What do you think?
Rate this book
GUSH: menstrual manifestos for our times
In GUSH, more than 100 women and nonbinary writers from Canada and around the world take apart the bloody instruction of menstruation: its cultures, its lessons, its equipment, and its lexicon. Co-edited by Rosanna Deerchild, Ariel Gordon, and Tanis MacDonald, GUSH offers menstrual manifestos for our time that question the cultural value and social language of monthly blood loss, with rage, humour, ferocity, and grief, and propose that the ‘menstrual moment’ is as individualized, subjective, personal, political, and vital as the ‘feminist click’. With work from emerging and established writers in poetry, cartoons, flash fiction, personal essays, lyric confessions, and experimental forms, this anthology features the voices of Indigenous writers, writers of colour, writers with disabilities, rural writers and urban writers, representing four generations of menstruators: writers who call down their bloodiest muses. Including work by Yvette Nolan, Mini Aodla Freeman, Sheri-D Wilson, Sonnet L’Abbe, Pamela Mordecai, Susan Holbrook, and many more.
Paperback
Published January 1, 2018
About the author
Tanis MacDonald
19 books16 followersTanis MacDonald is the author of two books of poetry: Fortune (2003) and Holding Ground (2000), and is the winner of the 2003 Bliss Carman Poetry Prize. She has published articles on the poetry of P.K. Page, Lorna Crozier, and Anne Carson. She teaches English at Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo, Ontario.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
December 19, 2019
Reviewed on prairiefire.ca Reviewed by Carolyn Creed
“I’ll tell you frankly, it’s good to be a Crone, and to use my Crone-honed research abilities to investigate a menstrual myth or two.”
Tanis MacDonald, “Bloody, Bold and Resolute”
If ever a book flaunted its message, Deerchild’s, Gordon’s and MacDonald’s did, does, and will. Even the covers of Gush take on the hues and tones of the blots, blooms and clots featured within the collection of stories, poems, graphic art and creative non-fiction. Fortunately for readers who pursue the subject matter within the covers, menstruation-based writings turn out to be as absorbing as the feminine products examined comically or dramatically in these pages are not. Much hilarity may be found in the near-countless failures of such products to provide safe and comfortable sanitary aid—but that aspect of the monthly undertaking experienced by fertile women counts as just a small part of an eclectic whole. Difficult to put down most of the time (and occasionally difficult to pick up, after particularly graphic descriptions of uses for menstrual blood), the book takes every aspect of women’s monthlies as worthy of attention—and so defies the patriarchal enforcement of silence on the subject. Our liberalized cultural imperative of inclusion for the previously outcast or unmentionable means menstruation may be named as a fact of life for half the human race, in a way that does not demean those for whom it is inevitable.
The word “squinchy,” used recently in Cawthorne and Morin’s introduction to Writing Menopause, deserves pride of position in any discussion of this work, however. There is plenty to make a reader squirm and flinch over it, here, yet powering through the uncomfortable pays off handsomely. Comic potential abounds: plays on words that relate to menstruation are impossible to resist, a fact to which Lorrie Nelson Glenn attests in “Ten Bloody Pieces of Advice”, a tour de force of unapologetic comments on “Membership in the Red Sisterhood” (91). The euphemisms for menstruation in Catherine Graham’s “It Begins When You’re Not Looking and Stops When You Are” can send a reader into paroxysms of laughter—following “The Red Baron” on her list with “experiencing technical difficulties” really drives the point home (128). Even more remarkable is Susan Holbrook’s “Insert,” which substitutes the standard terms for tampon use with vaguely homophonic but semantically different terms: “1. After washing your hams, take the produce out of the rapture” (205). Situational humour also generates laughs, since where a girl or woman finds herself when the leaks occur can be supremely compromising: there is “Horror on the Basketball Court”, involving the accidental drop of a hidden period pad where boys and men can see it. And then there is the poetic rendering in Ali Barnett’s “Paid to Bleed”, of an arrangement that sees the speaker exchanging used tampons for money—with a yearning for the exchange when it stops (metaphorically connected to an accidental first insertion of tampon-with-applicator, differently uncomfortable).
The universality of the experience comes at the reader with stories from India and China, each revealing conventions that girls face as they become women. JoAnn Dionne’s non-fiction piece, “The Accident”, demonstrates the methodical approach taken by Chinese officials in acknowledging girls’ new concerns once they have reached menarche. Likewise, Revati Upadhya makes observations in “Red Alert” on the difficulty of access to proper hygiene for poorer women of India, emphasizing the society-generated despair that each woman feels when she is unable to get clean at her time of the month. By contrast to a culture that shames women for their natural bodies, the stories from Indigenous cultures in North America detail the respectful treatment of women whose “moon time” (Deerchild) leads to respectful treatment by society: while separated from others, as Roxanne Shuttleworth shows us in“Life Givers”, menstruating women are able to concentrate on themselves and their own bodies, celebrating the force within them. And though not all customs are followed the same way from community to community, as Sadie Phoenix-Lavoie remarks in “Moon Teachings”, the attitudes held by First Nations societies are generally much more accepting and positive in regard to the fact of women’s monthly cycles. Having too much power within themselves as they bleed, women are sequestered so that they may explore their strengths, instead of treating these inner processes as weakness. The editors take care to include historical and contemporary attitudes in their collection, and the lasting effect on the reader is an impression of infinite possibilities in the actions and reactions women bring to their periods.
