The Sum It Up Parlor on the Narrative Otherways


When I wrote this weblog from mid-2010 through 2012 it was my first expressive foray into the cyber sphere. It was written as my main contribution while being a Board member of Women In Film Seattle. I owe a debt to that group of women. Their willingness to give the weblog a home within the organization legitimized it, gave me a reason to go public in my explorations as a writer. A gift.

A parting thought.  Perhaps it’s obvious to you from a quick glance at these screenpages but unless you’ve a want to settle in and slow down, which I myself struggle to do when engaged with this rapidly mutating digital medium, you may think twice, or less, about entering here.  The filmstories taken under wing in these writings are, to my mind, engaged in a practice of evolving meaning.  Such evolution is mostly glacial, having an effect as drops of water into a sea on the amorphous “OverNarrative” that is continually beating the drums all around us and through which we try to define ourselves and derive our reason for being.


In which I explain what I mean by this term the “narrative otherways.

In truth what follows here in our final Parlor belongs at the beginning.  It takes a bit of getting used to, the directional momentum of this weblog form that forces what is written first to the end of a potentially endless “page” and out of sight.  In the oldworld of print (my youth) what I write now would have been first to be read, before all the rest.

Sidse Babett Knudsen & Mads Mikkelsen in After The WeddingThis is a long way around saying the first pieces I wrote for this Salon&Parlor, the underpinnings of the theory constructed here, have long since drifted to the bottom.  This is because the original and still primary reason for our digital push is technological innovation.  The highest value yet being placed on the very latest, the most new and shiny surface.  So when it comes to writing, that practice which predates the digital, the once dependable linear development of a body of thought is tossed and turned.

I in no way feel this as all loss.  The writing here reflects my learning the curve of the digital steep.  It has allowed me to build my thinking through time, piece by piece with all the side bars and discussions and suggestions of filmstories in between so that the ideas here have been field tested in a sort of practice as you preach method.  Instead of that once familiar steady progression of thought page after page the act of writing this weblog became to my mind, especially in the public, egalitarian crowd nature of it, more spherical, akin to those animated models of viruses – the ones with the prongs all round like deep water mines.

Oh dear.  Now I’ve fallen quite off the spine.  So to get back on track we will begin…er…end…er…begin the ending!

It must be said that I, a mere pamphleteer, an eager humanist, write with nothing to lose.  I am by choice a provincial – ever attentive to the deep of the cultural stream – but a provincial nonetheless.  A woman at late middle age, I realize now that as a writer I have sought neglect.  However that may influence my perspective, I first want to directly address:

What the word “narrative” means to me.  Continue reading


Which is another way of saying, who and what grants authority to speak?

On a number of occasions I have been asked, “Who are you to speak?”  It is true that I have brought my intellectual life into being, by and large, outside of legitimizing institutions.  However, mine has not been an entirely lonesome travel.  Look how I find myself here, among you in this Salon, thinking out loud on this theory of an emergent Narrative Otherways.

It is my intention to devote our upcoming and final Discourse Parlor to fleshing out the characteristics of what I mean by a Narrative Otherways.  But for now, in this Farewell Salon, I would like to remember the beginning.

When I pitched the idea of producing this weblog to the Board of Women In Film Seattle it was, truth be told, an amorphous jumble of ideas pinned to a list of movies that had caught my focus.  It would be, I said, a discussion of a few films from a theoretical perspective.  It would be an examination of narrative, in particular as it pivots on gender.

I don’t entirely understand by what alchemy of group dynamics those women came to give me the nod to go ahead.  But in that nod I was given a reason to develop my thoughts into a body of writing that became this Salon&Palor.  Their affirmation provided a shelter granting me the authority to speak.  In short, they gave me permission.

