We were…feminists who weren’t afraid to call ourselves such—rare among a generation of women who sneered at the word while feasting at the table feminism set.

Cheryl Strayed, from “Pussy Fever”

I have two confessions before we go any further. The first is that I have written for The Rumpus, “an online magazine focused on culture as opposed to ‘pop culture’.” Since I am also a woman, there is an unavoidable solidarity between myself and the women who contributed to this collection.

The second is that I don’t generally like collections of women’s writings. Or, more specifically, I am often wary of collections with “women” in the title, the same way I am wary of pop songs with “Savior” in the title. I worry that they have an agenda, and that the agenda will be louder than the art. I don’t want to be chastised for my politics or for any insufficient flap in my feminist flag. I want to be transported, startled, even awed.

I make these confessions not as a concession, but as a means to position my interpretation of this book between two pre-existing extremes.

In the introduction, editors Julie Greicius and Elissa Bassist tell how Rumpus Women Volume 1: Personal Essays by Women went from conception to collation to printer in around 21 days. This book was the answer to The Rumpus’ problem of what to offer their Book Club members in November of 2010. Rumpus website founder, Stephen Elliott, felt that they had already featured too many books by men, and wanted balance. The site editors wanted to feature a nonfiction selection. Since The Rumpus couldn’t find a book to fit their parameters and time frame, they decided to publish one.

The short time-line is both a remarkable feat and the primary flaw in this collection. While the writing and organization are solid, the copy editing often disappoints. As John Gardner cautioned in On Becoming a Novelist, “If the dream is to be continuous, we must not be roughly jerked from the dream back to the words on the page by [grammar or punctuation] that’s distracting.” The typos can distract, and in turn detract, from the otherwise articulate, passionate, and engaging voices in the stronger essays.

What is most impressive about the pieces in Rumpus Women, is that they defy convention at almost every turn. For example, two of the essays deal with reproductive cancers, but both deftly avoid over-sentimentality. In “33-Year-Old Female with Palpable Mass (for Sophie),” Sarah Fran Wisby imagines her medical charts as poetry; while Nell Boeschenstein positions her older sister’s battle with breast cancer against a backdrop of fox-hunting and tense family relations, in “The Hounds.”

Women of color, lesbian women, straight women, youthful women, mature women, and even possibly crazy women are included in this first volume. Some of the women take off their clothes for money and some commit suicide; others refuse to do either. At times the diversity can seem contrived, but for the most part, this is a solid collection of skillful voices.

A few of the pieces seem immature, and would likely not have made the final draft had been time for a second round of contributions and edits, but it is easy to forgive these against the strength of others.

The exchange between The Rumpus’ columnist “Sugar” and editor Elissa Bassist, entitled “Dear Sugar #48: Write Like a Motherfucker,” manages to be inspiring rather than patronizing. While Gabrielle Calvocoressi’s “Nine Rounds for Yuri Foreman,” explores her battles with anxiety beautifully within the structure of a famous boxing match and the tenets of the Jewish Sabbat.

Other standouts include Antonia Crane’s “Locker 29,” about auditioning for a strip club in New Orleans; and Camille Dungy’s “A Good Hike,” in which the author breaks her ankle while at a writing retreat.

Overall the collection is adroit, if somewhat burdened by technical difficulties. It is true that a few pieces feel stunted by haste and suffer from lack of clarity. But it is also true that several essays brilliantly and effectively arc over any conception of agenda to land in the realm of art.

Chelsea Biondolillo’s prose has appeared or is forthcoming in Diagram, The Rumpus, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Sea Stories, and The Rio Review. She has been rejected by some of the best MFA programs in the country and continues to take science credits for fun. Recently, she held a hummingbird in her hand. She writes something every day at http://transatlanticenchilada.blogspot.com/

As some of you may know, the Xenith Book Club reading for the entire summer is that old cat William Shakespeare. The plan is to read a history for June, a comedy for July, and a tragedy for August, just because it mirrors the summer arc so nicely.

After putting it up to a vote, Xenith members decided on the following plays:

June – The Tragedy of King Richard III
July – As You Like It
August – Antony and Cleopatra

Stop by and share your thoughts, ask questions, or complain. We’re always open.

| Shakespeare Online – a comprehensive internet resource |

For February, David has chosen Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose.

The book is easily found (as indicated in the above link) translated into English. Eco brilliantly draws together the elements of mystery and suspense into his novels. Anyone who can appreciate Sir Arthur Conan Doyle will love this book, and if you were disappointed in The DaVinci Code, this will certainly make up for it.

