Contemporary Authors

• Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl - 2017 Rescue Press,

• Amazon -

  Andrea Lawlor has been awarded fellowships by Lambda Literary and Radar Labs, and their writing has appeared in Ploughshares, Mutha, the Millions, jubilat, the Brooklyn Rail, and elsewhere. Their publications include a chapbook, Position Papers (Factory Hollow Press, 2016), and a novel, Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (Rescue Press, 2017). They live in Western Massachusetts with their family.

• Rescue Press - https://www.rescuepress.co/andrea-lawlor/

  Andrea Lawlor lives in Western Massachusetts and teaches writing at Mount Holyoke College. Lawlor is a fiction editor for Fence and the author of a chapbook, Position Papers (Factory Hollow Press, 2016).
  Andrea Lawlor’s debut novel offers a speculative history of early ’90s identity politics during the heyday of ACT UP and Queer Nation. Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl is a riotous, razor-sharp bildungsroman whose hero/ine wends his way through a world gutted by loss, pulsing with music, and opening into an array of intimacy and connections.
  It’s 1993 and Paul Polydoris tends bar at the only gay club in a university town thrumming with politics and partying. He studies queer theory, has a dyke best friend, makes zines, and is a flâneur with a rich dating life. But Paul’s also got a secret: he’s a shapeshifter. Oscillating wildly from Riot Grrrl to leather cub, Women’s Studies major to trade, Paul transforms his body at will in a series of adventures that take him from Iowa City to Boystown to Provincetown and finally to San Francisco—a journey through the deep queer archives of struggle and pleasure.

  Q and A: https://static1.squarespace.com/static/52eace8ae4b05b968848a382/t/59f8d3c053450a277df37c17/1509479365824/Q%26A+With+Andrea+Lawlor.pdf

• Poetry Foundation Website - https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/andrea-lawlor

  Andrea Lawlor, a recent graduate of UMass Amherst's MFA program, teaches writing at Mount Holyoke College, edits fiction for Fence, and has been awarded fellowships by Lambda Literary and Radar Labs. Lawlor's poems and stories have appeared in jubilat, The Brooklyn Rail, MiPOesias, The Millions, and Encyclopedia, Vol. II.

• Mount Holyoke College Website - https://www.mtholyoke.edu/people/andrea-lawlor

  Andrea Lawlor

  Visiting Lecturer in English
  Specialization:
  Creative writing; ESOL writing; queer & trans writing.
  Andrea Lawlor teaches introductory and advanced courses in creative writing, including Fiction Writing, Poetry Writing, Creative Writing for Multilingual Speakers, Queer & Trans Writing, and Writing Fabulist Fiction.
  Lawlor was educated at the University of Iowa, Temple University, and the University of Massachusetts at Amherst’s MFA Program for Poets and Writers. They have been awarded fellowships from RADAR Labs and the Lambda Literary Foundation.
  Lawlor is the author of a chapbook of poems, Position Papers (Factory Hollow, 2016), and a novel, Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (Rescue Press, forthcoming November 2017). Lawlor’s work has appeared in Ploughshares, jubilat, the Millions, the Brooklyn Rail, Encyclopedia, and Mutha.
  Lawlor is a fiction editor for Fence magazine, and former editor/publisher of the Pocket Myths publication series.
  Novel:
  Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (Rescue Press, 2017)
  Chapbook:
  Position Papers (Factory Hollow Press, 2016)
  Recent Publications:
  "Position Paper #14: The Pacific Gyre; Position Paper #18: Insurance; Position Paper #19: Donald Trump; Position Paper #20: Positions." (Ploughshares, Spring 2017)
  “Why I’m Not Celebrating Adopting My Own Child” (Mutha, 2017)
  “Hart Doesn’t Have Two Mommies“ (Mutha, 2014)
  Reviews & Interviews:
  Review of Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl: (The New Yorker, 1/22/2018)
  "Reading with...Andrea Lawlor" (Shelf Awareness, 11/2017)
  Review of Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl: (Lambda Literary, 11/2017)
  Review of Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl: (Los Angeles Review of Books, 11/2017)
  Review of Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl: (Kirkus, 8/21/2017)
  Review of Position Papers: Kimberly Ann Southwick's "Three Chapbooks: Reinventing Prose Poetry for a New Century" (Ploughshares blog, 2017)
  Review of Position Papers: Leora Fridman’s “Haven't Worked Out the Particulars: On Instructions, Position Papers, and Finding Our Way” (Jacket2, 2017)

