To Siri, With So Much Disappointment

To Siri With Love author Judith Newman and her son Gus
[image: A white woman with long curly dark hair, snuggling with her teen
son, who has short dark hair, next to an image of the book To Siri With Love.]

It took me a long time to read Judith Newman's autism parenting memoir To Siri With Love, despite the author herself courteously sending me a copy. I had to nudge myself to keep going, because I don't like reading books that treat autistic people as inscrutable annoyances. I also dragged my feet due to more personal preferences: books written in breezy airport-bookstore-ready voices are not my thing, plus Newman's sense of humor put me off: Getting a discount on a hotel room because a kid was recently eaten by an alligator onsite is not amusing to me, for instance.

Others, including autistic writer Max Sparrow, have written extensively about why To Siri With Love is flawed, and you should read what they have to say. Because I'm not alone in noticing that one of the primary problems with the book is that, when it talks about autism, it recycles outdated and stigmatizing cliches. Despite the two years since the award-winning neurodiversity explainer and history NeuroTribes was published, and despite Newman being a journalist, To Siri features common misconceptions, like insisting all autistic people lack theory of mind (long-established research clarifies that the issue is actually one of “double empathy,” in which negative assumptions from non-autistic people about autistic people are most of the problem).

I am also put off by how little respect Newman's shows for autistic people. She writes passionately about how much a specific autistic adult needs support and understanding and (correctly) how badly society and systems have mistreated him—yet reveals second-hand information about his bowel habit demonstrations of distress. This actual lack of theory of mind is even more confusing given that Newman wrote Siri in part to bring more attention to non-genius autistic kids like her son Gus (who seems like the most awesome young man ever), a group she considers underrepresented. But, as as comedian and filmmaker Hari Kondabolu says in talking about minority representation in general: it can’t just be about the stereotypes; it has to be about recognizing real-life diversity and humanity. Yet Newman does nothing to expand autism understanding, bust negative autism stereotypes, or further her son's humanity; if anything To Siri With Love mostly illustrates how much her son's autistic traits annoy her.

I think Newman has failed her son by writing this book. I think her book will make life harder, not easier, for autistic people including but not limited to both our sons. Because when it comes to the treatment of autistic people, the entire world is essentially bigoted bullies and complicit bystanders. Instead of defending her son, Newman has joined the side of the bullies in declaring, “Well yeah, I love him but I get your point and actually I agree that he’s weird.”

This deeply messed up attitude needs to be called out. While it’s common if not OK for parents to be ignorant and bigoted when they come from outside a community, once you find out your own kids are part of a margnialized community you are supposed to be like Amy Acker's mom in Marvel’s X-Men-adjacent series Gifted, and get 100% on your kid's side and do whatever is necessary to protect them. (I’m not recommending going on the lam, but allying with and learning from your kids’ community? Yes, that is actually a very good idea.)

And you certainly don’t join the world's bullies in smacking down all the other autistic people who come to your kid's aid because they are part of his community and get how much being bullied hurts. Instead, you ask your kid's people—who may not be exactly like your kid but surely understand what it is like to be constantly treated like subhumans yet survive—how they did it. You learn from them. Because you and those autistic people? That particular Venn diagram is all your kid has. It should be you, Autistics, and your kid against the fucking world.

This is why it is so infuriating and hurts so much to have a mainstream author like Newman choose the side of conventional shitty attitudes about autism and autistic people when her kid needs so much more from her. Yes, changing one's deeply ingrained negative assumptions about autism is hard. Yes, it's harder when society reinforces those assumptions. But if you’re the parent of a child from a minority group yet you yourself represent and have direct connections to high-profile media channels, and you not only shirk your power and waste the opportunity to change minds but then belittle and dismiss and sabotage your son's autistic community members for having opinions about your harmful book and the people it is hurting, including your own kid? You kind of suck.

