Twenty five years ago, when this book was written, there had once been a town in Western Massachusetts with a large and growing lesbian population. There was a feminist film collective, a feminist book store, a collectively owned and run women’s restaurant, a mostly lesbian populated rooming house, and a few miles away in two directions, lesbian owned women’s land. A course of study at the state university that is now known as some version of Women, Sexuality and Gender Studies was then known simply as Women’s Studies. In the bigger universe there had been women’s recording companies, women’s music festivals, a half dozen dedicated feminist and lesbian-feminist publishers, theatre companies, little magazines, news rags, literary reviews, and filmmakers. The Stonewall Riots had incited a movement by then and ACT UP was clearing the path for AIDS activism. Ellen DeGeneres was not yet out as a lesbian (when she took that step she would call herself gay) and we would have to wait another twenty five or so years for Jill Soloway’s “Transparent” to make its way to what we now call television and delight and disturb us with all kinds of queer and Jewish family brilliance.

Back then, the terms cis-gendered, gender non-binary, gender-fluid and gender-queer were just a twinkle in some graduate student’s parent’s eye. We women who were attracted to and slept with other women called ourselves lesbians, and, much to the consternation of women similarly inclined who were a generation older than us, dykes. There was often considerable misgiving (read judgment) among middle class white women my age around women who named themselves butch and femme. Drag queens were viewed with suspicion, and transgender was seen by the general public as a medical term, not a political one. This was a period when lesbians, coupled or single, were choosing to have babies by turkey baster or otherwise, and while some women were joining together in ritualized ceremonies, not only was the idea of state sanctioned same sex marriage a different gleam in some future legal eagle’s smarty pants eye, it was spurned as an attachment to patriarchal values by many of us because, as Joni Mitchell put it in her cis-gendered song, My Old Man: “We don’t need no piece of paper from the city hall….”

So this book reflects the language of the time in which it was written (Fifteen years ago an irritated cis-gendered male student of mine once went through and actually counted the number of times the word “lesbian” appears in this book). A central plot of Running Fiercely… clearly reflects the fact that in 1992, marriage was a privilege “enjoyed” by heterosexuals where a certain type of lesbian might be considered held captive by the expectation that she participate in the ritual as a bridesmaid. At the same time, another type of lesbian might feel outraged and wounded to be left out of the ritual and cause the kind of trouble the bride’s sister Nadine makes when she is left out (kept out?) of the wedding altogether.

Who knew that just a few years later so many of us would be able to get that piece of paper from the city hall, and enjoy the celebration and legal protections that go with it?

When I finished writing this book in the early ‘90s, Sarah Schulman’s “Sophie Horowitz Story” had been out in the universe for 11 years; Elana Dykewoman’s “Riverfinger Women” for 20. By the time Nancy K. Bereano published the original edition of “Running Fiercely” in 1992, that brilliant, farsighted publisher had made sure that works by visionary activist-artists such as Audre Lorde, Jewelle Gomez, Dorothy Alison, Alison Bechdel and Leslie Feinberg among so many others had seen the light of day. Work by Jewish lesbians appeared in anthologies such as “Nice Jewish Girls” (Evelyn Torton Beck, editor) and “The Tribe of Dina” (Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz and Irena Klepfisz, editors). Lesbian poets, Jewish and otherwise, for whom the personal was absolutely political such as Klepfisz, Lourde, Judy Grahn, Gloria Anzaldua, Cherie Moraga, and Adrienne Rich found homes in both mainstream and small presses. It was a rich and glorious time in feminist and lesbian publishing.

And then, what Bereano called “rapacious capitalism” reared its head and for a number of years small press publishing of any stripe and independent book selling became extremely difficult. Hopefully, some graduate student in some gender-fluid journalism program not too far in the future will write their master’s thesis on what happened to small press publishing and independent book stores between the late 1990’s and early 2000’s at the hands of mega bookselling and publishing operations which stole the market and some of the authors. Yet now, some years later, thanks in part to e-publishing, self-publishing, and determined small press folks like the women of Bywater, other thriving independent publishers, and book store owners who refused to give up, we stole the market back.

So 25 years later, what is this book?

This book is a ‘70’s Jewish dyke’s reflection on the town she came out in and the family she grew up in –fictionalized, of course. It is a riff on the work of well- known Jewish storytellers like I.B. Singer, his brother I.J., Anzia Yezierska, and especially the beloved creator of the town of Chelm where all men are fools, Sholom Aleichem.

