The Bohemian "Delving in to the depths of sexual and romantic nuances, Graton author Justine Michaels documents her experiences with a select few men using poetry and prose in The Cock Chronicles. The first half of the book contains the majority of the poetry, some of which is erotic and some of which pertains to the experience of being a woman. The book has a decidedly different change of graphic scenery and tone midway thought, when we are suddenly introduced to a third-person prose narrative, in which the author writes about herself as a character, replete with sexual fantasies that take place in Safeway supermarkets while waiting in line at the meat counter. An ephemeral rendezvous with a sea captain and then a marine (their members also make a few guest appearances to help the show along) follow, and there is even a sitar-playing heartbreaker by whom she is jettisoned, as he feverishly jaunts back and forth to Thailand, finally returning to the mother of his child and leaving Michaels with a gaping void and a sense of betrayal that can only be filled with the next Great Phallic Hunt."

Hallie O’Donnell, The Bohemian

The Other "C" Word The Cock Chronicles, by Justine Michaels Don't be fooled by the title -- the real organ in The Cock Chronicles is a broken heart. Alternately wrathful and wistful, vengeful and vulnerable, Justine Michaels documents with unnerving honesty the fury of a lover spurned. Loss and betrayal are the central themes in this delicately woven tale of a woman who finds her sexual petals opening up-and then cast off-for the first time in middle age. That is half the story. The Cock Chronicles is also the deeply personal diary of the author’s journey through breast cancer, from diagnosis through treatment and beyond. The breast cancer story is a familiar icon in our mass culture; one fears it has almost become a cliché. But Michaels is refreshingly matter of fact, detached, even, as she plumbs the depths of her fears and the loss of her innocence. She refused to solicit our pity, preferring instead to wonder at the miraculous return of her hair after chemo (“rabbit fur,” she notes), and to ponder when or even whether to show new lovers the telltale scar. The two stories are so skillfully woven together that it wasn’t until the end of the book that I understood the title. The twin betrayals of her body and her boyfriend leave Michaels with an unquenchable lust, a longing to be filled up both literally and metaphorically. The sense of voyeurism one feels witnessing the author’s raw need is anything but erotic. Instead, what Justine Michaels really chronicles best, and most beautifully, is the pain of being fully sentient.

reviewed by Kate Anchordoguy Author of Dig this, (how to landscape your yard without a back hoe or a big budget) kateland@sonic.net