Tag reviews The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap by Paulette Mahurin

Posted on March 12, 2014 by Danika Ellis

Before my full review, I want to give everyone some content warnings for this novel. If rape makes you queasy, this might be a book to avoid; doubly so if rape of young girls drives you away from a book. Two of the characters, one of them a main character, are sexually assaulted at extremely young ages (nine and twelve). Also, not as much of an issue for me personally, but the lesbian partners in this novel are blood-related cousins. I’ll talk in more detail about it, but if you’re looking to avoid these things in your lesbian literature, this is something to keep in mind.

So, with that in mind, this is a novel written about the late 1800s, during which, as any self-respecting literati knows, Oscar Wilde’s affair with Lord Alfred Douglas (“Bosie,” as he was known) set England ablaze with fire. Before this time, homosexuality wasn’t exactly tolerated, but in most Western countries it was not specifically illegal. For LGBT+ people, Oscar Wilde is an extremely important historical figure. For the characters in The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap, he and his situation are of immediate importance. The judgment of him for his actions is the judgment of Mildred and her partner Edra, living together in the house Mildred inherited from her father. Mildred is treated poorly by her small town’s population despite being generous with her money and kind to everyone, as she is not conventionally attractive. Edra is conventionally attractive, but having survived being raped at nine, is afraid of people and distrustful. Mildred ventures into town for necessities but Edra does not, and rarely sees other people.

The story opens with the town’s talk of Wilde’s legal battles in England, and sets a clear tone of disapproval in the small town of any homosexuality. Prior to the story’s beginning rumors of two men engaging in homosexual acts ruined their families’ lives, with one of the men committing suicide. This is not a gay-friendly town. As Mildred’s situation comes to light, so does Charley’s: a young man deeply in love with his wife, who is dying of cancer. She dies early in the novel and Mildred, fearful of rumors regarding her relationship with Edra, devises a plan. She will feign interest in Charley, who she considers safe as he was so in love with his wife, and Mildred is so unattractive, that he’ll reject her. She won’t have to leave her comfortable life with Edra, and their relationship won’t be the speculation of bored, homophobic townsfolk. Mildred is the object of incredible vitriol by one townswoman in particular, Josie, who bears incredible hatred for her, though it becomes clear as the story progresses that her hatred is inherited from her family for the Dunlap family, and not specific to Mildred only.

After his wife Emma’s death, Charley is stricken with grief and only Mildred devotes any attention to his emotional well-being, visiting him often, making sure he’s eating, and bringing along his young niece for company. She does this not only out of concern and kindness, but to make it appear that she’s trying to move in on him now that he’s a widower. Edra is concerned that the plan will get out of hand and she’ll lose her comfortable life with Mildred. The tension between Mildred and Edna regarding Mildred’s duplicity, I felt, was kind of bizarre. Edra’s characterization is flat and two-dimensional, and she’s portrayed as consistently hysterical and weak as a result of being raped as a child. However, only a few years after the assault, Edra is the one to make a move on Mildred, fully recognizing at the age of twelve her sexual feelings for women in general, and Mildred in particular. This seems unrealistic and awkward, not because I doubt a twelve-year-old’s ability to recognize her sexuality, but because I doubt Edra’s ability at twelve years old to recognize her sexuality as being in character. Only in one other case does she show confidence and assertiveness, with insisting at one point that Charley leave their house because his presence upsets Mildred. The rest of the time she is hysterical, seems to be interested only in Mildred and their relationship, and at one point she misreads a note Mildred left to explain where she was going and with whom, believing Mildred has left her permanently for Charley. Finding this out she dissolves into a screaming fit and ends up stabbing herself. She isn’t a stable character and the way she attempted to seduce Mildred at twelve years old seems unrealistic.