People need to be aware that, despite Newman's insistence otherwise, autistic people generally don’t think they know autistic kids better than those kids' parents do. But autistic people assuredly do know what it’s like to be an autistic kid in a way non-autistic people never can. They have logical explanations for matters Newman considers autistic mysteries, like why autistic people have meltdowns over things that make no sense to outsiders, and why those meltdowns are not manipulative tantrums. They understand why Routine is Life. They understand that it's fully possible to have phenomenal skills in some areas while also having serious disabilities. They understand why training autistic kids like they're sea lions may result in some compliance and changed behavior, but it also results in kids being traumatized and not trusting their own right to say "no." They understand that when parents like Newman contradict autistic experience on these matters, and in doing so influence other parents to dismiss autistic insights, those parents' collective autistic children will suffer.

To Siri With Love also lacks informed empathy. If Newman had spent real time researching the history of reproductive rights for people with disabilities, she would have known that her blithely casual “maybe I will sterilize Gus, maybe I won’t” attitude reinforces the life-destroying notion that disabled people shouldn't have agency over their own bodies. Yes, she includes a few obligatory citations in related history. But her tone and sources omit the core histories of Black, disabled, and other marginalized communities, including why is it so inhumane to have had their reproductive rights forcibly stripped away. As Kerima Çevik writes, "Forced sterilization is part of a larger nightmare of systemic abuse of the black body we've survived but can't forget." Self-engaged and shallow approaches like Newman's, in my opinion, contribute to the ongoing atmosphere that allows the reproductive rights of people with disabilities to remain under attack.

People like Lydia Brown have already criticized how awful it is for Newman to muse about her son’s sex life, and equate it to a Benny Hill film, as though being autistic somehow turns sex farcical and fictional (she also once again disregards her son's privacy and dignity). I can't help but wonder: If she's so concerned about her son's sexuality, why she doesn’t include helpful information about sex ed for people with developmental disabilities, avoiding learned compliance, or the increased rates of sexual abuse of people with disabilities? Anyone who has ever read The World According to Garp is aware that that sexual abuse of people with disabilities is not limited to women.

Newman has heard most of these criticism before, and was not pleased by them. And here's my final disappointment: Instead of listening, she went on the attack against her son's autistic brethren and their allies. While of course we all want our friends to circle the wagons for us, there is no excuse for Newman and her defenders silencing marginalized disabled people, or making fun of how people who (by definition) have communication disabilities express themselves. I am horrified by her willful abuse of her privilege, just as I was horrified by some autistic people’s calls for Newman to die, or have her kids taken away.

Siri: Please delete the book "To Siri With Love" from my Kindle app. Thank you.

Last-Minute Holiday Gifting: 5 Fantastic Kids' Books

Do you have a sassy, spirited, clever, imaginative, creative, unpredictable, emotional, intense, amazing, capricious, occasionally obstreperous, mostly wonderful, never boring child in your life? Do you want to get that kid an awesome book for the holidays? Do you want books that deal with emotions and/or girls as main characters but appeal to boys too? Are you freaking because you have no idea which books to choose and the holiday clock is ticking?

Here are five recommendations for young readers, all favorite family favorites, all ones that newly-six-year-old Miss Mali and I both agree are not just keepers but worth daily go-overs:


The Day Leo Said I Hate You tells of a loving but fiery little boy named Leo (the best name in the world, though this Leo is conversational). Leo gets angry and -- having overheard his mother use the word "hate" about broccoli -- decides to test out the phrase "I hate you" on her when her thoroughly reasonable but firm parenting choices make him angry. He is instantly horrified over having said something so hurtful, but his mother skillfully uses silliness and honesty to talk him through and past his penitence. It's a sweet, lovely, useful book, with lively illustrations.

The illustrator, Molly Bang, also created our family's beloved When Sophie Gets Angry--Really, Really Angry... -- a gorgeously colorful, empathetic take on a small girl working through an angry outburst on her own by leaving the scene until she cools down and feels reasonable again.  When Sophie Gets Angry and The Day Leo Said I Hate You are similar to one of my own Leo's perennial favorite books, The Chocolate-Covered-Cookie Tantrum, in that they legitimatize the full explosive glory of the children's emotions before showing rather than preaching about how the kids found their ways back to calmer places.

