The Ovarian Fist

“You’re Right Where You Should Be, Now Act Like It”

I’ve always been a regular library-goer, a borderline librarian wannabe. Even when I was in high school I dragged myself down to the school library daily, skimming the limited shelves for something new and interesting, any title or book cover that could catch my eye. Once I had just about memorized each and every book in the fiction section of the school’s supply I expanded my discoveries to include the little library by my house.

At my school library I had only gotten a taste of of the literature that could be, a tiny vial drop on the tip of my tongue of what the world had to offer in the means of women’s literature. Upgrading from the narrow and confining shelves of my school to the rows and rows of unexplored fiction of the public library was a bit daunting, but it was a challenge that was welcome. Like exploring a new land, I wandered up and down each shelf for something to reach out and tug on my sleeve, to draw me in and choose me as a reader.

It didn’t take long. As if approaching a shrine I slowly made my way up to one shelf in particular, to one book amongst so many of much brighter colors and much more fantastic typefaces. My feet took me there, my eyes found the title, my hands grabbed the book, and all of this happened as if preordained. Rose of No Man’s Land, it read.

I found my dad in one of the odd and awkwardly small sections, religion or health or maybe even “large print”.

Found something? he asked. I nodded. I think so.

–

If I could name one woman to you that has undoubtedly influenced me, I would most certainly name Michelle Tea in the first regime. At that time in my life I had had my fill of Go Ask Alice-type books; novels that contained the tired formula of “young teen treads off the beaten path, ruins life, ruins family, loses everything/dies a horrible death”. I knew that ‘certain behaviors’ had ‘certain circumstances’, but I also knew that most young adults reacted with the timeless ‘eye roll’ when they were presented with this formula. One was curious and couldn’t help but ask: But what about those who didn’t succumb to this famous synopsis?

In Michelle Tea’s Rose of No Man’s Land the main character Trisha experiences just such a night of exciting (and frightening) debauchery, indulging in all the self-destructive habits that are so popular at that age. In fact, the entire second half of the book is concerned with this one night– up until the very end. At the end of the novel the exhausted Trisha simply walks home. How refreshing, I thought, that one could experience so much in such a short period of time and still remain oneself (more or less). Unlike the majority of young adult fiction out there Michelle Tea was not shoveling morals; she was only concerned with telling a story.

This was my first impression of Tea, but it is not why I find her decidedly important. Though I’ve continued to find her individual stories refreshing it is the style in which she writes them that has had the most impact on me as a writer and an artist. Michelle Tea’s writing consists of an overtly raw and sinewy honesty, complimented by an introspective humor and enhanced by an unconventionally descriptive voice. She is the corroded queen of the back alley, the silver-spewing siren of a strange mix of pop culture and battery acid. Both a writer and a poet, Tea has already turned out a slightly impressive amount of novels in a relatively small period of time, and she doesn’t show any signs of relenting just yet. When she’s not writing herself she gives a leg up to other promising authors; In 1994 she co-founded the “legendary all-girl spoken word show ‘Sister Spit‘, and she’s also created Radar Productions, a non-profit organization designed to help young authors in the San Francisco area.

Among the list of Tea’s accomplishments are autobiography-like novels such as Valencia (which she won a Lambda award for) and The Passionate Mistakes and Intricate Corruption of One Girl in America, an official memoir titled The Chelsea Whistle, and one graphic novel with the title of Rent Girl. She’s also had her poetry collected and published in one book, The Beautiful. I wish that I could sit here and present sample after sample of her writings and poetry, but I’m not going to do that for sensible reasons. I can, however, help point you in the right direction.

In my opinion, her autobiography The Chelsea Whistle is one of her best put together works. Though Valencia is usually her most discussed (and argued) novel, it’s hard for me to construct a full and coherent review of it. Valencia tends to be one of those novels that is either ardently treasured or utterly hated, and I find myself confusedly on the fence. It is a lot to take in and a lack of information all at once, leaving the reader intrigued but ultimately disconnected. Because of this, I will instead provide a small excerpt from The Chelsea Whistle. This excerpt is from the opening portion of the novel, which I’ve always considered memorable and effective.

The Chelsea Whistle, “Sicko”:

“Childhood is morbid. That’s a word that I learned from my mother. You kids are morbid, she said, spying on me and my sister, small Madeline, playing with our cousin Allen, who everyone said was going to turn out gay from all the dolls his grandmother bought him. It was the era of “William Wants a Doll,” a tune that didn’t quite reach Chelsea, Massachusettes, a town five minutes from Boston that might as well have been five hours, five days. People in Chelsea went to neighboring towns like Revere, Everett, East Boston–similarly connected to the big city and all its culture but, like Chelsea, sealed off, retarded by the local yokels’ fears of big cities and all the different people who dwell there. Not that you’d call the sort of stunted human that occupied my town a yokel. Yokels were trailer trash living in wild rural areas deep in the jungles of America, a television myth. These low-ballers were “townies”, and they were proud of it. As if being born into this grimy pocket of New England were a cosmic lottery hit. East Boston–Eastie–had a tunnel that shot you into Boston, and in Chelsea we had the big green bridge that looped the edge of town, a dead warehouse district. You had to pay a guy in a little booth fifty cents to pass into Boston. That made sense. The city was holding us hostage. What didn’t make sense was having to toss the guy quarters on your way back, too. A toll to get into Chelsea? Its cracked pavement and trashy curbs, plastic playgrounds stained with spray paint and mean kids on every corner, wanting to kick your ass–that was Chelsea, and they made you give them two quarters to get into it. Like being bullied out of your lunch money. They’ll nickel and dime ya to death, my parents would often lament, and I’d think of this phrase as the twin coins were tossed into the giant basket on the Tobin Bridge, tumbling into the hole that would lift the bar and allow our car entrance to Chelsea. Outside of our misanthropic city, in Boston, children were free to be you and me, and William was serenaded for his dolly desires, bit it never reached us. It was like a cable station we just didn’t get…”