I made this book at a time when work by lesbian writers was nurtured and exploding into a welcoming and thriving culture. With that in mind, I invite you to imagine me, the writer, 25 years ago, sitting at my computer in a tee shirt and a pair of well-worn overalls, high tops on my feet, wild hairs flying in all directions, blasting Joan Armatrading and the Klezmer Conservatory Band on the stereo, as I made this story of one Jewish lesbian who never really left home and another, her sister Nadine, who was forced to flee.

Mostly, I invite you to enjoy.

The post 25 years later: ‘Running fiercely toward a high thin sound’ first appeared on Lesbian.com.

BY FRANCESCA LEWIS

Amazon Prime’s groundbreaking original series Transparent is back for a new season and better than ever. When it was released last year I wrote about the relative lack of buzz surrounding this incredible show, so it was heartening to see it recognised with Golden Globes, Emmys and a GLAAD award and to see that, this time around, people were excited for the next instalment in the Pfeffermans’ beautifully dysfunctional story.

Beginning with a somewhat one-note wedding episode, the season soon deepens and picks up momentum. The first episode feels indulgent and shallow after the memory of the subtle depth of the previous season, its least endearing quality being the sheer unquestioned vulgarity of this lavish, expensive wedding that ultimately ends in the couple breaking up. But by the second episode things get interesting and a number of fascinating arcs are set in motion. Maura is back with her ex-wife Shelly, a step backwards that is clearly not a happy development for our heroine. As the season progresses, we see her moving through a new phase of her trans journey, having navigated coming out and being out. Now that she’s finally allowed to be herself, just what kind of woman does Maura want to be? Sarah, having belatedly jilted Tammy, finds life as a single mother a struggle and embarks on a journey of soul searching and sexual discovery that leads her to unexpected places. Josh and Raquel are settling down together, but Josh’s almost grown son Colton, who showed up unexpected last season, is here to stay and as he and Raquel try to handle the various stresses of their new complicated family, disaster strikes. And then of course there’s awesome Ali, back with an unapologetically non-gender-conforming look and exploring her queer identity, her Jewish identity and how the two overlap, once again stealing the season as the most fascinating Pfefferman.

The big complex theme of this season is intersectionality, and every character deals with how their own multiple identities overlap, contradict and interact. This subject is faced head-on when Sarah and Ali take their Moppa to the Womyn’s festival, which – unbeknownst to them – does not look favourable upon trans women. The campfire debate between radical feminists and Maura about the false dichotomy of privilege and oppression is one of the most tense, thought-provoking scenes in Transparent to date. Ali’s interest in the relationship between queer and Jewish identity, inspired (perhaps – it is never clear just how much Ali knows about her family’s past) by the Polish Pfefferman’s brushes with gender fluidity and open sexuality back in 1930s Berlin, brings up some quite boldly intellectual ideas. It is impressive to see a TV show willing to approach these complicated, thorny subjects with empathy, nuance and, yes, humor.

As always, the writing, direction and performances are impeccable here. Gaby Hoffmann reprises the boyish intensity of first season Ali, bringing a new sultry maturity that makes her positively Frida Kahlo-esque in certain scenes, while Amy Landecker both lightens and deepens her performance as control-freak-turned-train-wreck Sarah. With an impressive cast of queer guest stars including Carrie Brownstein, Trace Lysette, Cherry Jones,  Tig Notaro and impish porn performer Jiz Lee, this is a show that wears its queerness on its sleeve and that clearly cares about queer visibility. Anjelica Huston’s small part as a new love interest for Maura is, of course, transcendent and I cannot wait to see if she appears in season three.

Transparent‘s second season builds on the foundation of its first with a bold, complex look at intersectional identities and how these impact our lives, loves and families.

Francesca Lewis is a queer feminist writer from Yorkshire, UK. She writes for Curve Magazine and The Human Experience as well as writing short fiction and working on a novel. Her ardent love of American pop culture is matched only by her passion for analyzing it completely to death.

The post Transparent’s Second Season Brings Empathy And Nuance To Controversial Issues first appeared on Lesbian.com.

BY FRANCESCA LEWIS
Lesbian.com

I watch a lot of television, so much so that when Liz Lemon referred to it as “My best friend TV” I was nodding so hard with recognition I’m surprised I didn’t hurt myself.