• Andrea Lawlor Website - https://www.anderlawlor.com/

  Andrea Lawlor teaches writing, edits fiction for Fence, and has been awarded fellowships by Lambda Literary and Radar Labs. Their writing has appeared in various literary journals including Ploughshares, Mutha, the Millions, jubilat, the Brooklyn Rail, Faggot Dinosaur, and Encyclopedia, Vol. II. Their publications include a chapbook, Position Papers (Factory Hollow Press, 2016), and a novel, Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (Rescue Press, 2017).

• Foreword Reviews - https://www.forewordreviews.com/articles/article/forewords-monica-carter-interviews-andrea-lawlor-author-of-paul-takes-the-form-of-a-mortal-girl/

  Foreword's Monica Carter Interviews Andrea Lawlor, Author of Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl

  Meet Paul, a shape-shifting, gender-nonconforming college student whose motivating desire is to be as hot as possible, no matter what sex he chooses to be.
  How’s that for a book teaser?—It comes directly from Monica Carter’s wonderful review of Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl in the last issue of Foreword Reviews. We were so intrigued by the book and author Andrea Lawlor that we put Monica on assignment to catch up with Andrea for an interview—another installment of Foreword Face Off.
  What I really admired about this novel was your ability to so subtly incorporate the shape-shifting aspect of Paul. What inspired you to write the character of Paul this way?
  Like many queer and trans people, I’ve been attracted to stories about shapeshifters my whole life, which led me as a young person to read Octavia Butler’s Wild Seed and Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. Both Butler and Woolf are interested in pleasure—bodily and narrative. Butler kept me awake way past my bedtime with her attention not just to action but to, for instance, Anyanwu’s pleasure: her pleasure in sex, in becoming a non-human animal, in having a body/bodies. From Woolf I learned about authorial entitlement—it’s so because I say it’s so.
  Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl is genre-defying, but it also explores gender fluidity in a very creative way. Was this because you wanted to approach gender identity and sexual orientation through the lens of desire?
  Oh, that’s interesting! I wasn’t thinking theoretically at all while I was writing; I was following Paul through a particularly rich, confusing, vulnerable time of his life. If anything, I was trying to make sense of certain (mostly sexual) experiences I’d had that mystified me. Now, I can say something like, “I wanted to explore, through art, what it felt like to navigate different spaces and demands around gender” and that’s true, but entirely retrospective.
  How did you come to set it in the mid-1990s with such pitch-perfect, exhaustive musical references?
  Like Paul, I came of age in the early 90s, and was paying a lot of attention to music at that time, but—and maybe this is more evidence that I’m a 90s person at heart—I really struggled with the feeling that my musical knowledge wasn’t exhaustive enough. When I studied with Samuel Delany, he said something offhandedly which was nevertheless revelatory to me: “You can’t write a character who’s smarter than you.” I wanted Paul to be smarter about music than I was, but had to settle for what I knew, ultimately.
  Do you feel that queer culture is missing works that address queer desire in this way?
  Some of my early literary heroes like Dorothy Allison, Samuel R. Delany, Eileen Myles, John Rechy, and David Wojnarowicz investigated all kinds of queer desire—and queer sex—in fiction. Until I entered the MFA world, I thought everybody figured out their lives through sex; when I first brought in sections of my manuscript to workshops, some of my younger (straight) classmates suggested, kindly, that there was “quite a lot” of sex in the book. My professors, meanwhile, didn’t bat an eye. So that was information. I then very diligently tried to tell Paul’s story with fewer sex scenes (and ultimately did cut five or six scenes), but of course that made no sense because his story is about sex, and about sexual desire.
  And, as Latour said so well many years ago, “people are still having sex,” (), and young queer writers like Carmen Maria Machado are still writing about sex. Machado said this great thing in a recent Paris Review interview (https://www.theparisreview. org/blog/2017/10/03/pleasure- principles-interview-carmen- maria-machado/): “The story is not serving the sex, the sex is serving the story” and her own stories are shot through with queer desire and sex, as are recent works like Susan Choi’s My Education or Garth Greenwell’s What Belongs to You or Sarah McCarry’s About a Girl, or Bryn Kelly’s “Other Balms, Other Gileads” (http://wewhofeeldifferently. info/journal.php#Bryn). I mean, I always want more, so if I say yes, maybe people will write more?
  Matt Sutherland
  January 4, 2018

Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl

Amanda Winterroth
Booklist. 114.5 (Nov. 1, 2017): p31+.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2017 American Library Association
http://www.ala.org/aboutala/offices/publishing/booklist/
Full Text:
Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl.
By Andrea Lawlor.
Nov. 2017. 388p. Rescue, paper, $18 (9780986086991).
Paul is a man of many talents: besides being a part-time bartender and a mediocre college student, he excels at "knowing when people were open to having sex, having sex, being gay." He also happens to be a shape-shifter, able to change his gender and appearance to varying degrees. Lawlor's debut novel follows Paul from mid-1990s Iowa City to Chicago, San Francisco, and beyond as he begins experimenting with his secret abilities. Unsure of his "real" identity or desires, Paul follows his whims, swinging from a wildly sexual Midwestern flaneur into half of a monogamous lesbian couple. Even as Paul drifts and changes, Lawlor knows his heart and character so completely that each new identity just expands on the Paul readers have always known, rather than feeling fractured or jarring, in the end, Paul begins to see the beauty of being many things at once--something Lawlor understands, too. The novel plays beautifully with contradiction and genre: it's a coming-of-age fairy tale without the easy moral, a mix of comedy and tenderness and backroom sexual exploits.--Amanda Winterroth
Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition)
Winterroth, Amanda. "Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl." Booklist, 1 Nov. 2017, p. 31+. General OneFile, http://link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A515383003/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=bbc706c0. Accessed 10 May 2018.

Gale Document Number: GALE|A515383003

Lawlor, Andrea: PAUL TAKES THE FORM OF A MORTAL GIRL

Kirkus Reviews. (Sept. 1, 2017):
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2017 Kirkus Media LLC
http://www.kirkusreviews.com/
Full Text:
Lawlor, Andrea PAUL TAKES THE FORM OF A MORTAL GIRL Rescue Press (Adult Fiction) $18.00 11, 1 ISBN: 978-0-9860869-9-1
A magical, sexual, and hopeful debut novel about transcending boundaries of gender to pursue emotional connection.Lawlor (Position Papers, 2016) writes of Paul, a shape-shifter tending bar in a college town in the mid-1990s. Paul can change his gender and appearance at will and does so as he navigates in and out of various pockets of academia and queer culture. Paul is drawn to the act of attraction; he "relied on his ability to attract only the sorts of attention he desired," and he shifts his form as a way of constantly challenging himself to connect with more people. Paul wants access to as many circles and bodies as possible. Lawlor's prose is taut, self-aware, and carnal. As Paul tests his "own nascent malleability," the author explores appearance, attraction, sexuality, and identity. Paul's youthful exuberance and thirst for hookups are foils to his persistent feelings of isolation. The book is divided into several parts, most notably shifting when a visit to a Michigan Womyn's Music Festival leads Paul (as a woman) to both a great love, Diane, and a confrontation with his own reasons for seeking sex. "What was sex, but newness?" he asks himself. Eventually Paul has to decide on the level of intimacy he desires; specifically, who he wants to tell about his body. This suggests that intimacy is knowledge of an identity that transcends the corporeal form. Dispersed throughout the story are short chapters with the feel of legends, each fable hinting at issues of gender. In the final third of the novel, Paul moves to the Bay Area, tests the limits of his ability to hold a form, and does his most mature self-examination. This is groundbreaking, shape- and genre-shifting work from a daring writer; a fresh novel that elevates questions of sexual identity and intimacy.
Source Citation (MLA 8th Edition)
"Lawlor, Andrea: PAUL TAKES THE FORM OF A MORTAL GIRL." Kirkus Reviews, 1 Sept. 2017. General OneFile, http://link.galegroup.com/apps/doc/A502192375/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=ITOF&xid=f52df564. Accessed 10 May 2018.

