The Politics of Being a Man Who Survived Childhood Sexual Violence 2

(You can read Part 1 here.)

I have been remiss in not telling you about a book in which two of my poems have been published, Voice Male: The Untold Story of the Profeminist Men’s Movement. Both poems are from my first book, The Silence of Men, and I am pleased that Voice Male’s editor, Rob Okun, chose them to close each of the sections in which they appear: “Fathering,” which ends with my poem “After the Funeral” and “Male Survivors,” which ends with “The Taste of a Little Boy’s Trust.” (The poem appears at the end of this post.) The latter section is the one I want to talk about here, but first I’d like to tell you a little bit about Voice Male, which is important in its purpose and really quite remarkable in its scope.

Rob Okun has been editing Voice Male magazine since 1983, when it was the newsletter of the Men’s Resource Center for Change. Since then, Voice Male has chronicled what Okun calls, in the title of his introduction, “One of the Most Important Social Justice Movements You’ve Never Heard Of.” Starting with The Oakland Men’s Project in 1979, he sketches the history of profesminist men’s organizations not just in the United States, but internationally as well. Okun writes about groups like Men’s Resources International, which has contributed to important profeminist work in countries as far flung as Nigeria, Nepal, Albania, and Ireland; like Promundo, which does work in Brazil and Rwanda; and like the Sonke Gender Justice Network in South Africa. Indeed, reading Okun’s introduction, it is difficult not to recognize a movement among men intended to turn what it means to be a man into a way of living more invested in empathy, compassion, and connection with others than in the all-too-often violent pursuit of power and authority around which traditional manhood and masculinity are built.

It’s not surprising, then, that Okun devotes an entire section of Voice Male to the voices of men who have survived sexual violence, for our refusal to be silent, to allow ourselves to be silenced, calls the very foundation of traditional manhood into question. Richard Hoffman’s brief essay, “Ten Thousand Children: A Turning Point,” concludes on precisely this assertion:

When a man chooses to break his silence about boyhood sexual abuse, he becomes a kind of defector from an ideology that sees the world as an arena in which other men are all competitors and each new circumstance yields only victims and victors. It is my belief that only those men with the courage to refuse this conceptual imprisonment and instead choose wholeness can begin to lead us out of the nightmare of patriarchy.

Whether or not you are comfortable with Hoffman’s overtly political language—defector, ideology, imprisonment—Hoffman is right about this: the moment a man reveals himself as a survivor of sexual violence, the moment he insists that a full recognition of his humanity must include recognition of that violation and how it has shaped his life, he calls into question the fundamental characteristics that we associate with “true” manhood, i.e., that a man has to be strong, in control, dominant over others, and, perhaps most especially, sexually inviolate. In the same way, in other words, that there is an inescapable politics to the truth-speaking of women who have survived rape, whether or not those women are intending to speak politically, when men who have survived sexual violence tell the truth about our experience, that truth, whether we intend it or not, is political.

For me, embracing feminist politics was where my healing began. The language with which the women’s movement both named the male dominant culture enabling men’s sexual violence and placed responsibility for that violence squarely on the shoulders of the men who perpetrated it not only helped me to name what my abusers did to me as abuse; it also gave me a target for my rage, a framework for understanding that I was no more at fault for what those men had chosen to do to me than a woman is when a man chooses to rape her. It’s not that I didn’t feel the shame that sexual violation inevitably brings with it. I did. At least intellectually, though, because of the feminist theory I was reading, I understood that shame not as something I deserved, but as a tool my abusers had used quite successfully to keep me silent, even though neither of them had been a part of my life for many years. Feminism, in other words, helped me do some of the intellectual work of healing long before I was strong enough for the emotional work.

That intellectual infrastructure, if you will, was a source of real strength at a time—this was in the mid to late 1980s—when almost no one was talking about the sexual abuse of boys. I remember in particular a summer-camp training session that left me speechless. With the absolute certainty of expertise, the session leader pronounced that he was going to use she as the generic pronoun for children who might choose to tell us they’d been sexually abused. While boys did sometimes experience abuse, he said, their numbers were so very small that he didn’t want to skew our perceptions of what he was going to tell us, perhaps causing us not to recognize the signs of abuse in girls, by including boys in our training. I did not yet have the strength to out myself as a survivor in that kind of situation, but neither was I devastated by what the trainer said, as I might have been without the certainty that feminism provided me.

For me, in other words, healing and feminist politics are inseparable, which is slightly different from the connection Richard Hoffman makes between speaking out and defecting from patriarchy. Speaking out, after all, is by definition a political act, one that positions the speaker in relation to a community and that can be as much about differentiation as about affiliation. Healing, on the other hand, whatever politics may be attached to it, is much more normative, focused primarily on helping someone learn to live as a welcomed member of a community; and the only person who should be allowed to decide whether or not their healing is political, in the sense that mine was, should be the person whose healing it is. This is a line I have not always been successful in walking, neither in the prose I have written about being a survivor nor in the poems I’ve written about that experience since The Silence of Men was published. I often lost sight of the distinction that Hoffman implicitly makes between acknowledging what happens when a survivor chooses to speak out and suggesting that survivors are obligated to do so. This is why, with a couple of exceptions, I haven’t written much about this topic in quite some time. It feels good to be able to do so now, almost like a homecoming. In that spirit, I offer you “The Taste of a Little Boy’s Trust:”

The Taste Of A Little Boy’s Trust

Snow still falling this late,
when each house framed
by the window above my desk

is dark, and even my wife’s breathing
has grown indistinguishable
from the quiet, snow still falling

as a truck rolls by, big-cat-svelte
on eighteen wheels, orange
running lights spreading

up and down my block
a Halloween glow
in mid-December,

like a space vessel landing,
bringing me the boy I was
standing in the courtyard, searching

the descending whiteness
for the shapes of ships
I longed to fly away on,

snow still falling this late
when I could be sleeping,
the way I should have been

the night I saw my mother nude,
and her friend on his back, and them both
too slow to hide what they were doing,

and I told my brother and we tried it,
and we tried to understand
why grown-ups did it—how could you let someone

pee in your mouth?—snow
still falling this late
is the whisper we tried to laugh in, breath

the old man dropped, syllable—
when—by syllable—will I
see you?—into my ear, and I

couldn’t move, wouldn’t, and so it wasn’t me
who followed him upstairs, who listened
to the lock click shut in the door, and it wasn’t me

whose belt he unbuckled, and when
his pants joined mine on the floor, it wasn’t
me he pled with, whose head he used

both hands to pull towards him
when I balked, whose mind
at this moment always whites out

until it wasn’t me
who unlocked the door and walked
to where the snow is still falling

as if even now he waited
in the apartment above mine,
and no matter how many times

my brother asks, I won’t go out,
not even to be first sled down
a virgin hill of the season’s new snow.


