I typically don’t like narration by women, chick lit, or books written by women, for that matter. This, of course, is an entirely opinion-based generalization and nothing if not a debilitating bias when it comes to the task of reviewing three books by female authors. Also, I hate to be wrong (I may have been wrong). Crane, Tilley, and Pflug write stories of love and hate that hardly deserve my dismissal – these are not your mother’s romance novels and effeminate heroines.

Having said that, do not be fooled by the stilettos that grace the cover of Dede Crane’s The Cult of Quick Repair, unless you read the broken heel as emblematic of the kind of heel-breaking-reversals-and-appropriation of female stereotypes the stories present. But that may be a little too cultural studies of me. Crane’s narration is surprisingly direct and unabashedly honest on the difficult or transgressive subjects of abortion, phone sex, and the female orgasm: "Seven? She wonders if Shannon is being facetious […] How much better do they get? And why ice a cake seven times?" Unabashed sexuality is tempered by poetic and cutting satires of the cultural community, in particular the hierarchy and distribution of authority implicit in a dance company’s development of new works, articulating the supposed inverse relationship between art and commercial gain. Crane’s writing is practiced and clear, effortlessly transitioning from playful to critical.

In Skin Room, the debut novel from Sara Tilley, the narrator Teresa’s voice is similarly sharp and unforgiving. The narrative moves between Teresa’s youth and adulthood, juxtaposing Inuit elementary school against the contemporary arts scene in downtown St. John’s. I’m reluctant to call the book a coming-of-age story because that phrase typifies a kind of self-discovery of sexuality thing for women, but this story is the real coming of age story. It’s heartbreaking and sometimes disturbing, but always presented with a deliberate sense of honesty. Because of this, it is a difficult narrative to enter in to – it isn’t as immediately accessible as Crane’s searing wit – however, having read every last page, I can tell you it’s well worth pressing on.

Entirely divergent from both Crane and Tilley is Ursula Pflug’s collection of stories and (what could be called) prose poems, After the Fires. Pflug’s impressive control of language creates a manageable framework for the imaginative content of her stories in which reality is shifted slightly, turned on its axis. Characters confront the impossibility of true communication with another person as their various relationships are mediated or perhaps enabled by letter-writing, drugs, and parallel worlds. The highly visual and often abstract prose makes for an uneasy reading experience in which the narrative begins to interrogate the reader’s perception of reality. This is the kind of reading that requires a little, god forbid, work – it forces thought and reconsideration and discomfort in a great way. It’s often the case that writing that seems difficult or challenging on a formal level manages to best articulate the complexities of human life, and Pflug’s collection is no exception.

As it turns out, these women write stories that I like. Their prose all exhibits a degree of maturity and wisdom that tempers the narratives of women’s perception of the world and the social relationships that maintain it to create books that tread the boundary between heartfelt and critical. Though the stories are all approached from different phases of life – youth, twentysomethings, and parents alike – and range from traditional short story form to that of prose poetry, themes of alienation and self-discovery resonate in all.