As a consequence of tracking the feelings and thoughts that emerged from watching the filmstories analyzed here, some substance of self not in me before came into being.  Understandings have come from my practice of reading meaning from and into these filmaker protrayals of our world.  These understandings now affect how I now perceive my own passage here.  Although I make no grand claims for how my readings may translate into the hearts of others, I know without the original permission from WIF my thoughts may have remained a disorganized bundle of notes transferred from computer to computer until, forgotten, they were tossed on a recycled hard drive into oblivion.  And the corresponding territory of self grown within? To remain unformed and stillborn.

Beyond my particular tale of becoming there are big picture manifestations of the permission dynamic.  Any tributary of interpretation, of giving name to our reflections in the exploration that story can be, brings to light facets of meaning yet forming, allows a turning over of that shiny, molten surface in our hands.  These tributaries contribute drip by drip to the rushing cacophony of expression we all share and want to show one another.  “Here, look.  See.”  Because once in the flow we women, we others stand a chance to weigh in on how our perception and portrayal of being, our reason & meaning (for which we have an inexhaustible thirst) might alter, thicken, become more complex.

So, thank you to the women of the WIF Seattle Board for providing a nexus between idea and becoming.  And for having enough faith in the direction I was pointing my head to say, “Go!”

Giving and getting permission, it matters.

Meanwhile, for those of you hanging in there to watch more movies.

Here’s a late, welcome addition to our Salon.  A film all about giving and receiving permission.

  • Queen to Play 2009, 2011 USA release.  Director Caroline Bottaro, written by Bottaro from a novel by Bertina Henrichs.  With Sandrine Bonnaire and Kevin Kline.

Discourse Parlor: The spiritual questing of Corinne- the dangerous thinking daughter of Higher Ground

Annie note:  I apologize to anyone who may have noticed for the amount of time it has taken to post this Discourse Parlor on faith.  Too many days have passed since my promise of it in the last Salon. This is unacceptable, even from the most permissive, indulgent perspective.  You can be sure that the angry taskmaster inside my own head has been merciless!

 All I can offer in defense is that I was sidetracked by another bit of writing.  I’ve been trying to flesh out this idea of an emergent Narrative Otherways.  It’s a mystery why that bit pushed itself to the front of the writing queue except that it began to feel necessary to be understood, as much as possible, on a concept that’s been so central to this Salon&Parlor project.  And, I suppose, because narrative is entangled with faith in my conception of things.  The upside of this cart before the horse process is that next Parlor, intended to be the last and final post from these parts, should be coming your way in a much more timely fashion.

And now to the topic at hand –

Corinne, the dangerous thinking daughter of Higher Ground.

At the end of her movie Corinne Walker exits her church, never to return.  She is casting herself out.  For those who remain sitting in the pews, Corinne is making a choice of the street, the wilderness realm of dogs, over safety and righteousness.  Literally, from the way of perceiving constructed inside that church, Corinne is turning her back on an afterlife of heaven for the eternal burn of hell.  But we know, from watching her story of questing for answers to the why of her being, Corinne is choosing to live in this life, in the here and now.

On the surface Higher Ground is a fable-like tale of down to earth people with everyday concerns.  It would seem very ordinary if Jesus and Satan didn’t keep popping into every conversation.  But deities of all sorts are active participants in Corinne’s community of believers.  At the drop of a hat a bible’s thrown open, sending conversational language into the stilted text of millennium old desert tales of good and evil: angry fathers sacrifice their sons; a woman picks fruit from a tree (of knowledge) casting mankind out of paradise.  How hard this contemporary community works to synthesize such a stretch.  It’s a testament to the adaptable human psyche, acting out our desire to convince ourselves things happen for a reason and all powered by our need to make order from the chaos.

Which is why Corinne’s eyes-wide-open questing around in this mundane wanting to be extraordinary world is the perfect foil for the explorations of a spirited woman caught in a rigid, top down system of who’s-allowed-to-speak. Women’s place is fixed in this ordering (surprise surprise) in the mute, lower regions.  And the whole towering structure is sustained by a flock refusing to apply empirical knowledge to their constructed perception of the world.  To question equals danger to these systems of belief.  To think is to threaten.

