Newspaper Titan: The Infamous Life and Monumental Times of Cissy Patterson by Amanda Smith

Posted on October 6, 2011 by pagesofjulia

The exhaustive–but not exhausting–biography of a complicated and difficult woman, heiress to a newspaper dynasty and a fascinating and controversial figure.

Amanda Smith’s (Hostage to Fortune: The Letters of Joseph P. Kennedy) exhaustively researched biography of Cissy Patterson begins several decades before her birth, with her grandfather Joseph Medill and his creation of the Chicago Tribune. The extended family of Medills, Pattersons and McCormicks would be newspaper royalty for several generations; but perhaps none cut a stranger figure than Cissy.

Eleanor Medill Patterson, known as Cissy, led was born in 1881 into a fractious, influential newspaper family and married a dissolute Polish count who turned out to be broke and who kidnapped their daughter, Felicia. With great effort and the interventions of powerful political figures from around the world, she regained her daughter and divorced. The countess then had a series of unsatisfying relationships and grew estranged from Felicia; published two acclaimed novels; and married a Jewish man despite her apparent anti-Semitism and eventual sympathy with the Nazi cause in World War II. Late in life, she began a newspaper career as journalist, editor and, finally, publisher and owner of the enormously successful Washington (D.C.) Times-Herald, which she created out of two failing papers. When she died in 1948, alcoholic, vindictive and erratic Cissy left a fortune, including ownership of the Times-Herald, whose disposition was held up by court battles sparked by conflicting wills and accusations of her insanity.

Called “perhaps the most powerful” and the “most hated” woman in America in the 1940s, Cissy’s fascinating and curious life is examined here in detail. But this lengthy book is never boring, because its subject is such an outrageously flamboyant and historically significant figure.

This review originally ran in the September 20, 2011 issue of Shelf Awareness for Readers. To subscribe, click here, and you’ll receive two issues per week of book reviews and other bookish fun!

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Virtual Read-Out: The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Posted on September 30, 2011 by pagesofjulia

Today I’m “reading out” from Kate Chopin’s 1899 novel The Awakening, in honor of Banned Books Week. [Learn more about the Virtual Read-Out.] Sources vary as to the banning of this book, but ALA does list it on their list of banned classics. Its themes include the struggle of women to escape society’s intentions for us; the main character comes to hold some very unpopular views about the place of marriage, love, and childrearing in her own life. Here is my video read-out!

Thanks, Husband, for playing videographer. 🙂

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Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H. Lawrence

Posted on September 27, 2011 by pagesofjulia


Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H. Lawrence
I went into this one largely blind. I knew it was a classic, and I knew that its contemporary public found it obscene, even pornographic. But I didn’t know what to expect in the way of style or plot content.

So I’ll begin as if you’re in that same boat. Lady Chatterley’s Lover is set in England, in the years immediately following World War I. (I have found myself reading quite a few books, fiction and non, set in interwar Britain this year; I’m becoming pretty comfortable with this setting.) Our protagonist is a girl named Constance, who has a love affair as a teen while touring in France, but is called home when the war begins. She marries a young man named Clifford Chatterley while he’s on leave; the marriage does not appear to be particularly well thought through. Thus Connie becomes Lady Chatterley. When Clifford returns from the war, he first has to convalesce, and then they move together into his family seat, called Wragby – with Clifford paralyzed from the waist down, impotent, and wheelchair-bound.

To begin with, Connie had a larger, stronger personality than his. Now especially she is tied down, and in the dismal, closed-in environment that is Wragby, bordered by coal mines and their socially inferior, dirty, mean inhabitants. Clifford was arguably never fit to satisfy her, sexually, intellectually, or emotionally; his handicap now finishes that question.

In her malaise and misery, Connie takes a lover, briefly: Michaelis is a playwright, not really socially acceptable but moneyed, and therefore made semi-welcome at Wragby. This affair is not entirely satisfying, though, and following a particular sexual faux pas, Connie cuts him off.

