The Book Buying Ban
Reading: The Fairytale Chicago of Francesca Finnegan by Steve Wiley
We're We’re taking a shortcut to the Green Mill, where we'll go for the music inside, to settle your nervous nerves. You look awful!
#storyofmylife
Drinking: 2019 Apothic Red Winemaker's Blend One of my favorite on-the-cheaper-side wines retailing for about 9.99 give or take depending on where you stop. Not one I would go to everyday, especially right now because I am poor, but one I feel is worth the splurge when you have a little bit in the bank₀ which I don't, but I was at the Dollar General just now and picked it even though I only had forty-three dollars in my account. This is another California wine, and it does go to show my wine roots here as I began my wine adventure with nothing but Cali wines. This wine is very nice and smooth, bold and robust without being overly acidic or tannic. It is going to dry your palate out just a smidge, but nothing that will hinder you from having a decent conversation after a few glasses. This wine has a nice nose with hints of tart cherries and some jammy notes, a nice medium-full body with a gentle mouth feel, and medium-long finish. I pick up notes of dark fruit (black cherry and bit of plum) on the front with some delicious tertiaries on the finish (a hint of tobacco and vanilla, which I love). The coolest part is that I get a subtle hint of mint or eucalyptus on the finish which makes it linger in a lovely way. This wine is going to put some pretty hefty wine lips on you, so don't forget to have you Wine Wipes Compact with you for sure, especially if you are out with a special someone! If you are alone, don't get scared looking in the mirror in the morning (I have)! I am a total pizza lover, and this wine pairs quite nicely with that, so if you are flying solo, grab a book and a blanket to go with these two!
I wish my small Texas town had a fairytale world for me to magically spirit away to. A place where my anxiety ridden self could do and say things that did not cause a mental conflict that lasts a lifetime; a place where my plump figure was not a thing I lamented over (WHY PIZZA AND WINE?!); a place where dreams were a fun thing; a place where drunken elves spun tales about the spirits in spirits, where my best friend was a foul-mouth fairy who gave zero fucks about anything but fun and the truth who would take me to places to settle my nervous nerves. Alas, dear reader, I have no such place; I fear sleep for the opposite reason.
In my fairytale world, my TBR pile would be revered as thing of wonder and beauty (almost too beautiful), a sight to behold for miles and miles and miles and miles. It would be a world where my children would not negotiate a book buying ban when I was a bit tipsy and pretty damn vulnerable. It would be a place where they would actually sit and read books with me! How does a nerdy, book loving wino have two teetotaling daughters with an aversion to reading? HOW?? WHY?? As it stands, I have no such fairytale world, and my girls did, in fact, negotiate a book buying ban. Actually, it went more like: "read your damn books and sell them already, then maybe we could go on a road trip somewhere!" So it was. Now, the terms were never really fleshed out, so "buying" books has, in my mind, a little bit of fluidity and does not include free books from the library, or "donation, pay what you want" books at the library, or any other place either (thank you Johnson City Public Library). I just got the whole Sookie Stackhouse collection there, paperback, but whatevs! Support your local libraries, y'all! So here we are, at the beginning of April, and I have just now broken down₀ but, fluidity of terms justifies my purchase! I got the Eragon two book set, hardback with slide case for a dollar, and a journal/memoir called Eda & Ilse, a nice find on that! So, not bad₀ technically I have not stuck to the terms, but not too far off considering I am on book twenty-three for the year. The gremlins wouldn't care, but what they don't know can't hurt them!
