As Dessa so aptly sings, “I know that jealousy’s a perfect waste of time, but left to my devices, I’ve spent far too long wasting mine” (“Call off Your Ghost“). And Dessa’s new book, My Own Devices, perfectly shows that Dessa, for all of her philosophizing and her celebrity, is just a fragile human being, like the rest of us. Anyone who has followed her music career will recognize many of the common themes, several prominent images, and (of course) specific lyrics from her songs: water, flying, kites, and the ache of a love that seems like it should complete you even when it tears at your heart and soul.
Dessa’s own voice comes through as clear as the bells that she often mentions in her songs. Yes, that’s a cliché, but it’s appropriate as I discuss a book that is, at its core, a story of longing to break free from being a lovelorn cliché while attempting to remain true to self when the desired love isn’t fully compatible with one’s self. Am I willing to compromise who I am to have this love that I do not want to let go?
Dessa attempts to answer this question by tracing through her life and the many people who helped shape who she is through various types of love. We catch glimpses of her best friend and bandmates along with fully fleshed shots of her mom, her dad, and her brother. We see her as that “flat-chested, gap-toothed girl” (from her song “Mineshaft 2,” but also mentioned in the book) she used to be to, but we also get to know her as she is today, a grown woman who is so certain of so many things, yet so torn about matters of the heart.
I often make the mistake of attributing a singer’s real-life world for a song’s story. Dessa is a complex autobiographical lyricist for whom the sung story is real. Long-time fans will enjoy filling in the blanks of song-stories and themes, but newcomers need not fear disappointment. The author’s candor and openness in dealing with a host of collectively human emotions and experiences holds something for everyone. Her ability to run through the entire range of human feeling and desire in one album (or sometimes even one song) is not lost in long form. No, in fact, her ability is more poignant and hard-hitting than ever in this book.
All opinions in this review are my own. Book reviewed via an ARC from NetGalley.com, but (of course) I’d already put in my pre-order long before requesting the ARC. And I’ll definitely be re-reading as soon as my physical copy arrives!
This post was originally published on my old (and now defunct) blog on 24 September 2006. No, that’s not a typo: it was about four months after Neal and I married that I finally discovered home.
Tonight, on the way home from B&N where Neal and I do work now and again, I saw lights glaring up into the sky. I, being from Illinois, wondered what stadium was nearby that I didn’t know about that would have lights glowing that bright into the night sky.
Neal asked, “Are those northern lights?”
Brilliant me asks, “Where…? Oh! Yes! They are!” (Yes, complete with all those exclamation points because I was quite excited.)
I still remember the first time I saw the northern lights, standing with Neal in front of his old apartment building, a beautiful old stone house. I was leaning back against him, gazing up at them in wonder and awe, excited by this display that I couldn’t see back “home” in Illinois.
I’ve written about contentment (or lack thereof) in my sense of place, which has been my state for pretty much all of my life, no matter which state I actually lived in. My motto has always been Wherever I am, I am there, which basically means that I could fit into, could feel comfortable with any place I found myself. During my admissions job, I slept a new place almost every night and was fine wherever I was.
But nowhere seemed like home.
Tonight, I finally felt a sense of home, leaning back against Neal, now my husband, and watching the pale green lights flicker up and down the sky, shooting fingers of grace into the heavens.
I didn’t know where I would end up, if I would ever find such a place as “home,” a place I’ve often heard others speak of but one that I’ve never truly experienced with complete contentment before. A place of pure belonging and satisfaction in being.
For me, it appears that this is a place with night water that glows with lights from the city and large ore boats, shining brightly on the lake’s corrugated surface. It is a place of unexpected grace, brightening a darkened sky with feathery wings of diaphanous and ephemeral splendor. It is a place where I can lean back and see all this, spread out before me, and be held tightly by one who cares beyond seeming possibility.
I feel a self-divide that is hard to explain to many people, much like Holly Genovese discusses in this article. Coming from a blue-collar background in a rural, poor household, even the decision to go straight to college from high school was different enough to start a schism that has only gotten wider. Both of my parents worked on factory floors until their jobs moved out of the country or the company wanted to hire younger guys at a cheaper price. My dad worked at the same place from March of the year I was born (that December) until just a few weeks before I got married in May of another year: 27 years and two months, he worked there, with differing shifts and on differing lines sometimes, but still always there. We lived anywhere from an hour to 40 minutes from this place, keeping us near family and in the same school district and county my entire life, even though he worked in a different county himself.