Posted in Rape, intimate violence, & related issues | 3 Comments  

Rachel Swirsky’s Recommendations for 2014 Young Adult & Middle Grade SciFi/Fantasy Novels

So! I’m on the Norton jury this year, which is the jury that’s responsible for reading widely for the award (which is given to young adult and middle grade science fiction and fantasy novels). After SFWA voters wisely nominate their own slate, the jury has the option of adding 1-3 worthy books which voters may not have come across in their travels. (The assumption is that most SFWA voters are primarily writing and reading fiction for adults.)

To that end, I’ve read (or at least read part of) about 75-80 books. The process for acquiring these was less difficult than it can be for me in other categories because the books came to my mailbox. So many books. Droves and droves of books. For a while, we’ve had books sprawling across many of our surfaces. Thank you to all the authors and publishers who trusted us with their work.

I did add books to my reading that didn’t come straight to my door. I gathered these via recommendations, although that wasn’t a big part of my process this year. I also tried to follow books by authors who I’ve previously enjoyed, which is why I bought A. S. King’s novel, for instance (although her publisher did also generously send us the book a while later). Finally, I was really surprised to see the Locus Recommendation list for young adult sf/f as there were a number of pieces I didn’t have my hands on. I don’t know why there was such a disparity in what we were seeing and what the Locus reviewers were seeing. The Locus list alerted me to Emmi Intarata’s MEMORY OF WATER, for instance.

Being on the jury, I was able to participate in a collaborative process of figuring out what to read. For instance, if a book got negative reactions from another of other jurors, I generally didn’t pick it up.

I have a couple of books on my kindle that I didn’t get to because I ran out of the time I’d allotted for this. There’s also a small pile of hard copy books. I was also frustrated by the fact that, because I had to go through so many books, I ended up abandoning several books 1/3-1/2 of the way through which I would have liked to finish. If I’m reading at full speed (and not doing ANYTHING else) I can do about two and a half full young adult/middle grade books per day. In the end, I just didn’t have enough time. I could have only read Norton books and ignored the other categories, but this late in the game, my doing more Norton reading doesn’t really help–there’s not enough time for me to recommend books to the other jurors and reasonably expect them to be able to read them.

Since I read so many books, I also find that I have a LOT to say about them. I don’t think I can adequately do so in a recommendation post. Firstly, because I don’t have the time to write out reviews of everything I recommend or enjoyed. Secondly, because it would take up way too much space, and be confusing. So, for some of the books, I’m going to resort to short sentences. I can always go back and do fuller reviews in separate posts, I tell myself (although I will probably get distracted by other things because I tend to).

I’m trying not to just default-link to Amazon, so there will be a lot of links to people’s websites and other places where you can find multiple retail options. But I’ll probably also include some Amazon links.


Glory O’Brien’s History of the Future, A. S. King (young adult) – I’m a big fan of A. S. King and her direct, forceful writing. She’s kind of like Chuck Pahlaniuk for kids, but with a Dorothy Allison vehemence and emotionality. That makes her work sound darker than it is–to be fair, sometimes it’s quite dark, but generally her young adult protagonists begin to find their way as they grow up. This story is about a girl and her friend who decide to drink the powdered corpse of a mummified bat, and find that it endows them with visions about other people and their pasts, presents, and futures. The main character pieces together her own future life by watching visions stimulated by other people. It’s not clear if the future she sees is fixed (I sort of imagine it’s not). The characters and clarity of this book are excellent, as is characteristic of King’s work. It’s a very strong novel, beginning to end.

Greenglass House, Kate Milford (middle grade) – I’m also a big fan of Kate Milford, though her writing morphs more from book to book than King’s does. This middle grade is a charming, fun tale about an adopted boy who lives with his parents at an isolated, east coast inn frequented by smugglers. Several mysterious guests arrive just before a major snowfall that traps everyone together. The main character and his accomplice, a young girl, scramble to find the heart of the mystery before the smugglers do. It’s extremely well-executed with the whimsy supported by a strong framework of character detail and emotional development. It’s a compulsive read, weaving the mystery skillfully and demanding attention. It also does some really cool things about considering the main character’s interracial adoption, and his sense of isolation and curiosity about his family, and how those things make him feel intensely guilty. There’s a sense of real love and well-being between him and his adoptive parents, and it’s lovely to see how that can be drawn in the story while still leaving room for the main character to feel unresolved about his identity. The novel is beautifully shaped as a whole.


Ambassador, William Alexander (middle grade) – This novel is a departure for Will Alexander, a contemporary and fanciful science fiction novel about a young American boy with Mexican parents who is chosen by a strange alien creature to become the ambassador for the earth. The science fiction bits are just a lot of free-wheeling, engaging fun. As the ambassador, the main character is immediately thrown into a situation where he has to investigate and resolve an interstellar conflict while trying to avoid the attention of a nearby genocidal alien race. Simultaneously, his real life is thrown into chaos when his father is pulled over at a stop sign and discovered to be an illegal immigrant. The story has really smart threads about immigration and cooperation. I particularly liked that the main character’s super power is that he’s extremely perceptive about people, and kind and empathetic as he tries to make sure the people around him are safe and happy. It’s wonderful to see someone writing a well-developed young boy with those traits because they’re pretty awesome and boys can have them, too. (It reminds me of the debate I’ve had online about Dr. Who, wherein the arguer says that Dr. Who is a rare beast because he’s a male character who solves things with intelligence and diplomacy while actively avoiding violence.) The ending of the novel was weird; I think I know what Will Alexander was doing, and I suspect it’ll all be resolved in a satisfactory way in the sequel, but I felt the last couple paragraphs were a misstep when presented without follow-up.