For some time, then, she drags around Wragby, at first caring for Clifford dutifully, but eventually tiring and beginning to like him less. The main action of the book I shall try not to spoil for you, if you have managed to not know for this long. (I didn’t know, and had the pleasure of learning as I read.) But I will tell you that Clifford encourages Connie to get pregnant if she can, and assures her that he’ll acknowledge her child.

I found this book engrossing, after I got used to the style. Lawrence uses colons in odd ways, and with gusto, sprinkling them liberally. It took me a little while to get used to, and I continued to note his colons with amusement. More than punctuation, though, there is a sort of rolling rhythm to the narrative that I had to adjust to; it was lovely once I got going, but just different enough from what I’ve been reading lately to cause a change in pace. I wish I knew better how to Talk Lit and explain what I mean; I’m assuming there’s a term for the style; all I can say is, many classics or older novels have a style and a rhythm that I recognized here and that is different from modern releases.

The voice is third-person but shifts perspectives so that we see out from inside the heads of Connie and of her eponymous lover. There is dialect! I do like dialects, if I can understand them at all, and what they reflect; here, the dialects of various characters reflect social class, which is an important element of the book. One of the ongoing conflicts that Connie and Clifford experience is over social class; Clifford is accustomed to being one of the ruling class and assumes that that is as it should be, while Connie is a little more open-minded. There is discussion of socialism.

The larger theme, however, is a body-vs-mind question. In her youth, Connie and her sister Hilda were stimulated by the intellect of the young men they loved, and Connie continues to share activities of the mind with Clifford at least through the first half of the book. He becomes a fairly successful author, and she assists him in writing stories that make money but are not “important.” Clifford has several old friends – “the cronies” – who come by and have discussions, occasionally including Connie. As the story goes on, though, she finds that stimulating her mind is not enough; she needs to live a physical life, too, and Clifford could never offer her that.

Lady Chatterley’s Lover reminded me very much of Rebecca Harding Davis’s Life in the Iron Mills and Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle. All three describe industry and its workings as if they are characters, animate. In this case, the local coal mines, which Clifford owns and becomes increasingly interested and involved in managing, are a force almost of nature. Their dirt and noise dominate Wragby and depress Connie; work in the coal mines defines several generations of men, and the threat that the mines will close is part of the terror and change of the new post-war England.

This was a beautiful book and I enjoyed it. Connie’s uncomfortable, unfulfilled position and struggle to find herself reminded me, in turn, of Katie Chopin’s The Awakening. It’s an important story to tell, and to read. It’s beautifully written.

But, you ask, what about the SEX?! Okay, I’ll tell you. First of all, the “obscene” and “pornographic” nature of this book is said to have diminished over time, but I still raised my eyebrows several times. There is very frank discussion of body parts, orgasms, and the various ways of achieving them; characters name their genitalia and call them by various terms not considered polite. Despite our new and jaded comfort with sex this is not a PG-rated book. But I thought it was well-done and fairly realistic, and I found several scenes of sexual frankness between lovers who really didn’t know each other very well, that suggest an openness we still haven’t entirely achieved.

Perhaps more shocking to me than the sex talk was the talk of affairs and illegitimate children. Not only Clifford, but Connie’s father, and various well-meaning bystanders comment on Connie not looking very healthy or happy, and recommend that she take a lover, even have a child by another man – they suggest this to her, even occasionally to him. It is taken fairly matter-of-factly. This, to me, was more outlandish than the sex. It’s not hard to see why the 1920’s world rejected this book as inappropriate; it’s still being challenged today all over the country. But as usual in dealing with banned books, I say let the individual decide. If you don’t like reading about body parts, steer clear. But this is a fine book, and you’d be missing something.