We also love love love love My Name is Not Isabella by Jennifer Fosberry, in which a small and also intense, capricious, and clever girl spends a day declaring herself alternately named "Annie" (Oakley), "Sally" (Ride), "Rosa" (Parks), and "Marie" (Curie), and telling of the historically accurate things she will be doing as she channels each notable woman's persona. Fosberry's light, deft take makes each scene a romp rather than a lesson, and she includes biographies at the back for the kids (and parents) who get hooked and want to know more. Note to the author: A starting point for the sequel could be the Rosalind Franklin episode from the My Favourite Scientist website -- brought to you by the wonderful Periodic Videos folks from the University of Nottingham. Note to parents of inspired children: budding scientists can get find the coolest gear at Educational Innovations or American Science & Surplus.


Are you all done with happy pink &/or good fairy crap like Disney Fairies and Pinkalicious? (The latter seems awfully inspired by A Bad Case of Stripes, to my mind.) The tales of pint-sized mad scientist Franny K. Stein might just be the series for your family, especially if you have no intention of raising your children as delicate flowers -- these books show that it's OK for a girl to be socially awkward, occasionally antisocial, and interested in things that are gross plus in science and in geekery. We need more characters like Franny!




Babymouse is also quite awesome -- as a character and as a series. My girls are completely hooked on Babymouse's slightly neurotic but always exciting daydreaming and waking life adventures, whether our hero is a Rock Star, a Dragonslayer, or a Cupcake Tycoon. In fact, my eldest left a precious Babymouse behind when we two flew back from Cambodia -- and that loss rather than our trip was almost all she could talk about for several days. Babymouse is the goods.




Tell Me a Dragon is possibly the most beautifully illustrated children's book we own, and features various children's imaginings (so we're told) of their dragons' appearance and personalities -- and shows the dragons in forms you may have not considered, all hail dragon diversity! If, like Mali, your child champions The Lord of the Rings' fiery Balrog demon and enjoys listening to older kids' fantasy books like Tamora Pierce's Wild Magic -- or just likes dragons (or should like dragons, damn it), this book is an excellent choice.

For those looking for even last minute-ier gifts, I'll be publishing reviews of both Mali's and Leo's favorite iPad apps next Monday and Tuesday.

Disclosure: I was sent review copies of The Day Leo Said I Hate You and My Name Is Isabella, but was not otherwise compensated in any way. This review is entirely my own opining, and features not one scrap of promotional copy. Jennifer Holm, who writes Babymouse, sent us a copy of Cupcake Tycoon (Babymouse #13) but did so well after and in fact because we were established fans.

Fetchingly Familiar Fistful

I finally polished off the novel Badger gave me,  A Fistful of Sky. I enjoyed it thoroughly, have passed it to a delighted Iz, and recommend it with many exclamation points. (!!!!!!!)

The cover art and blurbs are silly and misleading, so ignore them -- this is not a book about an ugly duckling who transcends her misfit ways, so let's pause for a nose-thumb to crappy and insulting stereotypes. Rather, it's about a confident young woman, Gypsum, who is happy with her non-mainstream appearance despite the disapproval of her conventionally beautiful, trim, stylish mother and her (literally) charming ways. Gypsum's struggle has little to do with her outward self, but instead concerns her status as the only non-magical kid among five siblings.

I love the book's exploration of style and girlyness and body size through unpredictable magicks, and the way those factors are handled with humor and empathy, yet with few judgments and certainly no concessions to the what the author calls "girl torture." There are a couple of elements some parents may object to; in one scene Gympum sees two two people "going at it" behind some bushes, and there is also a mention of rape, but neither of these are explicit enough to deem it unsuitable for Iz's sixth grade peers, at least in my opinion.

I have to write, I am totally freaked out by how many similar themes run through A Fistful of Sky and my own unfinished story manuscript. (I usually wouldn't mention anything I was working on unless it was in a state worth mentioning, but feel I should record my freaked-outedness now -- because if I ever do finish my story, I don't want Nina Kiriki Hoffman to sue me.) So many eerie parallels with regards to how magical families might live amongst the rest of us in contemporary California, the traditions and rules such families might uphold, and the importance of training one's kids in potential post-apocalyptic community survival skills. Too weird. But so beautifully told. If I produce something even half as creative and moving, I'll be content.

Review: Daniel X: Watch the Skies

When I found out that copies of James Patterson's new young adult book Daniel X: Watch the Skies were available for review, I immediately asked my eldest child and Patterson fan, Iz, if she wanted me to snare her a copy. She said "yes, please," so I turned around to my computer and wrote "yes, please," too.