Girl on a Wire, Gwenda Bond (young adult) – Two rival circus families with a complicated Past end up traveling together; the main character, Julieta, who does a high wire act, falls for a son of the rival family, Remy, also known as Romeo. The thing that worked for me least here was the Romeo and Julieta naming convention; the parallels to Romeo and Juliet are clear enough in the set-up, but the story goes its own way plotwise (which was good), and I wasn’t persuaded that it was a good idea to tie it so closely to Shakespeare. It does prepare the reader for the death of one of the teenage characters, though, and I wondered whether that was the point. This is a fairly straightforward young adult romance with magical underpinnings, but I thought it was particularly well-executed, with memorable events and a memorable character. The romance employed several tropes that usually bug me a lot, but that only irked me slightly in places here, perhaps because while the main characters are star-crossed in their fates to love despite their families, they never go into much of a will-we-or-won’t-we oh-but-you’re-my-enemy tailspin, and instead all in love and move on from there. I also really liked the secondary characters, Julieta’s cousin and nana, and Remy’s sister. The circus imagery really distinguishes it, especially the main character’s passion for the high wire, and her love of past high wire peformer, Bird Millman, who did walks between skyscrapers while holding a parasol.

Salvage, Alexandra Duncan (young adult) – People I’ve spoken to have really polarized reactions to this book which I find interesting as I thought it was straight-up good. It’s traditional science fiction with a lot at stake and an interesting slant on character. It seems to me that some of the divide over the book had to do with whether or not people resonated with the voice. I did. I thought this novel moved in the same space as Alaya Dawn Johnson’s SUMMER PRINCE, in terms of putting real, well-done YA in unusual science fiction settings. In this story, the main character is born as part of a fundamentalist cult that lives in space. The cult appears to be based on fundamentalist Mormon cults, involving non-consensual plural marriage of minors, and abandonment of young boys. (This could describe other cultural situations as well, but the material trappings of the cult seemed to indicate a fundamentalist LDS inspiration.) I should emphasize here that I don’t think the word Mormon is ever used, and even if it were, the novel would not be a reflection on mainstream Mormon practice. Inhumane fundamentalist cults don’t represent whole religions, and it is a pet peeve of mine when people conflate the two out of ignorance. The novel is depicting a problematic cult. Anyway, when her father announces that she’s going to be married, the main character thinks she’s going to be the first wife of the son of the visiting ship captain; the son thinks so as well. They meet tenderly and in private to discuss how pleased they are, but are discovered, and it’s revealed that she was actually meant to marry the ship’s captain himself. She’s declared dead for having sullied herself and exiled to Earth where she learns to navigate the strange-to-her cultures. She also tries to help other people who have been ill-served by the cult, including boys who have been exiled from their families in order to sustain the polygynous system. While the structure is a bit lumpy in parts, I thought this was a well-done and unusual novel and I recommend it strongly.

Otherbound, Corinne Duyvis (young adult) – This was the right novel for me at the right moment; I descended upon it and devoured it from first to last page, totally compelled by the storyline. There are two main characters (who don’t romance each other!). One is a boy who lives in our world but suffers from visions wherein he is fully immersed in a painful and jarring fantasy world, a situation that no one in our world knows how to explain, and so they call a variety of epilepsy which he goes along with so as not to be considered psychotic. (For people who have a sensitivity to the trope, that does mean that the novel falls into the “magical disability” category; I felt it navigated the issue well enough, but others may disagree.) The other is the girl whose mind he drops into when he has those “seizures” — an enslaved magic-wielder who has been violently dealt with by her owners, who have cut out her tongue, regularly beat her, and do things like burn her hands (she has healing powers so they can cause her extreme pain without risking her life). She is bound to protect a captive princess who tries to mitigate the excesses of her treatment but has very little power to do so. They’re on the run from a curse. I found the girl’s storyline completely, viscerally engaging, and I thought there was sharp character development, and really well done rendering of trauma, especially given that it was leavened by opportunities for action and escape. I gave my copy of this book to my niece (who was a couple months shy of eleven); my brother looked up reviews which were very upset about how violent it is. I was worried, but my brother shrugged, and said if she didn’t want to read it, she’d stop (that’s how I was raised, too, but I don’t assume all parents give their kids free range). Instead, she started it on Christmas day and read it with such constant attention that we often had to break her out of it to get her to participate in family activities. As soon as there was a lull, she was back in the book.

The Glass Sentence, S. E. Grove (middle grade) — I fell in love with the beginning of this strange and beautiful novel about a girl who lives in a world where time has cracked, causing different parts of the world to tumble into different eras, past and future. She’s from nineteenth century Boston and crosses into strange territories looking for her uncle, a kidnapped explorer. The novel has this beautiful imagery about maps, and the types of maps, and how they function. I was utterly enchanted by the voice and world building, and some of the story was quite haunting. When I started, I expected the story to be about the main character’s journey with her uncle; when he was removed from the picture and replaced with a romantic interest, I was less enchanted. The adventure part of the book got bogged down, I thought, and was less interesting than a quieter story against this stunning background might have been. But that’s quite possibly my idiosyncratic reaction; I often want more subdued stories and get bored by world-saving. Despite that, it’s quite a good book, and definitely notable for its odd loveliness.

Egg and Spoon, Gregory Maguire (middle grade) — In this sweeping epic, Maguire takes on Russian mythologies, particularly that of Baba Yaga, in a Tzarist setting of both poverty and grandeur. He takes two pre-adolescent protagonists — one, a starving member of the proletariat, the other an aristocrat — and forces them together in what looks initially like it will be a Prince and the Pauper mix-up but eventually becomes more sophisticated. As always with Maguire, the descriptions are very beautiful (especially of manmade objects), and there’s a sort of breathtaking grace in the sweep of his world-building. Another reader wondered if this cribbed too much from the Russian epics; I can’t really speak to that because I haven’t read most of them. Baba Yaga is a time traveler, constantly throwing out anachronisms, which is often something that bugs me, but for some reason, worked for me here. I also liked that the aristocratic girl’s aunt had foibles but also generosity, as did her governess and butler. The novel works smoothly up to the halfway point; after that, I thought it got bogged down with itself and some of its detail and started to move slowly. But it’s really gorgeous and striking and I expect I’ll remember it for a long time. I also expect it would reward rereading.

Dirty Wings, Sarah McCarry (young adult) – An adopted piano prodigy feels stifled in her regimented life with her perfectionistic mother. She meets a homeless teenage runaway with psychic powers and they decide to run away from the city together. The story of their travels is interwoven with the story of their meeting and pasts, as well as mysterious encounters with a figure who is heavily implied to be the devil. The speculative thread of this (the devil figure) is never particularly developed or resolved, which didn’t bother me as much as it did other readers I talked to, but did actually seem like a drawback. I wanted something more from the ending than what it gave me, and further development of the devil figure seems like the easiest way for it to have achieved that, although there are other methods, too. (Looking at the amazon page for the book, it looks like this may be part of a longer sequence of novels, which might be why it’s not particularly resolved.) The character development, language, and detail are sharply and astonishingly developed. There’s a lot of non-moralistic depiction of heavy drug use in the book which makes it unusual for YA, but also makes it feel very honest. As a gift-giver, I’d probably skew toward giving the book to people near the top of the young adult age range–probably sixteen or over–but younger teens may well be fine with it. I’d just want that to be something they negotiate for themselves/with their parents. I certainly read pretty honest and dark stuff as a teen.