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Clara and Mr. Tiffany by Susan Vreeland

Posted on June 22, 2011 by pagesofjulia

I was attracted by the idea of this book when it came out in January, and I’ve just now gotten around to it. I’m really enjoying reading books pre-publication for Shelf Awareness, but it’s also nice to sneak one in every once in a while that’s NOT a thriller/suspense/murder-mystery. For that matter, I have some classics to read for the Classics Challenge, and I’ve been talking about Don Quixote…

But at any rate. Recently, on a whim, I picked up Clara and Mr. Tiffany, and it immediately grabbed me with its lovely writing, evocative of the artistic beauty the book revolves around. Clara, the narrator, works for a living in the 1890’s, and before the action of the book begins, has already had to choose between marriage (even… love?) and her passion for her work. Clara Driscoll, a real historical figure, was the artist behind much of the stained glass and the legendary lamps for which the Tiffany name is so famous. Vreeland has fictionalized her story for us here. Clara also has quite a bit in common with another historical figure I read about recently: Annie Londonderry took her extraordinary ride during the same years in which this book begins. It gave me a nice little thrill to recognize the historical setting, especially because the two female characters have so much in common. Reading these two books back-to-back allowed me to immerse myself even more in the times, and I’m tempted to head right into The Devil in the White City next. We’ll see.

I want to share a beautiful excerpt with you to illustrate the writing style.

…I carefully wrapped in a hand towel the one thing I had that no one could wrench from me – the kaleidoscope, his engagement gift to me. Bits of richly colored glass in a chamber served as his sweet acknowledgement that I’d had to give up my joyous work with just such glass in order to marry him. At the slightest turn of the maple-wood tube, the design collapsed with a tiny rattle of falling objects, and in a burst of an instant, nothing was the same.

Vreeland’s writing is quietly lovely and melodic; it expertly creates both a mood and a pacing to match the world in which Clara lives and works, and also evokes the colors, art, and beauty that involve her so deeply. Clara is an artist, first and foremost; she wants to design, to create, to replicate nature (she loves flowers, insects, the sea, leaves) and uplift the human spirit. As a woman at the turn of the century, though, she faces a number of challenges as a working woman, as a single woman, and as a craftswoman intent on earning a living, knowing she deserves one. She’s tormented by the frustrations of being unrecognized by Tiffany and by the world, as Tiffany (the man, and the company) receive accolades for her work. But she’s also tormented by guilt for what she thinks of as her narcissism – in that she desires credit at all.

Clara is a well-developed character. We see her progress, for example, as a feminist. She doesn’t set out with any high-minded ideals, but rather develops them as the world fails to treat her fairly. Clara heads up the Women’s Department at Tiffany, and her “girls” are described in varying detail; some of them become very real and sympathetic characters, and many of them serve to portray the experiences of immigrant workers in New York during this time. When their department comes under attack from the unionized male employees, Clara organizes the women to march into work together through a picket line – not striking, since the union doesn’t recognize them, but vilified all the same. This part of the story serves to underline that not all feminist demonstrators began as idealists or radicals, but rather that “regular” women were forced to stick up for themselves or die quietly. I appreciated that point.

Over the course of the book (spanning 1892-1908), she has a series of relationships: we meet her freshly widowed, she is courted by several men, and has a number of very close friendships. I found her heartfelt friendships, with men and with women, to be very touching. She struggles with love, with the idea that she’ll never find a satisfying romantic relationship with a man; with finding respect and fulfillment at work; with creating ideal art and beauty and being recognized for it. The story is of art, and of a time and a place, of love, and of women’s rights and a changing world. But mostly, it’s Clara’s story.

This was a beautiful book. The art and music bleed through the pages:

The sparrows of Irving Place were preening too, and gossiping pianissimo, and hopping about with an air of importance. Distant medleys of the city blended into a pleasant humming, punctuated at intervals by the Third Avenue elevated rumbling in a crescendo, grinding its brakes shrilly for the Eighteenth Street station, expelling its pfft of steam, then starting up again and fading away in a diminuendo.

I liked the historical aspects, too. As I like my hist-fict authors to do, Vreeland includes a note at the closing to explain where she took liberties. It does seem fairly clear that Clara Driscoll created many or nearly all of the leaded-glass lamps Tiffany got credit for; she did have two marriages; and a number of the figures in the novel did at least exist, with a few verifiable details. But much of the novel is purely fiction.

