Joan M. Drury (1945–2020)

Alas, this is the last of Joan Drury's lesbian-feminist mystery trilogy. Where else will I find suspenseful novels filled with radical feminist politics and rest assured that the corpse the protagonist and her dog will inevitably stumble upon will likely be that of a deserving man?

Set on a secluded island off the Pacific coast, the mystery unravels during a college reunion of sorts. Six friends meet up, for the first time in decades, to catch up and tie up loose ends. Finally, after two show more books of vague references to the woman who broke Tyler's heart, we get the scoop on Julie; we also meet some new characters from Tyler's past, rounding out the picture of her years at the University of Minnesota. The women have hardly settled down on the island when Tyler, as she is wont to do, stumbles across a dead body. Questions abound, exposing truths and lies. Is there a murderer in their midst?

As with her other novels, Drury uses her story to reflect on violence against women, exposing men's brutality and its impacts on women. She dabbles into the notable feminist debates of the time — here, the question of prostitution as sexual violence or a choice. You'll also find references to Andrea Dworkin and Kathleen Barry.

I'm glad to have read this book with the context of the previous two; Tyler is a familiar protagonist, and the final novel in the series builds on her past, while fleshing out unexplored aspects of her character. We've seen her in San Francisco, in northeast Minnesota, struggling with sobriety, joking with Mary Sharon, catching up with family members — and, now, reunited with the women she went to school with, it all comes together.

I do have a quibble carrying over from the previous books. Despite her otherwise feminist politics, Drury seems to have a thing for the word "slut"; Aggie the slut, Tyler the slut, and now, Mary Sharon, the "shlut." If it's meant to be a joke (and it is), it's not a very funny one.

In any case, I'm sad to see the series end, and if I'm ever in Minnesota, I will definitely pay Drury's bookstore in Grand Marais a visit. show less

Murder mysteries are not really my style, but I picked this up for the promise of a lesbian feminist protagonist. Plus, the blurb spilled the fact that the murder victim was a man, sealing the deal. (Last thing I need is to spend my free time reading gruesome stories of murdered women.) And The Other Side of Silence ending up being just what I was looking for: a fast-paced story, suspenseful but not so scary I couldn't read it at home by myself, woven with a healthy, lesbian feminist show more consciousness. Set in San Francisco of the early '90s, the book offered a glimpse into the lesbian cultural and political scene of the time (and I appreciate the critical eye the main characters turned to the growing s&m scene). Interspersed with women's personal stories of abuse, the novel offered a resounding rejection of male violence. As far as mysteries go, the final reveal felt a little incomplete, but was nevertheless satisfying. show less

The sequel to [b:The Other Side of Silence|154222|The Other Side of Silence|Joan M. Drury|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1328039541s/154222.jpg|148846] finds protagonist Tyler Jones in her maternal hometown in Minnesota. Urged by her dying mother to "shake the skeletons in the closet," Tyler heads to the family home she's inherited on the shores of Lake Superior. Though far from her native San Francisco, Tyler quickly forms a bond with the rural community she finds. (Best moment—when she show more finally meets Hank and Ellie, an older pair of sisters everyone's been telling her she'll love, and realizes that they're both lesbians: "My god, I thought, have I got a couple of old-time dykes living right next door to me?") Surrounded by newfound friends, Tyler begins to unravel her family's mystery, a historical drama reaching into the present. As with the previous novel, the book doesn't run under the tagline "Feminist Mysteries" because its protagonist is a woman; Drury makes clear the plot's relationship to misogyny and male power. Given that context, I'm not sure why Tyler makes the occasional odd reference to her dog and herself as a "slut" for being friendly / speaking multiple dialects. Kind of jarring moments, tbh. A satisfying read overall, and I'm curious what the final installment in the trilogy has to offer. show less

Four generations of uninhibited and unconventional women (the Jordan "girls") live together in a big old house in a small Minnesota town in Drury's well-intentioned if wandering novel. The narrator is Madelaine Iris Jordan, called Maddie, who is 10 years old in 1962 when the story begins. Maddie's great-grandmother, Iris, called Gummie, is the recently widowed matriarch of the family and a lifelong social activist. As publisher of the local weekly newspaper for 53 years, she promotes show more left-wing causes ranging from early 20th-century women's rights to civil rights in the '60s. Her daughter, Hester, named for Gummie's favorite literary heroine in Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, is known as Gramma. She acquired her self-assurance by becoming a nurse and supporting her daughter, Jane, and herself after being abandoned by her husband early in her marriage. Jane, the third generation female in this socially defiant clan, calculatedly bore Maddie out of wedlock; she wanted a child, but not a husband. Maddie has a prodigious curiosity about the lives of her forebears, and the narrative is knit together out of q&a sessions between Maddie and Gummie. These sessions serve not only to reveal the family history, but also to showcase iconoclast Gummie's commitment to atheism and communism, as well as to justice, friendship and self-assurance. Part social history, part spirited defense of unconventional female behavior, the narrative lacks plot and reads more like a tribute than a novel, but the Jordans' story is warmly told and honestly inspiring. (June)

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