Witch’s Boy, Kelly Barnhill (young adult) – Trademark Kelly Barnhill whimsy with omnipotent, distinct storyteller voice. A witch’s son and the daughter of a bandit use the last of the world’s magic to stop a war. Also trademark: Barnhill is surprisingly good at creating folk tale imagery and threads that have the same feel as the folk tale lexicon, but are in fact her own, new creations. Not as unique as IRON-HEARTED VIOLET, but perhaps better structured.

Death Sworn, Leah Cypess (young adult) – I find Cypess easy and engaging to read, as in this story of a sorceress sent to teach magic to a cloister of assassins. Liked the magic system, liked the main character, liked the read. Felt the ending flattened out a little, and it didn’t seem as distinct from other YA as some of her work has been. Good, enjoyable read.

Chasing Power, Sarah Beth Durst (young adult) – Durst is always an enjoyable read for me, and is here, too. A girl with the power to move very small objects with her mind finds her life upset when a boy reveals that he’s discovered her secret and blackmails her into embarking on a risky endeavor to rescue his kidnapped mother. Really liked the main character lots and got really attached to her. Also liked the clear love for archaeology in the text. Didn’t feel as unique to me as Durst’s work can be, and felt that it got bogged down in the last third.

Memory of Water, Emmi Itaranta (young adult) – Debut science fiction novel. World after environmental crises have caused global warming, severe droughts, and loss of many advanced technologies. A young girl who inherits her father’s role as a tea master guards her family’s secret, a hidden spring, which has to be concealed from a military obsessed with controlling all access to water. Absolutely exquisitely written, with many beautiful contemplative passages, and gorgeously evocative sensory details. Loved the development of the secondary characters, especially the main character’s best friend. This was another one that got bogged down for me toward the last third with what felt like a lot of repetition of the same kind of emotional moments. Also, it was coy with giving information, which is a minor peeve. Let me reemphasize its beauty, though.

Love Is the Drug, Alaya Dawn Johnson (young adult) – I generally adore Alaya Dawn Johnson’s work, but for some reason this one never really grabbed me, narratively. I felt like there was a tension between the personal plot, which was about the main character’s assertion of her sense of identity against her parents, and the action plot, which was about secret agents and plagues and drugs and terrorism. The two intertwine structurally, but somehow seemed to resist each other in my reading. I liked the personal plot more. The writing is really sharp, the characters are well done, and the scenes between the main character and her paramour Coffee are often intriguing and unexpected.

Evil Librarian, Michelle Knudsen (young adult) – This wasn’t particularly unique, but it was surprisingly fun. Like a really good and satisfying episode of Buffy. (Not like it was copying Buffy, just it had that sense of “let’s go and have fun, and be teens going through emotional stuff, and face ridiculous supernatural threats”). High school student faces down demon librarian. Plus Sondheim!

Mortal Heart, Robin LaFevers (young adult) – The third book in the HIS FAIR ASSASSINS trilogy which is about a convent of nuns who are the daughters of the God of Death and who train as assassins to act as his hands in the world. In this final book, the main character, suspicious of the abbess’s motives, runs away from the convent, risking the anger of her god and his hell-riders. What really impresses me is that it’s so unusual for a third book: it’s as good or better than the earlier books, and I think it would even stand alone. That’s some talent, right there.

Black Dog, Rachel Neumeier (young adult) – Three children, one of whom is a werewolf, flee north after their parents are murdered to find the pack that their father had abandoned and beg to be taken in. As they try to adapt to the new pack’s hierarchy, they also have to fight off hostile their parents’ murderers who have followed them northward and are trying to kill their new pack, too. This story dealt with a lot of themes I like and that are common to Octavia Butler’s work, including characters struggling to negotiate biological imperatives that force them into hierarchical social orders. Because of that, I kept sort of reading a shadow Octavia Butler book as I was reading this one, and wishing that the characters had been drawn with just a touch more of Butler’s sharpness and ambiguity. This probably didn’t serve the book well. On the one hand, it meant I was really into it; on the other, I was preoccupied with considering other ways it could have been written. I felt it suffered a bit from bluntness, but was still quite striking.


Drift, M. K. Hutchins (young adult) – Some of the most unique worldbuilding I’ve seen in young adult novels. May be particularly interesting to those with an interest in anthropology.

The Story of Owen: Dragonslayer of Trondheim, E. K. Johnston (young adult) – Does not include a romance!

Lockstep, Karl Schroeder (middle grade) – Got my hands on it late & had to abandon mid-book for time reasons once I realized it wasn’t a top spot contender for me. Will go back to it when I can. Old-fashioned gosh-wow adventure with lots of hard SF cookies.

The Cure for Dreaming, Cat Winters (young adult) – Interesting take on women’s suffrage movement.

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Rachel Swirsky’s Recommendations for Novellas Published in 2014

Every year, I try to binge read short fiction and make recommendations on it. I am not able to do a very comprehensive job this year. First, because I’m on the jury for the Norton Award (given to science fiction and fantasy young adult and middle grade speculative fiction) which ate a lot of my reading time. Secondly, my health has been poor.

Novellas are the one reading category which I didn’t have to significantly abridge. I admit that’s because I never read too many of them. This year, I looked at eighteen, although if I had another day or two, I’d expand that to at least twenty. I gathered these novellas by:

1) Requesting recommendations directly from other writers, and looking at their posts recommending stories. This year, I did a lot of reading from lists by Ken Liu and Aliette de Bodard.

2) Reading the year’s run of Asimov’s, which is a regular novella publisher.

3) Picking up the most commonly recommended novellas on the SFWA message boards. Also, I went through the (relatively short) list of novellas which had been placed in the forums, and downloaded several.

4) Asking individual authors to send me things they were particularly proud of.

I tried to put priority on looking at the newer, less established authors that my process turned up, though I also picked up very highly rated works by authors like Nancy Kress. (It’s why I put low priority on Scalzi’s novella, though, which I didn’t get to… sorry, John.) I also admit to having given priority to novellas I could easily get my hands on, with the exception of the Valentine novella, which I had to go buy. (The horrors! It was completely worth it.)