This was a really beautiful book, enjoyable to read, with a comforting, quiet rhythm and characters I cared about. It was a joy, and I recommend it.

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Around the World on Two Wheels: Annie Londonderry’s Extraordinary Ride by Peter Zheutlin

Posted on June 13, 2011 by pagesofjulia

I ate up the story of Annie Cohen Kopchovsky, better known as Annie Londonderry, like the tale of adventure it is. As I said earlier, this story combines sports marketing, women doing outrageous things, bicycles, travel, and history. Nowhere to go wrong there, unless in writing badly or boringly – which Zheutlin thankfully does not.

Annie was a working-class young mother of three living in the tenements of Boston in the 1890’s, when she decided, out of the blue, to take on the challenge of riding a bicycle around the world in under 15 months. She had never ridden a bicycle before, and her decision to set off on this journey is rather mysterious. The origins of the idea are rather unclear: she claimed that two wealthy Boston businessmen had made a wager that a women couldn’t do such a thing (following the around-the-world ride just recently accomplished by a man), and that they were offering a substantial purse upon her successful completion, but it does not appear that there were any such businessmen or any such wager. At any rate, Annie acquired a hefty women’s bicycle, a new name (the Londonderry Lithia Spring Water Company became her first sponsor), and set off.

Annie doesn’t appear to have planned very well. She set off first for New York, from Boston, then Chicago, then back to New York, then across the ocean to France. If your knowledge of geography suggests that this is not the most efficient route for circumnavigating the globe, you are correct.

In Chicago, Annie abandoned the attire that was appropriate at the time for ladies: high collars, long sleeves, full skirts with copious undergarments and petticoats and corsets and… lots of things I’m not familiar with. She first went to bloomers or split skirts, and eventually (I believe on her second visit to New York) gave up on even the bloomers and went to a “men’s riding suit”, meaning pants that more or less fit her – ack, shocking! She also picked up (in Chicago) a “diamond-frame” men’s bicycle – meaning, with a horizontal top tube, making skirts impractical or impossible. Her bike lost some 20lbs in this transition, and her wardrobe change lost a lot of weight, too.

The most fascinating parts of Annie’s story are the inconsistencies, erm, not to say lies she told throughout. She changed the terms of the wager repeatedly; she gave a plethora of personal biographies to different newspapers, ever-changing and not once (at least not that is documented) telling the truth. She never mentioned, for example, that she was a married mother of three; this would have made her leaving home unacceptable in her society. Annie told outrageous stories of violence, adventure, and near-death experiences during her journey, many or most of which appear to be false. And most egregiously, perhaps, she did not ride a bicycle for the majority of her trip at all. She rode, as stated above, around the northeast United States, and then across France, and from there took trains and ships almost exclusively (with a series of short, recreational or social rides for exhibition or touring purposes) from France to the Far East. She then shipped to San Francisco, where the riding began in earnest again; she rode south to El Paso and back up to Chicago, Boston, and New York, most likely with some miles by rail interspersed, but overwhelmingly by bike.

Annie claims to have won the wager, making it back to Boston under the 15-month deadline, and to have secured the $10,000 purse; but who paid it? Never mind the details, she would have told us. Although she didn’t ride anywhere near all the miles, she did a lot of riding, and appears to have finished in awfully good shape, even for a man of her time (and goodness knows, unheard of for a woman). She was a colorful character, and while not above criticism, what she did do was a remarkable accomplishment. If she cheated and rode “only” 10,000 miles, I would still give her a high-five and my respect. By today’s standards it’s easy to disparage the ethics of her, um, liberties with the truth, and the journalistic ethics of the many papers who covered her story credulously (and her own later career in sensationalist journalism). But Zheutlin does a fine job of setting the stage for the reader, reminding us that these were the journalist standards of the times.