The wider community’s part in the picture (that is, where men figure in all this blood-talk) is not ignored, nor is it roundly criticized. Non-binary contributions to the anthology and appearances within stories and poems are few but significant, as transgender and sensitive souls, rather than knee-jerk reactors, have a chance to claim their positions in relation to the unfolding drama of the monthly shedding of the uterine lining. Especially moving are depictions of husbands suffering alongside wives as menstrual periods lead to pain or a sense of loss: in Nora Gould’s poem, “Some Nights He Breathed Up All the Air,” the inadequacy of Charl’s efforts to help mean that “[n]o matter how tender he is, and his touch is always gentle, even/ now I am a dark bruise” (190). What emerges is the variability of the experience, beyond its common ground.
As Tanis MacDonald’s introduction declares, the role of Crone, beyond a point where menstrual woes can afflict a woman directly, positions the writer at a distance from the vast fact of the monthly (if regular) or random, intermittent, thrice-yearly phenomenon. It does not remove empathy for women in the throes of bloody sloughing, however. As Erin Moure’s poem “Gorgeous” says, “Blood flow, gorging the ventricles, the chambers with their small colours,/ that colour, pain’s orange” (331) unites all of us who yielded to what could not be avoided.
“I’ll tell you frankly, it’s good to be a Crone, and to use my Crone-honed research abilities to investigate a menstrual myth or two.”
Tanis MacDonald, “Bloody, Bold and Resolute”
If ever a book flaunted its message, Deerchild’s, Gordon’s and MacDonald’s did, does, and will. Even the covers of Gush take on the hues and tones of the blots, blooms and clots featured within the collection of stories, poems, graphic art and creative non-fiction. Fortunately for readers who pursue the subject matter within the covers, menstruation-based writings turn out to be as absorbing as the feminine products examined comically or dramatically in these pages are not. Much hilarity may be found in the near-countless failures of such products to provide safe and comfortable sanitary aid—but that aspect of the monthly undertaking experienced by fertile women counts as just a small part of an eclectic whole. Difficult to put down most of the time (and occasionally difficult to pick up, after particularly graphic descriptions of uses for menstrual blood), the book takes every aspect of women’s monthlies as worthy of attention—and so defies the patriarchal enforcement of silence on the subject. Our liberalized cultural imperative of inclusion for the previously outcast or unmentionable means menstruation may be named as a fact of life for half the human race, in a way that does not demean those for whom it is inevitable.
The word “squinchy,” used recently in Cawthorne and Morin’s introduction to Writing Menopause, deserves pride of position in any discussion of this work, however. There is plenty to make a reader squirm and flinch over it, here, yet powering through the uncomfortable pays off handsomely. Comic potential abounds: plays on words that relate to menstruation are impossible to resist, a fact to which Lorrie Nelson Glenn attests in “Ten Bloody Pieces of Advice”, a tour de force of unapologetic comments on “Membership in the Red Sisterhood” (91). The euphemisms for menstruation in Catherine Graham’s “It Begins When You’re Not Looking and Stops When You Are” can send a reader into paroxysms of laughter—following “The Red Baron” on her list with “experiencing technical difficulties” really drives the point home (128). Even more remarkable is Susan Holbrook’s “Insert,” which substitutes the standard terms for tampon use with vaguely homophonic but semantically different terms: “1. After washing your hams, take the produce out of the rapture” (205). Situational humour also generates laughs, since where a girl or woman finds herself when the leaks occur can be supremely compromising: there is “Horror on the Basketball Court”, involving the accidental drop of a hidden period pad where boys and men can see it. And then there is the poetic rendering in Ali Barnett’s “Paid to Bleed”, of an arrangement that sees the speaker exchanging used tampons for money—with a yearning for the exchange when it stops (metaphorically connected to an accidental first insertion of tampon-with-applicator, differently uncomfortable).
The universality of the experience comes at the reader with stories from India and China, each revealing conventions that girls face as they become women. JoAnn Dionne’s non-fiction piece, “The Accident”, demonstrates the methodical approach taken by Chinese officials in acknowledging girls’ new concerns once they have reached menarche. Likewise, Revati Upadhya makes observations in “Red Alert” on the difficulty of access to proper hygiene for poorer women of India, emphasizing the society-generated despair that each woman feels when she is unable to get clean at her time of the month. By contrast to a culture that shames women for their natural bodies, the stories from Indigenous cultures in North America detail the respectful treatment of women whose “moon time” (Deerchild) leads to respectful treatment by society: while separated from others, as Roxanne Shuttleworth shows us in“Life Givers”, menstruating women are able to concentrate on themselves and their own bodies, celebrating the force within them. And though not all customs are followed the same way from community to community, as Sadie Phoenix-Lavoie remarks in “Moon Teachings”, the attitudes held by First Nations societies are generally much more accepting and positive in regard to the fact of women’s monthly cycles. Having too much power within themselves as they bleed, women are sequestered so that they may explore their strengths, instead of treating these inner processes as weakness. The editors take care to include historical and contemporary attitudes in their collection, and the lasting effect on the reader is an impression of infinite possibilities in the actions and reactions women bring to their periods.
