A book from beyond the grave

My mother and I are different in many respects. While we’re very close, we agree we have few shared interests. She likes to travel alone to far-flung corners of the globe; I like coupled-up holidays in sunny spots. She has no qualms about building a cupboard from scratch; I think I’ve achieved the same if I assemble a flatpack shelf. But one thing we do share in common is a passion for old-fashioned women’s novels of the type republished by Persephone. What’s extra pleasing is that this is an enthusiasm that was also passed down from her mother, who died in 1978 just before I was born. 

So my mother and I swap and gift Persephones, Bloomsbury Classics, Virago Modern Classics and original Penguin paperbacks (among others). We read and talk about authors like Monica Dickens, Rachel Ferguson, Dorothy Whipple, Noel Streatfeild and more. We think we’re up to date if we’re reading Diana Athill.

When my grandmother died, my mum inherited boxes of her books, most of which fitted the above category. And over the past 34 years, these books have been shuffled around – between bookshelves, bedrooms, homes and sometimes – on an ill thought through whim – to the charity shop, only to be regretted. Some of the books we’ve read and loved, some we’ve thought: ‘What was she thinking?’ But to me, who never knew my grandmother, they offer a glimpse into her interests, and her way of life: most of these books were contemporary novels at the time she bought and read them. As an added bonus, some have handwritten inscriptions in.

And then something happened.

My mum was rearranging the bookshelves last weekend, creating a library of women authors in my old bedroom. And in the process of transferring books from several rooms to one, she leafed through some crumbly Angela Thirkell books (seemingly my grandmother’s favourite author, judging by the quantity of her books that we have) and two very old picture postcards fell out. They were addressed to my grandmother and sent by her next-door neighbour (who was on holiday at the time) in the early 1950s. This being the era when the postcard ruled, they contained mundane messages asking her to leave a particular pot in a safe place, and something to do with the bins. But added in a corner, in pencil, as an afterthought, was a recommendation for a book: A Picnic In The Shade by Rosemary Edisford. There was no comment about it, just the title and author.

Taking this as a sign, my mum went to Amazon and tracked down a second-hand copy (the book is long out of print), and is now eagerly awaiting its arrival. We’re both very excited, and my mum is firmly convinced that it will be a most enjoyable book – one that we will later deliver to Persephone for them to reprint, along the lines of the Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day story. 

I can find little information about Rosemary Edisford online. A Picnic In The Shade is listed on Amazon as her only book, however Google tells me she wrote a short story for the New Yorker in 1961 and possibly a guide to the saints. I’d love to know more about her. I’m intrigued and keen to romanticise this note from 60 years ago…

Once the book arrives and we’ve read it, I’ll report back. In the meantime, if you happen to know anything about Rosemary Edisford, please let me know.

A Little F’d Up

It’s hard to decide what I like best about A Little F’d Up: Why Feminism Is Not a Dirty Word. Is it that the author, Julie Zeilinger, wrote this when she was just 18? Is it that Seal Press had the good sense to take a chance on a teenage feminist blogger and ask her to write a book? Is it that the resulting book is a damn near perfect example of what a book explaining feminism to teenagers should be? It’s probably all three. That and the fact it’s peppered with phrases like: “And that’s when the shit hit the fan.”

Julie started her blog, The F Bomb, in response to her own interest in feminism, and it rapidly grew into a platform for others to share and contribute ideas and articles. It’s a great space, and well worth checking out. Sure it has a US focus, as does A Little F’d Up, but then Julie is American, so what did you expect?

Split into six sections, the book opens with a lengthy and excitable exploration of the feminists who came before us, and leaves no stone unturned. What comes across is Julie’s enthusiasm for our feminist foremothers, and the reasons why she wants her readers to understand why it is so important to acknowledge and celebrate what’s already been done, and how we can use that to inform what we do in our own feminist activism. An approach I wholeheartedly agree with.

After having introduced her readers to the cream of the US feminist crop, Julie marches on to explain why feminism has a PR problem (and how to get around it), why the ‘us vs them’ philosophy is never going to work, the problems (and strengths) of internet feminism, some stark facts about global misogyny (FGM, sex trafficking etc), and also why feminism is the answer to every teenage girl’s problems.

