I refuse to raise my child to grow up to kill another mother’s child. ~Julia Ward Howe, founder of Mother’s Day, 1870
Originally conceived of as a protest to war, Mother’s Day has become a marketing tool to boost consumer spending to give suck to the six or seven corporations that own practically everything. Now that Rosie the Riveter, maker of fighter planes and tanks, is the face of feminism, we tend to forget that the early feminists were anti-war activists. These days Clinton “feminists” want young women, like young men, to be required to register for the draft. More and more women today are proud to exercise the hard-won privilege of lopping mortars at meat targets, and pink-pussy-hatted feminists are appalled, not at the large number of civilians killed by U. S. supported forces worldwide, but by Trump’s attempt to keep transgender people from getting in on the killing. Continue reading →
If you think they’re just a piece of meat for you to ogle, you’re doing it wrong. “Trixie” follows one stripper as she faces her life and author Victoria N. Alexander hopes to teach readers a little something about life and where it’s going, and why some women go down paths others may feel degrading. With plenty of food for thought, “Trixie” is a fine pick and will entertain as it enlightens and is highly recommended. See more reviews
I’m happy to announce that my latest novel, Trixie, is now in print.
With Trixie I have taken uncertain steps as a writer. My previous novels were published under “Victoria N. Alexander,” the name that appears on my passport, not “Tori Alexander,” the name my family and friends use. The reason for the switch is to “disambiguate” myself, as they say these days, from a popular writer of Romance novels named “Victoria Alexander.” I am decidedly not a Romance writer. If any thing Trixie is anti-Romance as my heroine is not too keen on Continue reading →
In her new novel, Trixie, Victoria N. Alexander (Naked Singularity, 2003, etc.) looks at strip clubs and the women who work in them. A pale waif with dark hair, Trixie is a stripper at the Girlie Playhouse. The narrator Pixie is also a dancer who works with Trixie and whose stripper-mother was killed. Set up as a Daisy Miller-like figure, Trixie meets equally tragic results. And thus the novel becomes Pixie’s retelling of how Trixie gets involved with Max, and of how she meets her untimely death, with Continue reading →
There is a long tradition of confessional “novels” about stripping by Harvard grads, clever journalists, med students, and, as Cody calls herself, otherwise “unlikely strippers.” In addition to these confessional, somewhat fictionalized memoirs–for they cannot be called novels–there is also a slew of scholarly works on the topic (for example Stripped: Inside the Lives of Exotic Dancers by Bernadette Barton), also undertaken by bright, clever, and adventurous women who probably didn’t mind the “research” work. Apparently, Cody’s smart-girl type is more likely to try stripping than she wants us to think. Continue reading →
“Male violence did it.” Martin Amis has a bit of a reputation for making sweeping, declarative statements like this one that ends the first paragraph of Yellow Dog. I’ve read all of Amis’ books except Pregnant Widow and Koba the Dread (on my list, next) and I’m very familiar with the Amis conception of gender. I can make sweeping generalizations about his Men and his Women. Continue reading →
Death and sex are literature’s subjects, not science’s. What we care most about is what these subjects mean to us—not what they, in fact, are. When scientists attempt to enlighten us on these matters, they often fall to recounting certain metabolic processes, generally missing the point, while we readers sigh or snicker, wondering if the researcher has any experience out of the lab. This is not the case with Death and Sex by Tyler Volk and Dorion Sagan. See my review in New York Journal of Books.
N.Y. Civil Rights Law § 79-e (1994) permits a mother to breastfeed her child in any public or private location.
When I was a breast-feeding mother, I was told frequently (usually it was women) to “go find a private place to do that.” I would do no such thing. I carried my son in a sling and breastfed him while I walked to work on busy NY City streets. Once I was at a child care facility at my gym and a mother asked me not to breast feed in front of her 10-year-old son. Now that boy is probably going to be exposed to some nasty and tasteless pornography here pretty soon, and I figure the more positive images he has of women’s breasts the better.
My first novelSmoking Hopes was released in hardcover by The Permanent Press in 1996. I’ve wanted it to go to ebook for a long time now, for reasons that I’ve been writing about in my “Literary Fiction” posts. Mainly the ebook appeal involves copyright protection for authors as well as greener practices for the globe. So I was really glad to see The Permanent Press go digital.