Julie R. Enszer's Blog, page 4

Where Is Our Responsibility?

The internet is filled with people thinking and talking about how polarized the United States is in our politics. I do not have answers to the broad landscape, but I do have questions about a particular element of our contemporary divides. My primary question is: what role did feminism play in bringing us to this place?

I want to preface my reflections on the question by saying, it is perfectly clear to me that our contemporary political situation is shaped by an array of forces that work together to produce our current moment. In no way do I think that feminism is responsible, exclusively or in any substantive part, for our polarization. Even more bluntly: I do not want to blame feminists, myself included, for anything. Ever. We’ve been blamed for enough.

What I do want to do is think critically about feminism as a vector that contributed to our polarization. Feminism has brought many successes to US politics and culture, transforming swaths of our society to be more equitable and inclusive of women. We have had victories. We have remade important elements of our world.

From these transformations, backlash is inevitable. So, too, I think is increased polarization. So my question is interested in understanding what elements of feminism contributed to our contemporary political situation?

Partially, I come to this question watching the brouhaha around Joe Rogan. (I’m planning to write another blog post about that situation.) it seems to me that the power of a cancellation campaign, of people pressuring the platform on which Rogan broadcasts, is a feminist strategy, or at least a strategy that feminists have employed with success (and with some disastrous failures, too). This makes me wonder, is not listening to our opponents a feature or bug of feminism? Is that practice something that contributes to our current polarization?

Immediately after the 2016 election, a lot of ink was spilled about the work that was needed to educate white women since they were a key voting block for Trump. In that moment, we understood feminism as having key responsibilities for not having wide spread educational campaigns and messages that could sway white women voters. Yet I wonder, six years later, did we also have a responsibility for not having messages that speak to both men and women, white working class voters? Does our focus on women contribute to the environment of polarization as a result of the very structure of our thinking?

Is the nature of feminism itself as an activist movement to liberate women from systems of oppression a contributor to polarized thinking? I do not think so, but I think the questions, the self-reflection is important and worth articulating, especially as I am teaching nearly one hundred young people about feminism, it’s theories and it’s histories.

What is our transformative vision to move us out of this moment of polarization? Like my other questions, I do not know what the answers are, but I am interested in the conversation.

Traverse by Jane Augustine

Is there any joy greater that discovering a new poet through her collected poems? A thick, 600+ page volume? No. There is no greater joy than this discovery. I spent the weekend discovering the poet and modernist critic Jane Augustine through her collected poems, Traverse.

Traverse is nearly too heavy to hold, but is not too heavy, just heavy as if you are holding in your hands the work of a lifetime. Each page a wonder of language with space to revel in the line, the stanzas, and the poems. The book as an object is splendid, thick paper, a gorgeous cover, color on the inside pages, but not too much. Not too much of anything because the poems take center stage in the book.

Augustine is both a narrative poet and conceptual. One of her books, included in the entirety in this collection, tells the story of the death of a young Vietnamese woman, the love of her son, from cancer. It brilliantly weaves stories about war and colonization with stories about illness, hope, and death. Another of her books is concrete poetry. Poems that gather meaning not only from language but from appearance and presentation on the page.

I am still exploring the book and savoring each page. I originally bought the book because it is a thick book, a huge collected of a poet who was, at least to me, not well known. I wanted to use this book as a model for another book that I am working on. And it is an excellent model. It is also a wonderful collection of poetry by a poet I am thrilled to meet and excited to get to know better.

Dos Madres Press published this beautiful edition of Jane Augustine’s work.

Starred Review at Publisher’s Weekly for OutWrite!

In the publishing world, there are “pre-pub reviews.” They are reviews of books published in trade publications targeting book sellers and other people involved inside publishing, Pre-pub reviews signal to industry insiders what books are forthcoming and significant. They do not have huge meaning to people who buy books, but to publishers they are a big deal.

I was delighted to learn that OutWrite: The Speeches That Shaped LGBTQ Literary Culture not only received a review but a *starred* review in Publisher’s Weekly. If you are interested, you can read more about the review system here.

The concluding part of the review says:

Far from academic ephemera, these resonant messages offer ever relevant takes on the current discourse around identity, inclusion, dissent, and the responsibility of the artist. The result is an indispensable addition to literary and cultural history.

Publishers Weekly review of OutWrite

Thrilling! (The full review is available here.) I am so happy for this book as it continues its journey into the world.

Order your copy today!

Black Gay and Lesbian Periodicals

Cover of Azalea from Lesbian Herstory Archive

A few weeks ago, I wrote about lesbian journals that need more attention. As I start to turn my attention to another periodical project, I know that I want to invest my time in writing about a black lesbian periodical. So I am sketching out the space and will be writing a few blog entries over the next weeks and months about periodicals and resources about them.

To begin, a list of the periodicals currently in my sphere of knowledge:

Aché, a lesbian journal from the San Francisco Bay Area founded by Lisbet Tellefson and Pippa Fleming. Tellefson just posted this excellent account of the journal on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lisbet.tellefsen/posts/10160001801066972

Onyx, San Francisco Bay Area publication that began as the Black Lesbian Newsletter and has been completely digitized by the GLBT Historical Society and is available here.