“A Necessary Being” by Octavia Butler (in her collection, Unexpected Stories)

I didn’t think I’d ever get to read another new piece of writing by Octavia Butler and I am astonishingly grateful for being able to do so.

This novella deals with many of Octavia Butler’s accustomed themes. She often wrote about communities formed and maintained by biological necessity. This appears here, also, as the aliens*, who are vaguely reminiscent of insects, have biologically determined castes, including rare individuals born to be rulers. Ruler-class infants are born so rarely that cities vie to make sure they have one; if none are born in a generation, they’ll kidnap and mutilate one in order to force it to stay.

Another of Butler’s common themes–in her more optimistic stories, particularly–is finding ways to navigate biological necessity in order to create better, more peaceful outcomes. Rather than simply breaking the rules, characters have to find a way to get what they want within them. In the SF tradition, iconoclastic rule-breaking is probably more common, but in real life, people are almost always constrained by biology and culture. I value Butler’s attempts to ask: if we have limits, how can we negotiate them anyway? Since I invariably read these as, on a distant level, parables about the biological tendencies toward hierarchy, conflict and xenophobia that appear in human societies, I find her writing very delicate and hopeful. Despite a realistic, bleak view of the terrible things those qualities can force, Butler often writes her way out of the biological traps she poses, imagining strange, often ambiguous, ways through.

This is one of the more unabashedly optomistic stories. I’m not going to say it’s one of her best — it lacks the fast, emotional gut punch of “Bloodchild,” for instance — but it’s still strong. The science fictional elements are interesting; the narrative is intriguing; and her ever-insightful eye is present here, and a wonder to see again.

Hath No Fury” by Kat Howard (Subterranean Online)

In this urban fantasy version of New York, wherein magical and mythical creatures coexist in a surreal way with mundane ones, Medea and her furies continue their work from the Greek tragedies. The main character is a woman who was murdered by her abusive boyfriend, and now — as a fury — avenges other women murdered by their intimate partners. (I appreciate that Howard explicitly includes trans women.) When omens indicate that something is very wrong, she works with Medea, the fates, Odin, and others to chase down the monster at the heart of the labyrinth.

I have a low tolerance for urban fantasy settings wherein mundane things exist alongside mythical ones, which I have no particular excuse for. It’s just a thing I don’t usually like, perhaps because it often seems glib or cute. Kat Howard’s mythical New York City works for me–I think I like that the story takes the presence of the mythical figures as accepted fact, and moves from there. It doesn’t try to reconcile the two views of the city, or make the process make logical sense (a lot of urban fantasy loses me when it tries to make logical sense out of something inherently illogical). It’s surreal; that’s it; the reader is now invited to move on with the story.

Some of Kat Howard’s descriptions of the city and its surreality are lovely, for instance, when the main character describes a section of the city which is perpetually stuck in Tuesday mornings. I also found a number of stand out lines like this one: “The hidden meaning of vengeance is too late” which I feel perfectly encapsulates both the temptation of vengeance and the howling, despairing uselessness of it. This is particularly resonant for me in the context of uncovering some terrible things that were done to a loved one. I furiously want to attack it, avenge it somehow, while knowing it would be fruitless; it wouldn’t change things for my loved one or protect them. The time when I could have interfered to stop the damage is decades past.

I also thought she did a really good job of describing the dynamics of abuse. In particular, I liked the main character’s attempts to reconcile herself as the strong, avenging fury she is in the present with the person who had been thoroughly isolated and wrecked by her boyfriend.

Then I saw myself. My self as I had been, before I became a Fury, before I gave myself a new name. Hollow-eyed and hunched, and walking like I was waiting for a blow to fall.

Near the end of things, I thought, but I couldn’t be sure—I hadn’t recognized how bad things were when I had been living them. I tell myself now that if I had, I would have asked for help, but that’s probably a lie. I see that girl now, and I am embarrassed to have been her, shamed, that I let someone else turn me into that shadow of a thing. We’re supposed to be strong, and it feels like failure to realize you’re not.

“Yesterday’s Kin” by Nancy Kress (published solo by Tachyon)

In this novella, a scientist who has recently discovered a new subgroup of mitochondrial DNA, is summoned by the government to participate in meetings with the aliens who have established an embassy in New York. The aliens, it turns out, are humans, transplanted 150,000 years ago to a new world. They are also members of that mitochondrial subgroup and want to identify their relatives, who turn out to include the scientist’s adopted son.

The aliens also reveal that earth is in the path of a catastrophic event, wherein a cloud of “spores” (like those theorized by panspermia) will infect humans with a fatal disease. Many human scientists go to live in the embassy where they can collaborate with the aliens to research a vaccine. The main character’s adopted son also goes to live there, where he can learn more about the alien’s culture, and decide whether or not to join them.

This was a fairly typical Kress novella for me (that’s not a bad thing)–if you like them, you’ll probably like this. If not, I have no idea (since it depends on why you dislike them). It’s grounded in classic science fictional speculation, merging a number of ideas and theories to generate a plot. However, the characters and details are sharply grounded enough that the stories don’t feel dry; there’s emotional resonance, too. There are also a lot of genuinely surprising plot turns, and those that I can anticipate are well-executed. I also appreciate the ways that she creates difficult, upsetting situations, but always leaves a note of benevolence. Characters–and species–are often good faith actors, even if they don’t always seem to be, and even if bad outcomes result from their good intentions. As some writers say, she demonstrates generosity to her characters.

As in many Kress stories, there are a few moments that make me eyeroll a tad–mostly, amid her interesting science fictional speculations, she often includes one or two that I consider ungrounded enough to break the illusion that the story is hard science fiction. I don’t have a problem with stories that aren’t hard science fiction, but when all the signals in the story are saying “this is!” then I get a little frustrated with things being included that are seriously unlikely because they end up being wrapped up in this veneer of truthiness. In this novella, my eyeroll moment was that one of the characters was somehow sensitive enough to people’s physiology to be able to pick up other people’s mitochondrial groupings; he immediately, viscerally feels a loving connection with those who share his mitochondrial DNA. This is eyerolly for me because it’s extremely improbable, and it also plays into some weirdness about the inherent importance of “real” families that I expect would aggravate some of my friends who have strong, nonbiological family ties. (I don’t mind the portrayal of a difficult adoption in this at all, but the implication that it would have automatically been better if the people were more closely related irks me somewhat.) I have some friends who are very sensitive to this theme; they might not enjoy the novella. But I did, a couple eye rolls aside.