Back to Francesca, and speaking of what a person does not know, I have no clue about the geography, or history, of Chicago. I mean, I thought the Great Fire happened in 1930, and I had no idea a cow was the alleged culprit. This book gives a rather funny yarn about the whole event, so much so that if I were to ever really look into it, I would find it hard to believe that some drunken buffoon's shenanigans wasn't the real cause of it all. However, despite my ignorance, I am finding The Fairytale Chicago of Francesca Finnegan pretty damn amusing! I am crash learning about Chicago in an incredibly unique way that gives the city a bit of flair I did not expect. From the mythical Lavender Line that runs through the equally mythical East Side, I am learning about the beauty, albeit a cold one, of Chicago. A beauty I do wish I could get from stories and memoirs about Texas, which I have read quite a few of. While Texas does have its fair share of allure, so far, the fairytale world of Francesca is more intriguing, and doesn't involve snakes; well, not real snakes, though some of the characters are a bit shifty. In the end, the premise of the corporate sleaze-ball curmudgeon being forced to relive childhood to remember the potential of life is not new by any means. What is fun about this book is that the narrative of social change isn't tired out. In fact, this a quirky take on the genre replete with gothic elements and a "happy ending" in which all wrongs are put to rights a la A Christmas Carol, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Home Alone, etc. The ease of the prose allows the reader to gain access to the fairty-tale parts of the city with no re-reading or confusion which is one reason this book is so fun, you don't have to overthink anything, you just go with it. On the whole, I was pleasantly surprised by this book, funny when I stop to think I picked it up at the Goodwill Outlet in Austin (where you can get five media pieces, including DVDs and VHS for one dollar) thinking how stupid the book would be because it looked so self-published it seemed ridiculous. THIS is what is so great about reading books from cover to cover, you never know what adventures you might be taken on, and what perspective they may bring.
Thank you notes:
Love to our sponsor Iron Goat Distillery, an award winning, family owned, small batch distillery in Fredericksburg, Texas. If you're in Texas, ask for them at your local liquor stores, and/or restaurants. Check them out at: @irongoatdistillery on Insta, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/irongoatdistillery/
Life status: “The Hungry Ocean”
Reading: The Hungry Ocean by Linda Greenlaw
Drinking: Tisdale Shiraz , some of the best cheap wine out there. This is a California wine, and retails for $3.99. It has a decent ABV clocking in at 13.5% which is nice for this light-medium bodied wine. Notes of red and black fruit, namely black raspberry and pomegranate do create a well-balanced mouth feel with a slight acidity and low tannin structure. So it doesn't dry your mouth out and you can still talk about books even after a bottle! It has a nice finish and a graceful exit off the palate. A really nice starter wine, something everyone can enjoy even if they are not red wine drinkers. No gnarly hangovers with this guy, though you will get some wine lips, so be sure to have your Wine Wipes Compact with you. This is one of my favorite “on a budget” wines, and a good everyday go to wine.
It's now mid(ish)-March. Another year has begun, not much better than the last. I am sitting here trying not spend yet another night defeating slugs in Best Fiends while polishing off a bottle or two of wine. Trying to ignore my judgmental spawn with their looks questioning why defeating slugs is so damn important when I have a mountain of books to read, a blog to re-boot, and dinner (which I just burned) to cook. To be honest, I don't know. Depression? Burn-out? Judgy kids #theresnowaytoknow? I do, yes it's true, have a mountain of books to read; a thing my daughters never cease to remind me of. Although, it does seem as though my TBR pile has taken on a life of its own, and I am convinced has started spontaneously spawning books. When we moved some few months ago, my daughters told me (may as well have been in unison) that I “have too fucking many books. We're not helping you move them.” “FINE! I can move them myself” …which I did over the course of two weeks (yes that's how many books I have) much to the dismay of my out of shape body, and overworked feet. Thank the heavens for wine!
I have to admit: I have a lot of books. Not that it's a bad thing. Books (and wine) make up a whole lot of who I am as a person. I am, proudly, a nerdy academic who revels in finding patterns in literature and then thinking about them non-stop until I produce an essay which I shop around at conferences. I'm a goon about books, I will read anything and everything cover to cover no matter how much I hate it. For instance, I recently read The Hungry Ocean by Linda Greenlaw, the captain of Hannah Boden, sister ship to the ill-fated Andrea Gail whose story is told in The Perfect Storm. I had a lot of high hopes for this book. For starters, Greenlaw is/was (I honestly don't care enough to google her) the only female captain in her industry. I was like: yeah, female power! You go with your sword-fishing self! Show those guys! BUT, the narrative was so dull, and Greenlaw was less than impressive, that it took me about a month to finish the book. I did enjoy some aspects of the book, like learning about the fishing industry in general, but specifically about the sword-fishing industry, but Greenlaw came across a haughty, opportunistic, and a bit of a curmudgeon. Ultimately, the book read as a bit of a sad memoir of a lonely woman. I hope there are those out there who totally enjoy and get this book. I am not one of them, but I will take the small gifts it offered. All that to say, that I stuck with this book as I do with all books not matter how much I want to claw my eyes out. I did wonder, though, how much my life resembled this hungry ocean she was on: never ending, and totally unforgiving. One of my good friends, Chris, loves to tell me that there is not enough time in life to waste over bad literature. I don't agree with him, but I can understand his sentiment, especially after reading books like The Hungry Ocean. I, however, am more in the camp that I can't form a full opinion of anything until I have read, heard, or watched all of it. I don't know if this is good or bad, but it's who I am, and right now, I am all about re-learning and re-centering myself, hence this blog. It's been a hell of a year already. I am not looking forward to the rest of it.
