Quote from Simone de Beauvoir’s Mémoires d’une Jeune Fille Rangée about her désespoir. On second thought, pretentious. Plus Facebook’s auto-translate would mangle the meaning.
Opinion of I, Tonya. On second thought, my private opinion. Why share?
Opinion of Darkest Hour. Ditto.
Opinion of Moontide. Ditto.
Comment on depressing story in news. I think a dozen people have already said the same thing. And if I try for originality I’ll end up making another Ayn Rand reference and leaving the wrong impression.
Comment on American political situation. What is there to say, really? Parallels to French under occupation kind of pretentious as well as obscure.
Comment on politics. Am I actually interested in politics? No. Best not to reveal this.
Photo of man fishing in music concourse fountain for change late at night. On second thought, this feels like an invasion of privacy. Plus, parallels to Dickens’s London kind of pretentious. Plus photo blurry.
Photo of self on rural walk. Way too private to post pictures of self, especially doing something private, like walking or going about my life.
Opinion of Yves Saint Laurent documentary. Excessive Francophilia starting to be embarrassing.
Photo of picturesque cityscape taken during my commute. Too busy racing cars and other cyclists to actually take photos.
Photo of comic sign on Clement Street. This has probably been done enough. Plus photo blurry and too dark.
Plans to go to Gay Games in Paris. See above, re privacy, Francophilia
Photo of dish at fancy restaurant. Seems like other people have this covered. Plus see above, privacy, parallels to Dickens.
Photo of cute child. Kids I know are now too old to be cute. Plus invasion of privacy on multiple levels.
The Friday night lesbian feature at the Castro was violent, implausible, silly, and yet strangely satisfying. It was a genre picture (shades of this festival’s theme) in search of a genre; not quite sure whether it was an action or horror flick, and stumbling over some of the details essential to gratuitous violence films, Continue reading →
Cover Line: “A novel that tells the truth about those homes for unwed mothers…”
Add this book to the category, “I’ve slogged through it so you don’t have to.” This is a perfect example of the mediocre stuff that was churned out solely to keep those drugstore bookracks filled. Did even Barbara Grier read this? I doubt it. Some friend said, Continue reading →
69 Barrow Street, by Lawrence Block writing as Sheldon Lord, Tower, 1959
Cover Line: “Their Love was Right! But Their Sex Was Wrong!”
We’ve all known them: the men who long to be lesbians. in the days before they found an outlet for their frustrated desires by dominating the discussions in women studies classes with passionate paeans to Monique Wittig, they wrote lesbian pulp.
Does Lawrence Block belong to this esoteric tribe? One thing is for sure: before becoming Continue reading →
Journey to a Woman, by Ann Bannon, Fawcett Gold Medal, 1960
Classic Line: “All the dormant fires of her younger days had sprung to life and they burned in her still, tempting her, torturing her until she knew she would have to find release somewhere or die of it.”
It took me many years to appreciate Ann Bannon’s contribution to lesbian literature. Bannon wrote five pulps between 1957 and 1962, linked novels that tell the intertwined, melodramatic adventures of Laura, Beth, and Beebo. The books made her Continue reading →
“Jean discovered her true sexual nature through the expert teachings of sleek Sherri Lancaster.”
The Plot: Orphaned outcast Jean Grant is so desperate to get out of her hick town and discover her “true nature” she elopes with sensitive Tim, the unhappy son of the lecherous druggist (who is also Jean’s employer). After gritting her teeth through their wedding night, Jean steals Tim’s $1000 nest egg and hightails it to New York. There she checks into a cheap hotel and sets out to explore the city, alternately racked by guilt and overflowing with delirious joy at her newfound freedom. Continue reading →
I went to the Lesbian Herstory Archives in Brooklyn a few weeks ago. Mostly just to check it out–I’ve been curious about it forever, or at least since I saw Cheryl Dunye’s Watermelon Woman which used it as a setting.
However, I had a project or two to focus my visit: mid-sixties period research with a lesbian slant; and finding out what I could about an obscure periodical, Sisters United, Continue reading →
One Touch of Ecstasy, by Gwynne Wimberly, Frederick Fell, Inc. 1959.
Best line: “There’s a reason we teach you correct posture. If your pelvis isn’t tilted forward, the organs in the area are affected unfavorably.”
The Plot: Poor Louise, married and with an eighteen-year-old daughter has never had an orgasm. Ever since that date-rape in college she’s been all twisted up inside, and marriage hasn’t helped–she’s mired in suburban misery. “The hollandaise had been spectacular” but that can’t disguise the fact that her life is one “cruelly civilized evening of superficiality and loneliness” Continue reading →
The tasteful cover is a harbinger of the tedium to be found within
The House in the Mulberry Tree, by Zena Garrett, 1959, Random House
Book Jacket Copy: “Then Elizabeth’s burgeoning, formless emotions, blown hither and yon by the strife around her, crystallized into a youthful and innocent passion for Nonie, nourished by Nonie’s kindness and Elizabeth’s idealization of the relationship that Carter and Nonie seemed to enjoy.”
A dull southern gothic, penned by first-time author and Carson McCullers-wannabe, Zena Garret. The “About the author” blurb gives the reader fair warning: “Her writing career was postponed, however, because Continue reading →