The closing of Corinne’s story with her walk out opens the question –  if this woman can no longer believe what is practiced as faith inside that church, then what else might faith be?  Corinne, in her refusal to accept voiceless-ness represents those of us out here, we thinking daughters who have chosen the street, with the dogs; we who are unable to submit to the roles assigned us; we who dare to mull reasons for being based on our experience of this life in the here and now. Continue reading

Our Movie Salon of the (perpetual) Spiritual Quest

Or, could some bit of Faith be learning to live with ambivalence?

I admit it.  It is utterly near impossible to see any way through the faith debate these days.  Let alone keep faith – as in that Sixties phrase, a recognition of shared spirit, “keep the faith, man.”

So of course, in the face of this utter near impossibility, I’ve decided to try to do a little thinking on faith.  This by way of tying up loose ends before shuttering our Salon&Parlor.  I can’t say goodbye without mulling some on our reason for being.  As presumptuous as this must appear, as unable as I am to answer the accusation, “who are you to speak?”  I try to compensate for my lack of authority by staying small, limiting my horizons to what’s right in front of me, my fading flashlight shines dimly…

There’ve been a spate of film stories circling the topic of faith, lately. Small bites, around the edges.  Perhaps that’s the best way to approach such a fortress.  By telling little stories that seem to end up asking more questions.  Such as – do we have any ability, can we grow capacity for living with ambivalence?  Odd that watery word ambivalence comes to mind in connection with faith, up till now framed as such a solid.  Always linked with authority.  The Word (right after the Light.)  The Father telling us how to live.  What to be.  What to do, or not do, with our bodies.

By way of mulling all this I did a good bit of watching films.  Some of these have been added to our Family Tree of Stories:

  • Meek’s Cutoff, Kelly Reichardt’s difficult, thirsty allegory of desert wandering and how to know who to follow through our arid patches.  How do we go about choosing our guides?  How does a man come to seem worth following?
  • Incendies, A blow by blow account of the generational damage done by warring religious sects rooted at core in, surprise surprise, controlling the reproductive power/capacity of the body of woman.
  • Of Gods and Men,  A tender and lyrical laying out of the workings of traditional faith in men who have given their lives over to the practice of it; a small family of monks in a mountain monastery who are confronted with, Christ like, having to follow through on the consequences of their faith playing out in the “real” world of hate and violence.
  • The End of the Affair, Neil Jordan’s beautifully composed rant on the Judaic/Christian take on faith all confused and bottled up in a passionate, adulterous love affair.  Very Graham Greene and mid 20th Century, which is to say, very tormented male narrative. But oh, what exposition on the opacity of faith as squeezed through finely drawn characters aplenty.

As for our next Discourse Parlor

I’ll be focusing on a modest, little movie, Vera Farmiga’s Higher Ground, 2011.  This story is a straightforward meditation on a woman’s spiritual search.  A woman who would give herself, her life and family to a church in an old fashioned idea of that giving, a dip em in the river being reborn sort, if only she wasn’t plagued by so many questions.  Ms. Farmiga’s Corinne is a seeker who finds she is also a woman who can not submit.

I was perhaps stimulated some in my choice of this movie by the good bit of rumbling that’s come to surface in this Salon expressing a lingering desire for a Heroine’s journey to correspond to that old Campbellian conception.  It seems to me the character of Corinne combines two characteristics, questing and a refusal to submit.  And when these qualities are entwined in a woman they can cause a good deal of spin and wander.  A journey, perhaps, from here to some other there.  And so that’s what we’ll explore in the next Discourse.

A little more thinking on Faith and Questing: Continue reading

Paternity Parlor part two – Fathers and Sons and Violence.

