Reviewing published alumnae/i authors:The Miscellany News evaluates notable novels and nonfiction

Jean Said Makdisi ’61
Teta, Mother and Me

Walking the line between criticism and sentimentalism, Makdisi writes about her lineage, focusing on her female ancestors and family members. Makdisi provides unexpected insights about the balancing act for women of her time:

“A complex education, the Palestinian experience and all the wars resulting from it…all these together made me what I am. As a result, elements of obedience and restraint inherited from all these sources are woven into my being, together with elements of dissatisfaction and rebellion inherent in the legacy. A kind of cultural conservatism is blended with a kind of cultural adventurousness inexplicable but for my complex ancestry.”

Mentions of Vassar in the novel are brief, and mainly reserved for the chapter entitled “Ringing the Changes.” Makdisi’s description of her freshman year experience is comparable to that of many students, including her first time away from home and her family.

Makdisi’s story is told with charming innocence and inquisitiveness. Also moving from wordly to personal, some segments of Makdisi’s memoir are focused on politics, while others are personal ruminations on childhood foods and fables, but the thread running through the book has to do with the struggle of women in the Middle East during Makdisi’s lifetime.

At the end of the book, Makdisi reflects on her frustrations and failings, and returns to her declaration that motherhood has not been wholly fulfilling when compared to lost career opportunities. Still, the ultimate strength of Makdisi’s book is in her insight into the true force behind the art of memoir writing for women and citizens of countries that have undergone drastic political change. Makdisi urges, “We must renegotiate the nooks and crannies of our own history, understand our past, ground ourselves firmly in it, and then move consciously towards a modernity of our own deliberate making. Only then will we be able to lay full claim not only to the future ahead, but also to the present and the past.” This book will appeal to readers interested in topics such as women’s studies, political science, and history. —Anita Varma, Contributing Editor

Rachel Simmons ’96
Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls

At the very beginning of Odd Girl Out, Rachel Simmons ’96 asks a simple question to a ninth grade class: “What are some of the differences between the ways guys and girls are mean?” She does not anticipate the Pandora’s box she opens. Girls can hardly contain themselves as they fire off answers (“Girls target you where they know you’re weakest,” “They destroy you from the inside”), as though they had lived their junior high school years in pressure cookers. With Odd Girl Out, Simmons has lent a voice to the girls who suffer from an insidious epidemic of female bullying in adolescence, and finally gives the topic the attention it deserves.

The term or even the concept of relational aggression (the extent to which a person attempts to undermine others’ social relationships) did not exist before 1992 and was virtually unknown several years later outside of a few psychological studies, but Odd Girl Out marks the point at which it entered popular consciousness. For her magnum opus, Simmons interviewed girls between the critical bullying ages of 10 and 14 as well as several ninth grade classes, and found that not only was relational aggression wholly present and distinct from overt aggression (usually physical, and usually the province of boys), the damage it caused was more harmful and more lasting than the average schoolyard fight or shouting match. The most sinister aspect of relational aggression is that nearly all of it occurs invisibly; it leaves no bruises, and teachers and even parents are often oblivious to the afflictions of their own children. One gets the sense from Odd Girl Out that the girls being interviewed have never before spoken about their feelings on the subject, because nobody has ever thought to ask.

It’s clear that Simmons has done her homework; she has filtered all of her energy into the study of relational aggression since she began her Rhodes Scholarship at Oxford University in 1998, and Odd Girl Out culls from the work of field leaders Nicki Crick and Carol Gilligan to hammer home her observations. Yet Simmons writes in a simple, readable style that aims to address the general population rather than the psychological intelligentsia. The stars of the show, however, are unequivocally the young girls, whose stories of revenge, popularity and hatred disarm the reader with their brutal honesty. Simmons provides solutions for curtailing relational aggression in the last chapter, but ultimately, the fact that Odd Girl Out outs a dangerously unseen scourge is accomplishment enough. —Mike Newmark, Arts Editor

Carol Goodman ’81
The Drowning Tree

Juno McKay attended a prestigious women’s liberal arts college on the Hudson River, known for its wealth of traditions and a certain iconic stained glass window that presides over the library. Sound vaguely familiar? It probably should. Carol Goodman’s novel explores life around fictional Penrose College and investigates the mysterious history of the stained glass window.