Gale Document Number: GALE|A502192375

• Los Angeles review of Books
  https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/gender-bending-the-body-on-andrea-lawlors-paul-takes-the-form-of-a-mortal-girl/#!
  Word count: 1436

  Gender-Bending the Body: On Andrea Lawlor’s “Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl”
  By Michael Valinsky

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  NOVEMBER 14, 2017
  “WHAT CONFIGURATION of power constructs the subject and the Other, that binary relation between ‘men’ and ‘women,’” asks Judith Butler in Gender Trouble (Routledge, 1990). “Are those terms untroubling only to the extent that they conform to a heterosexual matrix for conceptualizing gender and desire?” she continues. These are the foundational questions at the heart of Andrea Lawlor’s debut novel Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl (Rescue Press, 2017), which quickly propels its readers into Paul’s world — an at times confusing and exhilarating environment in which sexuality and adventure know no limits. Taking place in the 1990s, the novel is a concoction of unexpected interactions that place Paul at their center, though he is no novice. He is able to change his appearance and gender on demand and in a manner of minutes. Switching from Paul to Polly, he is the kind of mythical character that readers usually encounter in works such as Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Nevertheless, Lawlor thinks up a character that is irreverent, oozing profusely of promiscuity, and cruising life as if it were a colossal sex club, sleeping with whomever comes his way or expresses interest in doing so.
  He whimpered as the rock star unbuttoned her jeans and pulled out her plastic cock, black and shiny to match her rock-star shininess. I am being penetrated by punk, he thought as she thrust into him, pushing his legs apart, collapsing onto him like a pistoning flesh blanket.
  We first meet Paul as a teenager and film aficionado aching to get his hands on a pair of breasts or an erect penis. Within the first 30 pages of the book, Paul has already been intimate with two individuals of opposite sexes, switching gender between the two encounters. We quickly learn that Paul’s gender is mutable and that he’ll transform his body any time he thinks he might get something from the person he is interacting with, be it a sexual release or conversation. At first, Lawlor’s prose feels intentionally confusing. Paul switches genders but the pronouns used to qualify him never change. He is always referred to with a male pronoun and very rarely does he introduce himself as Polly, his female counterpart. At least, to the readers, he is always spoken of as Paul. Interestingly, it is important for him that his name represent perfectly the individual he embodies, though he is not interested in facing the societal backlash that may come of it.
  He wasn’t ready for the obvious question that so far no one had had the opportunity to ask in the sober daylight. What was he? Even a film major knew that matter must come from somewhere. When his penis went away, where did it go? Or was it all an illusion, something he could make people see?
  While Paul apprehends the way in which he will be perceived, understood, and judged by those who walk the same streets as him, he also craves physical attention and grovels to be seen. It’s this kind of erotic need for attention and societal requirement of anonymity that makes Paul so exciting. The groveling here is not passive, nor is it submissive. It is completely empowering. His state of desperation for physical contact is a weapon of dominance and the fact that he identifies as not having a type, ultimately makes him a democratic lover, and, as a result, relatable and highly contemporary. It’s through Paul’s constant eye for the next encounter, a knack for spotting out those with the interesting stories, and his insatiable need to experience everything all at once, that Lawlor manages to make the body a social tool that can be used to climb up the ladder — or slide face down to the bottom, as the case may be: “Paul is the game; Paul hunts only hunters. He hunts to be hunted […] Paul is sex, he is effortlessly sexual, effortlessly masculine […] his body is public property, his face a test.”