Throughout the majority of the novel, the reader is left wondering along with Edra about Charley’s true feelings for Mildred. Is he in love with her? It isn’t clear for a long time, until he figures out the true nature of Mildred and Edra’s relationship and explains to her that there’s nothing between him and Mildred, and that she can trust him. Charley is consistently a “good guy” and respects everyone’s boundaries most of the time, with the exception of showing up unannounced to Mildred and Edra’s house after a misunderstanding and insisting that they listen to his side of the story. He’s a man interested in learning more about the world and morality, and develops an interest in reading and broadening his horizons.

Mildred’s plan backfires not because Charley is in love with her, but because the rumors about them spiral out of control thanks to Josie. Josie is another two-dimensional character, whose reasons for hating Mildred are, as I mentioned before, inherited. Mildred and Josie are distantly related, and while Mildred’s father became a successful landowner, Josie’s part of the family lost everything and became poor enough for her mother to sell her treasured belongings. However, Mildred isn’t the only subject of Josie’s harassment. A minor character, Helene, is a survivor of sexual abuse from a young age as well. Helene originally wants Mildred and Charley to be married, as Charley is related to her by marriage, but the more vicious Josie’s rumors become, the angrier Helene’s husband Frank becomes with Helene. Helene eventually wants nothing to do with the setup of Mildred and Charley, but is bullied into it by Josie. Attempting to juggle both her children, one of whom is a baby, with Josie’s bullying to be complicit in “confirming” that Charley has impregnated Mildred with a visit to Mildred’s home to see her condition, Josie tries hushing her baby with a sugar-covered spoon and discovers soon that her baby has died by choking on the spoon. She is found with her dead son in her arms completely traumatized, and she never recovers. Josie has a breakdown on witnessing this tragedy.

What I found most uncomfortable about this novel was the treatment of Helene. Helene is a woman who married with the sole intention of getting away from her sexually abusive father, is shown to be petty and selfish but actually receives some development and shows hesitance to follow what Josie wants of her, and the resolution of Mildred, Edra, and Charley’s problems are a direct result of the final nail in her coffin. The story benefits from a sexually abused woman who made a mistake resulting in the death of her son, whom she loved. Her daughter Mabel, Charley’s niece, provides Charley with someone to love and care for. The drama of finding her with her dead son in her arms having clearly choked on a spoon she gave him gave enough cover to the relationship between Mildred and Edra to be above speculation. Josie spreads rumors that lead to suspicion of deliberate violence against her son by Helene, who has to be admitted to a psychiatric institution in the nearest city to avoid criminal charges. It’s assumed by the townsfolk that Mildred’s attachment to the town and her land is what keeps her from following Charley to the city, rather than her relationship with Edra. I thought Josie’s breakdown would lead to a recovery and development of her character, but instead of becoming stronger as a character she becomes weaker, cruelly accusing Helene to her friends of deliberately killing her baby. She doesn’t go unpunished, but neither does a punishment do anything to her character; Mildred arranges for her husband to be forced to leave the town and take his family with him. Josie’s reaction to being forced out of her home, an obvious fear of hers after her breakdown, is never addressed. This is a lesbian novel, yes, and in the end Mildred and Edra are able to be happy together with as much freedom as possible in the late 1800s, but it’s at the expense of a woman character whose life is ruined beyond redemption. I find it unbearably sad that the resolution of conflict couldn’t come at either the expense of a petty character with no development, or preferably at the expense of no one. Tragedy is not always deep, and even if the ending tragedy doesn’t belong to the lesbian couple (for once in lesbian literature) I sincerely wish it hadn’t belonged to a woman at all. I also sincerely wish that sexual abuse and assault had not been used as dramatic tools, as I feel this is overused against women. The stereotypes in this novel are cringeworthy, with the “pretty” lesbian being a sexual assault survivor, and the “ugly” lesbian being unwanted by men. These are tropes I could do without, though they do have their place in this story. They are, however, in my opinion indicative of weak writing. Drama and tension in women’s lives don’t necessarily have to mean a background of sexual assault or being looked down on as unappealing to men. In the end, even though this is a story about lesbians, it’s still extremely centered on men. You could argue that this is so because it is historically accurate, but it would be just as historically accurate to write lesbians who couldn’t be said to love each other due to a bad history with men. It’s easy, especially for heterosexual people, to trivialize lesbian sexuality as an exception to the heterosexual rule by explaining us as having had traumatizing relationships with men or being rejected by men, which makes lesbian sexuality still male-oriented. Mildred and Edra embody this type of exceptional phenomena and while they’re never shown to have any attraction to men, Edra fears that Mildred’s receipt of male attention will change her feelings. Lesbian though they are, their sexuality could be considered a male-centered reaction rather than legitimate sexual and romantic attraction to each other, and it seems unrealistic that this is never addressed or explored in the story.

