History of a Woman is a collection of vignettes and poetry that focuses on the aspects of herstory. Told from the female perspective, it challenges social and gender roles, relationships, political aspects, and love.
From History of a Woman:
History of a Woman
The girls made their way down the winding dirt road, their white dresses flapping gently against their bony knees. They were linked, hand-in-hand, fingers entwined, feet moving in the same rhythm. Two girls became one, melded and meshed until anyone looking saw one set of dark eyes, one little, white dress, one pair of bobby socks and tennis shoes.
So they said, “I need something. Something to make me shine. I look like every other girl. I need to find my fire.”
And as one they reached out. They grabbed the electric fence on the side of that dirt road, that border between cow and field, between man and earth, between “we” and “I”.
The current shot through them. It made a wide loop through their chest, pumped through their fast-beating heart, coiled in their stomach and shot out of their fingertips with the carefully trimmed and clean nails. It lit up the world and the girls shone bright as a beacon, as the star over Bethlehem, as a lighthouse on a rocky shore, as the perfect edges of a solar eclipse.
Down the road came the old women. Their wrinkled skin and crooked limbs illuminated by the girls. They wore faces carved by worry, haste, and disgust. They wore old housecoats and nightgowns. They wore hats and scarves to cover their hair. They were empty of any embellishment, extravagant in their very own settled ways.
“You’ll bring the men!” They yelled at the girls, panic evident in their voices. “You aren’t ready.”
So the old women gathered. They lifted their skirts and pulled free baskets of laundry, tubs of hot water, dirty dishes, pants and irons, rags and sponges, sides of beef and potatoes with the peels still intact. They lifted their skirts and pulled out the tools of their trade and said, “Learn. What will you do when he asks for the beat biscuits to be made like his mother did?”
But the girls’ hands were full of fence and light. So they opened their chest and new arms came out. New hands grew and fumbled around. They took up the laundry, the beef, and the pants. They sewed buttons, washed forks, and punched the dough into the bowl.
When they’d finished, the road beneath them was paved. The black tar radiated heat that made the old women fan themselves as they walked off, mumbling.
“Did it well enough, I suppose.”
“Did you see the crease in those pants?”
“Shameful.”
The girl’s hands stayed full, working past exhaustion. Their light still bright and drawing the young women, who in short day dresses, in pencil skirts and high-heeled shoes, in bangle bracelets and pearl studs, in short trench coats and free-flowing hair came running down the road.
“Stop!” They yelled at the girls. “You’ll bring the men. I’ve seen them. They’re coming!”
So the young women gathered around the girls and lifted their skirts. They reached up and pulled out books and paper, maps and pens, musical instruments and sets of oil pastels. They pulled out the new tools and said, “Learn. What will you do when he asks the longitude of Memphis?”
But the girls’ hands were full and they couldn’t let go of the fence for fear of losing their precious light. So they opened their chest again and more arms sprang free. The hands grabbed at the pages, flipping, turning, devouring every little phrase.
Around them the cows went away. The fields disappeared and a development of postcard picture houses popped up. Picket fences marked the boundaries and basketball hoops stood like sentries at the foot of every driveway. The young women left them, flipping their loose hair.
“Couldn’t even find Albuquerque.”
“Not a single original thought.”
“They tried. They tried.”
And so the girls were left with the pressed pants and the peeled potatoes, with the maps of colonies and the stars and stripes, with cups and saucers full of the total percent of the third greatest export of Cyprus.
But the men had seen the light and in their casual time, their easy manner, they passed the old women who dipped their heads to stare at their feet. They passed the young women who stepped back out of the way. They found the girls and dropped their pants. They stood there, flaccid cocks against their thighs and said, “Please me.”
Again the girls tried to open their chest, but there was no more room. No room for more arms, more hands and fingers. So the men put their hands on the girls’ shoulders and pushed them to their knees. And the girls changed the current. They opened their mouth and gave their fire away. They swallowed the men and made them shine.
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Reviews
Once again, she does it again!
“Another complex collection of vignettes and poetry that’s sure to touch the heart, amuse, and make one gasp. My favorites are: Be Proud, Time for Church, For Her….OH! Can’t forget the very humorous E!strogen Tonight. This is a must read, as is the other book “Wake Up A Woman”. Two BIG thumbs up!”
– Heather, Amazon customer
Five Stars!
“Laura A Lord has a way with words that draws you in to each story and before you know it you are soul deep inside words as if you are the character yourself. All the stories and poems were good but I really loved “Time For Church”. I love the stories that draw you in but give you no hint were you are being led until you are in the moment living the pain as if it happened to you. I highly recommend this book.”
– Hastywords, Goodreads
Powerful!
“This collection of vignettes and poetry are simply, amazing. The author elicits deep emotion, weaves beautiful imagery, shares eclectic points of view, all the while being a strong voice for women. For me personally, this collection showed the different ways the world may see women and allowed women to give all the haters, judges and masogynists the finger. Thank you Laura A. Lord!!”
– Deanna Herrmann, Amazon
Five Stars!
“To quote the description:
“History of a Woman is a collection of vignettes and poetry that focuses on the aspects of “His”tory. Told from the female perspective, it challenges social and gender roles, relationships, political aspects, and love.”
I’ve always enjoyed Laura’s blog which is why I sought her out for this book review. I wanted more of her writing and she didn’t disappoint. Reading this book felt as if I was given a glimpse into the lives of so many different woman, all facing different and difficult life situations; real situations. You know, the hard stuff, not the rainbows and sunshine that really only happens in the movies. This book made the feminist inside of me jump up full of elation, screaming “YES!”. In the very same moment, it made my soul weep from the situations I could empathize with , to others I could only feel sympathy for, but know that they sadly exist.”
– Tipsy Lit, Goodreads
Another Great Collection of Laura’s Work
“Great poems and flash fiction by Laura Lord. I love her work. She speaks clearly, evoking raw emotions of a woman who wants her own damn superhero cape. She’s my super heroine. She’s one talented author.”
– Kitt OMalley, Amazon
Laura A. Lord 