The book arrived. Iz gobbled it down. She liked it, she said, because it was never boring, it was funny, it was fast, and it had what she considered to be an interesting twist at the end. She also liked the back-end placement of teaser chapters from other, forthcoming Patterson books, and wanted to know when she'd be getting her complimentary copies of those? I told her I couldn't guarantee anything but we never know.

Then I sat down with the book to see if I liked it as much as Iz did, and initially the answer was "no." The story was creative and exciting enough, about an orphan teen alien hunter and his friends, both imaginary and real, battling a giant malevolent extraterrestrial catfish-like media producer who makes marionettes out of humans before exterminating them, all in the name of "endertainment" and TV ratings; the book features explosions, fast cars, motorcycles, spying, narrow escapes, and chases galore, plus lots of nose-thumbing at school administrators. But it reads like Michael Crichton for kids: an innovative but minimally padded story outline, and it's peppered with too much of what seems like movie, songs, restaurant, and brands product placement. And the chapters were jarringly short -- many were only two pages. Daniel X: Watch the Skies was all bam-bam-bam action, with no time to take a breath or let characters develop. I found it disorienting yet skimpy, and was surprised Iz enjoyed it.

Then I put the book aside and thought about its appeal, and the authors' (it is co-written with Ned Rust) motivations some more. James Patterson is also the founder of ReadKiddoRead, a site devoted to getting kids to love books like the author does. And I get the sense that Daniel X, like the Maximum Ride series Iz also enjoys, is about getting kids to do that reading using any hooks necessary. From this perspective, Daniel X is a rich read -- it's full of such hooks.

Many older kids and teens, and indeed adult sci fi/fantasy fans don't want character development. They want action. This book will give them that, in an extremely violent but still relatively sanitary fashion -- people are melted into goo, but there is almost no blood or gore. And the book is so fast-paced and there are so many action scenes that readers don't really have time to analyze what kind of violence & action they're reading about.

The constant citing of contemporary brands might be more grounding and comforting for some readers than a book skirting the retail and cultural footholds of our era in a bid to remain classic. Daniel X: Watch the Skies might not age well, but then again it might remain very much a symbol of that which was 2009. We'll see.

Daniel X has much for a parent to approve of in that it celebrates love and responsibility towards family, friends, the environment, and even animals. It's also quite tame when it comes to teen relations. There are funny feelings in tummies, there are kisses and swooning -- but naught else. Parents or guardians concerned about all that sexy sex pervading teen literature should be pleased.

That tameness makes it rather strange, though, that the authors keep mentioning Stranger in a Strange Land as a pillar of literature, one of the Best Books Ever. I have already been teaching my kids about Stranger in a Strange Land concepts like the Fair Witness and grokking -- but consider the book itself inappropriate for my ten-year-old Iz, who's on the younger end of the Daniel X readership. What are kids to think about Daniel X when they discover the book he adores says it's usually a girl's own fault when she gets raped? That it depicts sixties-style free love? This is a bit of a misstep, in my opinion.

I could also do without the unsubtle preaching about the evils of technology and media and how they turn people into mindless consumer bobbleheads, but I suspect readers who enjoy Patterson's books are willing to put up with that quirk in return for a rip-roaring bit of chaste ultraviolence with the likeable, resourceful, cheerful teen alien hunter Daniel X. They might smirk a bit, though, if they're reading his story on a Kindle.

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MotherTalk sponsored the Daniel X Book Tour. In addition to putting yet another volume on Iz's groaning bookshelf, they provided reviewers with modest Amazon gift certificates. I look forward to using our certificate to replace my son Leo's loved-to-shreds copies of My World, Hop on Pop, and Everyone Poops.

Friends Don't Let Autism Families Read Jenny McCarthy's Mother Warriors

A friend with a child on the spectrum recently tweeted her dismay in seeing numerous parents at her child's ball game reading Jenny McCarthy books. I understand, because I read Ms. McCarthy's Mother Warriors, and am myself distressed by how misinformed the author and her featured parents are regarding legitimate autism research, treatments, and literature.