Overall, The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap was uncomfortable for several reasons. However, if you’re looking for a novel featuring a lesbian couple who kiss a few times, are legitimately in love with each other, and don’t die or become separated at the end, this might be the book for you. I was personally saddened too much by it to call it a “happy ending.”

Tag reviews Honor Among Thieves by Amy Gaertner

Posted on February 14, 2014 by Danika Ellis

I went into this book pretty blind except for a brief blurb about the plot, describing it as a heist novel. From the blurb I had kind of high expectations, expecting something like a Bond-level plot and lofty, ultra-literary writing. When I opened the book and realized it was some 30 pages, I realized that probably wasn’t going to be the case and adjusted my expectations accordingly. I still wanted it to be good, of course, but I wasn’t expecting a serialized-length spy novel.

This is not a lesbian novel, just to clear that away; it’s a bisexual novel, which features both female-male explicit sex and female-female. One thing I found really refreshing in this novel is that there wasn’t any back-and-forth, there wasn’t any gay or straight panic. Never does the main narrating character question her sexuality or attraction; she has a somewhat confusing relationship with the main male character, but it isn’t based on her sexuality whatsoever. When she’s attracted to a woman, it’s easily accepted in the narration and by the other characters. So if you’re looking for a bisexual novel catering to attraction to both sexes without a freakout, this is a pretty good fit, I would think.

While the writing isn’t particularly lofty or literary like I personally prefer, it is engaging and interesting. There’s definitely more telling than showing, but again, seeing that the book was only 30 some pages I didn’t expect much different. I appreciated that the character descriptions weren’t overarching and purple prose inclined; you get enough to get an accurate picture of the character but you don’t know the brand of every article of clothing they’re wearing plus the exact Loreal shade of hair they have. The focus in this novel is enjoyably on the plot and the romance between “Sabrina” and Liz, and neither take away from the other. The characters are written pretty well, I think; they’re not so in depth that the novel would need to be longer to allow for complete character arcs, but within the constraints I found them to be realistic.

My one complaint is that, maybe without realizing it, this story still centers on men. Without even appearing, Henshaw is a prominent figure, and the primary “villain.” The “voice of reason” in Dani’s life is Jay, her male friend-with-benefits. During the heist, all the logistics and planning are left to the male characters, whereas Dani is tasked with infiltrating and the social side of the job. That doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, but I think I would have enjoyed it more if more female characters had been involved on back-end levels with things like security systems and physically overtaking their opposition.

All in all it was an enjoyable little read. It was paced well and it was interesting, and the ending was sweet. If you’re after a bisexual heist novel for some light reading, I could recommend this.

Tag reviews Fairy Tales for Princesses Who Love Dames by Rene von Bonaparte

Posted on January 14, 2014 by Danika Ellis

Fairy tales have always been one of my favourite things to read, and I’ll eat up retellings of them like nobody’s business. So it should be fairly apparent that I was excited to read lesbian retellings of popular fairy tales. Fairy tales! Modern retellings! Lesbians! That’s a perfect formula for me.

