bluestockings: the bookstore

The room is hot. And crowded. And very full of masculine women.

Rows of chairs have been neatly set up, most of which are already full. Only a few empty seats remain. Thanks to the small dimensions of the room, the audience looks much larger than it actually is. Bodies are packed in neat rows, draped in all kinds of interesting clothing. Many of the people sport interesting style combinations, such as sun dresses that reveal tattooed backs, lumberjack flannel mixed with short haircuts and floaty skirts with combat boots. Several members of the audience have a grungy, crunchy look to them, a sort of revival of the unwashed hippie era.

Only a handful of men are in the room. They sit quietly, probably afraid to open their mouths. The scattering of males have all come with female companions, and most have the artful look of someone who is gay. I'm pretty sure that the only straight men in the room are the two who are with my group of friends. Everyone else is positively gay, gay, gay. Not surprising, then, that one of the men present turned out to be transgendered "since 1989", a woman in a previous incarnation.

I've come to the famous Bluestockings Bookstore to hear a friend read her poetry and prose at an open mic night. She is the featured reader, following a slew of semi-awful to dreadful poetry. Women with names like 'Gala' and 'Sophia' take control of the microphone for eight minutes at a time, sharing their voices with the world -- or, at the very least, with those present.

A girl from Montreal recites her original piece while singing. Another speaks so quietly in her British accent that I can barely understand what she's saying. One young woman insists on using the 'f word' every other line. Jokes are exchanged about 'butches' and 'fems' and I find myself not laughing at all. I don't get it. This is so not my world.

But I'm here anyway, being a good person and supporting a nice friend. She reads well, her prose and poetry well written and interesting to hear. The pieces are nicely chosen and the audience listens closely. I'm happy for her, and applaud loudly when she's finished. "Superstar!" I tell her, patting her on the back. I feel like a mother hen.

The other featured writer is a professor from Smith College. She reads a short story entitled 'The Knife Lady.' It seems a normal enough tale, until about half way through when I realize the story is about discovering one's true sexuality. I listen with interest as the storyline progresses. I'm not entirely comfortable sitting here and listening to it, but it's certainly a new experience.

After the reading is over, my companions and I quickly leave. We share jokes over dessert at the vegan cafe next door about manly women and feminine men. It's not that we have a problem with living alternative lifestyles -- it's just that it isn't for us.

After clearing the air with a few laughs, we discuss the contents of the bookstore. All sorts of fascinating titles on political theory, feminism, alternative history and gay and lesbian lifestyles fill the place. I'm sure it's the type of business that carries Noam Chomsky and the like. My interest is sparked. I have to go back to this bookstore at some point and browse around. Who knows what I could find?

Bluestockings is, after all, one of the more famous bookstores in Manhattan. It has a legendary underground status. Entering it is a little like approaching a cult like mecca for radical liberals. Everyone is so far left they're practically apolitical.

More information about the bookstore can be had by visiting their website at http://www.bluestockings.com. Going on an open mic night can be quite an experience, especially if there is a good featured author.