My Real Children by Jo Walton

My Real Children by Jo Walton

Tor, 2014

Overview: We meet Patricia Cowan in 2015 in a nursing home, and learn that not only is she suffering from dementia, but she is confused about which life she actually led. Nearly the entire book chronicles two very different life stories that exist in very different worlds which both resemble our own. 

This is really more of a work of literary fiction than science fiction, despite being published by Tor, so if you're hoping for something solidly science fiction you might be disappointed. (IT'S SO GOOD THOUGH.)

My reaction: I was surprised and delighted that Patricia (called Pat in her happier life story, Trisha/Trish in the other) falls in love with a woman in one of her two worlds, but didn't get my hopes up due to a typically cagey description on the inside cover. As a result, I guessed that it would last at most a chapter, but should have known better: a major reason I started this blog with the Lesbrarian is publishers' systematic erasure of queer content on covers and in metadata to market to a larger audience. This is the first such book we've found without research, though, which inspired me to get back to this blog!

A fair warning: this book really wrung me out emotionally. The counterpart to the beautiful lesbian relationship that bloomed just after World War II was the heartbreaking story of an abusive marriage to an insufferable man, and the roller coaster of emotions Walton evoked in me as she switched between the two is a seriously good (but not painless) ride. 

Walton balances the two stories exquisitely. Pat's, while generally the happier of the two stories, had the tears running down my cheeks by the end (even though I knew, thanks to the first chapter, exactly where Pat would end up) while Trish's life gradually gets brighter until she again has more than her share of pain. 

Neither Pat or Trish is perfect, nor should they be, but I was particularly annoyed at Pat's skepticism about her Muslim son-in-law and the name for one of his children. While I understood where Trish was coming from with her naive but sometimes hurtful attitudes towards gay sex (not people! amazing!), Pat's mild xenophobia in her later years just baffled and upset me.

Other than that, My Real Children was amazing. I can't say too much more without giving things away, but it was a really thought-provoking read in its entirety, and--as you might guess--Pat's love story will stick with me for a long time.

Just make sure you have some Kleenex. (Really. Books don't usually make me cry.)

Dead and Blonde by Jean Marcy

Dead and Blonde by Jean Marcy
New Victoria Publishers, 1998

Overview: After their brief but torrid love affair in Cemetery Murders, things have cooled off somewhat between private investigator Meg Darcy and police detective and Norwegian Ice Queen Sarah Lindstrom. Or so Meg thinks until a late night call from Lindstrom; someone has brutally murdered Lindstrom's ex-lover in Lindstrom's bed. Who would dare murder someone right in a cop's house? And maybe more importantly, why was Viv staying with Lindstrom in the first place? As the murder investigation throws Meg back with the woman who drives her mad, she must find a way to balance her conflicting feelings while tracking down a dangerous killer who might be out to murder them both.

My Reaction: While an overall decent mystery, Dead and Blonde did not quite live up to the precedent set in Cemetery Murders. I think it had a lot to do with the slightly less coherent plot and Meg constantly hashing and rehashing her relationship with Lindstrom. Having just lived through a very traumatic experience, both our protagonists are understandably on edge, but not in a way that seemed to move the story along; much of the book felt bogged-down with Meg's internal conflicts and intense sexual frustration, at the risk of eclipsing the mystery. And while relationships and sexual frustration are fun in small doses, the mystery really should be the heart of the story. Dead and Blonde is not Ghost Motel bad (thank God), but it's not rip-roarin' fun either. I'll probably read the next in the series, since it won a Lambda Literary Award for Best Lesbian Mystery in 2001, but don't feel like you're missing much unless you want to see how Meg and Lindstrom's story progresses.

Meg Darcy Mysteries
Cemetery Murders, 1997
Dead and Blonde, 1998
Mommy Deadest, 2000
A Cold Case of Murder, 2003

Dance of Knives by Donna McMahon

Dance of Knives by Donna McMahon

A Tor Book, 2001.

Overview: In 2108, Klale, which she tells us rhymes with "daily," is a young woman who has run away from the Fisher's Guild to start a new life in Vancouver's Downtown, an island full of "Guildless" people who have neither the duties or protection of citizenship. She finds the KlonDyke, a strip club/bar whose name raised my hopes way too high, and proceeds to be a glowing beacon of naïveté to her newfound friend Toni, the "'Dyke's" bartender with a secret past. She also takes the risk of trusting Blade, a "tool": he was sold as a child to be neurologically twisted into a  blackmailer's slave. Since he is strong enough to kill anyone easily, and also, due to his "training," liable to go berserk under certain circumstances, this is a greater risk than most people would take! While a gang war is in the offing (spoiler--there seem to be more gangsters/corrupt police in the bar than lesbians), most of the book revolves around learning more about the mysterious pasts of Blade and Toni.

