We’re in love and we’re REALLY ANNOYED ABOUT IT
"your full name without an E,F,R,S,K,I,M,L,C,A,Y,N"
At least you’re not his secretary.
i’m not an angry feminist i’m just a very disappointed in you feminist. go to your room and think about what you’ve done
i don’t want to date any boys i just want to make them all wish they were dating me
It’s Tartt—But Is It Art?, Evgenia Perez
I’m not really interested in the question of whether or not professional Literary Critics like James Wood (Not James Woods) consider Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch to be High Literature. I guess they’re the people who make that decision, but it’s a decision that is largely inconsequential to me and my reading habits and the reading habits of most people. This weekend I was at Fisherman’s Wharf and I saw a youngish woman, a tourist, carrying a copy of The Goldfinch around like a baby. It was a hot day and that book is heavy, but she was reading it so hard she was lugging it around everywhere, even to buy an $8 milkshake at a burger place on the bay.
I am interested in this quote, though. In the implicit horror of “a world in which adults go around reading Harry Potter.” I don’t know if James Wood wears pearls, but can’t you just picture him clutching them? It’s a funny quote to me, because if anything, what enraged me about The Goldfinch—a book I didn’t really like—was that I felt like it was nowhere near infantile enough. I agree that it seemed a bit like children’s literature, but like children’s literature in which you are required to bring your own sense of joy, wonder, and warmth (BYOJW&W?). The reason adults go around reading Harry Potter is that a lot of High Literature lacks joy, wonder, and warmth. But the world itself doesn’t. And so any story that strives to lack it tends to feel like something other that real life.
There’s been this uptick in book snobbery lately. There was that literal nonsense at Slate, which I think I’ve already made my feelings pretty clear about, and now this. It’s probably too simplistic to note that the things that unnerve literary people are the things that make money—in one case, a book written by a woman; in another, a whole subset read most voraciously by girls. I feel like I stand at a weird juncture in my literary community, with my MFA and my YA novels. On my Twitter timeline, the YA readers/writers cheer for books and readers no matter what or who they are, and the Literary readers/writers agree seem more inclined to agree with the thinkpieces. There’s an undertone of “It’s true! Most readers are stupid, and that’s why my books aren’t selling.” It’s not very difficult to choose a side when one side is so unashamed of their own snobbery.
I was a snob once, too. When I first started writing short stories in college, I was determined to read only the best, and so I focused on the Western canon, on Hemingway and Faulkner and Jonathan Franzen; I took a small step away from my beloved Harry Potter, understanding it to be different and lesser. It went on that way for a long time, until the summer after my first year in grad school, when I picked up Kelly Link’s Pretty Monsters in the teen section of the Carnegie Library and something shifted in my brain. It was like the curtains had been parted and I suddenly saw that my whole conception of value had been formed and shaped by people who looked exactly the same (people who looked like Hemingway and Faulkner and Franzen), that the world was much bigger than that, much more interesting, and so much more fun it made me want to scream. This is the thing I can’t get over in these conversations—we talk about Literary like it’s not in itself a genre. We talk about books as if it’s just understood that there’s a Universal Good and a Universal Bad, and we act like the Universal Good is not overpopulated with while males, and we act like readers of the Universal Bad don’t know any better.
Anyway, look. I can read and understand and appreciate High Literature, but usually I don’t. And as we should all well know, it’s our choices that show who we truly are, far more than our abilities. And what I am is happy.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III Scene II, William Shakespeare
"Notice that Shakespeare ascribes to love between girls a pseudodivine power, a spiritually fertile quality. Like ‘gods’ the two ‘create’ a flower with their needles, and the ‘double cherry’ is a literally fruitful image (as well as a symbol of virginity). […] Helena’s is a more psychological question—‘And will you rent our ancient love asunder?’—which clearly echoes the Anglican marriage ceremony, with its ‘Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.’ She is not accusing Hermia here of taking her man, but of something rather more subtle: letting men into the secret garden of girls’ love."
like this is seriously blowing my mind the first time I read this book like
hermia and helena??? YES reread EVERY text for love between women
I love that this is the academic way of just going
if you stand in front of your mirror and whisper ‘valar morghulis’ three times a men’s right activist will appear and say ‘not all men must die’