Juno (the protagonist) returns to Penrose for her 15-year reunion to hear her best friend, Christine, lecture about the stained glass window, which she controversially suggests is an image of the college founder’s mentally ill sister-in-law, Clare—not his wife Eugenie, as legend suggested. After the lecture, Juno becomes suspicious of Christine’s odd behavior, and her questions about Juno’s ex-husband Neil, who has been in a mental institution for 14 years. A few days later, Juno finds Christine’s body in the Hudson near the College. Was it a murder or suicide?

Despite the melodramatic plot outline, Goodman avoids the territory of cheesy murder mystery for something more artful and nuanced (though not entirely plausible). Interwoven with history and myth, the prose maintains a satisfyingly quick pace, and balances rapid plot twists with interesting details about Penrose College and insightful explorations of characters’ personalities and backgrounds.

Art history, mythology and literature are woven into the story’s fabric and complement the plot details: “Now reading these other torn-out pages—pieces from a diary written a hundred years ago—I’m haunted by how close the images of poetry and art seem to the delusions of madness. How the world that Ovid created, and Penrose painted, has the same fluidity of form—one thing shifting into another, beauty turning into its opposite—as the worst manias that Neil suffered from at the end.” Such forays into the scholarly realm pervade the story, but never feel forced or unwarranted. It is a novel of letters as much as a detective story.

Vassar readers might find the Hudson scenery descriptions and college-historical atmosphere particularly interesting—the novel moves up and down the riverbanks through areas we would all find familiar. Not something one would ever find in an English class, it nonetheless provides an interesting break from the heaviness of coursework while managing not to feel like a total waste of time—everyone from Apollo and Daphne to Jane Eyre merits mention.
—Mally Anderson, Arts Editor

Scott Westerfeld ’85
Evolution’s Darling

“In high orbit above the next planet, a customs sweep revealed that the starship’s AI had improved its Turing Quotient to 0.37. Isaah raised a wary eyebrow. The AI’s close bond with his daughter had accelerated its development. The increased Turing Quotient showed that the device was performing well as tutor and companion. But Isaah would have to get its intelligence downgraded when they returned to the Home Cluster. If the machine’s Turing Quotient were allowed to reach 1.0, it would be a person—no longer legal property. Isaah turned pale at the thought. The cost of replacing the AI unit would wipe out his profits for the entire trip.”

Cognitive Science majors, sci-fi aficionados, and anyone else who is intrigued by the chilling possibilities for artificial intelligence will likely find Scott Westerfeld’s novel Evolution’s Darling captivating. Summarized on the back cover as “a fast-paced space opera [and] a meditation on the nature of individuality, artificial intelligence, and the power of memory,” this book is a whirlwind of romance, development, and betrayal between primary characters Rathere, Darling, and Mira.

While the interpersonal relationships seem dramatic at times, the more interesting theme of how agents with artificial intelligence can cross into the realm of humanity is what will keep readers entranced throughout the approximately 300-page book. Before his Turing Quotient becomes high enough to be considered a person, Darling is simply “a machine.” A particularly contemplative moment is when Westerfeld writes, “While Rathere slept, the machine wondered how one learned to have intuition.”

How does one learn intuition? The question remains unanswered, but by the end of the book, it is clear that artificial intelligence has the potential to manipulate, introspect, and mourn alongside humans in Westerfeld’s seductive, perhaps uncontrollable, world of technological and philosophical possibility.

Westerfeld has written five adult science-fiction novels, and three book sets for young adults (scottwesterfeld.com). Westerfeld graduated from Vassar with a bachelor’s degree in Philosophy and now lives in New York City.
—A.V.