Recently, I received a comment from someone online who said I should be “ashamed” of myself for promoting veganism. Shame!? I thought. What’s up with that comment? I think the person is probably ashamed of his own behavior in eating animals–other sentient beings. But anyone experiencing shame for consuming animal products doesn’t have to continue to do so. They can change. Since almost everyone consumes some vegetables–I’ve come to consider non vegan people as pre-vegans. That way I don’t have to be down on humanity. After all, I changed also–and unfortunately later in life. As a response to the comment, I thought I would post some pictures and a video from the vegan Thanks Living celebration we just attended. It was a truly joyous celebration.
For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:
In honor of the I Heart SapphFiction website featuring my novel The Unicorn, The Mystery (Adelaide Books) in the nonbinary category of the reading challenge, I am posting this section which has never been published before, which is written from the point of view from the monk living in the abbey in the 1500s. First, I have included the information from the back of the book, to provide context.
You can view the post below on You Tube or read it below.
“In The Unicorn, The Mystery, we meet a unicorn who tells us the story of the seven tapestries, called “The Hunt of the Unicorn” from the 1500s on display in “the unicorn room” in The Cloister in Manhattan, now part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The tapestries tell the story of what is still called an “unsolved mystery.” The story is set in an abbey in France not far from the barn in the countryside where the tapestries were discovered. Pursued by a band of hunters, the unicorn is led along by observing birds, smelling and eating the abbey flowers and fruits (including imbibing in fermented pomegranates), pursuing chaste maidens (there is one in the tapestry) and at times speaks to other animals such as the majestic stag.
A magical, medieval world through the eyes of a unicorn and the heretical young monk who is enthralled by her is in The Unicorn, The Mystery by Janet Mason. Hunters are out to capture and perhaps kill the unicorn. The monk’s devotion may turn out to be the unicorn’s rescue or downfall. Like a beautiful tapestry, the novel weaves together theological debate and unforgettable characters, including queer nuns and their secret cat companion. Mason blends myth and history to conjure up a spellbinding vision.” – Kittredge Cherry, Publisher, Qspirit.net, Author of “Jesus in Love: A Novel”
“In her latest novel, The Unicorn, the Mystery, Janet Mason weaves a fascinating tale told from the alternating perspectives of a unicorn and a monk. With the gorgeous and magical Unicorn Tapestries at the Cloisters in New York as a conduit, Janet Mason unfolds her story with lyricism, poetry, philosophy, and a profound spiritual consciousness.” – Maria Fama, Poet and Educator, author of The Good for the Good, Other Nations: an animal journal, and other books.
“The Unicorn, The Mystery has all the big ideas — passion, redemption, guilt, loneliness, empathy, pride, destiny, humility, lust, and love — told in simple, down-to-earth language. The unicorn’s story will resonate with me for a long time.” – Louis Greenstein, author, The Song of Life
(Chapter Eighteen)
‘“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and God was the Word.’”
I studied the Greek words in the Bible that I had placed on the olden wooden desk before me — lingering over the word logos. The page was old and brittle so I traced my index finger in the air over the long lines of the lambda, the circle of the omicron, the crevice of the gamma, the roundness of the second omicron and the plural sigma at the end that looked like a curved snake with its head below the bottom line.
There was a long narrow gold and blue “J” travelling the length of the page on the left-hand side of the page. It looked like a spear but on closer inspection, I could see that it was an elongated and elaborate letter. This was the first page of the Gospel of John in The New Testament.
I felt my eyes widen as I thought about the fact that I just happened to flip open to this page. I had long had a love of language, reading and writing. The Bible fell open to the perfect page for me. I took it as a sign. This was a special Bible. It was in Greek rather than the Latin Bibles that the priests used in the abbey. This Bible looked old and valuable.
I had found it in the back of the shelf hidden away behind the more modern books. I wondered who had stashed it there and why.
The word for God —Theos —was there too. It was one of the first Greek words that I had memorized. I located the first Theos and traced my finger in the air over the capitalized theta that was narrow and elongated, a large “O” with a horizontal line through it; followed by a small epsilon like the Latin “e” but curved; the omicron, and the plural sigma. As important as this word was, it felt secondary.