The tales in this book are The Princess and the Pea, The Swan Princess, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty, and The Frog Prince(ss). It’s a good selection and the storytelling is engaging, and beyond that, they aren’t to-the-letter adaptations. The retellings follow the general meaning of the original tales (a woman cursed to be a swan half her life, a girl cursed at birth to die by pricking her finger) but they’re retold in interesting and unique ways. In The Princess and the Pea, the rich character is a CEO rather than a member of royality; in Beauty and the Beast the beautiful character (in this case, Baker) is a business owner as well. Despite familiarity with each of these tales, I found myself wanting more and more to know exactly how each story would develop and unfold. My personal favorite was The Swan Princess, as it had a surreal and melancholy aesthetic to it that I really enjoyed.

While the storytelling was engaging, one thing I was very disappointed by in this collection is how badly it needs editing. The formatting needs work, and there are many, many typos and grammatical errors– so many that it honestly took away from my enjoyment of the stories. The tone of the writing is solid and fits the fairy tale format well, solemn and interesting without being too involved in nitty-gritty details, so I think with editing this collection would be a fantastic read that I could happily recommend.

Tag reviews 25 Years of Malcontent by Stephanie Byrd

Posted on December 16, 2013 by Danika Ellis

For November I reviewed the follow-up collection by Byrd, A Distant Footstep on the Plain. I’m doing it a little backwards this time by reviewing her first collection second, but it’s for a reason.

25 Years of Malcontent is, like its successor, raw and painfully real, but some of the works in this collection (e.g. “Mother’s Cadence”) are a little loftier, a little harder to grasp if you’re not well attuned to fine details related to the classics. Each poem is masterfully crafted and grabs your attention entirely; this is not a collection to read idly. I found that not only was I completely pulled into each poem, but that I reread it over and over– not necessarily due to confusion, but because each poem has such a powerful punch that I couldn’t help but reel and re-read sometimes to try to recover. Byrd’s writing is intense, she doesn’t pull any punches, and she doesn’t give you time to recover before the next one.

Her poems cover her own experiences; racism, the experience of being a lesbian, but in less of an upfront way compared to her later collection. This earlier collection is a little more masked, a little more intent on searching for the meanings of each poem, which are not always immediately apparent such as in “Dem Bones”: “it’s here! another bone for my garden / it’s received! another lady to tea”. Again, these are not poems to be idly read. If Byrd’s carefully crafted writing doesn’t get you, the raw emotion will. A few lines in “Mimi” illustrate this well: “i watched the rain destroy the roses / the length of time is not essential in these matters / i had only to wait to see the petals crumble with each drop”.

25 Years of Malcontent is beautiful and engaging, but I would caution that this collection in particular is not necessarily for someone who doesn’t understand much about poetry. Those who don’t “get” it will find themselves frustrated and missing out on Byrd’s amazing writing if they read it quite before they’re ready, I think.

[Editor’s note: This chapbook is available for free in ebook format!]

Tag reviews A Distant Footstep On the Plain by Stephanie Byrd

Posted on November 12, 2013 by Danika Ellis

A Distant Footstep on the Plain is a collection of poetry at its finest, its most ragged and painful, and its most hopeful. The primary focus is on things that personally affect Byrd: racism, classism, poverty, and relationships with women. Byrd doesn’t hold back at all whether she’s writing about the experience of racism (“so I rose and each blow / was aimed to cripple / but I rose / against this violence” – p. 20) or her feelings for women, her feelings on class issues or anything else. Her pain and her hope is real and unashamed in each line, and they’re two sides of the same coin rather than some poems being about despair, and some about hope. In all of Byrd’s pieces in A Distant Footstep on the Plain are raw feeling with the type of elegance you find expressed in everyday life. The contrast between poems like “Sci Fi” and “Trust” is strong but still carries an undeniable similarity. These are poems written from the heart of a black woman who makes it very clear women are who she wants to sleep with (“yes sugar, I wanted to fuck you / and didn’t give a damn about Beethoven or your mind” – Sci Fi, p. 31). It’s a very specific experience and I have to admit that as a white woman I’m sure I didn’t catch all of the references. Within that experience though are things that affect us all, such as the bitterness a person can feel in a relationship when they’re feeling neglected (Telephone Call).

