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Novels by Mary Marcus
New on the Blog
Read More, Watch Less!
I received this email from my friend in England. Diana Francis an international Mediator for Peace and author of the book, People Peace and Power. If all of us were more like Diana, not only would the world be a better place, we would be surely happier, healthier and more sane. And we’d have a different leader of the free world. Read Diana’s book—essential for this crazy time! In fact, let’s all read more, and watch TV less. Our frenzy for the screen got us into this mess in the first place. At least that’s my small opinion. I wrote more of Diana’s wisdom into a blog post about Memorial Day this year. Find it here, “Memorial Day.” Just to say that we are thinking of you, Mary. It must feel as if the sky has fallen. It feels pretty awful here, so it’s hard to imagine how terrible it is for you. However, more of you didn’t want this outcome, so all is not lost. I hope it will augment the energy to take things in a more humane direction. With love from Nico and me, Diana. ...The V Word
There’s a new huge billboard on Westwood Blvd that went up recently. It’s that discreet color of pink with a curly script font that always signals female: the pink of the baby girl bow, the pink of the breast cancer awareness bow, the pink of a tutu, the pink of a rose and so forth. The only other demonstrably pink item of clothing I can think of that is not strictly female is the pink of the Wasp-y golf shirt, or Brooks Brothers oxford cloth. What could be Wasp-ier than a blond man in a pink shirt with wire rims and suspenders? A blond man in a pink alligator shirt wielding a golf club? The billboard, which interestingly enough replaced the one that had a running tally of how many people were currently dying of cigarette related illnesses is in a very central and I’m guessing expensive spot, on the southeast corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevards. I pass it several times a week when I’m driving home at 6 from yoga. The pink sign is an advertisement for a procedure that is meant to renew the vagina. Ugh, there I’ve said it, the dread word. And there’s a website too. www.divedown.com I just did a search and came up with a vibrator, some kegel exercises but nothing about the procedure or any information about the doctor that is paying for that huge billboard. Probably the billboard will go down soon. The billboard will go down, but I’ll still be thinking from time to time why the V word is so hard for me to say. I don’t...A Few Thoughts On Domination
Like millions of other females this past week, I too have been remembering the times when I was afraid for my life, for my body, for my ego and psyche. For me, I was bred to it, starting with my father, and ending with the last time I felt in peril for my life: in India, at a fancy resort, when I thought I was completely safe and then momentarily fell prey to a stalker. (Gentle reader, I can run and I escaped!) I counted twenty times, not counting the incestuous encounters for which I have no actual memory, just a dark ooze spreading over my spirit and body. And yet, the encounter that resonates for me, is the one that sounds most like Donald Trump and happened at my Sunday School and was delivered by the Rabbi. I was walking down the long hallway of B’nai Zion Temple in Shreveport, Louisiana, with my buddy Cathy, a blond girl with cherubic features. I was tall for my age, dark haired and as always skinny: I probably looked a bit like Anne Frank. Our rabbi appeared from behind the coat closet on the side of the chapel. “Hello, Rabbi,” we said in unison, Cathy and I. “Hello beautiful,” the holy man said to Cathy. And she repeated “Hello, Rabbi.” And then he looked at me and said, “Hello, less beautiful.” I knew it was true. I’m sure Cathy knew it was true. But still, what a thing to say to an eleven-year-old girl, one who had recently lost her father. Not that the man of the cloth knew that losing...
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