Logos seemed to be the most important word. From listening to the Priest, I knew the “Word” was supposed to be Jesus. God sent his only son, Jesus, to earth to spread his teachings. So, the story went. But “word” was the subject of the first clause – so even grammatically it was the main event. The sentence mentioned God — but it did not mention his son, Jesus. That was something the Priest said. Everybody was just supposed to accept it. Why did the Priest have so much power? Why did I want that power?
‘“In beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and God was the Word.’”
Because of the long illuminated initial, I almost thought that the book was a psaltery. But I didn’t think a book of the psalms would also house the canonical gospels.
The book looked elaborate enough to have been used in a coronation. Who had used it?
What had they used it for?
The passage didn’t make me think of Jesus. It seemed to be saying that the written word was sacred – maybe especially that the Greek word was sacred. It was, after all, the most ancient language that I understood — although there must have been others that came before. I shuddered, wondering what secrets the ancient languages would unlock.
For as far back as I could remember, I have always loved stories. I loved the worlds they created, and I loved that those worlds lived in my head. (I also loved my mother’s soft voice, the brush of her lips on my forehead at bedtime before I fell asleep.) When I learned to read and write, I was amazed to see the letters that I wrote forming sounds and then words.
To me, the word was always sacred. The word was how ideas were expressed. The word represented thought. It was the word that drove me to see the world more brightly. The word could change hearts and minds. The word was everything.
I imagined how scholars deciphered languages. Maybe they found the languages that went before the languages they were studying. Perhaps they looked for similar characters and patterns of word endings. Perhaps they discovered how the language flowed by looking at the white space — or the empty beige clay of the tablets at the end of the line. Maybe there was an ancient stone hidden somewhere — that would tell them, for instance, the meaning of the Egyptian hieroglyphs. Maybe someday they would find this key.
Maybe they would tell of sacred creatures who were rarely seen by humans. Maybe these creatures had their own language.
I looked around the library guiltily. If there was anyone there, they might be able to read my heretical thoughts.
I was still thinking of Thomas after seeing him walk down the hall from my teacher’s office yesterday.
I doubted that I would see him — or for that matter Gregory — in the library. Gregory would just have been here last time because he was looking for a secluded place to express his sorrow. And Thomas — if he was romantically involved with Father Matthew — would have no need to come to the library.
They were young men who loved themselves more than musty old books. They certainly didn’t love their sad and weary teacher even if they pretended that they did.
I guessed that most people loved themselves first.
I had myself to look at. I had loved my beloved unicorn — and I betrayed her for my own gain.
I had even come to the library for myself.
When I was learning ancient Greek, I always felt reassured. The language made me think of my mother and the stories she used to tell me.
She didn’t speak Greek, of course. She always spoke in her peasant French. But she told me many of the Greek myths and legends that she had learned from her father. One of my favorite stories was about Jason and the Argonauts searching for their fabled Golden Fleece.
I would close my eyes at bedtime when my mother told me the story of Jason. He learned that to return to his native land and become King, he must first bring back the fleece of the Golden Ram which was located on a far-away island. With the help of the god and goddesses, especially his special goddess, Hera, he chose his crew. They assembled a wooden boat and embarked on the first long-distance ocean voyage. The fleece hung on a tree on the island of Colchis, then on the edge of the known world. The fleece was hung by the son of Helios, the sun god, in a sacred grove, and it was guarded by bulls and a magical dragon who never slept.
To get to the island, the ship — steered by Jason — and rowed by his Argonauts, his crew of sailors, the men had to forge unknown territories of the sea which in included treacherous islands.
Every night, my mother would tell me of their harrowing adventures, that included visiting an island with towering, life-threatening giants. At the very end of the story, before Jason and the Argonauts reached their destination, they had to pass through the clashing rocks that guarded the entrance to the Black Sea. I do not remember the ending — only that Jason did reach his destination and found the Golden Fleece. I imagined that when they were traveling the sea at night they looked up and guided themselves with the constellation of Aries which is Latin for Ram.
