For some reason I went into this thinking it was some sort of feminist manifesto, but it's an anthology of experiences of women of color, told through essays, poetry, biography and only sometimes political manifesto. It focuses particularly on experiences in feminism and those interpreted through feminist ideas but the focus is by no means exclusive. It has some limitations within its remit such as those mentioned in the introduction - eg limited to the US, almost exclusively talks about lesbian sexuality - but does an excellent job of covering a broad spectrum of experiences and voices. A lot of the writing is only a few pages so a lot of people and a lot of different perspectives get covered - even though I disagree with some of the politics etc it's inevitable and interesting and important to see it talked about. Reading about experiences from nearly 35 years ago and their hopes for change is inspiring and sometimes sad. Ultimately I have trouble faulting it, as long as you go in realising it's an anthology of experiences, all of which are emotional and interesting. ( )

Just incredible, obviously. Even when they contradict one another, each piece is just so rich and powerful. Cherríe Moraga's introductions to the sections, especially talking about lesbianism as an orientation towards women and how that made her a feminist, are breath-taking, and Audre Lorde fucks me up every time in the absolute best ways. Some of it maybe might seem dated to people, or the historical context might mean you miss some things (I don't know that the editor's added notes giving that context are honestly all that helpful in this regard,) but regardless, it's absolutely a required read and I want to go out and buy copies of it for every single woman I know. ( )

I never read it during my college feminist days like what I should have, but my pound-my-head-against-the-wall frustration with this "which matters to you, race OR gender, pick one" Democratic primary was making me think that now would be a really good time to read Bridge.

And oh, goodness, was it ever.

The opening essay about 9/11 was amazing, and summed up so much of my frustration-with and horror-of the popular response. I adore Chrystos all to pieces; Luisa Teish talking about what she was doing before she started writing her spirituality books was an eye-opener; hattie gossett made me all kinds of happy; Mitsue Yamada was just yes, THAT; the big section by lesbians of color expressed some of my own frustrations with queer politics and made me keen to find a more recent anthology so I can get more insight into how things have and haven't changed since the early 80s. Plus learning and insight and transformation and grief and trust and anger and passion and oh, oh, oh!

And it gives me so much hope. Life isn't all "or", "or", "or", nor should it be. And if "your" social justice movement -- whatever it should be -- isn't finding a way to sync up with the needs of "other" social justice goals, then your movement isn't what you'd like to tell yourself it is. Oppressions may be different, but they're also interlinked, and not just by mechanism. This doesn't have to be about GroupA fighting GroupB for scraps of whatever-all. It could and should be about GroupA and GroupB carving a joint reality. You don't have to pick one.

And demanding that other people pick one, just because you did/could? No. Fail. Bad pseudo-activist. Go back to Remedial Social Justice 101, don't pass go, don't collect cookies, and don't come back until you can demonstrate basic decency.

I swear, this book felt like my first deep breath in months. That moment when your lungs open up, and the sweet, sweet air comes in, and you realize, Oh. I've been choking off my own breath and I didn't even notice.

...so, um, yeah. Hearty recommendation.

This book is the single most important book in the feminist canon. Read it now. ( )