I’m not doing much of a thematic analysis here, but it’s a strong work, and very successful at being the kind of story it sets out to be (not an easy task). I enjoy its complex plot and all the intellectual bells and whistles that keep my science fictional brain happy.

The Mothers of Voorhisville” by Mary Rickert (

I have often had trouble immersing in Rickert’s work, although I admit that I was usually trying in high school so my reading taste was suspect. I acknowledge this as entirely my issue, given the number of people with really good taste who adore her writing. But that’s why it was especially nice to sit down to this story and find it absorbing.

It tells the story of a number of women — the mothers of Voorhisville — who were all seduced and impregnated by the same man. They all gave birth to pretty baby boys with metal wings. They tried to hide this, fearing societal reactions, aided by the fact that the babies could retract their wings. Once they got old enough to start flying, though, the women were no longer able to hide the secret. They form a frightening, creepy collective to try to protect the increasingly sinister babies.

The story is told in a sort of consensus format, with the idea being that one of the women is transcribing events, flipping points of view frequently. There are periodic interjections from the group as a whole, speaking in second person. Occasionally, someone else writes a section. There are a large number of characters to keep track of, and I sometimes failed, but several of the stories are interesting and distinctive. (I expect that which ones resonate with which people will differ.)

Rickert does a masterful job of weaving in disturbing details so that the reader is overwhelmed by an increasing sense of doom. This is where I confess I’m a bad horror reader; in the moment when I’m reading it, I am very engaged by all that disturbing stuff. But once I’m done, when I think back on the story, I remember that oh-so-successfully evoked sense of anxiety, and that makes me not want to think about the story. It’s like I get the emotional impact of disliking it, even though what I disliked wasn’t the story, but the emotion which it was supposed to (and did) evoke. I have that problem a little bit with the Valentine below, too. Rickert was just too successful. ;)

I think I would have preferred the story to be pruned by one or two threads, as it would have helped my tracking, and I think the story got weighted down by so much detail at points– the number of characters meant that the pacing of less interesting parts of the story (to me, at least) still had to be quite slow. But that was a minor feeling, and mostly (again, for me) concerned the middle. The beginning was intriguing and pulled me in, even while it spun a mood of trepidation; the ending was fast and visceral and horrifying.

I’m not sure I would read this again (because: disturbed), but it was an interesting read, and is definitely an extremely well-crafted piece that I admire for its skill.

“Dream Houses” by Genevieve Valentine (list of where to buy on her website)

The main character is a trucker whose impatience with staying still has eventually driven her to becoming auxiliary crew on a cargo ship that transports goods to an outlying colony. When the crew’s hibernation pods are sabotaged, only the main character survives, leaving her both awake (because she cannot return to the sabotaged pod) and alone. She calculates the time she’ll have to stay awake during the trip — six years — and prepares for a grueling journey of isolation and deprivation, alone with the ship’s AI, Capella, who appears to have been sabotaged itself so that it can’t (or won’t) tell her what the cargo is that apparently inspired someone to murder the crew.

The novella weaves the present timeline of the main character’s journey with revelations about her past. There’s a theme about choral music as well, which made me wonder if Valentine might be writing in response to Leckie’s ANCILLARY JUSTICE, although it could also be a coincidence. I found some of the relationships in the flashbacks hard to sort at first in a way that didn’t feel like it necessarily served the story, and I also question the placement of the first one — which is about choral music — as I found myself unpleasantly disoriented for a bit in terms of big questions of setting and timeframes which I didn’t want to be thinking about. So personally, I had to push a little bit before I got into the story, but that may well be an idiosyncratic reaction.

This is a deeply disturbing novella with lots of visceral, painful moments. There’s a lot to like here, including Valentine’s impeccable skill with craft and language, but I think the thing I most appreciated was the main character. She had a very strong, distinct presence, which was informed by her traumatic past without being overwhelmed by it. I also loved the touches of surreality where the main character started to get confused–for instance, when she begins to believe that one of the dead crew members is alive — they are presented with utter frankness. The main character believes this impossible thing; she also understands the limitations of reality (like, that the crewmember can’t respond to her); she can’t reconcile these things and doesn’t even try, they’re just part of her life. It felt like a refreshing and realistic way of talking about breaks with reality.

I keep going back and forth on which of these novellas is my favorite, but this one may be it. It’s very distinctive and worth chasing down even though it’s harder to access than many of the others on this list.


“The Regular” by Ken Liu (list of where to buy the anthology Upgraded on Clarkesworld’s website) – There seem to be at least one or two science fiction mysteries every year in my novella reading. This year, there were two–Liu’s and Murphy’s–and I’ve listed them both. Science fiction mysteries are a harder sell for me than many other forms, as I think the two genres can mix in a glib fashion that I find predictable, and/or the science fiction conventions can actively get in the way of the murder mystery conventions. I prefer a mystery in which I can track the clues and, on reread, see how the author has cleverly left a trail that would have lead me to the correct conclusion. In science fiction, the turning point is often on clues that the reader would have no way of deciphering, because they depend on advanced technology (or, worse, unpredictable fantasy rules); this can work if the writer does enough foreshadowing, but sometimes they don’t.

Liu manages the combination deftly here, producing a good story that is very satisfying in both genres. There’s an emotional arc of character development here, too, which distinguishes the story. It’s much more action-oriented than most Liu and an engaging, fast-paced read. For some reason, it seemed like it would adapt very well into a graphic novel.

My favorites of Ken Liu’s work are distinctly him — they’re stories which just couldn’t have been written by anyone else. For me, this wasn’t one of those stories; it’s not unique. But it’s a deftly done, satisfying science fiction mystery, and I definitely recommend it for people who like those and want a good, entertaining read.

“Claudius Rex” by John Murphy (list of where to buy on his website) – This is a good complement for the Liu. The Ken Liu mystery is more emotionally resonant; the Murphy mystery is more funny and just plain *fun.* It’s a really energetic and compulsive read with a hellaciously obnoxious AI whose voice I really liked. There were a couple places where I felt like it got bogged down in details and back-and-forth, particularly in the ending sequences, but it was just really fun to read. And when it got a bit dry for me, or there was a trope that felt a little too baldly inserted, all I had to do was wait a bit–there were always more treats coming.