Mother Warriors is not a book new autism families should be reading, so please don't recommend it to them. Parents and caregivers who don't know any better -- or whose libraries aren't stocking any other autism books -- are going to be stuck with a pitifully skewed, and largely unhelpful take on autism treatments and possibilities.

The main problem is that Mother Warriors is a compilation of testimonials. Ms. McCarthy really does believe what she's saying, and so do the other parents featured in her book. But if this was a book we could take seriously, someone would have edited the self-contradictory statements and omitted the factual errors that riddle its pages. If this was a legitimate information source for autism families, it would list resources besides the ones the author is promoting.

Trusting Jenny McCarthy with your autistic child's welfare and future is like asking an American who spent a couple of years working in an Israeli Red Sea Resort -- and thinks that's all the experience she needs -- to guide you through Gaza. She might be passionately dedicated, she may have even even weathered an attack or two. But she simply will not have the background or breadth of experience to speak for all of the people involved, or to guide you through areas of severest conflict. If you rely on her, there's a good chance you're going to be very, very sorry.

This is not to compare autism to a war zone, but to reiterate that new autism "recruits" are best served by veterans with extensive experience. This is especially true for families whose children are not as high-functioning as Jenny's son.

Autism families, you want better than Mother Warriors. Your autistic child deserves better. Please spread the word.

Update: My extended review of Mother Warriors elaborates on the statements above.

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Seymour suggested that we blog and RT books that families of autistic children should be reading instead. Here are my top six:

Autism From Autistics' Perspectives:

• Born on a Blue Day -- Daniel Hammet
• Thinking in Pictures -- Temple Grandin

Autism From a Parent's Perspective:

• Making Peace With Autism -- Susan Senator

Autism Approaches and Therapeutic Techniques:

• Overcoming Autism -- Lynn Kern Koegel
• Behavioral Intervention for Young Children With Autism -- Catherine Maurice
• Functional Behavior Assessment for People With Autism: Making Sense of Seemingly Senseless Behavior -- Beth A. Glasberg

Double Daring Book Review

Before I had children, I would obsess about a theoretical future daughter and the critical information I simply had to impart to her. Epiphanies would strike -- Fair Witness! She'll need to know how to be a fair witness! -- and I'd pull the car over, write my revelation down, and then daydream about compiling a D'Artagnan-Rosenberg infostream manifesto to hand to that girl, once she appeared and when she was ready.

Lucky me, I got my daughter -- and a spare (and a handsome son as well). I never put together that manifesto, but also no longer fret about it: Andi Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz let me off the hook two years ago, when they published their own compendium of core girl knowledge, The Daring Book for Girls.

Lucky us, they've now published a second collection: The Double Daring Book for Girls.

Do I love their Daring books? Yes I do, passionately, and so does my ten-year-old daughter. She squealed when our copy of The Double Daring Book arrived (the good folks at Houghton-Mifflin sent a complimentary copy), immediately dispatched the whole thing, and dove straight into the activities. Here's her first attempt at Calligraphy (p. 256):

I too read the entire Double Daring Book (though a bit more slowly than my daughter), and was delighted. Look how many pages I dog-eared, so as to remember the best of the best of its activities, biographies, and histories:

Honestly, I want to hand this book to every girl I know, and the boys as well (pink typeface and Girl label be damned, this book is a powder keg of information and ideas for any kid). I am pleased that it contains overlaps with that imagined manifesto of mine, e.g., batik techniques and history (p.99), commonly confused words like imply and infer (p. 141), and the specifics of quality private eye work (p. 177).

What I truly appreciate, and what makes the Daring books transcend the How To label, is the activities' historical and often rebellious context. Why should our kids want to know how to waltz (p. 78)? How about because it was considered scandalous -- the dancing partners touched! And vulgar, forbidden -- it was easy to learn and didn't require a dance master!

Mostly, I am dazzled by the amount of good, hard, enticingly written information amassed in this book. I want kids to know everything in it. I want them to know exactly who Eleanor of Aquitaine was, and how startling her long, accomplished, independent life was compared to most women of her era. I want them to know the fundamentals of rhetoric, how to make a raft, the story of Ada Lovelace, how to join the circus, how to say thank you in scores of languages, how to make snowglobes, how to conduct an orchestra, and how to make rope ladders.