My mother did not turn the pages of the book and read to me because there was no book. She didn’t know how to read because it was forbidden for women to be educated. So, she just told me the story from her memory – of how it was told to her.
Many years later when I entered the monastery, the Priest told me that the Golden Fleece represented many things, chief among them the forgiveness of God. He then went on to tell me, with great authority, that “the heroic character of Jason was a re-invention of Jesus.” When I innocently asked how Jason could be a reinvention of Jesus, when the tale of Jason and the Argonauts was written so long ago, the Priest just gave me a blank look.
I gazed at a ray of sun filtering down from a high window in the dusty library and wondered briefly if there was any connection between the Golden Fleece and the Holy Grail. Both were brilliant and gleaming like the sunlight.
I looked down at the Greek New Testament still open on the desk before me. I didn’t know enough Greek to understand all the words on the page — but I did know the Greek word for light: phos. Again, and again, my eyes came back to it. I knew what the lines said because I had studied the Bible in Latin. The lines in the Gospel of John had caught my eye: “‘The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through Him might believe; He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light; That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.’”
I studied the lines of the opening Greek character Phi. It looked like an upside-down pitchfork with curved prongs. This was followed by a lowercase omega — pronounced like the Latin O — and ended in the plural sigma which was a Latin c sitting on the line and lowering to the left in a curving subscript. I said the word softly under my breath: phos.
The word made me think of the brightest light I had ever seen when I was a young monk and had glimpsed my beloved unicorn in the clearing. It seemed like the sun was blazing into the unicorn’s magical horn and her white body. The light behind her was magnified by the stands of white birch trees.
Perhaps we are all creatures of the light.
Like Jason and like the knights of King Arthur’s Round Table — who searched for the Holy Grail — I felt that I, too, had something bright and gleaming in my future.
The Unicorn, The Mystery is available online wherever books are sold, through your local bookstore, and through your local library (just ask the librarian to order the book if they don’t have it).
To learn more about my recently published novel — The Unicorn, The Mystery, click here:
In celebration of my novel The Unicorn, The Mystery being featured on Sapphic Book Bingo, I’m posting this excerpt from the book. The book was inspired by “The Unicorn Tapestries” currently housed at The Cloisters division of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. A unicorn from the Middle Ages is speaking and has come across two lesbian nuns who also live in The Cloisters.
Chapter Thirty
I was captured because I was entranced by a patch of English daisies. The petals were tinged with pink and there was a yellow center. There was a patch of the flowers near the place in the abbey where the silent women lived.
I was just about to approach the path, when I heard voices.
“Oh, look — a patch of Mary flowers,” said a woman.
“Shhhh. We’re not allowed to speak,” said a lower female voice.
“What does it matter, the Mother Superior is not here,” said the first woman.
I quickly hid behind a medlar bush. I suspected that these women were the ones I had left behind a short while ago. They must have finished their loving and were wandering around like me, looking at flowers.
“But we have been gone so long, that she might come looking for us and hear us,” replied the one with the lower voice.
“Maybe, the Mother Superior will think that she is delusional and hearing voices. Maybe she will think that she hears the voice of God and that She is female…” The woman with the higher voice paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t say that to you. Surely you think me blasphemous.”
She was met by silence. Finally, the woman with the lower voice spoke:
“Actually, I think you may be on to something. Maybe God is a woman. How are we to know?”
Now, it was the other woman’s turn to be silent.
Then she spoke:
“Yes, you are right, my beloved. How are we to know? Certainly, the church fathers would cover it up if God was a woman. I bet the Mother Superior would cover it up too. If she had the time, I bet she’d wander the abbey too because it is so beautiful and when she found the Mary flower, she would pick its petals slowly, saying ‘He loves me, He loves me not.’ Or maybe she’d be saying, ‘She loves me, She loves me not.’” Then the woman with the higher voice had been speaking. She broke into a titter.