My reaction:

I have to say this upfront: one lesbian sex scene, with no real lesbian romance, with one participant  described as “lean[ing] het” by her partner afterwards PLUS more page-time devoted to (disturbing, in my opinion) hetero sex, and the only front-and-center (i.e., plot-driving) weird-but-probably-qualifies-as-romance romance being hetero, does not "lesbian" novel make. (To be fair to whoever tagged it as such on NoveList, there was a lesbian relationship in the backstory, and a supporting character was nominally in a lesbian relationship, but her partner is such a minor character I forgot it for a minute.) Additional disclaimer: I was really rubbed the wrong way by the description of Klale's introduction to Bracken, who self-identifies herself as a "hermy." While Klale initially reads her as a young woman, when she catches a glimpse of what's underneath some sequined panties, she immediately thinks, "She was a he. Well...maybe," and then launches into an analysis of Bracken's body, and "she/he" and "his or her"s for a couple of pages despite a pretty femme presentation. Ultimately, Bracken says either she or he is fine, but then Klale settles on she because Bracken has larger breasts than her! Ugh, moving on.

All that said, as you might have surmised from the overview, I found Klale really too stupid to be interesting. Thankfully, Toni's story is much more compelling, and is delved into over the course of many blissfully Klale-free pages. 

I have to admit that some of Klale's stupidity paid off in a few situations, but it was hard for me to root for her regardless. 

I idly wondered more than once if a lot of my annoyance with Klale had to do with her name; while her legal name is Margaret, she chose Klale because it apparently means "blue" in Chinook, and was a joke about her hair. I still think my original, pre-pronunciation guide pronunciation is more apt: Klale rhymes with "flail." 

Besides these quarrels, I have to say that McMahon is a better writer technically speaking than many of my "meh" books. I just had a hard time with the inconsistent level of world-building (lots of vocabulary didn't entirely distract me from wanting a few more details about what Klale had run from), some creepy sex (let's just say I'm not into seeing anyone get it on with someone who is a mental age of 12), and Klale. 

 

Slow River by Nicola Griffith

Slow River by Nicola Griffith
Ballantine Books, 1995.

Overview: Slow River, winner of a Lambda Literary Award in 1996, follows the life of Lore van de Oest, a young woman whose pedigree means that she is absurdly wealthy and educated in her family’s “bioremediation” technology. After barely surviving a kidnapping, she is taken in by Spanner, a woman who is perfectly content making a living through crime. While the book begins with Lore’s decision to go “straight” (don’t worry, she still loves ladies, though that is not a huge focus of the book), it constantly flips between the four distinct phases of her life: childhood, the kidnapping, her years with Spanner, and her ongoing attempt to start earning an honest living, albeit under an assumed identity.

My reaction: I feel compelled to start this off with a warning to potential readers that a major part of the story is sexual abuse and rape. It’s not an easy read, to be sure, but putting aside the rape and abuse for a moment, it’s got a lot of my favorite scifi elements: start with a dystopic world that doesn’t seem too far-fetched (i.e., each citizen has an identity chip inserted in the web between their thumb and forefinger), add a mystery, political intrigue, interesting technology (Griffith really goes to town with this one, as she describes in great detail the waste treatment technology that the van de Oest family essentially has a monopoly on), and make it a female protagonist (if she’s a lesbian, bonus points!).

I was pleasantly surprised by how elegantly the plotlines intersected, although I really shouldn’t have been, given that I appreciated Griffith’s skill with story in her other two books (The Blue Place and Ammonite) before picking up Slow River. Her supporting characters felt a little two-dimensional at times, but that could be a manifestation of having a character who was afraid to really engage with them. That said, it didn't keep me from turning the pages and counting the minutes to my lunch break so I could read more. (A review on Ammonite is forthcoming--I loved it, but was too lazy to write a review, and now it's been so long I feel like I should reread it.) Ultimately, however, I think it falls into the high end of my decent category for science fiction, especially when I compare it to Ammonite, which I will definitely recommend. 

More on the rating:  I'm finding that it's much easier to find high quality lesbian science fiction and fantasy than mystery, which is why I gave Griffith's mystery The Blue Place a rating of recommended when I read it. It was a hard decision not to extend the same leeway to Slow River, but in the end, the characters (with the exception of Lore) were just not as real to me as the whole cast of Ammonite.

