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Part # 1 TANGENT BY DAVE SIM if the ensuing seems unduly harsh to male and female feminists (which it will since everything besides complete and abject surrender to feminism strikes male and female feminists as unduly harsh) there is, perhaps, some small feminist consolation to be had from the fact that, with the completion of “Tangent,” I intend to “have done” with the subject of gender and gender “issues” entirely: in much the same way that The Cerebus Guide to Self-Publishing constituted my “hail and farewell” to the subject of self-publishing. As with the Guide, “Tangent” represents a summing up of my conclusions about a subject which has occupied my attentions for a period of time and which I have resolved for myself in my own way and to my own satisfaction (and which I am now pleased to put behind me so that I can pursue other areas of interest to me). PRE-TANGENT Carol West resigned her position as Aardvark-Vanaheim's Administrative Assistant (a very fancy feminist name for a very plain secretarial position: mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, and I don't intend that ironically) after “inputting” a first draught of “Tangent” parts one and two. Her resignation, far from being either a surprise or a disheartening event, to me, seemed just the latest example of feminism undermining its own 30-year long campaign to be taken seriously as a societal movement by (literally) getting offended and leaving in a huff whenever it encounters any viewpoint which does not represent absolute capitulation to its own. At some point – whether the intervening period is measured in days, weeks, months, years, decades or centuries – At Some Point, feminism will, I am sure, at long last be forced to face a number of hard questions about its total lack of intellectual foundation. Carol West can get offended and leave, but the hard questions remain. My feminist readers can roll their eyes theatrically, but the hard questions remain. They can exhale noisily, but the hard questions remain. They can snort derisively, but the hard questions remain. They can, collectively, turn their backs, but the hard questions remain. In the arena of intellectual opinion, when it comes to these hard questions, asking Dave Sim, “Why do you hate women so much?” is irrelevant when my subject is feminism's lack of sound intellectual footing. It is irrelevant whether I hate women. It is irrelevant whether I love women. It is irrelevant whether I consider women in any emotional context whatsoever, just as – when my question is directed toward feminism's lack of sound intellectual footing – it is irrelevant whether I hate ice cream, whether I love ice cream or whether I consider ice cream in any emotional context whatsoever. All That Is Relevant, when the issue at hand is my contention that feminism lacks a sound intellectual foundation, All That Is Relevant, Germane and/or Pertinent is the intellectual foundation – or lack of same – upon which feminism rests. Walking away is not relevant. Rolling one's eyes theatrically is not relevant. Snorting derisively is not relevant. It seems to me that after thirty years, all thinking people must be coming to realize that these reactions – far from constituting a defence of feminism – lead, inescapably, in the contrary direction: lead, inescapably, to the fact that feminism has no sound intellectual foundation: that, in fact, feminism has only its own rapidly dwindling momentum and the sheer gall, chutzpah, nerve and inherent unreasoning contrariness of its perpetrators as its foundation, as its sole line of defence, as its single raison d'etre and as its solitary rationale. Anyway, this is how I began: TANGENT I Having dispensed with the Hemingways (how many of you still think that Mary Hemingway – despite having murdered her husband – is a “strong, independent woman and a good role model for wives everywhere”? Show of hands. Almost all of you. Big surprise.) I now prepare for the next complete waste of my own time and energy: my promised “last word on gender” entitled “Tangent”. * * * * * * * All males (as opposed to men) sound like social workers and/or voodoo profession wannabe's, so it came as no surprise – when the fellow turned to me and asked “Where do you think your ideas about women come from?” – and the saccharine undertone was there (“When we share our experiences with others, it helps us to get in touch with our innermost feelings and emotions”). “Where do you think your ideas about women come from?” Two things: Foremost, they originate from the research that I did for Mothers & Daughters. Not the voluminous reading of everything from nurse novels to voodoo pop (My Mother, My Self; Our Bodies, Our Selves; Our House-pets, Our, Selves, et al) to Women's Studies [“ . . . and after all correlatives of the societal norm have been maximized through the intuitive, the nurturing and spiritually nutritive, through the hard-won maturation of our collective emotive a priori dispensation-construct: regarded (herein) not as the mere imitative imposition of the aforementioned “will to power” (the now universally discredited patriarchal model) but a new model founded upon, to reiterate, the intuitive, the nurturing and spiritually nutritive, pursuant to, but not inextricably bound within the ad hoc antecedent culture and/or cultural imperative blah blah blah”]. All I got out of that