Interspersed into this story of Annie’s wild ride and her telling of tall tales, Zheutlin gives us snippets of the history of the women’s suffrage movement, the history of the bicycle in American culture, and the revolution in women’s clothing reform that was deeply intertwined with bicycle riding (I wasn’t aware of the close relationship there). I found the author’s Afterword, in which he discusses his research process and his relationship with Annie’s memory (she is his great-grandaunt, although he only learned of her existence after her death), especially moving and interesting, and I wish this aspect would have played into the body of the book. As I’ve said of several nonfiction books I’ve read before, I enjoy the author’s voice, and her/his experience in research and writing. To me, this is part of the story, and leaving it out can be a disservice, leaving the story incomplete, or at worst, even dishonest. I don’t accuse Zheutlin of dishonesty of course; I’m just saying his role in Annie’s story being told is an important chapter, in my opinion.

I really enjoyed this story for its crossover elements into so many chapters of history: women’s rights and clothing standards, bicycles, travel, journalistic trends, even tidbits of various world cultures. I also appreciated Annie as an outlandish and wild woman, cyclist, and teller of tales. And I took pleasure in Zheutlin’s quiet comments on his research processes. If you’re a stickler for honesty, don’t expect to find Annie entirely likeable; but I think you’ll still be impressed by her story, and learn a few little-known details of our history as women, cyclists, and Americans. Check it out.

Thanks again, Fil!

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the theme of maternity: trendy?

Posted on May 5, 2011 by pagesofjulia

I finally decided that I’ve mentioned this, in passing, so many times that I felt it deserved a post of its own.

The gist is, I’ve formed a growing observation over the last 6-8 months or so (ahem, that would be about how long I’ve had this blog) that I’ve read a lot of books that deal with women’s feelings about their children, feelings about maternity, motherhood, family, and mother-child bonds. I have not sought these books out; I don’t read much in the way of “women & relationships” or romance, and I read very lightly in the realm of pop fiction. Where have all these books come from? My favorite genre is murder mysteries, and the bulk of the books I’m referring to come from this genre; including some quite gory, graphic thrillers. I’m pretty sure this thematic trend is new; mysteries have not always been mommy-oriented! What’s up with that? Let’s take a look. I have written about…

Still Missing by Chevy Stevens
Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger
Look Again by Lisa Scottoline
Love You More by Lisa Gardner
These Things Hidden by Heather Gudenkauf
I’d Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman
My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult

And I’ve also so far avoided Emma Donoghue’s Room, despite being tempted, because I fear more of the same.

There are mothers in mysteries in general. I know a certain woman in my life has had a growing frustration with Elizabeth George’s series of Inspector Lynley mysteries, due to Deborah St. James’s ongoing guilt, one might even say obsession, with an abortion she had that seems to have effected her ability to have children. This is a thread and a theme within the series – not a major one, but one that helps develop the characters who we get to know so well over the many books, which I feel is one of their strengths. Lynley, Helen, Deborah, St. James, Havers, and a whole cast of characters have extraordinary depth over the course of the series. But, my friend is bothered by the politics; she fears that George is making a political statement about abortion. This led me to this website on which George states her politics on the issue, if rather obliquely. Sorry, I have digressed. My point was, there are mothers in mysteries. Always have been. There are mothers in life, otherwise how would we all get here?

But my observation here is of mysteries that are themed heavily around maternal feelings and mother-child bonds. All of the books I listed above treat this theme as central to the plot. I think it’s a current trend in popular fiction, which probably reflects a current trend in our public consciousness. Babies and how to make them are on a lot of minds these days; the related medical industry is doing fairly well I do believe. I think trends in fiction & literature reflect cultural trends. For example, We Need to Talk About Kevin (by Lionel Shriver) and Nineteen Minutes (by Jodi Picoult), both fictionalized stories about school shootings, seemed to come from headlines in the years 2005-2008 or thereabouts. Several novels about autistic children have come out in the last 5 years or so too, as autism awareness has become a growing cause. No coincidence, right?