Azalea, a black lesbian literary journal based in New York City.

Kick Magazine, a black gay and lesbian journal published in Detroit, Michigan,

BLK, a periodical based in Los Angeles.

Blacklines, a periodical published by Tracy Baim in Chicago.

I’d love to hear from readers about other periodicals and details on these ones. I have more in my research files that I will compile in the future.

To Whom Are You Providing Shelter?

I still think of the people who gave me grace and hope and shelter during our year of challenge with Tibe. People who picked up Sinister Wisdom mail and sent it to me in Michigan. People who sent books and care packages and letters. People who witnessed. People who did not question or challenge or marvel. People who were just of service at one of the most difficult times of my life.

A song I listened to nonstop during those days was Bob Dylan’s “Shelter from the Storm.” It begins:

Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
Come in, she said
I’ll give ya shelter from the storm

The song, and more importantly the experience of receiving shelter in gentle ways filled with grace and generosity, remind me that there are always people out in the wilderness of their lives. Suffering in a storm, one that is sometimes visible to others and sometimes not. Our job is to croon, Come in, and give shelter from the storm.

So I think often about to whom I am providing shelter in this moment. I think: who needs shelter? What can I provide to people in their lifetime of toil and blood? I think: when can I croon, Come in? I want to give such care with a full and open heart. I know how hard it was to find and I know what it was like to hear someone singing to me with such care.

To whom are you providing shelter? What would be necessary for you to provide more care and generosity to the people of the world?

Ineffable

Sadie, napping while I ride

I have completed the first half of my 60 for 60 challenge. For thirty days I have ridden the stationary bike for sixty minutes each day. My right calf is a little sore today. I will probably wear compression stockings for a few hours tonight to make sure it has time to recover. I have thirty more days to go before I complete this challenge.

Why am I doing it? I don’t know. For a good part of last week as I rode the bike, I was thinking to myself how it would be fine to quit at thirty days. There is nothing special about sixty. I like thinking about quitting. I always have. I have quit everything I have ever done, multiple times in my mind. I love quitting. I will also probably show up to do the ride tomorrow (and schedule this blog post for while I am riding.)

I want to sing the praises of doing something for a reason that is elusive, unnamed, ineffable. There is something about doing something without purpose, something about showing up for something on the regular that cannot quite be explained. I am not going to suggest a deeper meaning to it, though some do. I will only say that the practice of doing something without an end in mind beyond doing the thing and completion is magical.

After years of doing x to achieve y, I am interested in practices that are more about just doing something on the daily without an investment in outcomes. Part of what I am coming to understand is that doing things changes things. Always. Inevitably. And sitting in the bike every morning for reasons unknown, for no reasons, is my practice at the moment. Oh, and both of the dogs like it too. As the photos demonstrate, they are very invigorated by the practice.

Samantha, also napping while I ride.

It Is Cold

Everyone was talking about it. We knew it was coming. The dip in temperature from our chilly 50s where the temperature has settled most of the week down into the high 20s. It arrived overnight. Cold.

Photo from the strawberry fields across the street.

Samantha enjoyed most of the week. Sitting outdoors as if she was going to grow a winter coat. Thick. Fluffy. Suitable for northern climes, which she has never seen. Sadie just stayed indoors. Her feet were cold. She was happy to have heat, a warm, comfortable bed.

Up north, the cold comes, the frost, the freeze, ice, after everything has some preparation. Slowly decreasing temperatures. People bring in pots and plants. Trees and plants in the ground have the warning to become dormant. Here, the cold is a shock to everything. I can see that in a few days I will have to cut back the Boston fern. It is unclear if the banana palms will survive.

I am happy for the oak trees. All ‘winter’ here in Florida they keep some leaves and I imagine them saying, we would just like a rest. A few months of dormancy. A chance to just focus on the work below, to not have to press out leaves above. I imagine that they have enjoyed the past week.

The freeze here in Florida means that plants die and in our neighborhood people have to work. All night we could hear people in the strawberry fields next to us. We would see headlights periodically. They water those plants to keep them from freezing. All night long, people tending to the strawberries, trying to preserve the harvest. They pulled out this morning around 9 am as the temperatures reached forty. No more watering. No more working. Tonight it is projected to go down to thirty-four at five am. I suspect workers will be out in the fields again. It will be a few days before we assess all of the damage. In the mean time, it is cold. Samantha’s coat is thick. We are grateful for work done indoors.

Strawberries in the field this morning.

Tibe’s Car

When it became clear that the only way we could stay together as a family with Tibe was to leave Maryland, to leave our home of more than a decade and flee with our dogs and Vita the cat, the beloved knew that we needed a new car. We had two cars. An electric hybrid Honda and an old Mercedes sedan. Both cars were good, but together the could not easily accommodate the gear that we imagined we would need for the eight weeks we then thought it would take before we could return to our home. And while both cars were good, neither of them thrived in the snow and ice that A Michigan winter would bring. I did not think about any of this to be honest. I was visiting Tibe in his exile daily, walking him, lying with him, crying next to him. The beloved acted decisively. She bought a new car for our Michigan sojourn. For the last seven years, we have thought of it as Tibe’s car.