One quibble: The entry on Running a Magazine (p. 204) never mentions the word "zine," or how those handmade magazines helped drive the relatively recent Riot Grrrls feminist movement, which is perplexing, but I suppose in keeping with the book's overall timeless and classic feel. Don't let this one item keep you away.

The Double Daring Book for Girls is buoyed by positivity, and focuses on cultivating competence, independence, willingness to experiment, and open-ended fun. It provides multiple short biographies of women whose lives exemplified these attitudes. These role models and this book are antidotes for heavily-marketed (and in some cases marketing-originated) books like the one pictured below, the title of which I will not type here, which my daughter and her friends crave, and in which junior high-aged girls live lives of insecurity, negativity, and cruelty, while obsessing about label-spangled fashion, unrealistic body images, and social machinations. Ptui.

If you want your girls to value knowledge and abilities like they do store-bought items, get them The Double Daring Book for Girls. I truly believe it has the power to inspire and edify any child with a curious mind, while simultaneously countering media-induced materialism. It is a treasure.

The Liar's Diary

A MotherTalk Review

I intentionally do not read others' reviews before writing my own, but I doubt my experience with The Liar's Diary is unique: there is bloody little of this book I can talk about without revealing, or at least alluding to, spoilers. This is not a bad thing. It means Patry Francis's novel is so carefully put together, so painstakingly plotted, that it will satisfy those purists for whom reading means active sleuthing. Or passive readers like me who just like to be entertained. Or perhaps even those who wish Sue Grafton would get serious and write a murder mystery contemplating suburban women's relationships.

Jeanne Cross, a superficially perfect but dull mother and wife, forms an intense, unlikely friendship with Ali Mather, the beautiful, vibrant, scandalous high school music teacher. Despite her initial misgivings over Ali's many and open extra-marital affairs -- and her husband's disapproval -- Jeanne soon succumbs to Ali's magnetic personality. Wine-soaked book chats and walks by the lake ensue. Doesn't it sound dreamy? Don't we all wish that a really interesting person would suddenly take a special interest in us, and write about us in a diary like Ali's?

Unfortunately, the dream evaporates into stark, harsh reality when Ali is murdered in her own home, her diary goes missing, and the main suspect turns out to be Jeanne's teenage son, Jamie. After this point, nasty revelations begin to erupt, and -- trite but true -- I doubt anyone will be able to put the book down until the mystery is cleared. You've been warned.

I wish I could write more about the plot, but, again, I cannot. Though I can let you know how much I enjoyed Ali's consistent portrayal as gorgeous and luminous and in her late 40's, not despite her age. I also appreciated how much empathy Ms. Francis demonstrated towards her characters, including Jamie with his teenage bravado and bewilderment, and Ali's beleaguered but faithful husband George.

If you enjoy a good gossip purely because you crave insights into others' minds, hearts, and actions, you will enjoy the twists, turns, people, and surprises in The Liar's Diary.

Technorati Tags: MotherTalk, Patry Francis, The Liar's Diary

Persian Girls

A MotherTalk Review



Nahid Rachlin has taken her own story, interwoven it with the plight of women in Iran and contemporary Iranian history, and given us an intelligent memoir that will satisfy even those who usually crave frothier fare. Persian Girls is so beautifully and lucidly written that I kept hiding in the bathroom to binge-read it.

Nahid and her sister Pari were outspoken, free-thinking girls in a family that allowed its sons to embrace the Shah's love of all things Western but held its daughters to more traditional Iranian values. Pari in particular dreamed of America and of being an actress, but as the older daughter was pressured into marrying a man who considered acting on par with prostitution. Nahid, who wanted to become a writer, managed to persuade her father to send her to college in the United States, where she married an American and became a citizen herself. From childhood through adulthood, the sisters' love for and delight in each other is clear, despite their divergent paths.

While Persian Girls is an autobiography of Rachlin, it is also a portrait of women and girls in urban Iran in the decades before the Islamic Revolution. Rachlin makes tangible the intellectual agony of living in a society that considers women chattel, in which even during Rachlin's lifetime allowed men to marry nine-year-old girls, and in which women's behavior is still legally restricted. Sometimes it was even more heartbreaking to read about her sister Manijeh -- malicious as she was to both Nahid and Pari -- who behaved exactly as society and her parents expected her to, and yet was still blindsided and crushed by her arranged marriage. And, as the mother of a special-needs child, I couldn't help but sob at the description of a woman who was pressured by a suitor to abandon her blind toddler.