I will be posting here about once a week with a ‘column’ of my thoughts for various parts. I highly encourage you to find this book from your library or to drop the $15 it costs to buy it from B&N. (13.50 if you have a membership)

| Forum Topic |

Having just finished it on my lunch break, I can honestly say it’s a great work of short fiction. Read it. Here are two passages:

A new generation is growing up in our midst, a generation actuated by new ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for these new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I believe, in the main sincere. But we are living in a sceptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thoughttormented age: and sometimes I fear that this new generation, educated or hypereducated as it is, will lack those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humour which belonged to an older day. Listening tonight to the names of all those great singers of the past it seemed to me, I must confess, that we were living in a less spacious age. Those days might without exaggeration be called spacious days: and if they are gone beyond recall let us hope, at least, that in gatherings such as this we shall still speak of them with pride and affection, still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead and gone great ones whose fame the world will not willingly let die.

and

She leaned for a moment on his arm in getting out of the cab and while standing at the kerbstone bidding the others goodnight. She leaned lightly on his arm, as lightly as when she had danced with him a few hours before. He had felt proud and happy then, happy that she was his, proud of her grace and wifely carriage. But now after the kindling again of so many memories, the first touch of her body, musical and strange and perfumed, sent through him a keen pang of lust. Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side: and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure.

For January I have chosen a short story by James Joyce (which also sometimes qualifies as a novelette due to its length): “The Dead”. It’s his most well known short story and I think we should give it a shot. Don’t let it scare you: this is long before Ulysses and Finnegan’s Wake. From what I can see (I haven’t read it yet, and am excited to do so), it’s fairly traditional in its style.

Stop by and talk about it. I’ll make hot chocolate.

| Forum Topic |

Due to the reasonable success of Xenith’s first ever Less Generalized Prose Contest and the ongoing interest in breathing life into its book club, this month’s facilitator has chosen to read and vivisect the submissions that were received for said contest. This won’t simply be a large scale critique. Participants are encouraged to look at large scale significance and fluid themes running through all of the pieces, which were all inspired from the same prompt, pictured above.

If you’re feeling particularly adamant in sharing your thoughts on these submissions, or are just looking for a place to discuss writing on a more general scale (ie: not getting hung up on semi-colons), stop by and make your presence known. We are open Sunday through Saturday between the hours of 12:00 a.m. and 11:59 p.m., 365.25 days per year. We look forward to hearing what you have to say.

Forum announcement | Read the submissions

T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land is, of course, not a book, but a poem–a notoriously difficult one at that.  Don’t let that discourage you, however, from sharing your thoughts and at least attempting to wrap your pretty little heads around it.

You will find the poem available online and the discussion thread here.  Hope to hear from you!

After rather careless deliberation, the discussion question’s for May’s book, Autobiography of Red, have been drafted. Feel free to answer them or come up with your own.

Visit the thread for more details, and see the questions below.

• “A man moves through time. It means nothing except that, like a harpoon, once thrown he will arrive” (81). What do you make of this statement, particularly when examined against its place in the work (Geryon on a plane, traveling toward Buenos Aires)? What does it suggest about Geryon’s life and situation?
• Geryon is red. Everything about him is red and the color is intrinsic to his character. The only other character with even a hint of assigned color is the “Yellowbeard” character, featured on pages 85-97. Is this significant?
• Geryon has a reoccurring thought process: after observing an event that pleases someone, he concludes “____ makes ____ happy. This occurs at least three times in the novel, on pages 23, 97, and 107. It is a trait that has followed him from childhood. Does Carson’s inclusion of it in these three separate instances suggest any sort of importance or insight into Geryon’s character?
• At the closing of the interview at the end of the book, there is the enigmatic “So glad you didn’t ask about the little red dog.” As mentioned in the essay on Stesichoros at the very beginning, the original Greek text contains references to Geryon owning a little red dog that Herakles kills with his club. Did Carson omit this part of the story or did she work it in in another way?
• In the original text by Stesichoros, Herakles comes and kills Geryon to get his red cattle. In Carson’s telling, we can come to understand that Herakles doesn’t literally kill Geryon, but breaks his heart. What does Herakles get out of this (as there are obviously no cows…), if anything?

Hello, kittens. I’m announcing this eleven days in advance to give you fair warning.

For May I have chosen the lovely and delightful Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson: a novel in verse.

From the back of the book:
Geryon, a young boy who is also a winged red monster, reveals the volcanic terrain of his fragile, tormented soul in an autobiography he begins at the age of five. As he grows older, Geryon escapes his abusive brother and affectionate but ineffectual mother, finding solace behind the lens of his camera and in the arms of a young man named Herakles, a cavalier drifter who leaves him at the peak of infatuation. When Herakles reappears years later, Geryon confronts again the pain of his desire and embarks on a journey that will unleash his creative imagination to its fullest extent. By turns whimsical and haunting, erudite and accessible, richly layered and deceptively simple, Autobiography of Red is a profoundly moving portrait of an artist coming to terms with the fantastic accident of who he is.

I’m expecting participation from Courtney on this, as she has already read it, and although I know Hannah is remarkably busy, I’m hoping she might find the time, prone to the classics as she is.

Seriously, folks, this book instantly became a favorite when I finished it. I highly suggest you participate in this month’s selection.