The House on Mango Street is all about voice. It's about being heard. It's about inventing new languages when the old ones don't work. In the author's words, it's about "the ugliest subjects I could find. The most unpoetic."
In real life, The House on Mango Street may not have been much to look at, but its story won the American Book Award and has become a required reading classic.
The freedom of being a librarian in the west during this time was unparalleled: women were trained to be respected and valued members of the community, trusted with the task of educating and exposing their neighbors to the literary lifestyle, and they had the option of seeking new work in a huge variety of locations. These "cultural crusaders" pioneered a profession that gave other women a chance to join in academic and educational pursuits as well as create a literary community wherever they went.
"Even Adorno, the great belittler of popular pleasures, can be aghast at the ease with which intellectuals shit on people who hold on to a dream" writes Lauren Berlant, who is not shitting on you or your dream. Her latest book, Cruel Optimism, is less brutal analysis than a dark, lush still-life of American fantasies and our Quixotic lunges toward them. An affective portrait of the 99%.
Although the Pentagon will soon ease restrictions on women in combat, a ban continues on women in infantry, keeping 200,000+ enlisted women out of promotions and leadership roles. So for all the ladies in the service: The Caine Mutiny, Herman Wouk's bitter caricature of male authority, plus a heavy dose of comedy.
Blue Thread is a YA novel set in 1912 Portland, and follows the main character—sixteen-year old Miriam Josefsohn—in her discovery of, and growing involvement in, the women's suffrage movement. This isn't just historical fiction though—along with fighting for women's suffrage, Miriam travels through time using a prayer shawl handed down through the women in her family that contains blue thread from Joseph's Coat of Many Colors to encourage the Daughters of Zelophehad to petition Moses for women's right to inherit land in the absence of a male heir. It's in the Torah! Well, kind of.
It was inevitable that I would come down pretty hard on these books, but in my frustration I left out an important point: These guides are not "disgusting" works of bigotry. They're unassuming parenting guides right off the "Children with Special Needs" shelf of a mainstream bookstore. They're meant to help parents of autistic adolescents guide their children through the transition into adulthood, and in that regard they're perfectly well-intentioned.
The problem is that a text doesn't have to be overtly bigoted or hateful to exclude and become complicit in the oppression of gender non-conforming and non-heterosexual people.
In this blog series I want to look into "required reading," how it's taught, and what we (should/could) get out of it. Which classics take up the most space in the collective memory? Is there something worth remembering from the dudecentric classics of high school book lists? (I'm looking about you: To Kill a Mockingbird, Hamlet, The Great Gatsby, Great Expectations, Huck Finn, and Lord of the Flies) What about from Mrs. Dalloway, Beloved, and Pride and Prejudice? What makes literature unforgettable and important to fledgling feminists? And what new works should become required reading?
In this post and my next one, I'm taking a look at a selection of four parents' guides on autism and Asperger syndrome, to see how sex, sexuality, and gender are addressed. This is not a book review, but an overview of how these topics are presented in literature intended for parents of adolescents. Do these texts contribute to the erasure of autistic sexuality? What do the books have to say about gender?
Many of us have, at some point, asserted that we "don't feel like leaving the house." It may take a few days, several long naps, and many hours of Criminal Minds reruns, but eventually most of us manage to get out the front door and back to our regularly-scheduled lives. Sara Benincasa, not so much. You may know Benincasa from the spot-on Sarah Palin impression she perfected back in 2008, or perhaps from her take on a vlogging Peggy Olson. Perhaps you're heard the sex-and-relationship show she formerly hosted for Cosmo Radio on Sirius XMchannel, or tuned in to the more mental-health-focused "Sex and Other Human Activities," podcast she currently hosts with fellow funny person Marcus Parks. Or maybe you've seen her sharing a bathtub with luminaries like Margaret Cho and Donald Glover on her web chat show, Gettin' Wet with Sara Benincasa.
But, as revealed in Benincasa's new memoir, getting out in the world has been both more difficult and more mordantly funny than you might imagine. Based on her one-woman show of the same name, Agorafabulous! Dispatches from My Bedroom is the story of how one girl's anxious, clenched-sphincter childhood blossomed into adolescent panic attacks and then, as a college student, into full-blown agoraphobia. Along the way, there's public embarrassment (Benincasa's panic attacks curtail a school trip to the beach, to the chagrin of a tanning-obsessed gaggle of New Jersey mean girls), family confusion (at the hight of a panic attack, she subjects her mother to four and a half hours of the same Dave Matthews Band song) and cereal bowls full of urine (at a particularly challenging juncture during college, she developed a fear of toilets.)
There's also a revelation: This is not a recovery narrative, and Benincasa isn't cured by a new medication, a folksy Robin Williams-esque medical figure, or the love of her life. She's here, she's got irrational fear, she's used to it.