I was also heartened by Rachlin's many descriptions of women creating their own societies and taking care of each other. Rachlin's beloved aunt Maryam, who was the author's adopted mother from infancy through age nine, raised Nahid in a loving and traditional Islamic community of women, one in which the rhythms of their daily routine created a comforting cocoon. Even Pari found some solace in her neighborhood female friends, though it was not enough to alleviate her depression after losing custody of her son Bijan to her cruel first husband.

In the Iran Rachlin describes, women can never depend on men, but they can sometimes depend on each other. And sometimes, that is enough.

A final note: while I have gobbled up many memoirs by Iranian women, including Azar Nafisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran, Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis, and even Firoozeh Dumas's Funny in Farsi, I have never before encountered such a vivid description of life under the Shah, and the American and European complicity in his corrupt rule. I would like to thank Nahid Rachlin for helping me to be a little bit less ignorant.

Want more Persian Girls information? read Ms. Rachlin's Persian Girls Backstory, or discuss Persian Girls in the MotherTalk Book Club.

Technorati Tags: MotherTalk, Nahid Rachlin, Persian Girls

Flirting in Cars: A MotherTalk Review Cars: A (Positive; I Swear) MotherTalk Review

My first reaction to the cover of Alisa Kwitney's sneakily clever Flirting in Cars was, "What the f***? This is a fricking Chick Lit Book! They told me it was about a mom dealing with her kid's learning disability! I can't believe I agreed to read a book that I would be ashamed to be seen with in public!"

Books are one of my lifelines, and it pains me to waste time on crappy or frivolous stories. As a result of wanting two kids, ending up with three, and then having one diagnosed with autism, I have found myself in a grueling parenting netherworld whose soundtrack is mostly the soft dribbling of my brain leaking out of my ears. I love my family, but I live a less-than-interesting life. While I will occasionally search for inspiration in the stories of special needs parents who raise hell and/or find peace, I do not otherwise care to read about contemporary women whose lives are compelling enough to spawn a novel. Especially a life that can be summed up with a pair of red heels*:

Thankfully Ms. Kwitney has given us a smart book in a silly book's cover.

Flirting in Cars' Zoë Goren is not a chick lit heroine. She is a single parent in her forties; she is intelligent, centered, and refreshingly neurosis-free. She speaks several languages and is an established journalist. She is an independent woman who likes but doesn't moon over men. She isn't waifish, and she isn't worried about it; in fact she is extremely comfortable with both her body and her sexuality. She could care less about shopping or shoes. (If she lived in my area, I would probably follow her around and ask if we could be friends.)

Not to say that Zoë doesn't have worries. Her fractured relationship with her parents is a source of pain. She has to move out of her beloved Manhattan so that her dyslexic daughter Maya can attend a school that helps learning disabled children gain classroom confidence and skills. Also, Zoë both can't and won't drive, which is a problem in her new rural home (hence the title, sort of -- Zoë has to take driving lessons, and finds herself getting involved with Mack, the local who offers them).

Much of the story focuses on Zoë's adjustments to rural life, and her relationship with Mack; there is some not-so-subtle lampooning of both corrupt rural politicians and rich "weekenders." But Ms. Kwitney also contemplates the mindsets of soldiers and veterans, the workings of and our interactions with automobiles, Iraqi culture, environmental issues, the politics of national vs. local businesses, and religion. All of which I enjoyed, and which helped me ignore that awful cover.

I was disappointed by how little of the book actually focused on Maya's dyslexia, or Zoë's somewhat hands-off manner of dealing with it. However the small sections that did describe Maya and her school treated the subjects of learning disabilities frankly, in a sympathetic manner that I hope enlightens both the parents in the book and its readers.

Those who go fishing in the pink section of the bookstore will find Flirting in Cars breezy enough to carry them away to the wonderful land of Women Having Hot, Well-Written Sex With Men Who May Actually Deserve Them. I hope those readers don't mind learning quite a bit about contemporary politics, environmental issues, and special education along the way.

*These shoes may actually be called mules.