All in all, this brief collection of Byrd’s poetry is raw and painful but a really good read that I would encourage anyone and everyone to go through at least once. It gave me a lot to think about, put things in perspective of intersectionality. It’s important, I think, for everyone to read the works of queer women of colour and really think about them and what they mean to the writers, to us, and to everyone as a whole. I won’t lie and say this was an easy read; beyond its being painful and drawing me out of my comfort zone, the text itself was sometimes difficult to get through. There are a lot of metaphors I still don’t quite understand, but even if it’s dense reading material I did enjoy it enough that I’m sure I’ll be going back and revisiting this collection, hopefully picking up something new every time I read it.

[Editor’s note: This chapbook is available for free in ebook format!]

Tag reviews The Collection: Short Fiction from the Transgender Vanguard edited by Tom Leger and Riley Macleod

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Danika Ellis

“In some ways, this book is a response to what so many professors of English language literature ask their students to consider at the start of each semester. Why literature? What does literature accomplish?”

The Collection: Short Fiction from the Transgender Vanguard is straightforward in what it is right in the title. It’s a collection of short stories featuring trans* characters. This in and of itself is rare, as transgendered or non-binary gender identified people are often left out of “queer” literature in favour of cisgendered lesbian or gay, or bi characters. It’s a huge void in queer literature I want to see filled much more than it is, but The Collection is such a surprisingly hefty read that it bridges the gap quite a bit. It’s almost 400 pages of stories featuring protagonists with one identifying feature in common: they’re all trans*-identifying (or non-binary, in a few cases).

“Literature” is exactly the word I would use to describe the quality of the content in this collection. Any genre you can think of makes its way into this collection one way or another; while most stories are realistic or contemporary, there are a few supernatural or superhero tales, all exquisitely written. There’s no shortage of representation from one gender identity to another, and several stories feature a multitude of transgendered or non-binary characters just being characters, much in the way other fiction has background characters that we would take for granted. With this collection it’s impossible to take them for granted, but they’re written and treated no differently from any other non-trans* fiction.

The stories aren’t without discomfort on a lot of levels. Many of them integrate the microagressions that transgendered and non-binary people face on a daily basis, but never in a way that feels cheap or fake. The realness of each portrayal is exactly what makes them uncomfortable, and I won’t deny that some stories have a cringe factor so high I had to put them down and take a breath before continuing (I’m looking at you, The Café). However, after that breath I couldn’t wait to pick this collection back up, and I didn’t want it to be over. What I really want is another few dozen in the same vein. Halfway through this I was already recommending The Collection to my trans* and genderqueer friends, and after finishing it I couldn’t help but recommend it again. This is an amazing collection with a lot of talent behind it and it belongs with any other collection featuring great literature.

[Also check out Danika’s review!]

Tag reviews Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica edited by Sinclair Sexsmith

Posted on August 13, 2013 by Danika Ellis

Reviews for this anthology abound, because it was a big deal when it came out, continues to be a big deal, and will be a big deal for a long time. I first heard of Say Please in an interview with Sinclair Sexsmith on Autostraddle in April of 2012, and while it seemed really interesting I definitely wasn’t ready for something that played with gender dynamics the way everyone said it did. Now that I’ve finally buckled down and read it, I’m exceedingly glad I did, particularly because of the play with gender dynamics. Sinclair Sexsmith had also gone under my radar until Say Please, and so far this is the only writing of hers I’ve read, but the quality of her writing and her taste leaves me sure I’m going to seek out more as soon as possible.

The introduction to Say Please is straightforward and functions to be both enticing and to warn away from kinks the reader may not be into (for example, even though I did read it, the vomiting in “Purge” is on my list of squicks to avoid and I appreciated the warning so I could brace myself). So if you have particular kinks you’re interested in or would like to avoid, the introduction is very clear for each story what the kink basis is.

What really makes this collection for me is how well each author ties everything together. It’s about BDSM, yes, but each character has the kind of depth that really draws a reader into every story. I don’t remember thinking at any point that any character was flat or boring, or that the pacing for any of the stories was off– just the opposite. The only way I managed to spread out my reading of Say Please was by only reading it on my lunch breaks at work, and even then it was over too soon.

