own community center, where people from all walks of life can laugh, learn languages and grab breakfast for less than twelve quid; and, Leon, the son of a man who fought for the Wotuja people who knows utterly nothing of his father’s legacy nor his own—driving into the stormiest of nights, leaving their lifetimes in London behind. Yet, in spite of the treachery so palpable within their flight, their story would be no story at all without the long-ago events that shaped them, the pain handed down to them under the merciless guise of love and the cacophonous impact of too many wounded souls colliding “Mighty. Like cymbals, like oceans crashing.”

Though Becky and Harry assume their place front and center (with an attraction between them that simply begs for indulgence), there is no such thing as a minor character within this work, for Tempest explores even the most tangential of lives with a probe adept at seeking out the rawest of wounds, guided by the uncommon hand of nuance and delicacy, rendering each of their stories beautiful precisely for their resilience in the midst of loss, sacrifice, disillusionment and shattered dreams. All the while, the excavation of that which makes these characters—and each of us—so very human, so vulnerable and alive proceeds amid an absolute rejection of all things maudlin or overtly sentimental.

Just as within her award-winning poetry and performance, Tempest tackles the most grievous injustices and heart wounds with a matter-of-fact precision that, when combined with her poetic sensibilities, provides far more thrust than any bleeding heart’s tale. Thus, mind you, hers is not a story for the faint-of-heart nor the moralistic. After all, the characters within don’t necessarily make the most conventional choices, but I’ll be damned if they aren’t doing the best they can.

For me, the takeaways from The Bricks that Built the Houses are far too numerous to count, and I’d bet my last pint or waning hope for the future that, depending upon one’s own history, they are destined to be unique to every reader. However, amid the grittiness, the overarching sense of alienation as well as any threat to life or limb, what struck me most was the way in which Tempest illustrates each character’s humanness without judgement yet with limitless empathy, if not downright compassion. After all, isn’t it true that when we are privy to another person’s pain, we can better understand their attempts to either embrace or avoid it?

Furthermore, The Bricks that Built the Houses instilled within me with a more tender-hearted willingness to accept the unavoidable groundlessness of our lives. As much as we might mourn the gentrification of our neighborhoods, they will never again be the same. The woman of our fantasies, over time, may place us in a box that doesn’t come close to fitting the breadth of our dreams. And, sometimes, we find that the only way to rediscover the very essence of ourselves lies in moving toward the very thing we believed was beneath us or, though we’re loathe to admit it, in returning home to a place that no longer looks like home at all.

Megan Casey reviews Red Rover by Liz Bugg

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I confess that I like this book a little more than I originally thought I would. Maybe it’s because I liked the design and feel of the Insomniac paperback version, which is very easy on the eyes. Or maybe it was the very professional pace that Bugg was able to adhere to throughout. I also liked the theme of the mystery, which involved the protagonist’s intense search for a missing young lesbian in Toronto.

Calli Barnow gives off reminders of many other lesbian private investigators without actually borrowing anything and without being given any remarkable qualities, such as Abigail Padgett’s Blue McCarron, who has no qualms about giving the reader her views on psychology or statistics, or Caroline Shaw’s Lenny Aaron, who specializes in cats and who knows every breed. Callie is just a normal 40-something woman trying to make a decent living for her and her partner Jess, and hoping that she doesn’t get into something dangerous. The one quirk that Bugg does bestow on Calli, though, is a good one. She has anxiety attacks that tend to almost paralyze her unless she pops a Xantax. I like that kind of human weakness in a character. And I like the backstory that helps to explain it.

In her search for the missing woman, Calli comes into contact with babydyke Lisa Campbell and almost falls for her. It is only her love for Jess—who is out of town during the entire adventure—that saves her from her roving eye. The trouble is, I really liked Lisa and, at first, wanted them to get together. Jess was kind of an amorphous telephone presence that did not let me know why she and Calli were together. Lisa, on the other hand—again, at first—was the most exciting and lively character in the cast.