The day after we bought it, I drove it with Vita crated in the front seat and Tibe in the back to Michigan. Every morning in Michigan (the eight weeks stretched to nearly ten months), Tibe boarded the back seat with glee for our daily trip to his favorite public park. We walked, he marked and pooped. We played with his magic purple dragon. He hopped back in the car to drive home, settle in, and sleep for part of the day.

We drove Tibe’s car from Michigan to Florida. It has a few marks from Tibe’s boisterous early years. Scratches on the side o the car as Tibe jumped for purple dragon. A few scratches in the back seat. In the last year, Tibe preferred to go to the vet in the sedan. Not as far to jump up to get into the car and easy to put his head by my arm as we drove up the road and back again.

I would like to keep everything the way it was when Tibe was with us. The sofa in my office never cleaned to remove his dog hair, the pillows he always liked for his head never cleaned. His toys preserved in the house. And his car. I thought maybe we would just drive it forever.

Things change, though. Days continue to pass. Tibe remains completely present in our lives and yet somehow unfathomably absent.

We decided to get a new car. It is a beautiful new car, a birthday present for the beloved. Ruefully we came to the conclusion that it was not reasonable to keep Tibe’s car. It is going up north with my cousins.

There are always a million goodbyes that go with losses. Saying goodbye to Tibe’s car is one of them. We will miss Tibe’s ride as every day we miss him.

Postcards!

Single postcard for the forthcoming OutWrite book.

I believe every book should have a postcard. Postcards are the perfect promotional device to me, born before the Internet, uncomfortable and at times irascible user of social media. I know publishers always look at authors’ platform. At how they can use social media to build interest in a book. That’s fine but social media, you cannot touch it. You cannot hang a tweet or an update on your bulletin board or in the refrigerator. After a few hours social media posts just disappear into the compost pile of language written on some corporate sites.

Postcards on the other hand, postcards last. Postcards do not just barge into your computer or your phone. You have to pick them up at your mailbox. The have some weight to them but not too much. They are perfect impromptu book marks. Often they fit a shopping list or a phone number when you are retrieving messages. You could even note an email address on a postcard but why? Get a postal mailing address and send a letter.

Postcards invite you to imagine what a book contains. That flashy cover on one side. Some seductive language on the other describing the book. Postcards are a promise of what the book might deliver. Postcards suggest the book is a conversation between some readers and some writers. With a postcard, you can write a love message on the back and mail them to friends. Does anyone write love messages in tweets?

Postcards are cheap. They are both ephemeral and durable. Postcards are objects in the world inviting us to read other objects in the world. Postcards are a trace of friendship, affection, even love.

Want one? Send me your postal mailing address. I’ll be sending out OutWrite postcards next month. The book is coming. I invite you to read it. The invitation arrives in a postcard. So many good things arrive in the mail.

A passel of OutWrite postcards waiting to be mailed.

More Thoughts on Failure

I’ve been listening to a fun podcast, “The Just Enough Family”. It centers around Liz Lange and her family, the Steinbergs, who during the 1980s made a lot of money in finance, including “green mailing” companies. There are a variety of entry points for people to this podcast. Liz Lange and her celebrity as a maternity wear designer, the story of a financial corporation, a family drama with lots of interesting reveals. It’s been a pleasurable listen as I’ve run some errands around town.

The truth is I really love podcasts. It may be the combination of narrative with a folksy sense of conversation. My love of podcasts prompted me to try out making one. A fabulous Sinister Wisdom intern created a handful of great episodes, but the podcast never took off.

I might even say that the project was a failure. I do not say that lightly. I am enough of on marketer to know that it is never good to concede failure. That it presents a tint of on-going failure. It suggests that failure is not a one time situation but continual. Yet I want to undo these associations, and I want to make more visible the things that are tried that do not quite take flight. The things that I lack at one particular moment in time to make a success. So instead they flop.

Failure. Flop. Rejection. Challenge. Abandonment. Defeat. Foundering. Misfiring. There are so many words to describe things that go wrong, and so few places where we dive in and explore the contours of failure to learn from it and more importantly share it with others.

I was writing a letter of recommendation for a brilliant young woman who is applying to graduate schools. I sent her a recommendation of another program that might be worth an application. In the conversation, I told her, as she was trying to recover from the exhaustion of her first round of applications, that she should prepare mentally: life is a long series of applications and rejections. I do not think that she was reassured by this statement.

I was though. It is comforting to remember all of the wild imaginings of the applications, that is the moment of real joy: before submission, the planning, the dreaming, the imagining. The applications are the joy. The rejections, the failures, they are the aftermath where hopefully we learn enough to be inspired to pursue the joy again.

Episodes of Sinister Wisdom’s podcast, Spoken Violets.