My dad got up early when he worked first shift (although he also worked third at times, years I remember not seeing my dad much and only recalling his tired face when I did) and his work ethic lives in me still today. You get up early and you leave early. There’s no excuse for arriving to work late, even a flat tire, so give yourself time to deal with those things on the way. If you arrive early? You just have some quiet time to yourself or to talk with others coming on- or going off-shift. It’s part of the package of keeping a job. Then one day they just lay you off “indefinitely” and you know that it isn’t a layoff like previous ones: this one is permanent, terminology be damned. Younger, cheaper guys are coming in to take your place, and you know it—but what can you do?
My mom went back to work when I was in elementary school, but she worked in closer locations: in the kitchen of a nursing home for a bit until a job at the local factory down the road opened up. It was closer and it paid a bit better, so does it matter which job you like better anyway? I became one of those fabled 80’s and 90’s latchkey kids, along with my older sister. We rode the bus for hours a day, gravel road dust pouring in the small cracks of the partially opened windows. We got to know the bus drivers really well as the last kids off the bus.
But the eye-opening realization for me comes in second grade: Mrs. Reed talks about college, like it’s an option for all of us—like maybe I could actually go. This idea takes ahold in my mind, because I prize reading and learning above all else, even above climbing a tree or rolling down a hill—even at that young age. I know that this is something I want to do, so I somehow get it into my mind that the only way to get to college is to get straight As from then on. My elementary-school-kid mind doesn’t understand what colleges are looking for, only understanding that we can’t pay for it and I need to carry this weight alone.
By the time I do begin to understand, the ideal of perfectionism is already rooted firmly in my mind. No pressure given from my parents or family members: it’s all from me. Even a small homework grade of an A- gives me the sweats, and a B+ might make me cry. My parents don’t get why I’m doing this to myself. By junior high, I know that I have to get a scholarship somewhere, or this whole thing is going to fall apart. By freshman year, I know a few places I’d like to go, but I also understand that they are out of reach. My sophomore year, I realize that public schools aren’t giving out scholarships that I’ll need really, so I start rethinking my plans, start looking at all the options.
I don’t know anything about college planning, and my guidance counselor is a joke. I know I have one shot to take the ACT, because one shot is all we can afford. I don’t know anything about potential fee waivers, because these aren’t explained or talked about. You know what else no one talked about? Application fees and how you can’t actually afford to apply to the places you really want to go, so I look for places that will give waivers if you talk to the visiting counselor. I have already had my sight set on valedictorian from second grade, thinking that this will make some sort of a difference, and this along with the great test score and my 4.0 GPA gives me the option of a couple full-tuition scholarships from small, private schools.
I’m in. I will be the first person in my entire extended family to attend and finish my bachelor’s degree, but the move to another state and the education seems to be another wedge that widens the already-started schism between me and some family members. I’m still me. I still enjoy tractor pulls and dirt-track races and a good dusty, gravel-filled backroads trip to nowhere in particular. I still like to read whatever I can get my hands on (except I can get my hands on a whole lot more now). I’m me, but they only see me rising above myself in a way that I can’t stop and I can’t retract. And I don’t know that I would if I could anyway.
Dessa, a singer and songwriter, gets this dichotomy of self and ambition. In “Fighting Fish,” she sings the following lyrics:
Around here we don’t like talk of big dreams to stand out is a pride, a conceit To aim high is to make waves, to split seams but that’s not what it seems like to me, cause I wanna try, I wanna risk I don’t wanna walk, rather swing and miss I’m not above apologies but I don’t ask permission got a lot of imperfections but I don’t count my ambitions in ‘em — I didn’t come looking for love I didn’t come to pick a fight I didn’t come to wave or take pictures pander to some benefactor, ring on every broken finger Won’t extend my wings to be clipped I know the culture here is to stay humble but shit if we all go round bowed heads, button-lipped if none of us go for the bell, then who is?
