lower east side librarian

I'd read DTWOF here and there, mostly on the interweb, like especially when the main character, Mo, decided to go to library school in 2001, and the link to that strip got forwarded around the bibliosphere like crazy. But without regular exposure, I had not realized just how brilliant the biweekly comic strip is. I can't believe (okay, I can believe but don't want to) that it isn't syndicated in every newspaper that carries Doonesbury, or at least Boondocks. I'm guessing it's the title? Which is unfortunate also because this comic is relevant to all people with radical left politics. Maybe even liberals!

Johanna, one of my favorite zine publishers, hadn't made a zine since issue 4 of Sisu came out in May 2006. For some reason, although I acquired No History, No Self from StrangerDanger back in November, I didn't get around to reading it until just now. (I have a serious cataloging backlog problem, which I hope to clear up by the end of the year!) I'm a fool for letting it go so long, but at least I finally read it. Like all of Johanna's zines, NHNS has strong political content, particularly regarding race, mixed race identity, and identity politics. She has put in her time as an activist and has plenty of cred in that arena (also in feminist science-fiction and vegan communities), so what is particularly affecting to me in this new zines venture is how personal and open she is, about missing New York, trying to make friends, being depressed and contemplating therapy. She lists some great self-care suggestions for dealing with depression, the top three being sleep, cats, and tea, things I can totally get behind. That emphasis on self-care I think in this case extends to the rest of the world. NHNS is gentler than its predecessors. Johanna, who doesn't suffer fools lightly, is more inwardly focused this time around, maybe because repatriated to the UK she's missing her friends from home around whom she can actually be herself. Reading this zine I wanted to give Johanna a hug. I also want to know when issue 2 will be out.

Staceyann Chin had a pretty bad childhood--abandonment, estrangement, poverty, abuse, fear of sexual assault--and then in young adulthood a certain proclivity that is not well tolerated in her native Jamaica. Yet she manages to tell her story without an excess of anger or emotion. There's no need, as the facts she presents speak for themselves.

Marijane Meaker

aka Ann Aldrich

aka Vin Packer

aka ME Kerr

aka Mary James

and finally aka MJ Meaker

held by only one OCLC member library!

writes of her two year affair with mystery writer Patricia Highsmith who also wrote--as Claire Morgan--the lesbian romance (noted for its happy ending--not that kind of happy end, gutterbrain!) The Price of Salt.

Coincidentally, like the last book I read, this one is by an author who left (escaped from?) an insular community in England and then returned to it. The Killing Jar took place in crime-ridden Nottingham, and Disobedience in Orthodox Jewish Hendon. I say "coincidentally" because I found Disobedience browsing in my new branch of the NYPL, Hamilton Fish. Moving is traumatic; I'm going to miss Tompkins Square.

Moving was not traumatic for Ronit Krushka, who left the Orthodox community over which her father presided as Rabbi.

If you're paying much closer attention to my reviews than I think you are, you will recall that I gave a thumbs up to Anchee Min's coming of age in China during the Cultural Revolution story, Wild Ginger, back in July ought eight. Red Azalea covers similar territory, but this time it's openly autobiographical.

A year or two ago I read Stephanie Grant's Map of Ireland, which I liked and admired, but don't remember all that strongly, and I didn't like and admire it enough to seek out other books by Ms. Grant. That was dumb because The Passion of Alice, her first novel is the perfect balance of cerebral and engaging. It's about a 25 year old in treatment for anorexia.

Don't tell anyone, but I've never taken a women's studies class. I knew Dworkin was a controversial figure and anti-pornography activist, but not much more than that. Unfortunately, she turned me a bit against her in the first couple of chapters, with sentiments like:

"Male like me" is the general idea of Ned/Norah Vincent's year and a half undercover as a man. Vincent is a tall lesbian, who has a masculine mien. After one night out in costume accompanying a drag king friend, and experiencing how differently people respond to men, even in passing on the street, she decided embark on an intensive research project. Dressed as a man, Vincent infiltrated a men's bowling league, strip clubs, the world of online dating, a monastery, some sales jobs, and finally a men's group.

Love & Lies is billed as a companion to Wittlinger's Hard Love, a YA novel with zine publishers as its main characters. Sadly this installment doesn't involve zines--and weirdly none of the characters seem to be vegetarian, much less vegan--but it is still a compelling read.