 

The Blue Place by Nicola Griffith

The Blue Place by Nicola Griffith
Avon Books, 1998.

Overview: Suave Norwegian-American ex-police detective Aud Torvingen literally runs into trouble on a dark and stormy night. (Well, Griffith is too good of a writer to use that phrase, but it's night and there's a bad storm). The trouble she runs into takes the form of a sexy art dealer named Julia Lyons-Bennet, who is running from the scene of a murder. The victim was a friend and colleague, and she is determined to find those responsible. She enlists Aud's help, and Aud takes on the challenge without quite knowing why. (It can't hurt that Julia is sexy, though...) As the case unfolds, the reader also gets to learn more about the reasons for the hardened ex-cop's emotional and physical defenses.

My reaction: Griffith somehow manages to make a gripping story based around a character that on the surface seemed to be a very familiar one. Sure, her attitude vis-a-vis her wealth rubbed me the wrong way sometimes, and her willingness to bend rules about mistreating suspects when she was a cop (and encouraging rookie cops to follow in her footsteps) made me really uncomfortable, but I felt like her gradually emerging backstory made me understand both of those things, even if I didn't like them.

That said, I really enjoyed the mystery at the center of the case. Refreshingly, Griffith didn't cycle through suspects ad nauseum; instead, she keeps the reader's interest by having Aud deal with dangerous henchmen, while all the while wondering what she's missing. 

While I had mixed feelings about the conclusion, I would recommend this book--I'd even venture to say that those mixed feelings are one of the reasons I'd recommend it! The Blue Place held my attention even through the occasional eye-roll, and stands out both in terms of writing quality and character complexity in the genre. Go read it! (PS: the cover art is exactly how I imagine Aud--pretty impressive!) One caveat: I think that Griffith's Ammonite is a stronger book, but when I compare Blue Place to some truly terrible companions in the lesbian detective genre, I decided it does deserve a "recommended" rating.

The More I Owe You by Michael Sledge

The More I Owe You by Michael Sledge
Counterpoint, 2010.

Overview: The More I Owe You is centered around American poet Elizabeth Bishop's tumultuous decades in Brazil. She falls in love with Lota de Macedo Soares, an influential Brazilian, and with the country itself, although she cannot bear the dysfunctional politics which completely consume her lover. The romance of turning what was supposed to be a two week holiday into a seventeen year long stay is not entirely lost despite the detailed account of how the fiercely the lovers clashed over Elizabeth's alcoholism and Lota's dangerous involvement with politics, because somehow all the anger in the world is not enough to completely extinguish their love.

My reaction: This was beautifully done. I kept wondering which parts had been drawn from Bishop's extensive correspondence and which were Sledge's imagination, but toward the end I just let myself appreciate the story. And cry. I definitely cried at the end of this one! 

It definitely makes me want to go read all 70 of her published poems (I had no idea there were so few!)! 

Sledge also brings Brazil's politics to life through Lota's involvement with Carlos Lacerda and her struggle to create Flamengo Park. I was pretty uninformed about Brazilian politics, and so getting some of that background was an added bonus. It was so interesting to see how the evolution of the political situation affected the life of one American expat and the people she lived with: it started as political debate at dinner parties and progressed until Lota was advising Carlos and he was in and out of hiding as a result of assassination attempts. 

All told, this was a fascinating and moving portrait of Elizabeth Bishop, and I highly recommend it!

Wolfsbane Winter by Jane Fletcher

Wolfsbane Winter by Jane Fletcher
Bold Strokes Books, 2010.

Overview: In the land of Galvonia, we meet Deryn, a female mercenary (a.k.a. an Iron Wolf) who has serious attachment issues due to her tragic past, and Alana, a member of the demon-spawn nobility with a semi-legitimate fear of starting a romantic relationship with a commoner. (Yes, I’m serious—demon-spawn.) Deryn and Alana’s paths cross about 100 pages into the 254 page book, and the rest of the book details their struggles to maintain their defenses in the face of extreme sexual attraction.