The Things We Do For Love” by K. J. Parker (Subterranean Online) – A few of the Parker stories I’ve read have been about diffident, talented-but-rebellious young men. This one is, too–a Duke’s son, turned thief, meets a witch who loves him with disturbing obsessiveness and won’t let him age, leave or die. The thief is therefore sentenced to a sort of monotonous, unending ordeal of carrying off heists that he doesn’t want to do, and that they don’t need to do, because the witch thinks that’s the way to make him happy. I liked this; the voice is engaging; it had lots of interesting moments. I felt that the ending dragged (my guess is that’s because he had two timelines going at once, and one ended a lot earlier than the other), and I found myself less willing to suspend my disbelief about the witch character as the story went on; once she was given a(n interesting) history, I had trouble believing in her vapid, unchanging obsession with the thief. But definitely fun, and strongly in Parker’s ouvre (assuming what I’ve read is representative).

“Boar and Apples” by Ursula Vernon (in her collection Toad Words) – This is a pretty straightforward Snow White retelling, leavened with humor and practicality. There are substantial changes to the ways the characters interact, and the dwarfs have transformed into delightful, magical boars. This isn’t a deep thematic intervention like many of the more serious fairy tale retellings, so people shouldn’t go in with that in mind; it’s not trying to be Valente’s “Six Gun Snow White.” It’s quite successful at its aims: it’s a charming, fun read, enriched by Vernon’s witty dialogue and turns of phrase.

*It’s possible there’s some backstory that makes these genetically modified humans or something, since someone told me this novella connects to one of Butler’s novel-length works. But, at least in the story, they seem like aliens.

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Recommending Fiction from “Across the Aisle”

At some point, I’d like to put together a recommendation list of awesome stuff (science fiction and fantasy, probably only short fiction because that’s where I feel like I really have a specialty) by conservative or right-wing authors.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to do it in the next couple months. :( But I hope it is a project I can get to sometime.

I don’t know everyone’s politics, so I wouldn’t know who to include. Are you a conservative or right-wing author who would like me to look at your work? Please let me know. Or do you have someone to recommend?

Of course, since it would be a recc list I’m assembling, it would reflect my taste. But I think it would be fun, interesting, and worthwhile to have a list of works by conservative or right-wing authors that do suit the taste of this particular bleeding-heart liberal.

I would like to do this in a spirit of celebration of our common love of science fiction and fantasy. We have our differences, and they can be major. But, I hope, there’s lots to appreciate from each other, too.

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments  

As an Alternative to Sea Lions …

I would like to humbly propose ‘ant swarms.’


Comic courtesy Robot Hugs, whose other comics are similarly fantastic.

Posted in Anti-feminists and their pals, Civility, Civility & norms of discourse, Feminism, sexism, etc | 6 Comments  

Revising for Trans Inclusive Language

At some point in the past, in a comment thread where we were discussing what I was then calling “routine infant male circumcision” in the United States, Grace pointed out to me that phrases like “the routine medical circumcision of infant boys” and “routine infant male circumcision” were both not trans inclusive because they contain the assumption that an infant with a penis, who is obviously too young yet to have anything even resembling a gender identity, is by definition already gendered male. One could, I suppose, quibble that “infant male circumcision” is identifying biological sex, not gender, and maybe someone did–I don’t remember and I cannot find the comment to which I am referring. The fact is, though, that even if the word male in the phrase male circumcision can be read to refer to biological sex, the constellation of cultural, social, and even medical assumptions that attach to the procedure frame it as one that turns infants with penises into appropriately-bodied boys. In other words, Grace was right, and so I have since then used phrases like “the routine medical circumcision of infants with penises” or “routine penile circumcision” instead.

This change didn’t cost me anything, except the time it took for my ear to get used to the different rhythms and sounds it wrought on my language–which is not a trivial thing, since the aesthetics of my writing are very important to me. Once I did get used to it, though, it was hard not to notice that the new phrasing had the benefit of being more descriptive, in that it named the body part being discussed, and it also had the felicitous consequence of, implicitly, making clear that penile circumcision precedes the formation of gender identity, leaving open the possibility of arguing that the procedure, where it is practiced, is actually part of the male-gendering process and not simply a medical intervention that either does or does not have ostensibly objective, non-ideological benefits. (I am not talking here about brit milah, Jewish penile circumcision, which is not intended as a medical procedure and is explicitly defined as creating appropriately-bodied boys.)

I have not thought about it deeply, but it seems to me this could have really interesting implications for thinking about the connections between the medical circumcision of infant penises and the kinds of circumcisions done in adolescent male rites of passage elsewhere in the world. But that’s not really what I’m concerned with here.

I’ve used this new phrasing here on Alas, on my own blog, and elsewhere, and no one has stopped to ask me what I mean by it; no one has suggested it is inappropriate because it leaves the infant’s gender unspecified or because it does not address, for example, the fact that the infant’s parents, and probably almost everyone else who comes in contact with it, experience the child as a boy. Indeed, it has seemed as if readers barely even noticed the change. I have my theories about why, and maybe these will come out in the comments, but for my primary purpose in the post, those reasons don’t really matter. What matters is that I changed my language to make it more trans inclusive and it was, or at least it seems to have been, no big deal.

I thought about this a lot as the now-closed discussion that followed Amp’s recent post, Don’t Call Trans Women “men who identify as women,” sadly and unfortunately devolved into a hurtful argument over precisely the question of what it means to use, or willfully not to use, trans inclusive language. (PLEASE NOTE: I do not want to reopen that discussion here, and if anyone does, then I–or any other moderator who sees it (I’m asking you all to keep an eye out for this as well. Thanks.)–will simply delete their comments.) Unlike my discussions of penile circumcision, of course, Amp’s post was about language used to describe trans women, people who already have a gender identity, which makes misgendering them as men not only inaccurate and deeply hurtful. Misgendering trans people is also an act with potential real-life consequences for how they are treated socially, culturally, professionally, and even legally. I am referring to that thread because buried in it, or maybe just implicit in it, is a much more interesting and constructive conversation that we could have had about how to navigate and negotiate the changes in language use that mainstream affirmation of trans identity will inevitably bring with it.

Those changes–or, rather, the need for those changes, the potential within those changes–have been on my mind since I posted a comment to my Reading The Veil and The Male Elite thread about the Jewish laws concerning menstruation. In that comment, I did not use phrases like “people who menstruate” or “people with vaginas” and so, inherent in the comment, is the assumption that women are the only ones who menstruate. I was aware of this as I wrote, and I consciously chose to leave the trans exclusive language the way it was because making the language inclusive would have meant untangling a knot that not only had nothing to do with the point I was trying to make, but that, even as I am writing this, I am not sure I will be able to untangle. Continue reading

Posted in Transsexual and Transgender related issues, Writing | 15 Comments  

Cartoon: How Rape Makes Women Poorer


This cartoon was inspired by “Yes means yes” is about much more than rape, by Amanda Taub.

