A.M. Leibowitz

queer slice-of-life stories

book reviews

Book Review: The Real World by Kathleen Jowitt

Books, Featured, Reviews

About the Book

Title: The Real World (Stancester #2)

Author: Kathleen Jowitt

Publication Date: 2 Nov., 2020

Length: 350 pages

Category: Literary fiction

Goodreads

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes and Noble

Synopsis

Colette is trying to finish her PhD and trying not to think about what happens next. Her girlfriend wants to get married – but she also wants to become a vicar, and she can’t do both. Her ex-girlfriend never wanted to get married, but apparently she does now. Her supervisor is more interested in his TV career than in what Colette’s up to, and, of her two best friends, one’s two hundred miles away, and the other one’s dead.

Welcome to…

The Real World.

Review

I’ve been excited to read this because I absolutely loved the first book in the series, Speak Its Name. When an author can work spirituality into a book with skill and grace, and without feeling heavy-handed or preachy, I’m right there. In that regard, The Real World delivers.

For a book in which religion and church politics play a big part, it has a surprisingly light touch. There’s definitely a healthy dose of criticism for how the church handles matters of human sexuality, including limitations on same-gender marriage for Church of England clergy. But it never thumps readers on the head with dogma.

As the title suggests, this is about Colette and Lydia navigating the adult world and their relationship. It’s not a romance. Their couplehood is firmly established, though it’s tested through their struggles to finish their education and find their footing in life. They go through a lot in a short span of time, between family issues and challenges with their respective future careers.

What I love is how realistic it feels. There’s not a whole lot of unexplained or over-the-top drama, just ordinary situations any one of us could face along the way. Colette and Lydia wrestle with communication, but no more than any couple might, and it never feels forced for the sake of creating tension.

It was interesting to see Lydia through Colette’s eyes this time, as the last book was the reverse. I also appreciated having Colette’s perspective on a number of things, from her (warm and loving) family to her relationships with the same people we met in the previous story.

Naturally, I love that Colette is fiercely and unapologetically bisexual. There’s a scene where bisexuality is erased in a sadly common way. Much as I’d have loved to read about Colette giving the person a piece of her mind, I’ll admit I enjoyed what actually happened just as much (no spoilers).

I think the only drawback is that it’s quit slow-paced. This does make sense to a degree, as it’s not a “wild ride” kind of story. But I think I wanted a bit more of a hook, something that would spur me on to find out what was going to happen the way the last book played out. It’s not a deal-breaker for me; I enjoyed the story. It just wasn’t quite as compelling as the first one. I also don’t know that it would stand alone very well. A person who hadn’t read Speak Its Name would likely be a bit lost. Which is fair, given that it’s a sequel. I highly recommend reading them in order.

In any case, it’s a good story, and I very much liked catching back up with the characters. The ending was both surprising and yet somehow not, and I felt it fit perfectly with the rest of the book.

For meeting old friends again, examining social and spiritual issues with a critical eye, and a gentle narrative style, this gets 8/10 fountain pens.

About the Author

Kathleen Jowitt was born in Winchester and grew up deep in the Welsh Marches and, subsequently, on the Isle of Wight. After completing her undergraduate degree in English Literature at the University of Exeter she moved to Guildford and found herself working for a major trade union.

She now lives in Cambridge, works in London, and writes on the train. Her stories are about people who sort their own heads out and learn that they are, on the whole, not nearly such terrible human beings as they thought they were. Speak Its Name (2016) explores Christianity and sexual identity in the context of student life and politics, and was the first self-published novel ever shortlisted for the Betty Trask Prize. Her new book, A Spoke in the Wheel, was published in May 2018 and looks at physical capacity, the social model of disability, acceptance, redemption, and integrity.

Social Media

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page

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Review & Interview: 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian by Jaime Sommers

Books, Faith and Spirituality, Reviews

About the Book

Title: 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian

Author: Jaime Sommers

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: Darton Longman & Todd Ltd

Release Date: April 1, 2017 (US edition); September 29, 2016 (UK edition)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0232532575

ISBN-13: 978-0232532579

ASIN: B01MU0BIKD

Categories: Bisexual, non-fiction, memoir, Christian

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32968819-119

Synopsis

119: the number of words dedicated to bisexuality in the Church of England statement Issues in Human Sexuality. The words state that bisexuality inevitably leads to unfaithfulness, and prescribe celibacy, abstinence, heterosexual marriage or counselling ‘to achieve inner healing’.