The other one giggled so gruffly that she sounded like she was giggling reluctantly. Then she said, “I never got that impression from her. She’s probably so miserable that she never has any kind of attraction. Seriously, though, we should go back before someone comes looking for us.”
“Ok,” said the first one. “I’ll follow you but then wait a while after I enter the convent. We don’t want anyone to think we’ve been together.”
I waited a long time behind the medlar bush. Then when the coast was clear, I retraced my steps to the English daisy, lowered my head and inhaled the spicy sweet fragrance of the succulent flower. I discovered that there was a trail of English daisies. Intoxicated by the vapors, I followed the flowers.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about politeness. I was at a luncheon, when a woman sitting at my table, said she usually is a vegetarian but eats the local food when she travels out of politeness. She gave the example of drinking a bowel of bull’s blood which she was served in a Latin American country. The table mates (of which my partner and I were half the table) were busy agreeing that that was the most disgusting thing we ever heard of. (I’m sure there are more disgusting things — but at the time and while we were eating…)
At the time I said something positive about how much things have changed now and that there are vegan restaurants all over the globe. This is true, but you do have to look for them. At the time, when I was happily eating my vegan soup and salad, my partner was extolling the benefits of veganism at every opportunity. (Just try to stop her!)
I had a good time at the luncheon, but ever since my thoughts keep ruminating on the word “polite.”
I was definitely more polite before going vegan (to the other human animals, not to the animals that are eaten or to myself). Now after being vegan, going on three years now, I am more compassionate for all sentient beings, but less polite to other human beings in that I am not going along with the crowd in eating animal products.
This leads me to conclude that politeness can cause death.
For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:
I was delighted to learn that my novel Loving Artemis, an Endearing Tale of Revolution, Love, and Marriage (from Thorned Heart Press was one of the winners of Literary Titan’s top books from 2022.
In honor of that and in honor of the important day of service dedicated to Dr. Martin Luther King, I am posting an excerpt from Loving Artemis in which a protagonist in her senior year in high school is at the local public library researching a paper that includes the history of her era. This part of the story takes place in 1977.
Grace nodded. She headed over to the microfilm reader. After an hour, she found the article in the Metro section about Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm from New York’s 12th Congressional District announcing her bid for the presidency. She read the article, copying notes on her index cards, putting the citation on the top. Then she saw a sidebar on the highlights of the civil rights movement. She remembered learning about the Emancipation Proclamation when she was in junior high. It was passed in 1862 when President Lincoln was in office. There was a mention of the 1915 Supreme Court ruling (Guinn v. United States) against the grandfather clauses used against black people to deny them the right to vote. She learned about this last year in social studies. She remembered the teacher talking about Rosa Parks starting the Montgomery Bus Boycott by refusing to give up her seat in 1955, but she hadn’t learned that the U.S. Armed Forces weren’t desegregated until 1954. She remembered seeing a film about the integration of Little Rock Central High School after the U.S. Supreme Court issued its 1954 ruling that segregated schools were unconstitutional in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas. At the time she knew this was important, but she didn’t have the strong feeling that she had now that the rights of all people would open doors for her too. Grace looked down the column and skimmed the paragraph about the Voting Rights Act of 1965, then she read an item about interracial marriage. She didn’t know that it had ever been illegal, and she didn’t know why it had never occurred to her. In 1967, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Loving v. Virginia against states prohibiting interracial marriage. Grace read that Mildred Loving, a black woman, and Richard Loving, a white man, residents of Virginia, brought the case to the U.S. Supreme Court after they each had been sentenced to a year in prison because they had violated state law by marrying. Grace sat back in her wooden library chair and stopped making notes. She was astounded that this had just happened ten years ago. It was true that most of the families who lived in her neighborhood were white. In her section, there were three black families and one East Indian family. The parents were all married to someone of the same race. But when Grace had gone on an overnight class trip to a ski resort several hours away, she had seen the captain of the football team, who was white, and the head cheerleader, who was black, horsing around in the indoor swimming pool. They were practically making out. Everyone knew they were a couple, but no one said anything about it. As captain of the football team and head cheerleader, they were both royalty in the pecking order of high school. Grace leaned forward and went back to taking notes. Then she sat up and scanned the bottom of the column. In 1968, the same year that Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated, Shirley Chisholm became the first black woman elected to congress.
