The Circus
by Julia Vinograd
Thorp Springs Press, 1974
As a teenager, I’d take the bus to a now-defunct feminist bookstore called Broad Vocabulary. A couple treasures from those mid-2000s trips survive, including
Julia Vinograd’s The Circus published by Thorp Springs Press in Berkeley in 1974.
What a portal into early 70s California youth culture. Discussions of coffee houses, tourists, wine, cocaine, the FBI, guitar strings, hitchhiking, and the like abound.
Now that I’m thirty, I’ve outgrown some of the themes that originally drew me in: parents asking the speaker “What are you doing in Berkeley?” and lines that don’t land like “2 breasts tell an arm they want some acid.” What still compels is the energy of a youthful (and deeply cynical) speaker enchanted by the possibilities of the city and her own intellect. There are also mystical, surreal images like a hamburger “floating three feet above the ground” or “a jeweled knife,/a full balloon,/an embroidered belt.”
You needn’t time-travel to find a coffee-charged discussion about politics and art. But in this time of social distancing, what writer Samuel Delaney calls “contact,” the magic that blooms when strangers converse in the city, is rare.