As a bisexual Christian woman, happily and faithfully married to a man, a mother of three children and with a blossoming ministry as a preacher, Jaime Sommers had always felt as if her true self did not really exist in the eyes of the Church. She could find neither theology nor pastoral support for a person who felt the need for physical closeness with both sexes in order to feel well or whole.

Following a brief, isolated incident in which Jaime kissed another woman, the full extent of the Church s inability to acknowledge or understand her identity became apparent. The disciplinary process to which she was subjected led to her suffering depression and anxiety and feelings of isolation.

Jaime s powerful and emotive story reveals the failure of the Church and of large parts of wider culture and society to recognise and support the experience and needs of those who identify as the silent B in LGBT.”

Review

When this crossed my desk, I was eager to read it. As the author says, there isn’t much (in terms of non-fiction books) about being a bisexual Christian. Since I use both of those descriptors myself, I was keen to find out how other people reconcile their faith and their sexuality, particularly when many churches and other Christian organizations don’t acknowledge the full range of human expression.

This is a highly personal memoir of Jaime’s experiences, both in her personal life and within the Church (capital C this time, as she was in ministry). I assume she’s fairly close to my age, as despite the cultural differences, we have a number of similar childhood pop-culture memories. This resonated very much with me and immediately put me in her corner.

Similarly resonant is the struggle to conform to the expectations of the church while balancing complex feelings. One way in which a disservice has been done, particularly to bisexual women, is to erase people’s emotional needs. Jamie’s declaration of an intense and dare I say spiritual need for connectivity with people of more than one gender felt like an affirmation.

I love Jaime’s writing style. Despite the serious nature of her narrative, there’s plenty of humor. Much of it reads like tea with a friend. It’s easy to be fully on her side as she shares her memories. Still, she’s clear that she’s telling her story to the best of her ability with her biases intact. She owns her mistakes while also calling out the hypocrisy of the Church in their mishandling of the events. In fact, though the Church deeply wronged her, she still maintains a passionate love for the Church, for its people, and for God. She even holds space for those who failed to do right by her. These are marks of someone with deep faith, a person who exemplifies the very love Christ calls us to. I’m a little bit in awe.

Even though I knew where everything was headed, I honestly kept hoping someone would speak up. That someone would tell Jaime we need her, and others like her, in the church. Because we do. We absolutely must have people who can serve as spiritual mentors and guides but who are also just like us. In a sea of heterosexuality, it’s important that we have ministers of the Gospel who are safe for us.

My hope is that other bisexual Christians will read this, will share it, and will find hope in it. I also hope that many within the Church will read and take these words to heart. Change is needed, and perhaps this is a push in the right direction.

For a bravely shared story, feelings which resonate, and hope for the future of the Church, this gets 10/10 fountain pens.

Purchase Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Interview

Today I’m chatting with Jaime Sommers about writing, life, and their current project. Welcome! Let’s talk a little about your new book, 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian

What inspired you to share your story?

I’ve been aware for some time, having trawled through search engines, that there’s nothing out there, and I mean nothing that speaks to the experience of being bisexual and Christian, at least not in the UK where I’m from. So I wanted to do something about that, by writing an autobiographical and reflective piece for all those bisexual Christians out there, struggling to live their lives in a climate that can barely get its head around same-sex attraction, let alone attraction to more than one gender. The title 119 refers to the miniscule 119 words used by the Church of England to describe bisexuality in Issues in Human Sexuality, a booklet that all would-be priests must read prior to ordination training. This contains just one paragraph on bisexuality, compared to around seventeen pages on homosexuality.

Aside from the sexuality/spirituality conflict, I also thought it was important to raise the subject of mental health. Bisexual people make up the largest sector of the LGB community, yet have the highest rates of depression, anxiety and suicide ideation with this cohort. Some of this is to do with the resounding silence on the subject of bisexuality, not just on the part of the monosexual majority, but also on the part of bi folks themselves. If we don’t speak up for ourselves and speak our truth, then we will continue to be misunderstood and misrepresented by people who don’t walk in our shoes.

From a more spiritual perspective, as I outline in the forward to my book, I was inspired by a Stonewall conference in London in 2015 to tell my story. A good friend of mine, a college Chaplain, encouraged me to go for it, and once I started writing, I just couldn’t stop. It was obviously meant to come out! I wrote 66,000 words in just six and a half weeks, it just came pouring out of somewhere deep inside.