How a man refuses violence to protect his son in Susanne Bier’s In a Better World

How does a father raise a son to grow within our tangled conception of manhood?  What part of  how to be a man has altogether to do with violence?  The use of it.  Being familiar with its force and workings?  Linknote

The story of Anton, the father in Susanne Bier’s In a Better World, begins in Africa; a land where acts of homicide and mutilation by rogue bullymen are given reason by our insatiable desire for the raw materials and sparkling stones still to be found there.  Everyone’s culpable in this endless play of centrifugal nihilism. Beast us.  Mostly I let myself tune out those stories because, well, I must keep my hope.

But Bier does not tune out.  Nor does she leave us to wallow but riffs off the bold outline of an African manifestation tracing the bully pattern from its stark exposition there to dig at its more disguised and familiar roots in the resource consuming landscape of Denmark.  Here, with two fathers who must engage with an evil that threatens to incarnate in their own young sons, Bier goes at the heart of troubling questions about our bully selves: how to exhume and release the ancient hold of violence on us?  How to counter the monster bullies that are groomed and given life by violence without giving birth to that malignancy in ourselves?  More fundamentally, if our emotional mechanisms default to the use of force, especially when we are wounded, in doubt or under stress, could these be reframed as only one of many innate propensities in us to be given encouragement, or not, by our structures, familial and institutional?  Continue reading

Parlor Discourse on Retooling fatherhood. Or how to crawl out of that sink hole.

Paternity Parlor part one.  The Lovely Bones.

Let’s narrow down Dean’s question from our last Parlor, “What is it to be a man?” and just take a look at dad.  Since back before we daughters can remember a father’s role has revolved in great part round being the one who protects those too young, too weak to protect themselves, and most ferociously, his blood.

Yes, evil’s out there, and in here, in all its spectacular and mundane forms.  A darkness that destroys, ever shapeshifting and clever.  A darkness much entangled with our will to life, evolving right along side everything else, feeding off the energy of love like sugar while the revenge response, always to do with violence, spreads evil’s infection in a sort of contact contagion, working more to cauterize life’s flow than protect it.

Both The Lovely Bones and In a Better World are tales of darkness and its violence – one of a daughter lost to it, one of a son in danger of being lost.  Both have in them fathers struggling to forge narrow passage away from their paternal role as the omnipotent protector and when failing (as inevitably all fathers do, if only with their own deaths) both resist the default pull of paternal revenge and retribution, that old eye for an eye which isn’t, being in fact an escalation.

Instead, the fathers in these stories open their wounded hearts to become seekers of a re-balance, however transitory, however built on that rushing air carried atop rivers, in the hope of allowing for their families’ re-emergent, tentative lean toward life.  Tricky, this.  This re-positioning of fathers to face forward somehow, to find with their surviving loved ones a way not retribution, not “closure” either, rather an away from the ravages of the protector’s revenge, that scorched earth where nothing grows, that infectious, viral realm of Monsters, those beings of violence given over to the spreading darkness. Continue reading

Movie Salon – Paternity’s Burden of Perpetual Protection

This Movie Salon’s suggestion of films to watch for the upcoming Discourse Parlor:

  • In a Better World, 2010.  Directed by Susanne Bier.  Written by Anders Thomas Jensen.
  • The Lovely Bones, 2009. Directed by Peter Jackson.  Written by Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens.

In this edition of the Salon we focus on two films which are, from the point of view of your Lookout, explorations in this emergent story-ness we’ve come to term the Narrative Otherways.  Both tales will be mulled over in the forthcoming Parlor as indicators of the narrative shift away from our antediluvian conception of paternity to point in directions of other, more responsive embodiments of what being a father, these days, entails.

Both are of a father’s anguished figuring on how to respond to the infliction of pain, loss, and injustice upon his family, striking in that way of misfortune with dawning dread, seemingly random and from out of nowhere.  In a Better World traces a doctor’s walk in the shadow of evil from the windswept tents and oozing sores of an African incarnation of it in a terrorizing “Big Man” to Denmark’s land of summer houses and detailed educational plans.  Here the father must engage with a more internalized evil that threatens to incarnate in his own young son.  In The Lovely Bones a father loses his daughter to a serial murderer of young women, a monstrous evil beyond comprehension.  How is a father to absorb, counteract, fight to get back what’s lost by the happenstance of being in the path of evil?  Is it possible?