I am, however, looking forward to reading the books I have, drinking wine, and writing about both! That is, after all, what this blog is all about: wine and books, both the good and the horrible; both of which are passions of mine. I will continue to read anything, and everything cover to cover because yeah, there might be a bunch of bad books, but there are the unexpected great ones that totally make up for them. It’s a chance I take, and the books that I do keep on my shelf (which are far fewer than my TBR pile, less than fifty) are ones I can instantly recall, and ones of which I can remember where I was and what I was feeling. I am always on the hunt to re-capture the feeling I had reading Camus's The Plague, the book that changed my life. Maybe I need to revisit that one for some fresh perspective, a life change rerun. At any rate, I hope to be able to reach a few like minded folks out there who like to nerd out on the escapism of both literature and libations, and are willing to take a few small jaunts with me while I get Reqless about reading … and drinking lots of Texas Hill Country wine, or maybe just any wine in general, but that's what I have close, so may as well get to exploring and drinking it. Cheers, y'all!
Thank you notes:
Love to my sponsor Iron Goat Distillery, a small batch, family owned, award winning distillery in Fredericksburg, Texas. If you're in Texas, ask for them at your local liquor stores, and/or restaurants. Check them out at: @irongoatdistillery on Insta, and on Facebook
Looking for Mr. Goodbar
Booze: Dark Horse Cabernet Sauvignon
Teetotalers: Nojitos, a non-alocoholic twist on my favorite drink of all time.
Book: Looking for Mr. Goodbar by Judith Rossner (queen bee extraordinaire)
Films: Looking for Mr. Goodbar starring Diane Keaton, Richard Gere, and William Atherton
Case: Roseann Quinn (look how beautiful she is)
Quote: "Easy to meet...nice to know."
Roseann Quinn is a woman who haunts my mind and has done since I first read Judith Rossner's Looking for Mr. Goodbar when I was twenty or so…that's, admittedly, a long, long, long time ago, but still…her story has never left my psyche. I would argue she helped make my psyche what it is today…a lot like Joon every time she leaves her house:
The facts are these: on the night of January 1, 1973 John Wayne Wilson met Roseann Quinn at W.M. Tweeds bar on the Upper West Side, across the street from her apartment. They talked, got along, and she took him home where, after failing to get an erection, Wilson became irate at being asked to leave by Quinn; he then beat and raped her, stabbed her fourteen (some accounts say eighteen) times, and inserted a candle into her vagina.
Quinn was born in November 17, 1944 in The Bronx. At thirteen, she had an operation for scoliosis which left her with a limp. She graduated from high school in 1962, where her yearbook quoted that she was “easy to meet…nice to know.” She graduated from Newark State Teacher's College in 1966, and began teaching for St. Joseph's School for the Deaf 1969.
She was only 28 when she died. So much potential cut short because a guy couldn't get it up…and the news outlets laid her life bare to sell their papers. Double fuckery. And the police description of her apartment, and that projection onto her murder did nothing to help.
Now, as a feminist this part of the murder is particularly infuriating because, Wilson killed her after HIS failure to perform. Then, in a instance of the most profound victim blaming, Wilson told his attorney that Quinn made fun of him for not being able to perform at which point an argument ensued which lead to her death. As if being made fun of is a cause for anyone to commit such a brutal act of violence.
Wilson was arrested on January 11, 1973; he was twenty-three, and no stranger to errant behavior and being jail. In fact, in July of 1972, Wilson escaped prison in Florida where he made his way to New York and was a street hustler until he met Geary Guest. Guest was with on New Year's Day in Tweed's Bar when Wilson met Quinn. Wilson told police that was drunk and high on pot when he killed Quinn, as if that explains everything. Four months later, before going to trial for murder, Wilson killed himself by hanging in his jail cell. Fucking coward!!