For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:
One of the many joys that I have experienced in being a published author is that I hear from people all over the world that they have read and related strongly to my work. I guess I like making a difference and I like it that my stories are helping others.
Most recently with my novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage (from Thorned Heart Press), I’ve had the good fortune to connect with the German lesbian author Jae who is including my books in several of her book projects including the 2023 Sapphic Book Bingo which you can find more about below.
I’ve noticed that Jae along with many others is bringing back the term Sapphic. Sapphic comes from the poet Sappho who lived on the Isle of Lesbos in ancient Greece. I’ve been to the Isle of Lesbos and at one point in my life was quite obsessed with Sappho.
I was a poet then and Sappho often appeared in my work. After a reading that I gave decades ago a younger lesbian came up to me and said, “Who’s Sappho?”
I told her, of course, but I was silently appalled. Now that the word has come back into common usage, I am delighted.
So I am delighted to be part of the 2023 Sapphic Book Bingo!
I am reposting this talk that I gave to to mark the occasion of Hanukkah.
The talk was a Unitarian Universalist (UU) service that was called “Ringing in the Light.”
I talked about my childhood memories of being touched by Hanukkah and my experiences in celebrating the Winter Solstice and with the Gnostic Gospels. You can see my words below on the YouTube video or read the reflection below that.
As far back as I can remember, the light beckoned.
The sun was a ball of fire in the sky. The light changed into vibrant colors in the morning and the evening. It filtered through the branches of trees. The sunlight had, in fact, shined down and helped to form the trees. So the light was in the trees (along with the rain and the earth).
Even when it was cloudy, I knew the sun was there. Sometimes I could see the ball of sun outlined behind the gray clouds.
The first time I remember being drawn to the light in a religious context was when I was in elementary school watching a play about Hanukkah.
Despite its nearness to Christmas on the calendar, Hanukkah is one of the lesser holidays in Judaism. Hanukkah, also called The Festival of Lights, began last Tuesday at sunset and ends this Wednesday, December, 20th, at nightfall.
When I asked my partner what Hanukkah meant to her, she responded that it is a celebration of survival, hope and faith.
The holiday celebrates the victory of the Maccabees, detailed in the Hebrew Bible and the Talmud.
This victory of the Maccabees, in approximately 160 BCE – BCE standing for Before The Common Era — resulted in the rededication of the Second Temple. The Maccabees were a group of Jewish rebel warriors who took control of Judea.
According to the Talmud, the Temple was purified and the wicks of the menorah burned for eight days.
But there was only enough sacred oil for one day’s lighting. It was a miracle.
Hanukkah is observed by lighting the eight candles of the menorah at varying times and various ways. This is done along with the recitation of prayers. In addition to the eight candles in the menorah, there is a ninth called a shamash (a Hebrew word that means attendant). This ninth candle, the shamash, is in the center of the menorah.
It is all very complicated of course – the history and the ritual – but what I remember most is sitting in that darkened auditorium and being drawn to the pool of light around the candles on my elementary school stage.
I am not Jewish. I say that I was raised secular – but that is putting it mildly. My mother was, in fact, a bible-burning atheist. Added to that, I was always cast as one of the shepherds in the school’s Christmas pageant since I was the tallest child in elementary school.
Also, I had Jewish neighbors – and as a future lesbian and book worm growing up in the sameness of a working class neighborhood — I may have responded to difference and had a realization that I was part of it.
Then I grew up, came out, thanked the Goddess for my secular upbringing, and celebrated the Winter Solstice with candles and music. This year, the Solstice falls on December 21st. The Winter Solstice (traditionally the shortest period of daylight and the longest night of the year) is this coming Thursday in the Northern Hemisphere of planet Earth – which is where we are.