Both tales are representative of a bundle of activity now taking place around the disintegrating morphology of the male narrative.  They turn over, touch and feel the texture of our ancestral response to evil which has had almost always to do with violence, to match it or more, and often, after the damage done, with revenge.  As if a man could extract some sort of evening out to evil’s crippling, as if an eye for an eye leveled it all, rather than bred more of it.  Exponentially.  And how to trace back this lethal mix of violence and revenge through its tap-root in the definition of fatherhood as he who protects?

Which is also to ask, if a father fails at protecting, then are revenge and retribution his duty to take?  And once taken, it that then justice?  

A related rumination on paternity (or its rejection) can be found by watching  Somewhere, 2010. Written and directed by Sofia Coppola.  This panorama of nihilistic realism is set in Coppola’s own backyard of Hollywood celebrity.  And it’s not a pretty picture.  Which is why I decided to give it a home on The End of the Male Narrative branch of our Family Tree of Stories. (Thanks to netizen Theresa Majeres for bringing it back to our attention.)


NEW to Periodic Links:

  • Everything is a Remix.  A webvideo series.  Where Kirby Ferguson makes his case that “creativity” entails remixing and building on all and everything that has come before.
  • Embrace your inner girlA 19:55 minute rant of inspiration by Eve Ensler speaking bluntly of the power of girls and transformation, of “protecting the girl cells within us all.” 

And over in our always growing Tree of Stories:

NEW to the branch of Reasons to Keep the Faith:

  • The Other Woman- Love and Other Impossible Pursuits.  Tackles the back end of the story of the sexy, intelligent woman who does get the married man away from his family and for herself.  And what happens next.  
  • Days and Clouds.  How we define ourselves through the work we do.  How the loss of a husband’s working life shakes a marriage with denial, assumptions, cars breaking down, etc.  And how a marriage can transform and survive because both parties in it help each other to grow in response to inevitable change.

Our Promise Parlor part two: Blue Valentine

This is the second of two Discourses from our Salon: The Fight for Women’s Promise.

 The Movie Salon The Fight for Women’s Promise posted first and set out our issues. 
The first Discourse on Revolutionary Road posted earlier. 

And now for some thinking on Blue Valentine.  

In the middle of her fight to keep her Paris promise to herself, April of Revolutionary Road listens to that crazy guy soothsay, “I know one thing.  I know I’m glad I’m not that child!” as he points at April’s womb.

April, already ready twice a 1950’s mother, knows he speaks the truth.  She knows what’s up.  That she doesn’t have enough emotional resource left to keep her promise of a creative life and to birth another child, too.  She just can’t do it all.  Another pregnancy signals the end of it.  And so, once her husband Frank destroys the dream of Paris, April just lets her promise go by letting go her life, making her exit right out of the male narrative just as much as Thelma and Louise did going off that cliff.

Sitting in the empty dark after witnessing this tale of April’s extinguishment and our loss of what more she might have become, I ask myself – what kind of, for lack of a better word, weltanschauung would rather lay to waste its lifeforce than let woman out from under its service to explore what her promise might be?

In Blue Valentine, Cindy’s promise of a healed life is manifested in her dream of becoming a doctor.  But in the all-too-real world, with her meager resources compounded by a family legacy of futility and rage, Cindy traverses not a path of healing but the American underclass of tired retro hip, drinking, and dead end jobs.  Remnant disappointment lingers everywhere.  All slightly, what is it?  Sticky. This frazzled edge of loss is no one’s dream life.  And in this story of Cindy’s love with Dean the seeds of that love’s end are sown in the beginning. We are spared the dreary middle.  Continue reading

Our Promise Parlor part one: Revolutionary Road

There are two parts to our Discourse this time round. 

