Michele Leigh and Lora Mjolsness do not waste any time validating the need for their book, She Animates: Soviet Female Subjectivity in Russian Animation. The second sentence of the book's introduction states, “Unfortunately, not only are female directors still a rarity in most of the world, their contributions have also historically been downplayed, minimized, or even omitted from the canons” (1). They go on to expand on their objectives to recover the contributions of women in Russian and Soviet animation over the last 100 years, discuss how the term “women's cinema” can be applied toward their films, and explain how the “ghettoization” of animation as children's media affected opportunities for women to participate in that industry (5–6). This monumental research on female animation directors of the Soviet Union attempts to rectify this dismissive attitude toward women animators, explains the circumstances that allowed women to rise to leading creative positions in the Soviet animation industry, and provides examples to demonstrate the ways in which the female perspective is portrayed in Soviet animated films directed by women.

The text is organized in chronological order, starting with the beginnings of animation in the early 1900s through the modern day. The authors offer some context of female participation in animation production by citing Disney's early restrictions of female artists to the ink and paint department and the substantial animation works of Lotte Reiniger in Germany, then go on to showcase the prolific careers of Russian female animation pioneers Valentina and Zinaida Brumberg, Olga Khodataeva, and others.

The authors examine how “the woman question” plays out in different eras of Soviet history, exploring the tensions related to shifting roles of women in Russian society and investigating the growth of female subjectivity in their animated works. While the Bolshevik revolution purported to assure equal rights and societal participation for all citizens, with new expectations to work outside the home and participate in political activities, women simply had more work to do, as they remained primarily responsible for the household and childcare (19). As female directors began to create animated films that depicted women's perspectives on their identities and experiences, these subjective portrayals amplified the voice of women in society.

The book addresses how the Russian animation industry was influenced by Disney, Soviet Realism, censorship, the Thaw, Perestroika, Glasnost, the fall of the Soviet Union, and privatization. While oversite of the state-run animation industry was less intensive than that of live-action cinema or literature, animators still had to work within parameters of style and content prescribed by the government, which relaxed over time. Soviet animation came to emulate the “Disney style” and embraced the didactic value of fairytales for children, then later progressed to a more minimalistic aesthetic and produced satirical films for adult audiences with contemporary characters and evolving depictions of women exercising agency and self-expression in various ways.

As a fellow researcher on this topic, I am greatly appreciative of this scholarly achievement to bring to light the careers, animated works, and in-depth analyses of Soviet female animation artists. The authors diligently retrieved rare jewels of information through their intensive research and adeptly realized their objectives to preserve this important aspect of Russian animation history with a direct and engaging writing style. The authors explain that through animation, along with other modes of expression, “Russian women are changing the understanding of womanhood and transforming the social and political fabric of Russia today” (176). Not to underestimate the power of animation art or the relevance of female subjectivity expressed by women artists, She Animates: Soviet Female Subjectivity in Russian Animation is well worth the read.