What was the hardest part of writing this?

The hardest part was definitely reliving painful events from about five years ago, when I was involved in a nasty biphobic episode at a church my family was worshipping at the time. I had to confront feelings I’d suppressed for some time, as well as rereading emails that I’d kept as documentary evidence of what happened.

Another difficult issue was realizing, with the benefit of hindsight and perspective I guess, that maybe I didn’t handle people or events as well as I could have. I’ve tried to be as honest as I could about that aspect in 119.

How has your life changed since becoming a published author?

Because I have school-age children and a partner, it’s not been possible to write in my own name or identity myself publicly with 119. So perhaps it’s not changed my life externally to the same extent it would somebody with the freedom to write in their own name. However, internally, I do feel a certain degree of catharsis, and an ability to move onto the next stage of my life. The person who first inspired me at Stonewall told me that I’d never leave the past behind unless I told my story, in whatever format that took. He was right. Who knows, maybe there’ll be a sequel, What Jaime Did Next !

If you could take a time machine back 10 years, what would you tell your past self?

I don’t know to what extent things would have been different, to be honest. It’s only been in the last five years or so that it’s been vaguely possible to be open about homosexuality in a church setting, and it’s still not possible to discuss bisexuality. It remains a complete anathema to most church leaders, who rarely take the trouble to try and understand same-sex attraction, let alone sexual or gender fluidity. I think the prevailing socio-cultural conditions for someone who identifies as bi and Christian ten years ago would have still made it very difficult for somebody in my family situation to be open and honest about being bisexual. However much I berate myself for not having been more courageous in the past, we are all a product of the society we live in and it’s not easy to ‘be yourself’ if being yourself involves putting your partner or children in an uncomfortable or risky situation. Added to that, I had responsibility as a trainee church leader for the whole congregation.

How do you hope your writing influences other people?

As I said earlier, it is my deepest prayer that my writing touches all those bisexual Christian people out there suffering in silence. Mental health is a huge issue in our Western culture. I believe one in four British people and one in five Americans suffer from depressive disorders at this point in time. Imagine if 25% of Brits or 20% of Americans were suffering from broken limbs on a daily basis – there would not be shame or silence on the issue. A broken soul is, if anything, a far graver proposition.

Tell us a little about any upcoming projects.

I remain keen and motivated to write about spirituality/sexuality conflict and I also want to write about so-called MOMS, mixed-orientation marriages. I have a number of collaborative projects in the pipeline regarding these subject matters, so you’ll just have to watch this space!

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Gatekeeping and the Priority of Own Voices Books

Books, Fiction, LGBTQ+, Social Justice, Writing

 

It’s been a while since I blogged any truly personal thoughts on a subject. These days, I mostly review books, so today I’m appealing as a reader rather than an author. I’ve sat on this for some time, wondering how I could capture it without sounding angry or like a whiny, entitled author. I’m still not sure there’s a way to do it, and there is no way I could summarize the entirety of the problem in a single blog post.

I’m going to address gatekeeping in queer lit and the way LGBTQ+ people are frequently locked out of telling our own stories.

The reason I’m doing this now is a recent kerfuffle involving VOYA (Voices of Youth Advocacy), a journal for librarians working young adult literature. I won’t get into the particulars here; you can read some of it at this link, and there are others in the article.

This is not VOYA’s first bungle. I became aware of what happened because I’m a book blogger involved in bisexual advocacy. However, while sifting through the mess, I came across this piece, written regarding a dreadful, clueless piece previously appearing in VOYA.

To sum up, a white man made noises about how hard it is to represent youth of color. Where he failed—and where that intersects with me as an author and book blogger—is that he also claimed he was doing his best in a field it’s difficult for writers of color to break into. He was only doing what they could not.

Well.

That all sounds horribly, painfully familiar.

Time and again, I have seen LGBTQ+ authors struggle to break into the largest genre of queer lit: namely, MM romance. Now, you could argue that there are already plenty of LGBTQ+ authors in the genre, and that would be true to an extent (self included). But reality is that we do not own the genre. The bulk of it is not written by or for us in any sense.

