Top 50 books by Women Writers


Photo by LadyHawk

1. The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir
2. The Women’s Room by Marilyn French
3. The Yellow Wallpaper and Other Stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
4. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
5. The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
6. them by Joyce Carol Oates
7. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
8. Beloved by Toni Morrison
9. Oranges are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson
10. Forever by Judy Blume
11. The Madcap of the School by Angela Brazil
12. The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall
13. Delta of Venus by Anais Nin
14. Blood and Guts in High School by Kathy Acker
15. Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center by bell hooks
16. The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean Auel
17. Push by Sapphire
18. Bring up the Bodies by Hilary Mantel
19. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein
20. South Riding by Winifred Holtby
21. Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy
22. The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver by Edna St. Vincent Millay
23. The Other Boleyn Girl by Phillipa Gregory
24. The Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan
25. Fear of Flying by Erica Jong
26. We Need to Talk about Kevin by Lionel Shriver
27. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
28. The Dialectic of Sex by Shulamith Firestone
29. White Teeth by Zadie Smith
30. The Secret History by Donna Tartt
31. Gigi by Colette
32. A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor
33. The Awakening by Kate Chopin
34. Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice
35. On Lies, Secrets & Silence by Adrienne Rich
36. The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 ¾ by Sue Townsend
37. The Story of Tracy Beaker by Jacqueline Wilson
38. The Persistent Desire: A Femme-Butch Reader by Joan Nestle
39. Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
40. Live or Die by Anne Sexton
41. The Naughtiest Girl in the School by Enid Blyton
42. Suite Francaise by Irène Némirovsky
43. The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
44. Enough Rope by Dorothy Parker
45. The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
46. The Progress of Love by Alice Munro
47. The Disposessed by Ursula K. Le Guin
48. The Story of O by Pauline Réage
49. SCUM Manifesto by Valerie Solanas
50. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

“The Corsage of Courage” by M.C. Lubow

It’s been a while since I wore a corsage.
How I loved the special feeling
that someone thought to honor me
with fragrant flowers.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my courage
in a corsage on my chest.

I confront myself. I search within,
for multicolored petals of strength,
to face a Goliath, whose passion for deprivation,
seeks to conquer all my personal territory,
every inch of me.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my corsage
of courage on my chest.

Shall I surrender yet again,
lacking resolve to stand on my own?
I enter my own garden at the home
I still love, because it is my shelter.
I diagramed all the sprinklers’ spray, observed
where holy water should be conserved.
I fired the gardener last week. He didn’t listen.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my courage
in a corsage on my chest.

Am I listening to my own heartbeat,
or that of Goliath?
I tried to synchronize our rhythms
on Sunday,
but our breaths fall at different rates.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my corsage
of courage on my chest.

M.C. Lubow

© 2010

“Dog Days…or How I Spent My Summer Vacation” by Julie Dolcemaschio

The dog sat cross-legged on a park bench
While Jezebel smoked a fag part way down
She flicked the three-quarters-white stick in the
direction of the dog
Who caught it and smoked it the rest of the way
waxing philosophic as dogs are wont to do

‘T’was the way of it, then, eh?’ he said
thinking he was Irish and settled
Tufts of hair, both white and dark
Stuck straight up on a head that sported a
Shar Pei meets Homer Simpson face
if you get my drift

His body, elongated and hairless
And at the end stood a tail fanned out and up,
like a giant park fountain, he was an ugly cuss
a sad sack, and retched so-and-so…
yet his words, while vague, lingered on the ear
like a Barrymore song, except on key

Julie Dolcemaschio

(Julie’s book “TESTAROSSA” soon to be released with KRILL PRESS)

Photo by VC Ferry

© 2010

“Moon Psychle” by Nicole Rigets

In bed, getting to sleep last night and I have a pad attack:

I write in the dark, moon bright reflected by waves light:

I’m going into a trance,

a middle of the night dance.

The wind braiding the air,

zig zagging it


my bare skin

Ruffling my hair

and tousling the covers.

The water balooshing




Oh my Gosh! slosh!

Soaking the seawalkers

with little remorse.

Yes, I know she’s dead but let me phone

her old number and see if she answers.

Pic & Poem by Nicole Rigets

All Rights Reserved

© 2010

“Dark Arms” by Margie Louise Goodspeed

What are you doing you complete and utter ass?
It was a comedy dressed up like a tragedy.
It was too slow, that was all.
All that metal on the outside of brick buildings—
Not good in earthquake country.

We passed the time bomb from kid to kid in
a circle on the front lawn.
It was a corner lot.
Good for cutting across. Brass.
Shout it until the strings take it
away. The red-haired child will
press the pedal of her bike and I will

If I had a rock the melody would
tingle under my
skin and how could I
ever predict that?
If in the deep of just below the surface
there is a way to be and the breath is
not important and the holding is
less important, then
floating with intent
I’ll wait out the tribal
cutting limbs of what
could be
away o
in the dark arms away
to there on a line of
sound played with
intent and care it is
nothing really to endure but
must be endured lest I be eaten and
there’s the meat of it
better to waddle in place and
be the thing I fear for then I know where
it is and there is no dark but the
dark that resides in me and if it’s there I can
hold it
at bay
and be full up when
more comes
from the outside.

Yet still,
this voice pierces
pitched to a perfect
southern baritone while
in the basement I’ll be
beside the projector, smoking.

Margie Louise Goodspeed

All Rights Reserved

© 2010

“Unbridled Fear Of Nothing” by Jacquelyn Gail

How many ways
can betrayal hiss into my dreams.
Unbridled fear sits
on the throne of my heart.

Where strength once resided,
the Olympian ruins
of the fleeting gods remain.
Jealousy, panic, rage, vengence,
demand their due.
Fear was caught
in the labyrinth
of my own undoing.
I cement into time.
Intimidation slapping me down
while I skip along the edge of the moon
oblivious to fear’s razor sharp blade
jabbing every which way
indifferent to my pooling blood.

My stomach unravels to the
drip of my own blood.
Pulling on my intestinal ropes
for salvation.
I smack into myself,
again, and again, and again,
while fear burrows deeper still,
a guerilla warrior.

A hit and run, each time.
I petrify into wood
a fossil for viewing
prey for taking
nothing more and nothing less
and nothing of who I am
or want to be.

Jacquelyn Gail

Photo by VC Ferry

© 2010

“The Tormentor” by Angela Cohen

My tormentor has bound me to invisible chains

He likes to say that I am at his mercy

I have to withstand the barrage of his daily verbal abuse

and pretend that I enjoy his company

I long to go home, but he says that he needs a companion—

Someone who can tolerate his dark soul, his unpredictable moods

and his unacceptable behavior

I have begged and pleaded with him to let me go

I’ve promised him riches, but he says none of that matters to him

He is happy to see me suffer

He likes to see me fall into despair

I feel foolish for falling into his trap

Like a helpless insect trapped in an elaborate spider’s web

I slowly drown in fear and utmost sorrow

As he takes my hand and leads me to an eternal inferno

Angela Cohen

Photo by VC Ferry

All Rights Reserved

© 2010

“Mirrors” by Vicky Hamilton

Vicky Hamilton

Beauty begets beauty,
Lies creates lies,
Fear breeds fear,
Faith elevates faith,
Passion initiates passion,
Pure thoughts receive pure thoughts,
Intimacy embraces Intimacy,
Hate makes hate,
Trust equals trust,
Magic evolves magic,
Music repeats music,
Love builds love,
Truth mirrors truth.

When you pick up your mirror,
To take a look,
What reflection of me,
Is looking back at you?

Vicky Hamilton

All Rights Reserved

© 2010