I just finished my master’s degree, and as I debated whether to announce it to family and friends, my dad told me not to. “It’d seem like you’re just trying to brag about it,” he said. I’ll admit it: it hurt to hear that. I wanted to share a success in my life: a goal I’ve had for almost 15 years now finally coming to fruition. My parents have been completely supportive, even if my mom didn’t quite understand what I was doing or why.
It’s hard to explain the feeling that washes over you at that moment, where you are so proud that you finally accomplished something you’ve wanted to do for so long, yet you feel ashamed of wanting it and of striving for it. Even though I don’t want to count my ambitions among my imperfections, I know that some of my family members do. It’s a pull in two different directions that doesn’t make sense to those who haven’t straddled two worlds.
The pull gets stronger, the chasm wider. I have fairly decent health and dental coverage through my husband’s position; my parents can’t afford true health care or even partial dental coverage. Pulling a tooth that needs a root canal is the only option, because the root canal is too costly. Meanwhile, I have terrible teeth (childhood poverty and rural living on well water waving reminder flags) having had my first root canal at age 18 and the second shortly after I married at age 26 along with various and sundry fillings. Seeing other people’s white-picket-fence-rows of stark white, straight teeth is a reminder that braces aren’t commonplace everywhere or for everyone, although people around me often talk as though it were. Hearing people complain about doing without as children and finding out they mean they didn’t always have the latest gaming system as soon as it came out is disorienting still. Adults who complain that the Coach bag they wanted was out of stock, so they had to make do with this other one that wasn’t exactly what they wanted until the other comes in is still foreign to me, even after years of being around it.
When I go home, I feel a sense of belonging that doesn’t quite fill me in other places. Yet at the same time, I feel rough edges that don’t quite fit into the place I left, like I’m a cube being ground into a sphere to fit another space and time. There are gaps and holes around me the whole time. I fall back into speech patterns with my “y’all” and my vowels more drawn out. I am more aware of money, what things cost, how it fits, what my budget allows and how it differs from my parents.
I feel guilty. I want to give something to them, but I know they wouldn’t take it. That intense pride in making do as much as you can, even if it means you might need WIC to round out your kids’ diets when they’re young, it still fills me with a fierce independence that many don’t fully understand (particularly, I think, my in-laws). We make do with what we have. Making do becomes normal again.
But it still lifts my other self’s spirits a bit to hear from my dad’s coworker that he’s been bragging on my accomplishments, my new degree. It helps to hear that he cares enough to pull this accomplishment out and show it off, even if he knows others might not totally get it. It helps a little bit to know that he supports these dreams of mine, even if they are different than the dreams he once had.
But who knows? Maybe he once had these dreams, too, but couldn’t escape the rift—or couldn’t tolerate the thought of trying to. Even today, life is different. I recently worked in a college counseling office, where I saw the world of college search open up to me even broader than before: fee waivers for testing, fee waivers for college applications, summer programs for those whose family incomes don’t quite make the cut. Maybe my dad once had similar dreams, but didn’t have a second-grade teacher who told him it was possible. In the back of my mind, I always think about making the impossible possible and seeing dreams fulfilled, and I wonder more and more as I get older about the dreams deferred in previous generations. Instead of drying up or festering or rotting and stinking or even exploding, maybe, just maybe, it moves down the line to the next generation, planting a seed, just a small kernel of an idea in a young mind until one of our own catches hold of their own dream and rides it until it breaks and becomes instead a distinct possibility.
(If you want to hear the song mentioned above, and you know you do, listen to it below!)
This is a short article, but I highly recommend reading it. I think we forget that people are just people, no matter when they lived. The world wasn’t black and white (literally or figuratively) way back when. People walked on green grass. They ate, slept, worked, and loved. They lived their lives and felt human emotions, just like we do today.
Isabel Allende said it the best:
“People in other times, in earlier times, were not less sophisticated than we are. They were just as we are, with less technology.”
We aren’t any better today than we were yesterday: we just have more technology that helps us figure things out. We are building on the knowledge of our forebears, so we owe them a debt of creating a ladder we continually climb in the quest for new technologies.
Because I’ve known all of this for years and years, I told my now-husband, “If you do get me an engagement ring of any sort, I will not marry you.” And I meant it. You know what he got me instead? Sand (long story), and I loved the thought behind it more than any other rock.