  His appetite for any lover fades when he meets Diane at an all-female festival. To attend, Paul has to transform and maintain his body in its female form, and attempt to blend in as much as possible without getting caught. Working shifts in the kitchen in exchange for free festival entry, Paul meets Diane, whom he almost immediately falls for. This is the first time Paul is forced to sustain a female appearance for a long period of time, though the text itself never ceases to call him Paul, and the characters within the story Polly. Diane does not know about Paul’s extraordinary ability. The dramatic irony that Lawlor puts into place at this moment and at every step of the way is in part the reason why each event that punctuates Paul’s life pierces through the reader relentlessly. Paul’s relationship with Diane will determine and redefine his general philosophy around relationships, which, up until this point, he runs away from before they become too involving. Readers watch Paul mature as a woman:
  Paul felt a flutter of shyness, a shy girl flutter, the flutter of not knowing if he was making a friend or something else. This was a strange experience for him, for whom all were prey, and he located the feeling in his new body. He was now having girl-feelings. Weird.
  Just like readers witness him work through the difficult task of navigating a sexuality that he at times cannot control and that places him in a community he does not always identify with:
  He’d sense his own nascent malleability for years, since childhood. At first, he’d assumed all gays were like him and had quietly decided not to mention that they could choose. But he had pieced together over time, without revealing too much, that he was even to the gays a freak. He was alone in this world. He regarded other gays now with mild condescension.
  That Paul blends in better in the world as a woman, an identity that hardly ever comes to life in the text itself, contributes to the question of his origin story. In what reads as a fairy tale episode, Lawlor interrupts the narrative to let the readers in on a secret: who Polly is. In this tale, Paul and Polly are twins abandoned by their parents in a forest. “I am driving to a place very far away, where only women and children live,” says a woman they encounter along the way. Polly chooses to leave with the woman: “Paul will only grow up to become a man, and he will have to leave then. I will come with you and never leave,” says Polly, quick to abandon her twin. “‘Brother,’ said Polly, and she placed her left hand formally on Paul’s shoulder. He felt a strange current flow through this body. ‘You will be son and daughter to our parents now.’”
  This in mind, it’s easy to conceptualize Whitman’s famous saying: “I am large, I contain multitudes.” It’s also easy for one to read this work as one would read a fairy tale, believing every detail, not questioning the characters’ actions, and taking them as fact. Despite the countless interactions Paul has with individuals who keep coming and going in and out of his life, the stability of his character, the believability of his thoughts, and the scenarios he puts himself in are sure to bring you to the edge of your seat — especially if you have a thing for gritty and uninhibited sexuality in writing.
  Ultimately, Lawlor has written an intoxicatingly rousing masterpiece, which, as Eileen Myles puts it, “is restless, muscular and playful.” Lawlor gives us a glimpse into what it might have been like to struggle with issues of sexual identity in the 1990s, though the supernatural elements of their characters’ features suspend the narrative out of time, rendering it a timelessly contemporary exposé of an antihero with a heart made of fire.
  His skin was electric, buzzing, humming like drugs, like fear, like New York City sidewalks, like any moment before any time he’d ever kissed anyone important.
  ¤
  Michael Valinsky’s work has been published in i-D Magazine, Hyperallergic, OUT Magazine, BOMB Magazine, NewNowNext.com, and Kirkus Reviews, among others. He is the author of .TXT, Zurich: 89plus/LUMA Publications, 2014.