Bugg’s prose is average, no pops and crackles, but she tells a pretty good, exciting story. Although I frown on the type of ending she chooses—I have disparaged it in several other reviews—Bugg does it with a little more believability than, say, Anne Laughlin. In all, it reads like a first novel, but one that lets the reader know that there are better times ahead. Put Calli on a list with other Canadian sleuths such as Helen Keremos, Harriet Fordham Croft, Jil Kidd, and Aliki Pateas. It’s not a bad bunch at all. I suspect—and hope—that you will be reaching for the second Calli book before any of those mentioned above.

For more than 200 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

Rachel reviews Alice & Jean by Lily Hammond

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Alice & Jean by Lily Hammond is a sensitive and beautiful historical romance novel centering on two women in love.

It’s 1946 in New Zealand, in the aftermath of World War II. Alice Holden is a mother of two young children, widowed by the devastating war, and struggling to make ends meet. Jean Reardon, a former farmhand with a reputation for her independent nature, delivers fresh milk to Alice’s home every morning. The two immediately connect, and seeing each other is the highlight of both their days. While Jean recognizes her feelings right away, Alice has never imagined that two women can fall in love and at first is confused with what her society has taught her about marriage.

As Alice begins to accept her love for Jean, and her son and daughter see their mother’s lover as a welcome addition to the family, her status as a widow puts her in a vulnerable position on two sides. Her cold, overbearing mother tries to bully Alice into moving in with her, and Jim Dempsey, son of a respected farmer, wants to marry Alice for the respect and money he’ll get from his mother-in-law, not caring that Alice wants nothing to do with him. Since both Alice’s mother and Jim are well-off in town, refusing them makes life much harder, even dangerous, for the two lovers. Others already suspect Jean’s sexuality and warn Alice against befriending her, causing more problems that each woman must tackle in order to live in peace.

The love story in Alice & Jean gives a vivid look into the women’s tender feelings for each other, yet also addresses real issues such as women’s roles and sexuality. Both women find their ways of life under scrutiny by family and neighbors; Alice for refusing Jim’s proposal, and Jean for wearing trousers instead of dresses and loving women instead of men. I was impressed with how the author balanced out moments of love between Jean and Alice with the stringent attitudes around them. I also liked how she portrayed the supporting characters. Some were completely accepting of Alice and Jean’s relationship, some were supportive but uncomfortable with the idea, and others didn’t accept them at all. Like any town or city, there were people who had different ideas about what was moral and right, and Lily Hammond showed how most of her characters were able to get past their disagreements and help each other in times of need. Only a few very unlikeable characters like Jim Dempsey and Alice’s mother, Geraldine Thomas, were the exceptions.

The plot and pacing were laid out well, and though there were a few slow scenes, I got absorbed in Jean and Alice’s story and there was a good mixture of relaxing scenes and tense buildups that drew the suspense right in and had me reading in long sittings. There were even a couple unexpected reveals I didn’t see coming. The only thing about the story I wished was better told was Jean’s past. As much of the conflict centers around Alice’s family, I got a better idea of how she grew up and what her parents were like. While there were a couple mentions of Jean’s family they were never introduced in the book, and though Jean’s already a well constructed character, I would have liked to see her family portrayed equally to Alice’s.

Other than that one issue, I really commend Lily Hammond for making Alice & Jean so entertaining and suspenseful, and of course, I highly recommend it to readers.

Susan reviews We Go Around In The Night And Are Consumed By Fire by Jules Grant

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We Go Around In The Night And Are Consumed by Fire by Jules Grant is wonderful. It revolves around a group of lesbian gangsters in Manchester, which is the perfect intersection of two of my interests and my hometown in ways that I didn’t even know I wanted. Donna and Carla lead the Bronte Close Gang, an all-female and all-queer group of gangsters who sell drugs and work with other gangs in the area… Until Carla helps her lover, the wife of a rival gang-leader, escape an abusive marriage and gets killed in retaliation. From there, Donna has to try to keep her gang together, support Carla’s ten-year-old daughter Aurora, and get revenge for Carla’s death.