We will be celebrating our 10-year anniversary in about a month, and I’m still glad that he listened to me, knowing me well enough that his friends’ admonitions that “She’s just saying that! All women want a diamond ring!” fell on deaf ears. Some women don’t buy into “tradition” simply for tradition’s sake, especially when the reason behind a so-called tradition is simply a bunch of dollar signs. I guess Adam was wrong about one thing: some men do get out of buying a worthless ring, because their girlfriends know the score.
I can’t be the only person in the world who takes great pleasure in clicking the links that say things like this, right? I am only on your site to check things out, so these overlays are obnoxious and often pop up right when I’m trying to click on something else on the page. Then when I see what the “no” button says, I take even more pleasure in saying, “No, I hate being given free things,” because I’m apparently a very contrary person. (I actually like free things, but not for something I’m not even sure I like yet.)
In honor of National Comic Book Day, I just wanted to write a list of a few online comics by female writers and/or artists that I absolutely love.
First up, I’m going to make a liar of myself, because this isn’t an online comic, but it’s quickly become one of my faves: Ms. Marvel. Go ahead and pick up the first issue and then tell me you didn’t fall in love with this story-line. I won’t believe you anyway.
Strong Female Protagonist is a webcomic I just recently found, and then I whispered, “Where have you been all of my life?” Okay, not really, but I was sad I just discovered it, because it is an amazing webcomic that makes some strong statements about this world while being set in (what I’m assuming is) a parallel world similar to our own. Great literature always makes you re-examine your own world with new eyes, and this is wonderfully done.
For something on the lighter side, check out Let’s Speak English. This one never fails to make me laugh, even when spiders are the subject. (Read the archives for the lovely, little arc about this spider and his ultimate fate.)
Do you ever get the feeling that your cat is watching you, silently commenting on everything she sees you do? If so, then Breaking Cat News is perfect for you! Three main characters give you the breaking news going on in their house, set with The Man, The Woman, and now two kiddos in the mix. There are never-ending misunderstandings between cats and humans to enjoy. Honestly, how can you not love an irascible Siamese cat who absolutely adores the newest member of the household and vows to protect her? The answer is that you just can’t. You’ll fall in love with all three of our purrfectly flawed heroes (and all of their correspondents, too)!
Okay, so this one was (still is?) syndicated for years and years, but a few years ago Lynn decided to re-run her entire repertoire of strips, along with some commentary about those strips. For Better or For Worse is an oldie, but a goodie, so check out the updated comics (for some of them, anyway) and her thoughts behind them.
For the only comic strip I’ve ever seen reference Five Iron Frenzy, look no further than Girls With Slingshots! It follows a few women and their hijinks and exploits of making it in the world (not always sober).
What happens when you have a short, brunette woman and a tall, blond guy with red facial hair? Well, no, it’s not me and Neal (okay, yes, it is)–at least, not for this webcomic: Wasted Talent. WT is a brilliant comic that started while the artist was in engineering school and has continued throughout her relationship with her (now)husband and her jobs since college. I guarantee you’ll recognize yourself in things that happen to her! (I really, really wanted the original art to this comic. Wow, it’s also about spiders. I’m sensing a trend here. I must only like webcomics whose artists/writers don’t like spiders either!)
Another webcomic that short, but hilarious scenes is Our Super Adventure. If you don’t recognize your relationship with your pet or your significant other in some of these scenes, then we can’t be friends. I’m sorry, but this is the litmus test.
I just recently discovered Mare Internum, and I’m glad I did. It’s a slowly unfolding story, but it had me hooked right away, because I’m slowly learning more about the main character(s?) as we go along.
These aren’t the only ones I regularly read (not by a long shot). Heck, they aren’t even all of the ones by women that I regularly read, but they are ones that I wanted to get the word out about. The writing is good; the art is good. What more could you want? Go, read, explore webcomics!
I can’t be the only person in the world who takes great pleasure in clicking the links that say things like this, right? I am only on your site to check things out, so these overlays are obnoxious and often pop up right when I’m trying to click on something else on the page. Then when I see what the “no” button says, I take even more pleasure in saying, “No, I hate being given free things,” because I’m apparently a very contrary person. (I actually like free things, but not for something I’m not even sure I like yet.)