One of our friends who we celebrated the Solstice with is Julia Haines. Julia is a musician who has performed at Restoration. She has a wonderful composition of Thunder Perfect Mind which she accompanies with her harp playing. You can find her on YouTube. Thunder Perfect Mind, of which I just read an excerpt, is one of the ancient texts of the Gnostic Gospels.
The Gnostic Gospels were discovered in the Egyptian town of Nag Hammadi in 1945. Originally written in Coptic, these texts date back to ancient times and give us an alternative glimpse into the Gospels that are written in the New Testament. They are so important that they are banned in some conventional religions. And in my book, that’s a good reason to read them.
Reading them led me to think of myself as a Gnostic – meaning one who has knowledge and who pursues knowledge – including mystical knowledge. The Gnostic Gospels have provided me with inspiration for my writing, particularly in my novel THEY, a biblical tale of secret genders, soon to be published by Adelaide Books. And they also inspire me in the novel I am currently writing — titled The Unicorn, The Mystery.
I am inspired by the Gnostic Gospels in part because they let in the light. In particular, they let in the light of the feminine.
As Julia says in her rendition of Thunder:
am godless
I am Goddess
So how does finding the light factor into my experience of Unitarian Universalism? Later in life, after fifty, I found a religion that fit my values. I found a religion wide enough – and I might add, secure enough – to embrace nonconformity.
In finding a congregation that is diverse in many ways – including religious diversity – I have found a deeper sense of myself.
And in that self, I recognize that the darkness is as least as necessary and as important as the light.
As a creative writer, I spend much of my time in the gray-matter of imagination.
It is in that darkness where I find the light.
Namaste
For more information on my most recent novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love, and marriage, click here:
In many ways I “lesbianized” my youth, with the result that the character that I identified with (Grace) was much more empowered. But the emotional reality of having to flee from her past were and are very real for me. The bulk of Loving Artemis is set in 1977—when the two main characters are in their final year in high school–against the historic backdrop of events that shaped the U.S. Supreme Court’s long overdue decision to legalize same sex marriage.
As one reader wrote, “Loving Artemis captures perfectly the days when teen lesbians felt they were the only ones in the world. More than a coming-of-age story, more than the love story of Artemis and Grace, the novel is also a thoroughly enjoyable journey through the decades.”
Artemis’s theme song would be “Born to be Wild” And Grace’s theme song would be “Dark Side of the Moon.”
What’s your favorite genre to read? Is it the same as your favorite genre to write?
I read various genres, mostly literary fiction. Right now, I’m most interested in the form of hybrid fiction and essay.
What books are on your TBR pile right now?
I review books for BookTube so I’m always reading something. Right now, I’m reading a nonfiction book called “The Undercurrents” by Kristy Bell from Other Press (which is known for its international books). The book is about the history of Berlin which I wouldn’t know about otherwise. I usually always love what Other Press puts out!
Also on my list is “Funny, You Don’t Look Like a Rabbi, a memoir of unorthodox transformation” by Rabbi Linda Targan. I’m looking forward to reading it!
What scene in your book was your favorite to write?
There were so many. I would have to say my most favorite was the opening pages where I talk about the Pride march in New York City and what it means to the main character (this is in print and video on my author blog).
Do you have any quirky writing habits? (lucky mugs, cats on laps, etc.)
I don’t know that it’s quirky but after a health scare a few years ago I am committed to staying healthy and I do count this to be crucial to my writing practice. I walk every day, practice qigong, and the biggest change was that I went to a healthy plant-based diet.
I feel great and am not done writing (and publishing) yet! In the past, I have always had a cat on my lap and hope to have one again.
Do you have a motto, quote, or philosophy you live by?
If you can, help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them. – HH The Dalai Lama
If you could choose one thing for readers to remember after reading your book, what would it be?
I’m delighted to be able to share this interview with me that appeared in The Chestnut Hill Local, a newspaper that covers much of Philadelphia and the surrounding area. That the word “lesbian” was displayed in the headline in a mainstream newspaper is a sign in itself that the world is changing.
