feminist rant

North Texas is a place in which conscious, independent women can live, get by, but under very few circumstances thrive. This is a bastion of white male privilege, and I am reminded living here once again for almost two years how spending my adolescence here radicalized me as a feminist. For instance, I see so few instances of women's interactions not mediated by men, particularly by significant others. There is downright fear in relating without them...initiating conversation is a revolutionary act. Men purchase only deodorants and soaps specifically designed for "men," like Axe and Dial For Men. When my friend borrows her boyfriend's Dial For Men after running out of soap, he deems it perfectly reasonable. But he would NEVER use her soap. I pointed out to him yesterday that she was, in fact, using St. Ives Energizing Citrus Shower Gel, which has no specific gender associations. He replied that he did not know that. He simply assumed that her soaps were "feminine" somehow, and therefore untouchable. When I sing karaoke, I notice women performing Journey songs sung by Steve Perry, Goo Goo Dolls songs sung by Dave Grohl, even the kitschy 80s tune "One Night In Bangkok" penned and originated by Murray Head. But I have NEVER seen a man sing a song popularized by a woman. All I can do is relish in my boyfriend's claim to have sung Alanis Morrissette several times in the past and the spot-on imitatons of Prince that have brought him local fame.

The automatic devaluation suffered by items and intangibles exclusively associated with women is the overtone that harmonizes with the all-too-casual male use of the word "bitch" I hear all too often. It arises in living rooms, uttered in the same breath as Miller Lite and Crown Royal, shouted over the din of XBox 360 and Rock Band televised battle and clicking controllers, screamed over the industrial-size rage of Nine Inch Nails and Drowning Pool, contained by the indifference of passers-by feigned for so long to have become reality, and underwritten by barflys, Jugalos, wrestlemaniacs, and midnight cowboys itching for a fight.

Is the Writer Obligated to Use His/Her Medium as an Instrument for Social Betterment?

This short piece is from Tom Robbins's 2005 retrospective of short pieces, Wild Ducks Flying Backward.

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A writer's first obligation is not to the many-bellied beast but to the many-tongued beast, not to Society but to Language. Everyone has a stake in the husbandry of Society, but Language is the writer's special charge. A grandiose animal it is, too. If it weren't for Language there wouldn't be Society.

Once writers have established their basic commitment to Language (and are taking the Blue-Guitar-sized risks that that relationship demands), then they are free to promote social betterment to the extent that their conscience or neurosis might require. But let me tell you this: social action on the political/economic level is wee potatoes.

Our great human adventure is the evolution of consciousness. We are in this life to enlarge the soul, liberate the spirit, and light up the brain.

How many writers of fiction do you think are committed to that?


Asked by Fiction International, 1984.