The world has been crying out for a damn fine book, written by a sassy and clued-up teenager, about feminism for teenagers. Sure, Michaels Kimmel and Kaufman authored a great book last autumn called The Guy’s Guide to Feminism (also by Seal Press) but, as the name suggests, that’s geared more to steering our brothers along a supportive path. And there are several good books introducing feminism to women in their 20s or 30s, but these can seem alienating to teenage readers. More than anything, as Julie understands, the PR problem that feminism is irrelevant can be lessened by explaining to teenage girls exactly why feminism IS relevant to them. Because, heck, are they going to need feminism to get them through university, work and life.

PS – If you’re after a more UK-focused book to introduce young girls to the joy and power of feminism, keep an eye out for my upcoming review of The Exciting Life of Being a Woman, by Feminist Webs (HammerOn Press).

Big Sex Little Death

Susie Bright has made a career promoting sex-positive feminism to women and men, and Big Sex Little Death (Seal Press) is her newly published memoir.

And boy, what a life she’s had. From an abusive childhood, Susie ricocheted from parent to parent before decamping to the International Socialist party when she wasn’t even 18. She fully immersed herself in the world of politics and free love, before she was booted out while still a teenager.

This takes more than half of the book, which leaves you wondering how Susie could condense the remaining 30ish years of her life into an equal amount of pages. She does this by whizzing through time to share the highlights of how she came to co-found the lesbian erotic magazine On Our Backs, and become a mother when she least expected it.

Written in a brash, no-holds-barred style, Big Sex Little Death is loud, proud and in your face. Interspersed with a few saucy descriptions of Susie’s own sex life, the book is a kick in the face to those who say feminists are all frumpy and frigid – neither of those claims are true of Susie!

While I don't agree with all of Susie’s achievements, such as contributing to bringing porn into the mainstream or teaching pornography at university (I'm an anti-porn feminist), it is still fascinating to read such a confident assertion of one woman’s determined track to achieve so much. Because whatever you say about Susie, she is certainly a woman who has never been shy of standing up for what she believes and going out and doing exactly what she wants.

Susie and I may come at feminism from slightly different perspectives, but nonetheless I respect almost any woman who sees what they want, and goes and gets it. Big Sex Little Death is a fun and fascinating insight into one of the noisiest women in our recent feminist history. And like her achievements or not, this is an entertaining read.

Click here for more details about the book from Seal Press. Click here to visit Susie’s webpage. 

'Crunch' by Gary McNair

Concluding my Mayfest triptych is Gary McNair’s solo show, Crunch, at the Brewery Theatre, Southville.

Aping an American-style motivational lecture, Glaswegian Gary appears on stage in a sharp suit, with his hair slicked back, banknotes poking out of his pockets, and to the accompaniment of Bruce Springsteen-esque power rock – reminding me of David Brent’s attempt at motivational speaking in The Office. Gary spends the first few minutes silently making eye contact with every person in the audience, before saying he has a good feeling about us, that he believes that we’ve got it in us to be winners, and that we all look lovely today.

Gary is good at what he does. And what he does is beautifully mock the motivational speaker genre, while talking absolute sense about the unhealthy relationships humans have with money… harking right back to the age of bartering.

Throughout the evening, Gary introduces us to his five-step programme to revitalise our relationship with money, and to show us that we are worth far more than any amount of money. And he does this via some really engaging audience interactions. With one woman, he tries to barter for her cardigan. With another, he offers to donate to charity a £10 note if only she’ll shred one of her own £10 notes. And the centerpiece of his show is an auction, where he asks the audience to spend three minutes bidding on an unspecified amount of money in a sealed envelope… which ultimately proves his point that winning a sum of cash generates a huge rush. And also underscores our distasteful belief in money, and our greed for money.

Gary leaves us with a closing thought, which is that next time we’re thinking of frittering £10, £20 or more away on an impulse buy… why not stop and consider donating that money to charity instead, where it will never be frittered away.

Crunch is a really interesting idea for a show, and Gary is great at delivering it. He’s funny, he knows what he’s talking about it, he has great rapport with the audience, and he leaves his audience thinking more about his ideas. A job well done.