I’m not writing about it to complain that I’m not getting my due or that I personally have been slighted in some way. I write because I like to, and it’s not my primary income. I’m thrilled when I sell copies. Is it painful to get a negative review? Yes, but only because it is for all of us.

What bothers me far more is so-called “LGBT” review mills which consistently provide the most negative reviews for:

  • LGBTQ+ non-romance, particularly gay literary work
  • Most lesbian fiction
  • Books with “het sex” (even when the romance is MM)
  • Polyamory that isn’t menage
  • Trans characters
  • Femme men
  • YA novels without romance
  • Books with the label bisexual (regardless of the relationships)
  • Books by and about people of color

Not surprisingly, a lot of those books are the ones written by and for LGBTQ+ people.

Even more disturbing, when called on it, some writers claim that they are writing about us because for unspecified reasons, we somehow “can’t.” Just like Patrick Jones failed to understand that the lack of representation is not because white folks didn’t step up to the plate, cisgender straight people do not seem to understand that the lack of representation is not because we “can’t” write our own stories—it’s because when we do, they are too queer for mainstream readers, and we are consistently locked out of our own genre.

In the last several months, I’ve begun to speak up when I see straight people going after LGBTQ+ writers. In particular, this is often cisgender straight women going after gay men and then accusing them of misogyny or cisgender people going after trans folk in aggressive or pitying ways. The result has been an outpouring of private messages, emails, and comments from other LGBTQ+ people saying they feel uncomfortable speaking up for fear of being alienated.

This bothers me a lot more than when I get a negative book review. It’s upsetting, for sure. Some days, it makes me think about quitting. But it makes me a lot angrier as a book reviewer myself. How dare a straight person review a book by and for the LGBTQ+ community and tell us what it should have been or how it failed to be their version of queer?

I review a lot of books by all kinds of writers. It would make me a terrible reviewer (and probably a terrible human being) if I read a book by someone in a community I am not part of and then shredded it for not meeting my stereotyped expectations.

This isn’t acceptable in any other genre except MM romance. Even lesbian romance has been largely reclaimed—at least in a mainstream sense—from the jaws of straight male writers. And the excuses for perpetuating it in MM are so thin. No one would accept a large body of white people claiming to read books about people of color, written mainly by white folks, on the grounds that they are tired of whiteness. Most people should then turn to books by people of color to meet the need for diversity. (I realize that some don’t, but we rightly go after them, as people did with Patrick Jones.)

You cannot expect me to take you seriously if you say in the same breath that you read MM novels to escape the dynamics of heterosexual relationships while also complaining about queer lit that doesn’t imitate it. You also can’t expect me to take you seriously when you say you read MM novels to avoid heteronormativity but then complain about books written by actual LGBTQ+ people who have families and children, and write about them, claiming they have failed to capture “real” queerness.

Bisexual cisgender women*, you do not get even one pass on this either. Saying you read or write MM romance to find the “representation” you didn’t get when you were coming out is the pinnacle of bizarre, since there are many fine lesbian and bisexual women writing high-quality FF. Erasing women who love women from the equation is not a path toward representation.

So why do we allow the unchecked internalized misogyny, the objectification of queer lives and bodies, and the gatekeeping and policing of LGBTQ+ authors? There are no reasons on the planet, in my opinion, which are good enough to make me think this is acceptable. Not even the claim of gay men having male privilege over straight women holds water when for the most part, there’s blatant disregard of the ways in which gay and bisexual men have been brutalized.

Before someone voices outrage and says I’m shutting down their free speech, hear me out. I’m not looking for straight women to stop reading or writing MM romance. I certainly don’t advocate for some of the vile misogyny and biphobia which shows up in both some gay literature and in some MM romance written by men (and, let’s be honest, plenty of women). I’m not suggesting that readers need to stop loving romance or that they shouldn’t have preferences for what stories they like. Heck, when it comes to erotica, I figure whatever turns you on is fair game because that’s the nature of the beast.

What I want is an end to reviewing all queer lit like it should be MM romance (and a particularly narrow subset of the genre at that). I would like to see transparency in who is on review panels. Most of all, I want to see my fellow rainbow writers being unafraid to voice their concerns. It’s become too many of us, and we’re being kept from finding each other and standing up against the gatekeeping by way of negative reviews, blacklisting, and bullying on social media. That has to end.

