When the history of early 21st Century, Post-Evangelical, Meta – Feminist, Positive-Sexual-Identity, Pre-Teen Devotional Literature for Womyn is finally written, the name Aly Hawkins will resound through the pages like a loud cymbal having recently been struck quite forcefully by an adept striker, and quite unlike the sound of Lutefisk hitting the just-for-company plates at Christmas.
But I digress.
In Spring of 2005, Aly’s first book was published to such resounding critical acclaim as “Wow, that’s pink” (Christianity Today, August 05) and “Huh … Did you know it was going to be so pink?” (Art and Culture, September 05). Such a seminal work comes along so rarely, that one might think it a fluke; a confluence of external forces that propel some works forward with an almost syphonaical determination. One might think that in such cases, the author is incidental to the force of the work.
Aly’s family originally visited Africa in the spring of 4,500,000 BCE, and quickly adapted to the arid climate and ravenous tigers. It wasn’t until several years later, however, that the family finally decided to buy a summer home there, and settle in for a bit. In order to avoid her awkward teen years, her parents sent Aly off to live at Rift Valley Academy, which, from her description of it, sounds like it was built into the walls of a huge canyon, just like the Mars colony in Total Recall. Oh man, that movie was awesome. Remember when they pulled the huge metal marble out of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s nose? Man, they just don’t make movies like that anymore.
But I digress.
Those of us who are part of Addison Road got to see Aly blossom from a young, carefree, hippie, anti-authoritarian radical into the ultimate symbol of power and oppression: President of an all-women’s choir. My wife still sometimes shakes in fear at the memory of Aly’s violent rages and quellarent domination of 90 withering preacher’s daughters. But in the end, they did what no other Women’s Choir before or since has ever done: forced 6 directors in a row to resign from the University.
These days, you are likely to find Aly sipping a Pinot Noir at Table 13 in Ventura, penning a chapter in her upcoming novel, a pithy work of southern love, betrayal, and olfitory redemption. She is married to Ash, which was just so blindingly obvious to all of us that we wonder why it took them so long to figure it out. At this point in the story, someone would normally make a joke about how many times they got together and broke up before finally staying together, but I’d like to think I’m above that. Or maybe I will … No, no I won’t. Ok I will … wait, never-mind. She sings, with depth and poignancy, and with a vocal range that makes Tiger Wood’s tee-shot look downright priloficious by comparison. She does most things well, and all with grace and aplomb.
But I digress.
Aly’s ideal Jeopardy categories are:
1) That Ain’t My Motherland
2) Modern Authors Possessed by the spirit of C.S. Lewis
3) That reminds me of something David Sedaris once wrote …
4) Ella, Mahalia, Aretha, and Lady Day
5) Ink (body / paper)
6) Post-Liberal Progressives, and the self-loathing Conservatives who love them
7) Dialectic Theology in Practical Community
(bio written by Michael)
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