The beauty of this book is portioned out equally between the skill and dexterity of Hewitt and that of her subjects. Not only does Hewitt walk with ease across the tightrope of autobiography, her entire book is, as a whole, a perfectly balanced affair. It includes the distinct, prismatic effects of each of her selected modern French female autobiographers as she shines a new light on autobiography--but it also includes how each of the autobiographers' lights reflect upon and and influence one another. The book is balanced, as well, in the experiences of the French writers, themselves; Hewitt listens and gives her attention to a wide variety of French females. feminists, anti-feminists, being French in a foreign land, being Foreign in a French land, being lesbian, heterosexual, anti-gender, a black writer, a white writer--Hewitt values the distinct spice each experience adds to the overall genre of autobiography. Although this variety makes Hewitt's book seem to be a superficial sampler of modern feminine French autobiography, nothing can be further from the truth. With concise, yet exciting language, Hewitt sometimes digs so deeply into the experiences of her subjects and how they are novel and unique, this reviewer literally had an urge to go out immediately to the library and spend the rest of her life studying autobiography. This is not to say that Hewitt's book is flawless; no book is. In order to generate her great balance, Hewitt appears to stretch the genre of autobiography too far in order to fit her specifications. In searching for non-white, non-traditionally-gendered and foreign French voices, she included the work of Maryse Conde and Monique Wittig, skilled writers, but unfortunately for Hewitt, not autobiographers. Hewitt breaches the integral attraction/repulsion of autobiography in confusing what are clearly fictions with self-references, and the autobiographical genre. Although there is no clear-cut definition of autobiography, the easiest and most efficient way to discover what is and isn't autobiography is to ask the writer. In these cases, the works of the authors are certainly self-referential, but they are clearly not autobiography. Hewitt addresses these concerns, true, but her justifications for their inclusion in a book about autobiography are not ultimately satisfying. Yet, this book is a gem, filled with fresh insights into the work of the writers she studies and very interesting hypotheses. It is a fairly easy read, clearly digestible for the non-academic, and the readers' knowledge of Hewitt's subjects is not necessary to understand and appreciate this impressive book.

This book is not an easy read, either content-wise or stylistically, but it is one of the most satisfying books I have read. Monique Witting is a radical feminist who believes that langugae itself must be reinvented to better serve the experience of women, and this book is her attempt to do so. She describes in painful, clinical detail the bonding of two women lovers---their very viscera entwining and disentangling as the relationship ebbs and flows. It is remarkable how we all use phrases like "we were totally bonded" without thinking--this book examines such concepts on a literal(and often unpleasant) level. It is difficult to find, but worth getting for anyone interested in extremely radical notions of language and also in truly deep exploration of the extremities of love.

Through a series of dazzling prose poems, Wittig tells the tale of a tribe of women warriors overthrowing patriarchy, and she challenges gender constructs through her language. It's a powerful and inspirational book about sex warfare, rather like "The Handmaid's Tale" or some songs by Tori Amos. A definite radical feminist classic worth reading and re-reading.

I ordered this book Feb. 12th and it was in my mailbox on Feb. 15th. The book is in great condition.

This book is interesting, and perhaps groundbreaking. Unlike the previous reviewer, however, I'm not sure I'd want to call this original feminist text "seminal."

Monique Wittig composed this as a parody of Dante's "Divine Comedy", with Purgatory and Hell as parts of San Francisco. The main character is a lesbian called Wittig, who follows her guide Manastabal through purgatory and witnesses atrocities done to women by men. Lesbians are viewed as monstrous and other, and apparently have their own place here in Hell. It's a fascinating and vivid depiction, and certainly reflects Monique Wittig's body of work perfectly. At the end the character Wittig crosses the Golden Gate Bridge and finds herself in paradise, surrounded by the women she has been able to save.