Showing results for "Femme" in Literature & Fiction

What feminine part of yourself did you have to destroy in order to survive in this world? At what point does femininity become synonymous with apology? Who hurt the people who hurt you? Let's figure it out. Femme in Public (2017) is the debut poetry collection by transfeminine writer Alok Vaid-Menon including work from 2014-2017. It is a meditation on anti-trans harassment, a ceremony for loss and grief, and an imagining of what could be if we weren’t taught to fear the very things that have the potential to set us free.

By Cecile depicts post-World War II France as it reels from war and recovery. In Paris, an orphan girl, Cecile, finds refuge with an older man. He introduces her to nightclubs, intellectuals, artists (Jean Cocteau, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Eartha Kitt!), and non-monogamy. When she falls for his mistress, she begins to live a life she deems worthy of writing about...but only under the pseudonym of her husband.

Originally published in 1950, this account of life among female Free French soldiers in a London barracks during World War II sold four million copies in the United States alone and many more millions worldwide. The novel is based on the real-life experiences of the author, Tereska Torres, who escaped from occupied France. She arrived as a refugee in London and joined other exiles enlisting in Charles de Gaulle’s army, then stationed in Britain awaiting an invasion of their homeland by Allied forces. But Women’s Barracks is no ordinary war story....

"Je trouvai aimables la couleur sourde et rouge des lumières voilées, la blanche flamme en amande des lampes à opium, l'une toute proche de moi, les deux autres perdues comme des follets, au loin, dans une sorte d'alcôve ménagée sous la galerie à balustres. Une jeune tête se pencha au-dessus de cette balustrade, reçut le rayon rouge des lanternes suspendues, une manche blanche flotta et disparut avant que je pusse deviner si la tête, les cheveux dorés collés comme des cheveux de noyée, le bras vêtu de soie blanche appartenaient à une femme ou à un homme."
C.

"C'est en explorant les petits villages de Gironde que j'ai rencontré celle que j'allais nommer Marie Salat. En fouillant dans les cartons d'un libraire brocanteur d'un hameau perdu, je suis tombée sur des cartes postales qui lui étaient adressées. À mesure de ma lecture, une émotion et une gêne profonde m'envahissaient : je surprenais des lettres d'amour d'une femme à une autre femme, et quel amour ! Le lendemain, je me suis précipitée chez le brocanteur."