Finally, I’d like to see cisgender straight women—and cis women of other orientations—examine carefully the motivations for reading and writing exclusively MM romance. Ask yourselves why you don’t think lesbian romance meets the criteria of “removing the power imbalance.” Ask why you think LGBTQ+ people cannot tell our own stories. Ask why, outside of erotica, you see the need for gay and bisexual stories to be sexy or romantic in order to be valid.

Here’s a challenge for you: If you really, truly are an ally, then find it in yourself to listen to us. Read books by us. Evaluate them on the strength of the story or the writing, not whether it fits neatly into a genre. Hear us when we say what you’re writing about us isn’t reality. Then do as you will, but don’t harm us in the process.

*I rarely feel the need to assert this, but I’m not a cisgender woman. Just making that clear before accusations fly.

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Review: Loneliness Ebbs Deep

Books, Reviews

Title: Loneliness Ebbs Deep
Author: Adrian J. Smith & Rachael Orman
Genre: Monster Erotica
Publication Date: December 15, 2014
Living in a closed society hasn’t given Kaya many opportunities to explore her sexuality. With no family around and no one to take care of her, Kaya wanders through the forest to the forbidden lake. Curiosity and the unknown prompt her to touch and feel everything she has been missing. And when Helki arrives, the façade she lives in is shattered.
*Intended for Audiences 18 yrs+ — This is MONSTER EROTICA so expect the unexpected**
REVIEW
4 stars

Full disclosure: I was given an advance copy in exchange for an honest review.

I will admit, I don’t usually read erotica. However, every single time I’ve said, “I don’t read that,” I’ve taken a chance on something and been surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

This story touched a nerve in me, whether that was intentional on the part of the authors or not. It opens with Kaya, the main character, exploring social taboos. As someone who has engaged in a bit of activism and who has actively campaigned for the recognition of female sexuality, I loved this. The idea that women have a sexuality entirely our own—separate from anyone else, but especially from men—is too often denied in our culture.

I also tend not to like “creature fic.” I’m not a huge fan of monsters, and the idea of humans and non-humans interacting sexually is not generally to my taste. Once again, I was surprised and pleased to find this story tempers the weirdness with some underlying social commentary. I love the elements of transformation and becoming. I would expand on my thoughts, but I don’t want to spoil the story for anyone who hasn’t read it.

Kaya’s story is one of beauty, longing, and a touch of sadness. For those who really wouldn’t feel comfortable with the erotic elements, this is not for you. For everyone else, though, I think you’ll enjoy it, and my sense is that everyone will take away something different. In the tradition of all good myths and fables, there are deeper truths to find.

Having read work by both of the authors prior to this one, I was excited to see them collaborate. I hope to see more joint efforts from these two talented women.

Adrian J. Smith

Adrian J. Smith, or “AJ” as she is often called, is a part-time writer with an epic imagination, sharp wit, and kind heart that gets her into a bit of trouble when it comes to taking in all the neighborhood stray cats. Being obsessed with science fiction, Smith often goes off on tangents about the space-time continuum. She is also a part-time lunatic with a secretive past. It’s been rumored that she was once a spy for the government, but anyone who has gotten close enough to know the truth has never lived to tell the tale. When traveling around the world on various classified tasks, Smith requires the following be provided: buffalo jerky, mimosas, and eighty-six pennies. This is all we know about the reclusive woman.

Rachael Orman

Stay at home mother of two with a passion for reading almost as much as writing. She is often found curled up with her Kindle reading while her children cuddle up on either side ‘reading’ books of their own. Married for almost ten years to the most wonderful husband and father, she couldn’t ask for more out of life. Except maybe to live somewhere not quite as hot as the desert she currently lives in.

Adrian J. SmithFacebook – Twitter – WebsiteRachael OrmanFacebook – Twitter – Website

 

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Book Review: The Other Hidden Wound

Books

Occasionally, I have the immense pleasure of being asked to edit someone else’s work.  I’ve gotten to know several authors this way, and it’s a nice diversion from my own writing.  Over the last several weeks, I’ve been able to work with Travis Mamone on his latest book, The Other Hidden Wound: Uncovering the Effect of Patriarchy on the Male Psyche.

This short work is not a scholarly tome.  It is a personal journey from youthful ignorance to feminist ally.  Travis tracks his own history, including the mixed signals of his childhood and his own relational missteps.  It’s honest and intimate, and at each turn you can see another piece of the puzzle slide into place as he stretches his understanding of what it means to be both spiritual and feminist.