Other works of Tea’s that deserve your attention: Anything she has written is worth a look. This includes the handful of collections that she has edited and contributed to, such as Pills, Thrills, Chills, and Heartache: Adventures in the First Person, Baby Remember My Name: An Anthology of New Queer Girl Writing, and Without a Net: The Female Experience of Growing Up Working Class.

All of Michelle Tea’s books can be purchased at Amazon.com. Go check one of them out!

~

Women Who Rock

In keeping with the theme of female ‘firsts’ for me, let’s talk about Gina Young. In my mind Gina Young is the Michelle Tea of music, if that makes sense. Like Tea I stumbled across her by mere chance (though on the internet), and like Tea I knew I had found something significant from the moment my eyes adjusted to the sight. I looked at the album cover, I read the album title, and I knew that I had found just what I was looking for at just the moment that I needed it most.

Intractable. A CD that is so evilly advertised on Amazon.com though never actually available, except through isolated resellers. There she was looking just like every girl that I wanted to know, holding up her modest sign like the welcome wagon at an airport; Here I am just for you; this is the very ride that you need. Back then it was unavailable, “out of print”, I believe, and not much has changed since then. This was a mere obstacle for me though, I could not be so easily dissuaded. I searched the internet for “Gina Young” and “Intractable” until I came across cdbaby.com for the first time (a source that I would use many times in the future, thanks Gina) and purchased myself a copy.

A few lyrical samples to wet your taste buds:

“…I’ll set the scene
Your eyes were lime green,
your nails dug into me,
we shared a quiet scream.
We were dreaming
that this was liberty
but found that bleeding
is still a girl thing…”
(Intractable, ” Intractable”)

“Clinic bombings,
racist lynchings.
wonder why
I don’t feel like smiling.
what’s that smell?
it’s books burning.
Shh, don’t tell
the little witch is learning…”
(Intractable, “Fire, Fire”)

“I built my house of straw, he said
out of the blue
it’s not like
I even asked him.
And I thought
to myself,
it’s funny how I
only ever had
tampon boxes to play with,
and he had straw, it’s funny.
they never told me that…”
(She’s So Androgynous, “Straw House”)

“…and I object
not just to this war,
but to all of the things
that you stand for.
Like dropping bombs
to lower the price of gas,
I guess the constitution
is just some piece of scrap paper
that you use to wipe your ass,
you bastard!”
(She’s So Androgynous, “An Open Letter to the President”)

Back when I first stumbled across Gina Young I also happened upon two very different reviews of her music. One of them (like most of them out there) had nothing but praise for Young, commending her for her “political awareness” and unabashed sincerity at such a young age. Her lyrics were called clever, witty, and in your face. The other review, however, found these same sincerities and their delivery to be nothing more than childish. Young, they said, was no revolutionary; she was just a bratty young girl with opinions that she didn’t mind shoving down your throat.

So which review is right? Perhaps a bit of both. Young’s lyrics may not be groundbreaking, but they aren’t complete b.s. either. She may not be the next leader of the free world, but for a decent handful of infuriated young women she’ll make a hell of a lot of sense. The girl definitely has opinions (how many of us aren’t guilty of that?), but she often finds clear and attractive ways of getting them across.  She most certainly does have charm, and she most certainly does have an edge of wit. There are a few of her songs that verge on a “diary-like” whine, but even these small stagnant pitfalls are entertaining and are often followed by modest bursts of sheer strength and brightness. I have felt myself slowly grow out of this music, but I will always maintain the opinion that Gina Young is a woman that you should experience.

Folks, this woman existed to me before Ani Difranco. Before Liz Phair, before Patti Smith, hell– even before PJ Harvey I heard Gina Young. Out of sheer luck, sheer chance, I tripped over the obscurest of voices– and found the most familiar. I haven’t always given her as much attention as she deserves and she’s since released two other albums (which progressively lose the magic of Intractable in my opinion), but like with Michelle Tea I occasionally plug myself back in and realize why I was so mystified the first time around. I hear the same fire that kindled my young feminist ego and feel the same chills, experience the same desire for a loud-mouthed revolution. Once again I am diesel-fueled into an all out feminist rage, ready to kick butt and take names and leave no prisoners (yes, all cliché statements– but who gives a damn?). Gina Young is a woman that deserves your ear, so take a minute to give her a listen, will you?

Gina Young- Supergirl (Intractable)
Gina Young- Can She Bake a Cherry Pie? (Intractable)
Gina Young- Punkrockdyke (She’s So Androgynous)

(This is by no means the best of Gina Young. Each and every song on Intractable is memorable and catchy as hell, and She’s so Androgynous isn’t a waste of time either. It was a damn difficult decision for me to choose which songs to post; if you enjoy these songs than you should most definitely purchase the full CDs and support the artist. You can purchase Intractable at cdbaby.com, and you can purchase both Intractable and She’s so Androgynous at iTunes. Go get ‘em!)

You can also visit Gina Young’s official site here.