This was my perfect queer book, part memoir, part essay about the art of Felix Gonzalez-Torres, part queer theory, plus thoughts on ice and how it shatters. It is a wandering book, often tender and funny, a book you will love if you list Maggie Nelson as one of your favorite authors. It is powerful and beautiful and deserves a careful read.
In 1974 Francisco Franco died. The Spanish people could finally begin openly discussing the legacy of the Spanish Civil War in order to build a future. However, in a country where repression was the norm until recently, how do you have a transparent dialogue? In 1975 the Paneros, an infamous literary family, aired a scandalous documentary about their lives that, in the decades since, has been interpreted as an attempt to answer this question. Shulman's amazing book chronicles the story of the Paneros, the treacherous twists and turns they navigated, as well as the impact of their now cult favorite documentary.
I’m not alone in my love for Louisa May Alcott’s most famous tale. I identify with Jo, have sympathy for Beth, understand Meg, and find friendship with Amy. I admit that I feel a pang of jealously when others express their love for the March family because they’re mine but this poignant book gave me a sense of community that I don’t often get. Little Women has been adapted onto stage and screen (Christian Bale’s best role amirite?) and passed down through generations. It’s an anthem for girls of past, present, and future and to anyone who thinks that the March family is theirs, I say: pick this up, read it, enjoy it, and pass it on.
