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I run the Lesbrary, and I'm also on booktube and goodreads. Check out the Lesbrary Goodreads Project for lists of les/bi/etc books by topic and genre See the Master List of Lesbian & Bi Women Books Recommendations for my favourites! Support Bi & Lesbian Lit and the Lesbrary on Patreon for monthly book giveaways, or buy us a coffee on ko-fi if you're feeling generous! Mostly lesbian lit, always bi-, ace-, aro- and trans-inclusive. Credits
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On the stage… Jessie. Untouchable. The house lights come up. My mother babbles. I stare at the closed curtains, stare at the stage where the girl I knew transmogrified. She has pierced me with wildness. She is a beast on the hunt, a wolf bitch snarling. I am incinerated. Gone. We can be an army of two. We can be Plato’s perfect army: lovers, who will never behave dishonorably in each other’s sight, and invincible. Let the world either kill us or grow accustomed to us; here we stand.- Patience & Sarah by Isabel Miller; p. 116 (via tigris88) What’s now in place, in contrast, in most scholarship and most curricula is an even briefer response to question like these: Don’t ask. Or, less laconically: You shouldn’t know. The vast preponderance of scholarship and teaching, accordingly, even among liberal academics, does simply neither ask no know. At the most expansive, there is a series of dismissals of such questions on the grounds that: 1. Passionate language of same-sex attraction was extremely common during whatever period is under discussion–and therefore must have been completely meaningless. Or 2. Same-sex genital relations may have been perfectly common during the period under discussion–but since there was no language about them, they must have been completely meaningless. Or 3. Attitudes about homosexuality were intolerant back then, unlike now–so people probably didn’t do anything. Or 4. Prohibitions against homosexuality didn’t exist back then, unlike now–so if people did anything, it was completely meaningless. Or 5. The word “homosexuality” wasn’t coined until 1869–so everyone before then was heterosexual. (Of course, heterosexuality has always existed.) Or 6. The author under discussion is certified or rumored to have had an attachment to someone of the other sex–so their feelings about people of their own sex must have been completely meaningless. Of (under a perhaps somewhat different rule of admissible evidence) 7. There is not actual proof of homosexuality, such as sperm taken from the body of another man or a nude photograph with another woman–so the author may be assumed to have been ardently and exclusively heterosexual. Or (as a last resort) 8. The author or the author’s important attachments may very well have been homosexual–but it would be provincial to let to insignificant a fact make any difference at all to our understanding of any serious project of life, writing, or thought.
[image description: a paragraph from Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars reading “Before we leave, Ivana pulls a can of spray paint out of her denim jacket. “Gotta leave a souvenir,” she says, smiling wickedly. And she tags the alley wall with the stain left by a lipstick kiss. Over that, she writes in huge, looping cursive: YOU MESS WITH FEMMES YOU MESS WITH US And we all shriek and applaud and then we are run, run, running away into the endless night.”] Being women together was not enough. We were different. Being gay-girls together was not enough. We were different. Being Black together was not enough. We were different. Being Black women together was not enough. We were different. Being Black dykes together was not enough. We were different. So, go to Paris. If you can’t do that, go somewhere. Take a road trip, a train trip, a bus trip if you must. Find a place that reminds you that the world is so much bigger than your heart and whoever broke it this time around. Go hang out by the ocean and trip out on its mammoth ancientness. Offer it your heartache—it’s big enough to hold it, to dilute it with all that salt and water, melt it away to nothing. Salt purifies. Take a dunk if you can stand it. You’re alive. That relationship was but one chapter in your long, long story, one little scene in your epic.- Michelle Tea, How To Grow Up: A Memoir (via queerbetweenthelines-blog) I have found that battling despair does not mean closing my eyes to the enormity of the tasks of effecting change, nor ignoring the strength and the barbarity of the forces aligned against us. It means teaching, surviving and fighting with the most important resource I have, myself, and taking joy in that battle. It means, for me, recognizing the enemy outside, and the enemy within, and knowing that my work is part of a continuum of women’s work, of reclaiming this earth and our power, and knowing that this work did not begin with my birth nor will it end with my death. And it means knowing that within this continuum, my life and my love and my work has particular power and meaning relative to others.
- Audre Lorde, The Cancer Journals Sometimes we are blessed with being able to choose |
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