If you’ve spent any time around my blog, you’ll know that this is one of the issues close to my own heart.  Too many times, I’ve seen women hurt by the kinds of things Travis talks about in this book.  Few men are willing to examine their own part in it, or admit that they harbored underlying attitudes that have contributed to the oppression of women.  It’s refreshing to see a man willing to own those mistakes and take responsibility for listening when women speak.

It’s clear from Travis’ conclusions that the story he tells is not over.  By his own admission, he sometimes still has moments of falling into old patterns of thought.  But the good news is that no one is expected to be perfect out of the gate, and he’s willing to continue to learn and grow.  I am reminded of my own experiences having to navigate the waters of being a good ally.

The Other Hidden Wound should be relatable for anyone who has moved from oppressor to ally, but it will be particularly meaningful for other men who are struggling to understand where they may have gone wrong in their treatment of women.  Travis makes it clear that it isn’t merely overt misogyny that causes deep hurt but also the ongoing subtle patterns of behavior that encourage an entire system to flourish.

If you are wondering where to begin taking steps as a feminist ally, I recommend starting with this book, followed by seeking out women with whom you can ask hard questions and receive honest answers.

 

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Notable News: Week of September 22-28, 2012

Cool Stuff, Links, News

Not so awesome this week in terms of progress towards women’s equality.  We make up half the population, so why aren’t we making up half the featured blogs and authors lists?  More classic examples of “Men are universal, women are specific.”  Also, a just-for-fun article from the BBC news magazine (hey, I can’t just depress you all, for heaven’s sake!).

1. The title says it all

Insert major eye roll here.  This article, Jeffrey Eugenides: I don’t know why Jodi Picoult is bellyaching, is an exercise in stupidity.  It starts off just fine, a discussion of Eugenides’ work and his latest novel.  Read it if you like; it’s long and not terribly interesting.  About two-thirds of the way through, it turns into a random bashing of Jodi Picoult and a bizarre conversation about the way works by men and women are received.  To refer to Picoult as “bellyaching” reminds me a lot of the way women who rise up against our inequality are usually branded as “shrill,” “bitchy,” or “whiny.”  Eugenides says that Picoult isn’t “starved for attention,” as though that’s what she was after in her criticism of review coverage of women.  Good going, guys.  You just proved her point.

2. Gender bias and Facebook

Oh, goody.  So it’s not okay to be a racist, but it is okay to be a misogynist?  Well, gee.  Hey, women? I think we need to fight harder against this kind of thing.  Slut-shaming? Not cool.  Using pictures of strangers without their permission? Not cool.  Facebook pages about punching women? Not cool.  And again…we make up half the population.  How is it that we haven’t stopped this shit yet?  Let’s get busy making sure that it gets taken down.

3. Keep digging, Kent Shaffer

Last week I was critical of Dianna Anderson’s post about privilege.  This week, I am once again in her debt for voicing exactly what needed to be said in exactly the right way.  She offers two posts in response to Kent Shaffer’s Open Letter to Women Blogs, which you can read here and here.  Shaffer seems to think that there aren’t enough popular “church” blogs written by women to make up—again with the 50% thing—half the list of top blogs.  Of course, the definition of “church” blog is pretty nebulous, and, as is typical, the idea is still that men are—you got it—universal, while women are special.  And of course, we who make up 5o freakin’ percent of the population are eager to read only blogs by white men.  Gah.

Finally, before I get too worked up about this, I offer you…

4. Britishisms in American casual speak

Apparently, we Americans are letting common British terms and phrases creep into our own speech.  While I think it’s fun to take note of the ways in which our language may be changing or blending, I think this particular article is kind of…crap.  For example, I’ve never considered the term “sell-by date” to be particularly British, especially since I’ve used it, oh, since my own childhood.  Friends who are from/have been to England assure me that the common term is “expiry date” (though if anyone has another experience, by all means, let me know).  Also, whoever wrote this seems blissfully unaware that there is indeed still some lingering prejudice here toward people we would call redheads (but are referred to as “gingers” across the pond).  According to the article, there’s been an “uptick” of people using the word “ginger,” possibly attributed to Harry Potter (again, someone can correct me here, but I don’t think the word appears in the American versions of the books).  Ah, well.  The article is still an interesting read, and it doesn’t change the fact that UK English has better slang than US English, as you can see here and here.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

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