The wider community’s part in the picture (that is, where men figure in all this blood-talk) is not ignored, nor is it roundly criticized. Non-binary contributions to the anthology and appearances within stories and poems are few but significant, as transgender and sensitive souls, rather than knee-jerk reactors, have a chance to claim their positions in relation to the unfolding drama of the monthly shedding of the uterine lining. Especially moving are depictions of husbands suffering alongside wives as menstrual periods lead to pain or a sense of loss: in Nora Gould’s poem, “Some Nights He Breathed Up All the Air,” the inadequacy of Charl’s efforts to help mean that “[n]o matter how tender he is, and his touch is always gentle, even/ now I am a dark bruise” (190). What emerges is the variability of the experience, beyond its common ground.
As Tanis MacDonald’s introduction declares, the role of Crone, beyond a point where menstrual woes can afflict a woman directly, positions the writer at a distance from the vast fact of the monthly (if regular) or random, intermittent, thrice-yearly phenomenon. It does not remove empathy for women in the throes of bloody sloughing, however. As Erin Moure’s poem “Gorgeous” says, “Blood flow, gorging the ventricles, the chambers with their small colours,/ that colour, pain’s orange” (331) unites all of us who yielded to what could not be avoided.
February 7, 2019
This book was my selection for the Book Riot Read Harder Challenge Prompt #9: Read a book published prior to January 1, 2019 with fewer than 100 reviews on Goodreads.
I stumbled across this book at a local bookstore about half a year ago. The premise intrigued me, but I never committed to actually buying the book. However, when I started this challenge I knew this would be the perfect selection.
GUSH in an anthology of poems, personal essays, short stories, and comics that all explore menstruation. Like any anthology there were selections that I loved, and selections that I didn't like as much. I have to admit, I am not one for poetry and a lot of those selections went over my head, but there was still some I enjoyed. I really liked the short stories, especially "Sabbat" by S. M. Beiko, which for me was one of the stand out pieces.
It was so interesting to explore all the different view points. Some things were so relatable it was ridiculous; but what I loved most was exploring different view points I hadn't thought of before, or the traditions and teachings of other cultures regarding this subject. I absolutely love the fact that in this world there is a whole anthology dedicated to menstruation. What a unique collection that says a lot of things that have needed to be said for awhile.
I stumbled across this book at a local bookstore about half a year ago. The premise intrigued me, but I never committed to actually buying the book. However, when I started this challenge I knew this would be the perfect selection.
GUSH in an anthology of poems, personal essays, short stories, and comics that all explore menstruation. Like any anthology there were selections that I loved, and selections that I didn't like as much. I have to admit, I am not one for poetry and a lot of those selections went over my head, but there was still some I enjoyed. I really liked the short stories, especially "Sabbat" by S. M. Beiko, which for me was one of the stand out pieces.
It was so interesting to explore all the different view points. Some things were so relatable it was ridiculous; but what I loved most was exploring different view points I hadn't thought of before, or the traditions and teachings of other cultures regarding this subject. I absolutely love the fact that in this world there is a whole anthology dedicated to menstruation. What a unique collection that says a lot of things that have needed to be said for awhile.
December 26, 2020
Gush supports the reader to feel connected and understood as they experience or reflect on their own cycle. Some pieces were abstract and a challenge for me to follow but that was part of the fun. The variety of writing styles keeps the reader engaged throughout; however, I would have spaced out some of the essays, as they sometimes felt heavy one after another.
I read Gush when I menstruated as a little monthly moon-time treat to myself. I loved it and will gift it to my friends in the future. Highly recommend this Canadian, vagina-loving, bloody read.. it WILL make you feel powerful!
I read Gush when I menstruated as a little monthly moon-time treat to myself. I loved it and will gift it to my friends in the future. Highly recommend this Canadian, vagina-loving, bloody read.. it WILL make you feel powerful!
September 9, 2019
I wanted to like this- I like the idea of it! I'm glad a book like this exists! Unfortunately it just felt very same-same, and although there were a few stand outs, there was also a lot of eye-rolling and I had to set it down only three quarters finished. I'm glad that menstruation is being discussed and our stories shared, but there's only so much poetry about someone's gushing flow I can take. 2.5/5 stars
August 13, 2018
This book was worth the buy just for S.M. Beiko's story Sabbat, which I thought was the standout piece in this collection. Although I enjoyed the book, I found that I couldn't really connect to most of the poems since they tended to be slightly more abstract. The best parts of this anthology were the personal essays and the comics.
April 24, 2019
I liked the stories, memoirs, and comics. Not a fan of poetry in general so only skimmed it.
July 13, 2023
a collection of period themed writing
there were some interesting perspectives and some good poems
there were some interesting perspectives and some good poems
October 4, 2023
7 Tragicomic Books That I Love: https://49thshelf.com/Blog/2023/10/02...
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews