12: Zami
Lorde, Audre. Zami: A New Spelling of My Name.
in short: In this autobiographical novel, Lorde focuses her storytelling around the relationships she's had with various women over the years, starting with her mother (of course) and progressing through her various friends, lovers, and would-be-lovers.
in which it is all about me: ♥__♥. That is all.
actual analysis: Previously, I read The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde for 50books-poc.
It's interesting to be told by your mother that walking around reading a book titled 'zami' is like wearing a sign with the word 'gaymo' printed on the front - only if you speak creole/patois of course, but that's not uncommon in my neighborhood. The more you know. I liked Lorde's definition of 'zami' better. Much more poetic.
I kind of want this to be a movie, except for how whoever made it would probably ruin it and how good books aren't supposed to make good movies. One always has to be wary of autobiographical works and what it may be eliding or changing for the sake of artistic license, or because of the bias of the writer. There are a few parts in the book that registered on my BS-meter. (Sure, you perfected the art of cunnilingus on your first try. I believe you.) Lorde is also distressingly fond of food metaphors when describing her lovers. Maybe it wasn't as terribly cliche-ridden and sad-making back then as it is now? The bias issue isn't much of a problem in Zami because it's rather clear that this book only focuses on certain aspects of Lorde's life and isn't trying to relate the whole of it.
Anyway my impression of the book in hypothetical movie form:
It would be an indie/artsy affair, with beautiful lighting, cinematography, and color composition. The mood setting music tastefully chosen and integrated with the film with the greatest care. The camera would follow as Lorde tries to live and love navigating the intersecting oppressions of being black, gay, and a woman in the mid- and early-20th century United States. Minimum dialogue, lots of lingering close-ups and panning scenic shots. When our story takes us to Mexico, the cinematographer falls hopelessly in love with the landscape. At the end of the movie Lorde emerges single, but young, strong, and vibrant, ready to face the world. And to finish, sprinkle a liberal amount of Freud on the mother-daughter relationship. NOM or some other like minded association would protest it because lesbians having sex and being portrayed as people hurts the children.
I just realized I described Brokeback Mountain except with black NYC West Indian lesbians and less tragedy. I am OK with this. Ang Lee is welcome to direct.
"I leaned back in my airplane seat, in the first skirt I'd bought in two years. The Air France night flight to Mexico City was half-empty. Rhea had made a surprise going away party for me the night before, but even so I had been hounded by nightmares of arriving at the airport with no clothes on, or having forgotten my suitcase, or my passport, or neglected to buy a ticket. Not until I looked down and saw the lights of the city spread like electric lace across the night, did I actually believe I had gotten out of New York in one piece and under my own steam. Alive.
"...The stewardess was very solicitous of me. She said it was because this was my first flight, and I was so young to be traveling so far alone." (153)
in short: In this autobiographical novel, Lorde focuses her storytelling around the relationships she's had with various women over the years, starting with her mother (of course) and progressing through her various friends, lovers, and would-be-lovers.
in which it is all about me: ♥__♥. That is all.
actual analysis: Previously, I read The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde for 50books-poc.
It's interesting to be told by your mother that walking around reading a book titled 'zami' is like wearing a sign with the word 'gaymo' printed on the front - only if you speak creole/patois of course, but that's not uncommon in my neighborhood. The more you know. I liked Lorde's definition of 'zami' better. Much more poetic.
I kind of want this to be a movie, except for how whoever made it would probably ruin it and how good books aren't supposed to make good movies. One always has to be wary of autobiographical works and what it may be eliding or changing for the sake of artistic license, or because of the bias of the writer. There are a few parts in the book that registered on my BS-meter. (Sure, you perfected the art of cunnilingus on your first try. I believe you.) Lorde is also distressingly fond of food metaphors when describing her lovers. Maybe it wasn't as terribly cliche-ridden and sad-making back then as it is now? The bias issue isn't much of a problem in Zami because it's rather clear that this book only focuses on certain aspects of Lorde's life and isn't trying to relate the whole of it.
Anyway my impression of the book in hypothetical movie form:
It would be an indie/artsy affair, with beautiful lighting, cinematography, and color composition. The mood setting music tastefully chosen and integrated with the film with the greatest care. The camera would follow as Lorde tries to live and love navigating the intersecting oppressions of being black, gay, and a woman in the mid- and early-20th century United States. Minimum dialogue, lots of lingering close-ups and panning scenic shots. When our story takes us to Mexico, the cinematographer falls hopelessly in love with the landscape. At the end of the movie Lorde emerges single, but young, strong, and vibrant, ready to face the world. And to finish, sprinkle a liberal amount of Freud on the mother-daughter relationship. NOM or some other like minded association would protest it because lesbians having sex and being portrayed as people hurts the children.
I just realized I described Brokeback Mountain except with black NYC West Indian lesbians and less tragedy. I am OK with this. Ang Lee is welcome to direct.
"I leaned back in my airplane seat, in the first skirt I'd bought in two years. The Air France night flight to Mexico City was half-empty. Rhea had made a surprise going away party for me the night before, but even so I had been hounded by nightmares of arriving at the airport with no clothes on, or having forgotten my suitcase, or my passport, or neglected to buy a ticket. Not until I looked down and saw the lights of the city spread like electric lace across the night, did I actually believe I had gotten out of New York in one piece and under my own steam. Alive.
"...The stewardess was very solicitous of me. She said it was because this was my first flight, and I was so young to be traveling so far alone." (153)