General thoughts:
One of the things I find so fascinating about Quinn, and what happened to her, is that she was just a girl looking for herself in the wake of one of the most recondite times for women: the sexual revolution. As liberating as the times were, not too far off from where we are now, I can certainly sympathize with her as she took her books to bars (something I have done on many an occasion in bars which I find are much more accommodating than Starbucks), had conversations with many a male patron, and slept with a few. There is nothing extraordiary in that; the extraordinary is what time has applied to her story: the double life. The idea that she was leading a “double life” because she engaged in such activities is astounding; as if a teacher (no matter the grade level teaching) cannot be a human being outside of the classroom. It's a strange instance of the saint and the sinner played out in real life. She couldn't be a woman with physical needs and desires AND a career, noooooooo…she must have had a lascivious double life that was contrary to her life as a teacher.
One of the problematic things said is that she had a “promiscuous side” which was in direct conflict with her life as a well liked teacher. Again, because she was an independent, single woman, hanging around bars with her books and wine, and embracing her sexuality, she is considered “promiscous.” If a married woman is a nympho, does that mean that she has a promiscous side too? If this hypothetical woman were murdered, would her nymphomania be laid out for the public to shame her? Probably not because this hypothetical woman was a nympho in the right way: she was married. Painting Quinn as promiscous for being a sexual being is a subtle form of victim blaming on par with blaming women who dress too sexy; women who are “asking” for bad treatment. Quinn has also been labled “a classic good girl gone bad” and this is equally as problematic a view of her as the double life angle. She strikes me a girl who neither good nor bad, but a girl who simply trying live and enjoy life while trying to figure her life out. Why should she be “a good girl gone bad,” or a “promiscous” vixen? Why can't she just be Roseann Quinn: teacher, sister, daughter, lover? These critiques of her are not much better than the police department blaming her “lifestyle” for her death. Typically, characterizations of “good girls gone wrong” are lazy explorations of females who defy social norms. They are not seen on their own terms, rather, they are interpreted via a multitude of socially constructed lenses that seek to compartmentalize women. Consequently, categorizing her as a good girl gone wrong is simply another way to subtly victim blame her while at the same time muting her voice, and moving on as quickly as possible.
Susan Brownmiller wrote an exellent article about Quinn's murder and its depiction in the news. I highly recommend the read.
Yet, despite the “progress” we have made, Quinn's story via Goodbar is still categorized as a “cautionary tale.” For me, this cautionary tale is (and I feel should be read as) more about the fact that men can't handle strong women than it is about promiscuity; they simply have no idea what to do when they fail themselves, their percieved masculinity, and what they feel are their “rights.” Roseann Quinn is one of my heroes even if she is a bit of haunted one. She was a girl, trying to live her dream-no different from any person trying to find their way in life. So what if she wanted to have a one-night stand? So what if she wasn't ready to commit, but also not willing to ignore her sexuality? Guys do this all the time, and for them it's the norm. So why is Quinn still painted in light of the good-girl-gone-wrong, the saint cum sinner who had to die for her lifestyle? If this were the case, why don't we hold men to the same standard?
Further: why is there no conversation about how the justice system failed Quinn by allowing Wilson to escape, and subsequently by allowing him to commit this murder by not catching him. Doubly failed as police and investigators showed no sympathy for her, spilling the details of her murder, the state of her apartment, and suggesting that her lifestyle was abnormal and subsequently the real culprit thereby tainting her image. Why is the focal point the fact that her apartment was a little messy, and that she had a string of lovers? Does any of this take away from the fact that she did her job, did it well, and that she had a great deal of friends who loved her? Is it because it's coming from the police? Police are some of the best liars and manipulators in the world, why would anyone give them so much power to judge a case via media outlets? None of little details about how there was sugar spilled on the table, or that some laundry was scattered matters; and yet we are still talking about that, and her “double life” about how society saw her differently than the “picture of innocence” they wanted to see? I guess it's just easier at best, lazy at worst, to continue the conversation of her murder in this light. I think it's both of those spiked hard with “pathetic.”
The most fascinating thing about Quinn: she is still with us, she refuses to be silenced. I love her for that.
xoxo, Viv