research, I already knew: a) women want to be raped by rich, muscular, handsome doctors b) women are completely self-absorbed and, thus, see themselves in everything around them and c) feminism is no different from communism in that all of its literature is founded upon convoluted syntax, bafflegab and academic jargon which paints a false (albeit attractive) picture of an unattainable utopia which can be achieved – easily! – by everyone in the world simply and simultaneously (in both feminist and communist literature the “crux point” is invariable) changing their basic nature overnight. Acknowledging – (grudgingly) the small likelihood of so sweeping a societal change coming about on its own, “a rigorous and thorough program of (communist and feminist literature share an admiration for the euphemism) re-education may be called for.” That is, all “non-comrades, non-fellow travellers” must be subjected to unrelenting political indoctrination, sloganeering and brainwashing (“A woman's right to choose! A woman's right to choose!”). (I sense that my situation with feminism is comparable to that of pre-1989 writers faced with the task of “debunking” communism: how extensive, lengthy and intricate an explanation can one pursue in explaining that two-plus-two do not equal five, but in fact, equal four without – even in one's own view – treading well within the lunatic borders of the excruciatingly self-evident? I suspect that feminism, like communism, must be allowed to “strut and fret its hour upon the stage,” “playing out” its manifold absurdities until even the most ardent and most willfully ignorant “true believer” comes to realize – as has happened with communism – that “there is no there, there.”) No. The research which most contributed to my “ideas about women” was the series of informal interviews I conducted with mothers and daughters – with mothers about their daughters, with daughters about their mothers, with daughters about their daughters, with mothers about their mothers. It was really the first time in my adult life that I spoke to women who I found physically unattractive and the first time I spoke to women with any motive besides getting them into bed. In the case of the attractive women that I interviewed, it was a guarantee that I was not going to get them into bed – “mothers and daughters,” as subject, existing at the opposite end of the conversational spectrum from those topics which lead to sex – and (knowing that) for the first time in my adult life the intellectual, reasoning, “writerly” part of my mind was engaged when talking to women. For the first while, I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I'm usually a “quick study” when it comes to a given subject – the “high altitude mapping” as Alan Moore called it in our “Dialogue: From Hell” a few years back. It's really what writing is made up of. Ask the hard questions, narrow the list of possibilities and work with the resulting template. As it turns out, nothing in the feminist psyche conforms to this model. All women are feminists and all feminist evidence is anecdotal. Ask them a question and they will tell you a little story. Ask them a question to clarify what you infer is the point of the story and they will tell you another story. When they do attempt to draw a conclusion or a larger inference from an anecdote they will often ask, “Does that make any sense?” And the answer, of course is (almost invariably) no, it doesn't make any sense. And since I wasn't trying to get any of them into bed, I would say so (if you're trying to get them into bed, you always say “yes, that makes perfect sense” or manufacture some sensible interpretation that has nothing to do with what they said). Telling them that they don't make sense, I found, is like telling them that not only do they not win the trip to Hawaii, they don't even get the Samsonite luggage. They become forlorn and uncommunicative. That was when I realized that it was impossible to engage them on an intellectual, reasoning, “writerly” level – that is, in a purely matter-of-fact fashion. I had to act, had to portray myself as being happy, sympathetic, interested and cheerful in order to maintain a level of . . . . . . I don't know what you would call it. It wasn't communication in any meaningful sense of the term as I understand it. It was a kind of “emotional badminton.” I acted happy, sympathetic, interested and cheerful and then it was her turn to act happy, sympathetic, interested and cheerful and then it was my turn, etc. She might accidentally say something interesting where I could, with sincerity, say that I found what she had just said interesting. This temporarily escalated the level of her cheerfulness but, alas, that is all that it did: whatever was being said ranking a very distant second to maintaining and escalating the level of cheerfulness. A very, very distant second. I realized that this is where the “henhouse cacophony” originates. If “communication” within a group of women is working properly (as women see “working properly”) everyone should be talking faster and faster and faster and in a higher and higher musical range – either portraying themselves or being (the two states being deemed interchangeable in the female world) cheerful, more cheerful, “cheerfulest” – until, maximum cheerfulness having been achieved, a glass breaks or something. NEXT.... |
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