The gender play and playing with what defines “lesbian” really resonated with me, though the emphasis most stories had on toys and referring to them as “cocks” rings differently with me on one day than it does on another. Anyone seeking only femme-identified lesbians in this anthology might be disappointed, but for a diverse selection of genderqueer dynamics, Say Please can’t be beat. For its being erotica, the writing and characterization for each piece is fantastic, making for a great collection.

Tag reviewed Dancing with Venus by Roscoe James

Posted on July 9, 2013 by Danika Ellis

Usually if I don’t already know an author, I try to not read about them until I know how their work stands on its own. Once I’m done, I’ll decide if I’m interested in the rest of the writer’s work, and find out about them as a person on the way. The more critically I read, the more I realize it’s important to know the context of any reading material, especially fiction. Who wrote what you’re reading, and for what purpose? About a third of the way through Dancing with Venus, that’s exactly what I began wondering. Who wrote this, and why?

The novel starts out with clear, solid scenery and follows Jessie Butler, a blues singer who left home not to chase her dreams, but apparently to get away from her mother. She seems pretty cliche at first, a blues singer on a Greyhound home thinking about all the wrongs her mother committed against her as a teenager. She has a pink notebook she writes down her sexcapades in, except the first few entries are false. So far, we know Jessica Butler is a rough-and-tumble blues gal with a vendetta, going home for some reason. It isn’t clear at first why, which is a good hook to keep you reading, but the realization that she’s going home for a wedding and not some debilitating disease her sister left me frustrated; when I learned that Jessie had slept with her sister’s boyfriend some time ago, even moreso. The tie between Jessie and her sister, the drama of her sister getting married, barely makes an appearance.

It’s once Jessie is home and interacting with her engaged sisters’ friends that I began wondering about the author behind this novel and what their goal was. Jessie’s attitude toward other characters is superficial and feels contrived, and after the tenth time she mentally refers to her sister’s friends as the “cheer squad” I started getting uncomfortable. After the twentieth time Jessie is referred to with “Psycho Woman” as a nickname, I started feeling less like I was reading a lesbian erotica novel and more like I was watching a movie about infantile women catering to the male gaze.

Dancing with Venus is definitely lesbian erotica, though I don’t recall a single erotic scene that was exciting. Instead, I found myself cringing because words like “sopping” and “gullet” belong more in a cookbook than a sexy scene, and James tells instead of showing. The scenes, sexy or emotional, feel rushed and fall short of the depth they’re supposed to have. This is where the context becomes important for me; I’m not insistent on reading lesbian erotica written by lesbians, or even women, but it’s uncomfortable when every scene presented in a novel makes me question if the author really understands women. The degredation of the characters is too casual to be realistic, with the “cheer squad” and “Psycho Woman” and her “little pink book.” I didn’t feel like I was reading about adult lesbians, but about girls stuck in an awkward mix of affected Southern-style endearments and basic middle school language.

All in all, the characters weren’t convincing women for me, though the plot has a lot of potential. The push-and-pull between Jessie and Marci is frustrating and unfulfilling, but I feel this is due to the tell-don’t-show style of the writing more than anything, and that with skill it could be well-executed drama. I found myself not only indifferent, but eagerly waiting for Dancing with Venus to be over so I could reach a resolution and move on.

Tag reviews Dear John, I Love Jane edited by Candace Walsh and Laura Andre

Posted on June 11, 2013 by Danika Ellis

When I chose Dear John, I Love Jane to review, I knew I wouldn’t be breaking any new ground, and it’s yet again a topic entirely out of my realm of experience. I mean, I knew from a young age that I’m lesbian, and I haven’t been married to a man or in committed, heterosexual relationships as an adult. However, in reading each story I became aware of something I and these other women share very much in common, and it just began rippling from there, so of course I have to tell everybody all about it.