New novel of lesbian love by acclaimed Mt. Airy author
Author Janet Mason, a Mt. Airy resident for four decades, holds a copy of her just-released novel, “Loving Artemis, An Endearing Tale of Revolution, Love and Marriage.”
PHOTO BY BARBARA J. MCPHERSON
Posted Thursday, October 6, 2022 12:00 am
by Len Lear
Mt. Airy author Janet Mason has done it again. Her new novel, “Loving Artemis, An Endearing Tale of Revolution, Love, and Marriage,” released last month by Thorned Heart Press in Oregon, is a labor of love as well as a story of love between two young women.
“It came out of my own life,” Mason said last week. “So you could say I was working on it for 50-plus years. As far as the actual writing, it probably added up to four or five years.”
I thoroughly enjoyed two previous novels by Mason, an award-winning creative writer, teacher and occasional blogger for such outlets as the Huffington Post. Her wonderful book, “Tea Leaves, a Memoir of Mothers and Daughters” was chosen by the American Library Association for its 2013 “Over the Rainbow List,” and it received a Goldie Award, presented annually by The Peer Choice Awards organization.
Her work also has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and her novel, “THEY, a Biblical Tale of Secret Genders,” was featured at the 2018 Frankfurt Book Fair. Janet is also the author of three poetry books and another novel, “The Unicorn, the Mystery.”
The reviews for “Loving Artemis” have been uniformly laudatory. Maria G. Fama, author of “The Good for the Good” writes “We are taken back in time to the turbulent late 1970s, when the Civil Rights, Gay Rights and Women’s Rights Movements were making inroads into the national consciousness … ‘Loving Artemis’ offers within its pages stories of romance, danger, disappointment, love and the ultimate vindication of the human spirit. This novel is very rich and satisfying and is not to be missed.”
….
In one of the compelling sections of “Loving Artemis,” the character of Yiayia (Greek for “grandmother”) tells Artemis, her granddaughter, how she herself had a girlfriend when she was a girl in Greece, but that her mother caught on and promptly sent her to America, where she eventually married Artemis’ grandfather.
“Yiayia is rather a salty character,” Mason said, “and I had great fun learning the Greek swear words she used, which I put into the novel. I think that Yiayia arose from my travels in Greece some decades ago and my obsession with the lesbian poet, Sappho.”
In one chapter, Grace is in high school when she goes on an acid trip and imagines that Artemis, whom she recognizes from her English class, is one of the saints.
“I spent a lot of time on Catholic.com doing research on the saints,” Mason said, “and I was delighted to learn recently that ‘Loving Artemis’ was selected for inclusion in an important list for LGBTQ Christians put out by the publisher of the important ‘Q Spirit’ newsletter.”
Mason and her partner, Barbara, have lived in Mt. Airy for almost 40 years, and there is no more enthusiastic cheerleader for the community. “It’s always been a great neighborhood,” she said, “one that been very welcoming to the LGBTQ community and one where, frankly, sexual orientation didn’t matter.”
And in recent years, she said, she’s seen another kind of inclusion.
“The young people, many with small children, tend to be liberal and have Black Lives Matter signs out along with the new-style Pride flags that include brown and black stripes,” she said. “On my block only a few of those with Pride flags are actually in the LGBTQ community. The rest are allies, which is, of course, fantastic!”
For more information, visit thornedheartpress.com. Len Lear can be reached at lenlear@chestnuthilllocal.com
I’m very excited to announce that my novel Loving Artemis, an endearing tale of revolution, love and marriage from Thorned Heart Press is now available in eBook form, paperback and hardback.
Reading Loving Artemis is a full-body immersion into the 1970s, with the smells of joints and musk oil, the tastes of beer and lip gloss, and the sounds of motorcycles roaring down a highway. It captures perfectly the days when young queers searched library catalog cards to find “homosexual” books, when teen lesbians felt they were the only ones in the world. More than a coming-of-age story, more than the love story of Artemis and Grace, the novel is also an illuminating and thoroughly enjoyable journey through the decades. I cared about these characters and loved seeing their lives come full circle by the book’s end in the 21st century.
Janet Mason, author 