I watch everything (except reality because nope) from cop shows to sitcoms to ponderous dramas to offbeat tragicomedies (my personal favorite).

So, with my ear constantly to the ground, listening out for the next big thing coming to our screens, I’m not really sure how “Transparent” slipped under my radar. The show was released in its entirety, “OITNB”-style, in late September, on Amazon Prime, but I only stumbled upon it last week when reading about its creator Jill Soloway on IMDB.

Now, believe me when I tell you the news of a new TV show doesn’t get by me easily. My news feed is basically an ever-updating version of TV Guide. When I type the letter A into my browser it auto-completes to The AV Club. The show has been very popular, occupying Amazon Prime’s No. 1 slot for weeks, and a quick google confirms the show has been a quiet hit with critics, but why the lack of buzz? Maybe this is just the slow burn of a new show — I was an early AHS fan and have watched it go from something I may as well have made up in my head to the most talked about show on social media — but I suspect another reason for the quiet surrounding “Transparent:” its subject matter.

“Transparent” is a finely crafted, beautifully acted dramedy, a textured and layered character study about liberal, affluent Los Angeles Jewish family, the Pfeffermans, and their secrets.

Youngest daughter Ali is a directionless depressive with some gender issues to work out, middle son Josh may seem like a superficial hipster, but underneath he’s nursing the wounds of an inappropriate relationship with his former babysitter. Oldest sister Sarah is a bored, lonely housewife who re-connects with a lesbian lover from her college days and jumps ship perhaps a little too hastily.

The central secret, from which the show derives the primary meaning of its title, is that their father, whom they know as Mort, mild-mannered retired academic, is trans and now ready to come out.

As Mort begins to live every day as Maura and reveal this true identity to her children, we get a nuanced and honest glimpse into the trials and triumphs of the early days of transition. What’s most commendable is the truthful way these trans rites of passage are portrayed, neither drifting into after-school special melodrama or pride pamphlet wish fulfillment.

Though Maura is played by the admittedly cis Jeffrey Tambor, who you may remember from “Arrested Development,” there are several trans actors in small roles, creating a believable backdrop and providing much needed representation for the trans community. Most standout among these is perhaps trans comedian Ian Harvie, who puts in an understated performance as Dale, lumberjack-like professor and object of Ali’s masculinity fetish.

Incidentally, Gabi Hoffman, who plays Ali, is the heart and soul of the show, playing a truly queer character whose ever-shifting identity, gender fluid appearance and refusal to fully define herself is a surprising sight for television. I mean, I love you, TV, but you sure like to put people in boxes.

This fondness for boxes brings me back to the lack of hype surrounding “Transparent.” Maura is not glamorous like Laverne Cox and, despite featuring a fair amount of sex, the show actually manages for the most part to avoid the male gaze. None of the siblings could rightly be referred to as “the hot one,” by conventional standards anyway. Its creator, Jill Soloway, is not young or outspoken enough to be scrutinized and analyzed to death, like Lena Dunham.

“Transparent” is simply a really good, really honest show. It approaches a subject that is so easy to get wrong with a grace, pathos and humor that make it instantly relatable to anyone who watches.

What is really interesting is that the show creates a cast of characters sitting at various points on the gender and sexuality scale. Without the constraints of network, or even cable (which is liberal, but, I have the feeling, maybe not this liberal) Soloway has been able to make a show about family with a trans woman, two lesbians, a gender fluid-questioning woman and a whole host of queer background characters.

TV’s usual boxes dictate that we must have “The L Word” — a show about being gay — or “United States of Tara” or “Six Feet Under” — shows about family allotted their one significant gay character there to represent us as an ambassador from the queer community. In the brave new world of online content, shows like “OITNB” and “Transparent” reflect the real world of myriad sexualities and identities.

Hopefully, it lacks the bright, sensational sexiness of its Netflix-based cousin, “Transparent” can become as much a part of our pop culture consciousness and start as many important conversations. Now renewed for a second season, it certainly has the chance.

Francesca Lewis is a queer feminist writer from Yorkshire, UK. She writes for Curve Magazine and The Human Experience as well as writing short fiction and working on a novel. Her ardent love of American pop culture is matched only by her passion for analyzing it completely to death.

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