Any group of stories like this excites me because I always love little tidbits into peoples’ lives, told from their own perspective. As good as it is to have one big novel-length autobiography about a person’s experience, no matter what it is, I find that anthologies like this feel like they represent their theme very well. One of my favorite things, possibly my favorite, about this particular book is that each woman’s story is very different from the last. When experiences start to bleed together and seem the same, that’s always suspect to me, but at no point did I stop during reading Dear John, I Love Jane and say to myself, “Well, this doesn’t seem authentic at all.”

On the contrary, I think I highlighted more out of this volume than I tend to. I highlighted whole sections about how saying your partner is your wife is “coming out on speed,” (Over the Fence) and how gay men were seen as harmless, but lesbians were not to be talked about (Leap of Faith). In numerous stories I have paragraphs highlighted about how it feels to have to prove your “lesbian credentials.” Even as a woman who hasn’t left a heterosexual relationship to pursue one with a woman instead, you would have to try hard to not relate to any of these stories.

Of course, not all of them are the same, which is the beauty of this anthology. Some of the women writing their stories haven’t left their marriages; instead, they’ve made the marriage work around their newfound (or newly accepted) sexuality. Some of the writers’ husbands or boyfriends were supportive and lovely people, and some were not. The inclusion of women who have stayed in their heterosexual partnerships is important, I think, and was encouraging to read, as was the inclusion of a few women who weren’t yet sure what they were going to do. All in all this whole volume is full of hope for the future no matter what situation these women find themselves in, and for that I’m grateful. I never want to forget the generations of women who shelved their desire for whatever reasons, who sacrificed and became truly “themselves” later in life, and I never want to forget that desire can change people in any direction. Dear John, I Love Jane is a powerful collection I would recommend to anyone who’s ever been confused and uprooted their life for changes they’ve felt.

Tag reviews Reclaiming the L-Word: Sappho’s Daughters Out in Africa edited by Alleyn Diesel

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Danika Ellis

Reviewing this book was a decision I kind of hem-hawed about with, mostly because it’s about lesbian-identified women in/from the African continent, and as someone who’s never been to the African continent or anywhere close, I felt like yes, I should probably leave this one alone since these are experiences I could never really claim, and wouldn’t try to. But having read it I feel the real need to review it, to get out there that this is a really amazing, touching book and I think it can speak to anyone on any level.

It’s a non-fiction set of autobiographical stories, which is the first thing that attracted me to it. To see women, lesbian women, telling their own stories and having them published is still a rarity, and as a lesbian I always want to know more about what other lesbians all over the globe are going through. There’s this common theme in all our stories, and at the same time I’m upset to see anyone else go through the same pain and heartache, it’s comforting to not be alone. One thing to keep in mind is how very different every experience is, and I think this volume shows that well. There are women who identify as lesbian and women who do not, there are transgendered women, there are women who received support from their families and women who did not. Some women are from countries where discrimination against them and their partners is illegal but unenforced, some are from countries where discrimination is not only legal but societally encouraged as well; some of them were pulled out of the closet and some of them came out themselves. All of them hit home with me, and by the end of each woman’s story I felt like they’d been speaking directly to me personally.

These stories are real and heartfelt in a way that really brings them home, exactly the way I was hoping when I picked this book up (or opened its PDF, if you want to get technical). It isn’t something that you have to relate to in order to understand where these women are coming from, it’s very approachable and for that reason I think it’s a fantastic volume, a read that I would recommend to anyone.

My absolute favorite part of this book is the poetry by Mavourneen Finlayson throughout the whole text, in between most of the pieces. It brings together whatever pain or hope each piece put forward or makes you feel, kind of smoothing everything over and cleansing the palate for the next part. Her poems are all amazing and unique, and often I find in poetry that anything queer is a surprise, but in each of hers it’s latent throughout the whole poem, no matter its length. Her poetry brings the whole theme together, I think, in that the theme is exactly what it’s stated to be: reclaiming the L-word, by, for and about Sappho’s daughters Out in Africa.

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