This review sponsored by MotherTalk.

Technorati Tags: Alisa Kwitney, Flirting in Cars, MotherTalk

We Are All Fine Here

Hey, there, MotherTalkers! Welcome to one of today's stops on the blog book tour for Mary Guterson's We Are All Fine Here.

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I love a writer who’s got snark on tap. Mary Guterson, therefore, is an object of my unrequited affection. Her book We Are All Fine Here reined me in with its short sharp one-paragraph summary of all parenting books everywhere. I was further seduced by main character Julia's sly running commentary on all the not-exactly-winners in her life. But then the snarkery came interspersed with insights so apt and true they had me yelling at the book in public. This was not a dull read.

The gist of the book is as such: Julia lives an undistinguished life in the undistinguished suburbs. Her day-to-day doings have become almost tangential to those of her teenaged son and husband. Her job is dull despite convivial coworkers. The only part of her life that hasn't dwindled to habitual passivity is sporadic contact--sometimes full-body--with Ray, the charming but flaky college boyfriend she can't bring herself to cut completely out of her life. When her latest Ray encounter is followed by an unplanned pregnancy, and she doesn't know if the baby is his or her husband's, Julia realizes she is going to have to make some sort of life-changing decision. Though she may not make it right this minute.

No doubt this sounds like a delicious read to many of you. But to me, it sounds like Purgatory. I live the dull suburban parenting grind, and, while I am not unhappy, I also have no patience with novels about trying periods in an unremarkable middle-class suburban woman's life. Reading is my escape pod, and if it doesn't transport me to an alien realm--be it outer space, alternative Renaissance Europe, or post-Revolution Iran--then I'm usually not interested.

Good thing, then, that We Are All Fine Here supports one of my stock book discussion mini-rants: subject doesn't matter if the writing is good. And Ms. Guterson is a talented writer, with a knack for the sort of clear, fluid prose and dialogue that makes the page between reader and story almost transparent. She had me snickering and sniffling despite my skepticism. (She also snuck in enough Star Trek references to prevent a boycott by my inner geek.)

Still, I do have a complaint about We Are All Fine Here, and--lest Ms. Guterson feel unfairly maligned--it is the same complaint I make about many modern American novels: Ms. Guterson's characters seem to have been drained dry. There is little joy or vivacity in this book, and those, to me, are major flaws. Sarcasm, tragedy, and epiphanies are not enough to carry a novel--I require broader representation from the more lively side of the experiential spectrum. I am not saying novelists should be force-fed Sullivan's Travels, but rather that my life is often boring and sometimes depressing and I do not want to read about other bored, depressed people! I get that at home, for free!

I suspected that the author's real voice was more alive. I could occasionally see it poking through the prose, in passages such as, "Here I've let Ray into my vagina without so much as a backward glance, and yet I'm in a sweat over letting him into my living room." My suspicion was confirmed by visiting Ms. Guterson's delightfully neurotic blog. This disconnect between her writing styles makes me wonder if she or an overzealous editor tamped down that considerable, gleeful, nervous energy, to fashion a book that fits neatly on the shelf beside such big hit dirge-a-thons as I Know This Much Is True or The Hours.

(Admittedly, I am biased. When I read about day-to-day living, I do so via the wonderfully unrestrained and immediate world of blogs. The sites I visit regularly are select, because I only make time for people who write like Janis Joplin sang: passionately, and damn well.)

Complaints aside, I have nothing but praise for the last section of the book. (And if you avoid spoilers then please jump to the last paragraph.) After weeks of indecision and paralysis, and just as Julia starts to become excited about her second turn at motherhood, she loses her baby. She loses her baby. Her world is shocked into a different orbit, and, as anyone who has ever lost a pregnancy knows, it never really goes back.

This section was written so well and so truthfully that I wanted to reach out and give Julia the support I would have given a real-life friend. When she remarked, "Afterwards, the world is suddenly full of pregnant women," I wrote in the margins, "Yes, Sweetie, it is." I am grateful to Ms. Guterson for writing about this painful and far from uncommon experience with such bravery and grace.

We Are All Fine Here is top-shelf writing by a gifted author. Reader, if you are not as grumpy as me, you will enjoy it immensely.

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Buy the Book, Already!

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