• Lambda Literary
  https://www.lambdaliterary.org/reviews/11/05/paul-takes-the-form-of-a-mortal-girl/
  Word count: 1001

  ‘Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl’ by Andrea Lawlor
  Review by Sarah Fonseca
  November 5, 2017

  In style, it’s frequently noted that it takes roughly two decades for everything old to become new and valued once more. As Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl’s own protagonist Paul “Polly” Polydoris wisely observes, “1993 is too soon for ‘80s retro. We’re doing ‘70s now.” Following that logic, 2017 is much too soon to reconsider 2006. But Andrea Lawlor’s debut novel, set during Gen X’s heydey, is right on time. Paul Takes the Form arrives on the scene in a year that’s full of reverence for the era; one where even the On Our Backs classified is worth its salt again.
  As his normie University of Iowa film studies peers surpass him in academic decoration, twentysomething Paul earns an honorary degree in shape-shifting, altering his physical anatomy to fit any given moment’s erotic flavor. The bulge between Paul’s legs shrinks or expands in proportion to his peccadillos. His average Joe pectoral muscles melt into a waifish, budding breasts, and vice versa. Paul Takes the Form illustrates what so many fantasize about during intimacy: that one’s body is something else. Be they fetishistic or essential for survival, the novel renders those very thoughts literal, and to great success. Paul is a queer punk’s Don Giovanni, indulging in the infinite array of sexual encounters that his extraordinary gift permits, a homosexual woman one second and a flaming queen the next. However, Paul learns quite quickly that effeminate genders, no matter how freely they are constructed, are still subject to sexism. Multiplicity in gender also proves troublesome, especially within his own relationships.
  Andrea Lawlor has coolly escorted sex back into conversations about gender, which have long been unmoored from fucking in the name of mainstream didactics and respectability. Like its main character, the book takes on different forms, cycling between a Bildungsroman, a period novel, a fairy tale collection, a volume of Sassy Magazine style columns, and a new queer cinema textbook that would give B. Ruby Rich a run for her money.
  Paul is as much of a citizenfuck as he is a genderfuck, an ethnic indiscernible meandering from city to city. A one-time ACT UP member in NYC, he’s entered into an academic relationship of convenience with sleepy Iowa City, finding community in his gay roommate Christopher, his intellectual lesbian pal Jane, and the ghost of an old love, New York’s Tony Pinto. As Paul’s studies falter, he sets off in the direction of safe havens, including the Castro, Boystown, Provincetown, and–with Jane’s assistance–the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival, a site that comes with its share of hilarity, kitchen duty, and subversive romantic encounters with a animal rights activist, Diane (Paul’s first lesbian love).
  Lawlor is gifted in ensnaring the curious and free-flowing gazes of queer youth; the type that are all too often undocumented, lost to an evening’s druggy haze, or trounced by adulthood:
  He sneaked a look at Jane’s fingers. Mannish, he thought, unwillingly. Even the femmes are a bit mannish. The minute he had confirmation (besides his own gaydar) that a subject was a homosexual, Paul compulsively searched for the flaws in that person’s gender. Every gay had these flaws, Paul thought, although sometimes the flaw was being too perfect. Paul noticed this most often in men. Most women weren’t very good at being women, he’d learned when he started to really study them. Like Jane, with her mannish hands.
  There are a few social postures from which one can approach Paul Takes the Form, though they needn’t be exclusive: the culturally-identified dyke, the culturally-identified fag, and the culturally-identified gender connoisseur are all bound to find themselves in the novel. In illustrating how encompassing a trans work’s breadth can be, Paul Takes the Form makes a quiet, salient case for trans literature’s importance. The more rigid the reader, the more they lose. Paul’s amorous immersion in lesbian separatist spaces as Polly will either be deeply resonant or too granola. His stints in men’s leather bars where casual sex is as plentiful as bourbon will result in a similar split.
  Regardless of reader identity, Lawlor’s debut novel encourages, if not requires, bon vivant tendencies. Paul Takes the Form is strongest in its details of the mid-1990s scene, from the Dr. Martens to the ethics of mixtape production:
  Was it entirely ethical to copy a song, or multiple songs, from a mixtape someone else had made you? What if you changed the order? What if the person who made you the mix had copied at least half the songs from Just Say Yes, Volume III: Just say Mao, which you later discovered while looking through their CDs? What if the person who made you the mixtape what in love with you but you weren’t in love with them? What if the person who made the tape was in love with you and you had been in love with them, maybe, but you weren’t anymore? Was it really even okay to copy any song from a mixtape? Paul decided it was okay if the tape had been given to you in the spirit of true love and had then become part of who you now were. It was not just okay, it was in fact crucial, then, to share this with your new love, so they could understand you.
  An intelligent and dashing work, Paul Takes the Form is destined to become, in the time-honored tradition of The Price of Salt, Rubyfruit Jungle, and Valencia, the go-to coming of age novel for the latest generation of wanderlustful rabble-rousers.

  Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl
  By Andrea Lawlor
  Recuse Press
  Paperback, 9780986086991, 240 pp.
  November 2017