It’s really good.

The story itself is tense and dramatic, although I don’t feel like it sticks its landing (Aurora’s storyline wraps up a little too easily, and the ending of Donna’s was actively disappointing in how it resolved.)
The characters are really well-handled; even the minor characters are built up from tiny details lthat layer and layer until the story ends up with a gang of fierce, supportive women who are well-described and well-built as characters. Donna and Aurora especially are so believable in voice and character – Aurora in particular feels like such a kid, trying to be responsible for the adults around her and messing it up because she is ten. Believably and convincingly ten, and her reactions to everything that happens breaks my heart. (She does make some unintentionally racist assumptions while trying to prove that she’s not racist though, fair warning.)

The relationships are amazing. Donna and Carla’s relationship is complicated because of all of the things they had and were to each other (there’s so much trust and love and history and frustration in their relationship) and all of the things they weren’t. Donna loves Carla painfully and can’t admit it; Carla adores Aurora; and the Bronte Close Gang are so close and protective of each other. Speaking of the gang; I was so delighted by the fact that the Bronte Close Gang is also part of a network of queer communities! I’m used to stories that have tiny queer communities, maybe half-a-dozen people at most? Even in the specifically queer lit! So having this beautiful network of groups and individual communities blew my mind, especially the moment when Donna put the call out and got such a response.

The narrative voice and style were my favourite parts, and they really worked for me. It is a very stream-of-conciousness narrative, which may not work for everyone. The entire book is in present tense and there is no speech marks at all; the dialogue is entirely woven into the narration ( never got confused about what was speech and what was narration, but your mileage may vary). The effect is quite lyrical, and feels a little like someone sitting down with you and just talking. Plus, the voices of this story sounded right to me, this was recognisably how my family and I talk. (I’ll be honest; I don’t live in Manchester any more, but reading this book made my accent revert like I’d never been away, and I don’t think I can praise a book’s voice higher than that!)

Jules Grant also writes very recognisably about Manchester; I knew so many of the places and streets the characters go through, and my specific part of Manchester even got a brief nod! I can’t speak to how it reads to someone who isn’t familiar with the city, but for me it felt very true to life.

I have seen concerns before that the inciting incident for the plot is the murder of a queer woman, but I think that We Go Around In The Night handles it the best it could be handled. Carla dies, but it is treated as the tragedy that it is. Plus, it doesn’t feel like a “Bury Your Gays” death; Carla’s death is not specifically because she’s queer, nor is she the only queer character in the story. All but maybe two of the adult women in this book are queer, which meant that Carla’s death didn’t feel like a point about queer characters and their role in fiction.

I genuinely enjoyed this book, and if you enjoy lesbian crime fiction with strong character voices, I definitely recommend it!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Queer death, offscreen spousal abuse, drugs, violence, child endangerment (runaway, kidnapping, neglect), unintended racism

Susan is a library assistant who uses her insider access to keep her shelves and to-read list permanently overflowing. She can usually be found writing for Hugo-nominated media blog Lady Business or bringing the tweets and shouting on twitter.

Link Round Up: December 1-14

labyrinth lost   the-miseducation-of-cameron-post-cover-final  Girl Mans Up by M-E Girard   ex wives of dracula   poppy jenkins

Autostraddle posted

Lambda Literary posted New in December: Lee Lynch, Ed Luce, Dan Lopez, Cole Escola, and Jeanette Winterson and Fingerplay and Handmaidens: The Queer and Subversive Pleasures of Reading Sarah Waters.

LGBTQ Reads posted Good News Roundup of LGBTQ Reads.

Women and Words is hosting the Holiday Hootenanny, with tons of book giveaways until Dec 24!

“Melanie Gillman’s Stage Dreams: A Story of Queer Romance and Espionage!” was posted at Women Write About Comics.

The 2016 Rainbow Awards winners were announced!

forward-abby-wambach   tall-as-you-are-between-them   christmas-days-winterson   without annette book jane b mason      eleanor-and-hick

Tall As You Are Tall Between Them by Annie Christain was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

Without Annette by Jane B. Mason was reviewed at GLBT ALA Reviews.