Below’s the first centered on the film Revolutionary Road.
The second with Blue Valentine at its center will post in the near. 
What is it to abandon the promise one’s made to oneself?


Deep in the code of our inherited male narrative, woman as the portal for life, the mother, is idolized into deepfreeze or reframed as burden; either way a method for crippling and containing.  This tends to turn women’s great gift for birthing life into nightmare by way of elaborate, mostly repressed mechanisms that block and bind us, setting our biology in opposition to any discovery of what womanhood might be, might be becoming once separated from reproduction.  Which is underway.  There is no turning back.  This is an untenable equation no matter how much is sacrificed, by both men and women, trying to prove this ancient, no longer relevant foundation to be solid and true.  As a consequence the emotional evolution of us all is crippled and contained because our continuing, essential emergence can not find birth without both women and men as fearlessly as possible encouraging growth in one another.

The stories in these two films, Revolutionary Road and Blue Valentine, approach the untangling of this mess.

 “Having babies is a blessing, not a duty.” 

Our once First Lady Mrs. Betty Ford.   May she rest in peace.


But first, a meanwhile…

A woman rises from the seats of the cavernous Egyptian Theater during the question answer session after the showing of The Whistleblower, a Women In Film Seattle sponsored film at SIFF – a story about a UN peacekeeper in Bosnia who uncovers a sex trafficking ring.  The woman stands to question the film’s director, Larysa Kondracki about forcing the audience to watch a brutal torture scene of a young woman by her captors.  Very upsetting. 

Ms. Kondracki responds by acknowledging the woman’s emotional shock and states that it was very difficult, too, for everyone involved in the filming.  And in the edit again, she had to carefully weigh how much was enough.  Then she explains that as a storyteller she absolutely needed the scene in order to show that this “breaking” (a term of the darkworld depicted) of the young woman was a tactical decision on the part of the sex traffickers.  She had shown too much, well, will to live by trying to escape.  Ms. Kondracki felt her story had to show the violence it takes to enforce what is, from the trafficker’s point of view, a practical matter.  An independent minded woman is expensive, you see; a young woman’s human will is a detriment to profit in this economic system that demands the female body be put under the absolute control of the males who trade in them.  Money’s more easily made from a broken girl.  Less fuss.  And besides, broken’s much more marketable to other men. 

It’s an accepted principle of predatory economics to “contain” the cost of labor, right?  That’s the game, no matter what the damage.  Because it keeps in place the underpinning rationale, a presumption, that it’s the given order of human interaction to take the life force, the raw resource of the energy of lower others, by violent means if necessary, for the benefit, the enrichment of one’s own.  The rights of the privileged.  Top of the heap.

What has all this to do with the film Revolutionary Road?

Continue reading

Movie Salon: The Fight for Women’s Promise

And why we can’t retreat, for the sake of our daughters, or our mothers either.  

This Movie Salon’s suggestion of films to watch for the upcoming DiscourseParlor:

  • Blue Valentine, 2010.  Directed by Derek Cianfrance written by Cianfrance, Cami Delavigne and Joey Curtis.  With Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams.
  •  Revolutionary Road, 2008. Directed by Sam Mendes. Screenplay Justin Haythe  from the novel by Richard Yates.  With Leonardo DiCaprio & Kate Winslet.

These two stories tell the tale of the consequences of pregnancy and of the decision to continue that pregnancy, or not, on two young women, which is to say on their young dreams for themselves;  how acting on that decision figures into everything and on everything into their future.  Both narratives throw open the door to spread nuanced, detailed light on this messy and muddied social reality.  And both stories lay out in intimate detail the affects of this intensely personal earthquake on the women and men in them as well as the rippling net of connection, within and without, that’s set in motion by their decision.  Complex, not simple.  As complex as it gets, this bringing, this allowing life.  Or not.  And what is let go of, moved toward, and sometimes, yes, extinguished in the process of balance, or not, between self and other.