My reaction: While this was definitely as ridiculous as I was expecting a paperback romance to be, it was a quick and enjoyable read. There were plot points that pushed my ability to suspend my disbelief to the limit, demon-spawn politics fell into the unfortunate category of “Too-fleshed-out-to-be-forgotten-yet-too-spare-to-be-anything-more-than-semi-annoying-and/or-tantalizing.” I guess that I got a kick out of seeing how little the nobility’s antics affected commoners, but that made the slimy king’s counselor’s machinations pretty irrelevant. The sex scenes are kind of absurd and remarkably scarce, considering that the first sentence of the blurb on the back cover is “The Iron Wolf mercenaries who guard travelers on the Misery Trail are notorious for their quick and casual sex lives.” However, they’re perfect for a good read-aloud/laugh, and I will give Fletcher credit—I actually wanted Deryn and Alana together, and genuinely rooted for them through my laughter. 

She Rises by Kate Worsley

She Rises by Kate Worsley

Bloomsbury, 2013.

Overview: Louise Fletcher is a young dairymaid who is suddenly sent to the “big” port city of Harwich to be a lady’s maid to a captain’s daughter, Rebecca Handley. Before she leaves, her mother asks her to find out what happened to her brother, Luke, who was presumably press-ganged into service to the British navy. The story follows both Louise and Luke’s struggles, but Louise’s attraction to her mistress is what drives her story forward.

My reaction: This book was very well done. After finishing it, I was not surprised to read that Sarah Waters, one of my favorite authors (who I reviewed here and here, and the Lesbrarian here and here), actually mentored Kate Worsley, as She Rises has a similar attention to historical detail (albeit in a century and a half earlier than the majority of Waters’ oeuvre), a delicately balanced dual plot-line, and a CRAZY plot twist. Like in Waters’ Affinity, I did catch multiple hints of said CRAZY plot twist as I read, but when it was confirmed, my mind was still blown. I wish I could get into a whole discussion about that, but I will resist the urge to spoil it! 

To give you fair warning, She Rises is not an easy read. It definitely is no modern lesbian romance dropped into Harwich, c. 1740, which led to some serious discomfort for me more than once.  The internalized misogyny and gender norms in particular made me think; I realized that it was much more realistic to write the story like that, but a little part of me wished that the characters had been able to free themselves of society’s more repellant mores. 

That said, I could write a paper on the ways that class and gender and sexuality intersect in this novel, and it’s always a pleasure for me to read a book that not only has a compelling storyline, but real substance.

Behind the Pine Curtain by Gerri Hill

Behind the Pine Curtain by Gerri Hill

Bella Books, 2006

Overview: Jackie never intended to return to Pine Springs, not after her parents sent her away on a bus after she came out to them. And she never intended to act on her feelings for her best friend Kay, feelings that were her first sign that she was gay all those years ago. But now, upon her father's death, she has no choice bu to return to her childhood home and come face to face with the past she tried so hard to leave behind.

My Reaction: Behind the Pine Curtain has a pretty classic plot: our heroine falls in love with the girl next door and finds that first love is always the best. However, despite some skepticism about the writing (telling us that Kay "stopped breathing" seemed to be one of the author's ticks), I was drawn right into the story, hopeless romantic that I am. If you are a fan of the longing look, a la Jane Austen, there are plenty of those to go around, as well as enough electric touches and colliding eyeballs to keep you guessing when they'll FINALLY KISS ALREADY. Despite a major plot hole/implausible backstory, I still found Hill's book enjoyable. A guilty pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.

Calling Dr. Laura by Nicole J. Georges

Calling Dr. Laura: a Graphic Memoir by Nicole J. Georges

Mariner Books, 2013.

Overview: I know this was in the non-fiction section, but it was so good that I’m going to include it here anyway. (Besides, it comes with the caveat that the author “has tried to remain as truthful as possible, but has taken the liberty of melting together certain individuals in order to protect the innocent and not bore readers,” so there’s a little fiction?!) Calling Dr. Laura is a graphic memoir about the author’s life, which delves into the emotional effects of growing up not only without her birth father, but with a couple of terrible stepfathers, her complicated relationship with her mother. While Georges reveals that she was essentially incapable of “lesbian processing” during her young adulthood, this book is proof that she has the knack of it now (in a good way!). Along the way, a massive family secret is unearthed piece by piece, and Nicole has to decide how this new knowledge will affect her life.

My reaction: I really enjoyed this book!  Georges’ sense of humor (for example, comparing herself to a fainting goat re: her emotional response to her mother) made it much more comfortable to read her very personal narrative, but did not keep me from being amazed at the enormity of what she had to deal with. She uses her visual medium to great effect as well— the tension and awkward silences were palpable, and what memoir can’t be improved by adorable drawings of pet chickens and dogs? I’ll definitely check out her other stuff!