Points Of Departure by Emily O’Beirne was reviewed at Curve.

Eleanor and Hick: The Love Affair That Shaped a First Lady by Susan Quinn was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

Geographies of Soul and Taffeta by Sarah Sarai was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

Forward by Amy Wambach was reviewed at AfterEllen.

Christmas Days: 12 Stories and 12 Feasts for 12 Days by Jeanette Winterson was reviewed at Lambda Literary.

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Julie Thompson reviews Secret Diaries Past and Present by Helena Whitbread and Natasha Holme

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In 2013, British writer and academic Helena Whitbread and diarist Natasha Holme (a pseudonym), met to discuss a subject of mutual interest: diaries written by lesbians in original code. Aside from investigating the connection between two diarists, as stated in the title, highlights include early and adult sexuality, preservation and publication, and obsessive writing. The similarities and differences presented over the course of the book provide a fascinating insight into how connected these women are despite great distances of time, social status, and solitary endeavors.

By the time the authors of Secret Diaries at down to talk in Brighton, Helena had spent over thirty years exploring the life of fellow Halifax native, Anne Lister (1791-1840). Anne played many roles over the course of her life: businesswoman, landowner, lifelong learner, lover, and friend. As of this writing, she is also considered the first modern lesbian. The more personal sections of Anne’s journals are coded with what she referred to as “crypthand”; while on the other side Natasha shrouds every single entry, no matter how mundane, in code. Thanks to Whitbread’s unflagging scholarship and promotion, Anne’s journals have been added to the United Kingdom Memory of the World Register for documentary heritage of UK significance in 2011. Whitbread’s in-depth knowledge of Anne Lister’s life allows her to act as a sort of intermediary in the discussion.

Co-author Natasha Holme was born in England in 1969 to middle class parents. Her experiences growing up with a dogmatic Christian father and volatile mother had a long lasting influence on the formation of her identity and relationships. Diaries offered a safe harbor for her thoughts and questions. Many folks find the same kind of comfort and sense-making afforded through journaling.

One point that strikes me is how the act of creating and the existence of physical copies have allowed this conversation to take place. Think about all of the tweets, Facebook posts, blogs, diaries, and other forms of communication you’ve created and all of the people with whom you’ve interacted. Think about people two hundred years from now. What kind of conversation will you facilitate through your private and public recordings? Anne Lister’s contribution to this book is unintentional, while Holme has published her diaries and thoughts on the diaries.

Natasha discusses her compulsive need to record every aspect of her life in great detail. Every entry is in code. As a teen and young adult, she often squirreled herself away to work at the laborious task of writing down conversations, activities, and thoughts. Over the course of her life, Natasha has written nearly nine million words. I am amazed at the energy and time she has devoted to her diaries. I have written in journals off and on over the years, but have never reached the consistency Natasha has demonstrated in memorializing her life. Natasha eventually edited and published three volumes from diary entries written in the 1980s to the early 1990s.

Anne Lister, on the other hand, did not have such safeguards against damage or loss. On at least one occasion, a diary had gone missing in transit. Thanks to whatever wonderful combination of factors (the secure hole in the wall she hid the diaries in, atmospheric conditions, lack of fire, etc), her personal accounts survived centuries and censorship. Who knows how many stories have not survived time? It further emphasizes how important it is to not assume that what we are aware of is the sum total of the human story. LGBT+ stories are especially vulnerable to loss; their existence and publication is essential.

Despite its brevity, Secret Diaries offers readers with a lot to mull over. The multiple vantage points from which Whitbread and Holme discuss the diaries inspires further questions, making it a great fit for book clubs. I have been sitting with this book for nearly a month and am still chewing on the nuances of coded identities and the interconnectedness of our stories. If you need to take the long view of history, especially now, add this title to your TBR shelf.

You can read more of Julie’s reviews on her blog, Omnivore Bibliosaur (jthompsonian.wordpress.com)