The cartoon is in flow chart form.

Panel 1 is labeled “START HERE,” and shows a fashionable hipster man talking on a cell phone. He has a Van Dyke beard.
VAN DYKE: Come to the city and stay with me for the conference! You’ll meet important people!

An arrow labeled “If you’re a girl go this way” leads to a panel showing a young woman on the phone thinking “Should I go? I barely know this guy.” There are two paths leading from this panel: “YES, GO” and “DON’T GO.”

“DON’T GO” leads to a panel marked THE END, where we see an IMPORTANT PERSON IN A SUIT AND TIE speaking to VAN DYKE.
IMPORTANT PERSON: Whatever happened to her? I thought she was talented.
VAN DYKE: I tried helping her, but she’s SO standoffish.

“YES, GO!” leads to a panel of the young woman and Van Dyke in a bedroom. He is grabbing her and she’s trying to fend him off.
VAN DYKE: Aw, c’mon, don’t tease!
There are two routes out of this panel: “STAY IN HIS APARTMENT” and “FLEE HIS APARTMENT.” “STAY IN HIS APARTMENT” leads to a black panel labeled “HE RAPES YOU.” “FLEE HIS APARTMENT” leads to a panel of the young woman sitting on a sidewalk, shivering, in the dark, labeled “you’re broke on the streets of a strange city.” Whichever path you choose, they both lead to…

A panel marked “YOU GET BLAMED.” Fingers point at the young woman.
FINGER 1: She must have wanted it!
FINGER 2: What did she expect to happen?

The “YOU GET BLAMED” panel leads to an arrow marked “TIME OFF TO HEAL,” which in turn leads back to the THE END panel.

Going all the way back to the “START HERE” panel, there’s one more route in this flow chart. From “START HERE” (“Come to the city and stay with me for the conference! You’ll meet important people!”) choose “IF YOU’RE A BOY, GO THIS WAY.” A young man on the phone says “Thanks! I’d love to go!” We then see him at a party in the city, with lots of networking going on; the IMPORTANT PERSON is saying to him, “we should collaborate.” An arrow marked “YEARS LATER” leads to a panel of the now less young man, clearly now an important person himself, giving a speech at a podium.

YOUNG MAN: I never benefited from sexism… I just worked harder than my rivals!

Posted in Cartooning & comics, Rape, intimate violence, & related issues | 162 Comments  

The International Conference on Masculinities, March 5-8

If you care about men’s issue and gender equality, and you’re the conference-going type, this is one you should check out. A collaborative effort between the Center for the Study of Men and Masculinities (headed by Michael Kimmel), the American Men’s Studies Association, the MenEngage Alliance, and the Man Up Campaign, the conference’s theme is “Engaging Men and Boys for Gender Equality.” The Conference will be held March 5-8, 2015 at the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City.

I’ll be performing some of my poems on Saturday night, along with a lineup of other performers. If anyone from Alas is there, I hope you’ll come over and say hi.

You can register for the conference here; and you can get a look at the tentative program here. Here’s the speaker’s lineup for the opening gala:

  • Welcome: Samuel Stanley, President, Stony Brook University
  • Introduction: Michael Kimmel, Director, Center for the Study of Men and Masculinities
    • Ambassador Henry Mac Donald
    • Phumzile Mlabo-Ngcuka, Executive Director, UN women
    • Sally Field, actor
    • Sheryl Sandberg, executive, activist, author
    • Gloria Steinem, founder, Ms. Magazine
    • Jennifer Seibold Newsome, filmmaker
    • Amy Zwerdling, filmmaker
    • Carlos Andres-Gomez, author and spoken word artist
Posted in Feminism, sexism, etc, Men and masculinity | 7 Comments  

What Stephen Fry Would Say To God


Gay Byrne: Suppose it’s all true, and you walk up to the pearly gates, and are confronted by God. What will Stephen Fry say to him, her, or it?

Stephen Fry: I’d say, bone cancer in children? What’s that about? How dare you? How dare you create a world to which there is such misery that is not our fault. It’s not right. It’s utterly, utterly evil. Why should I respect a capricious, mean-minded, stupid God who creates a world that is so full of injustice and pain. That’s what I would say.

Byrne: And you think you are going to get in, like that?

Fry: No. But I wouldn’t want to. I wouldn’t want to get in on his terms. They’re wrong. Now, if I died and it was Pluto, Hades, and if it was the twelve Greek gods, then I would have more truck with it, because the Greeks were… They didn’t pretend to not be human in their appetites, in their capriciousness, and in their unreasonableness. They didn’t present themselves as being all-seeing, all-wise, all-kind, all-beneficent, because the God that created this universe, if it was created by God, is quite clearly a maniac… utter maniac, totally selfish.

We have to spend our life on our knees thanking him? What kind of god would do that?

Yes, the world is very splendid, but it also has in it insects whose whole life cycle is to burrow into the eyes of children and make them blind. They eat outwards from the eyes.

Why? Why did you do that to us? You could easily have made a creation in which that didn’t exist. It is simply not acceptable.

Atheism is not just about not believing there’s a god. On the assumption there is one, what kind of God is he? It’s perfectly apparent that was monstrous, utterly monstrous, and deserves no respect. The moment you banish him, your life becomes simpler, purer cleaner, more worth living in my opinion.

Byrne: That sure is the longest answer to that question I ever got in this entire series.

Posted in Atheism | 112 Comments  

Lindy West gets an apology from one of her nastiest trolls

I enjoyed this episode of This American Life. Just pointing it out for anyone interested in the same issues.

Lindy’s troll, by the way, was motivated by a combination of misogyny and internalized fat self-hatred; he at the time was trying to lose weight and found Lindy’s fat-acceptance advocacy intolerable.

Lindy says at one point that she’s the first person she’s ever heard of to get an apology from a troll. I’ve heard of other cases, but they were all people who were brought by to earth by the public revelation of what they’d been doing (see, for instance, Margaret Cho: attack of the stupid racist misogynists). This is the first time I’ve heard of a troll apologizing without being, at least in part, motivated by not wanting their hate mail exposed.

Posted in Civility & norms of discourse, Fat, fat and more fat | 3 Comments