The elements on which I’m building this discourse are that woman and man together conceive biological life.  Genetically speaking, so far, we each give a pretty much equal share.  This might serve as inspiration for a certain cultural equality, but we’re a ways from that, mired in a conception of ourselves as living above/beside/in disregard of nature.  Here, in the social, we, women and men together give into our tendency to fall back on inherited and mostly calcified patterns of relation, especially as codified in marriage.  These patterns are deeprooted in the obsession with control and power over as substitution for the arduous work of discovering who we are through actual feeling.

But in spite of these cultural inheritances of suppression and sublimation, we’re already well along in our Westward Ho! of unearthing consciousness through feeling. Because evolving consciousness, intrinsic to our nature, is our work to do here.  Why earth birthed us.  This excavation of consciousness manifests through our relation with one another and simultaneously within each of us alone.  Yes, it is often a trudge, a high energy burn when done in earnest.  And often dangerously unpredictable.  That is, volcanic.  But then, that’s where the new substance of us flows out.

We are arriving at a time and place where the hard won out-of-the cave survival of the species is no longer under constant question – besides the very real threat from our own overwhelming success at propagation.  Finally the discussion has opened on acceptance of non-reproductive sex as a part of our being.  It always has been.  But now we can begin the process of admitting it, taking a good look at it.

A woman’s self determination, in the form of contraception, over how and when to allow biological new life, having children (which can also be a fast track to growth of the self) has risen simultaneously – and this comes as no surprise – with the ongoing and recently exploding exploration of what it is to be female.  (And what it is to be male, too, thank goodness.)  This exploration is the emerging promise of what we are, what we could be becoming.  And this promise is, as it always has been all along our ancestral trajectory, at risk, in the balance.  More delicate, easier to extinguish than you might think.  Something to treasure, for sure, this emerging promise.

And something to encourage in one another and explore in our storytelling.  And just so, because of tsuch narratives as those traced in Revolutionary Road and Blue Valentine, our understanding grows of the emotional resources necessary to allow new life to come through our bodies; and that infinite variety of emotional resources can evolve, and will, in response to the demands of life. 

It is a sort of chicken and egg equation, this intention to recognize and work that trudging, high energy burn of evolving self brought out in, demanded from us by the act of allowing life.  But this is a mainway of the many ways we grow.  The personal navigation of this immeasurable commitment of bringing life, that leap of faith, is complicated, terrifyingly real.  No woman takes it lightly.  Ever.  Which is what makes such leaps fine fodder for story in Narrative’s working out of our becoming…

So check out Revolutionary Road and Blue Valentine so we can do more mulling on all the above.

NEW GROWTH on the branches of our Family Tree of Stories

I’ve been busy these past weeks, sprucing up the Salon&Parlor with tidbits and additions some of which I hope will be of interest to you.

NEW TO  Reasons to Keep the Faith:  

  • White Material.  Seeing through the eyes of a woman ravaged by being on the topside, now become downside, of Colonialism.
  •  In a Better World A traverse of violence as the default mode in male identity.
  • Rabbit Hole.  The story of a mother’s devastation from the loss of her child.  How we remember.  How we go on, or not. 
  • And by way of contrast from the wayback machine Ordinary People.  A masterful meditation on the opposite course from that charted in Rabbit Hole of the damage inflicted from the loss of a child.

NEW TO  Periodic Links

  • The website of Finding Kind.  “There’s a universal truth shared by all females.  A truth that’s been swept under the rug for generations…how vicious we can be to each other…”

NEW TO  Narrative Otherways subpage of  A Female Hero’s Journey?

  • Nikita was no Charlie’s Angel A Grrl Blog posting by Malory Graham from Reel Grrls on the occasion of presenting an award to La Femme Nikita at Seattle’s 20/20 Awards.
  • Sophie Scholl: The Final DaysIn this category of  female heroics, and journeys spawned by them, I’ll submit this tale as more to my taste.