It makes sense to me that fiction reflects our culture; art follows life, yes? But I get a little bit frustrated with this theme. This theme in particular, or just the repetition of a theme? Well, I can get a little impatient with this particular theme in life (the real world); I’m not anxious to be a parent and fail to empathize with that (seemingly, majority) portion of the world that is. So I’m impatient with it in my reading life, too. But repetition is annoying as well. It’s getting to the point where I feel I need to avoid it when picking out reading material, just to get out of a rut.

What do you think? Am I nuts? Is there no trend? (Insert Freudian remark about my biological clock here?) Or is there a trend, and if so how do you feel about it?

Politico-disclaimer: I’ve tried not to make this a rant of my own opinions on “the issues.” If you’re interested in my rant 🙂 I’ve provided it for you, as briefly as possible, below. If you’d rather avoid (most of) the political angle on this post… stop here.

Briefly (if possible), and in the interest of satisfying your curiosity or confusion on my stances:

I am vehemently pro-choice. The folks who call themselves “pro-life” are not, in my opinion, pro-life at all; they are anti-choice. Lots of people have written very intelligent defenses of this position, so I don’t feel the need to spend a lot of time on this. It’s self-evident to me that women should have control over their bodies and reproductive futures, and to deny them that right is unjust.

I don’t want to have children. I think there are far too many people on this earth; if we don’t cause it to implode and kill every living thing on it, including ourselves, it will be miraculous. There are lots of unwanted babies on the planet; if you want to raise one, please do, but please don’t make more. I think reproduction in today’s world is a politically and socially irresponsible act, and it affects all of us, not just the two parents or extended family.

That said, I have lots of friends who are having babies (some of them at great effort and expense), and I’m not personally angry with any of them. I can’t really get my head around their desire to reproduce, but they’re my friends. I’m happy when they’re happy; when they’re happy to reproduce, I’m happy for them, but from a few steps away.

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A complicated Saturday of Database Searching and Gender Politics

Posted on January 22, 2011 by pagesofjulia

My word, I don’t know where to begin. It’s been an eventful day.

First the announcement that I am a GEEK. I had the most FABULOUS time today at my first meeting of my Database Searching class today.

(geek)

This is a grad school class I’m taking through my MLS (Master’s of Library Science) alma mater, just for continuing education’s sake. I admit I had some stress about it (and its future impact on my life and free time) this week, but it was a really great way to spend a Saturday morning! I’m excited about the implications of database searching: its logic, the binary nature (of the computerized databases) and creative nature (of the human side: at indexing, and at searching), and our impact, as information professionals, on What The People In General Know. The two instructors in this course (who are both colleagues of mine, lucky me) are remarkable as a teaching team, which is a large part of what makes this course special. They have a really fun rapport: teasing, informal, bantering, intelligent, and expert in the fields of searching and librarianship as well as education. I don’t think I’ve ever seen team teaching done so effectively.

Then I spent several hours with my mother, who hemmed some pants for me (thanks mom, no I still don’t want my own sewing machine, you do a great job). We can never get enough time to catch up. I love you.

Then I came home and the Husband fried some chicken and I read a good bit in Mr. Playboy. (I’m sorry if you’ve been following this blog and waiting for me to move on to a new book. It’s almost 500 pages and I’m now halfway through.)

I still find Hugh Hefner a fascinating and contradictory figure. He’s obviously conflicted within himself; he rebelled against the norms of his youth, and thought he was doing everyone (including women) a great service in liberation. He really DID (I think) do some great services to a number of causes, including (fairly decisively) civil rights, as well as consumerism/materialism (questionable, but the US seems to have accepted this as a Good so who am I to argue), and abortion, divorce, and birth control – perhaps in service of Men Having Sex Freely, but I think he has a point that he’s liberated women somewhat as well. His assistance of women’s lib or women’s rights is a complicated question, though.

I might get a little personal here. Warning.

I was raised by two ardent feminists and children of the 70’s, and COMMUNISTS (omg) among other things. I’m proud of my father for being, still, the greatest male feminist I’ve ever known. My mother, though married (legally, not in a church) still carries her maiden name, as does my secular “god”-mother and two of my three aunts. I support them. When I married, I took the Husband’s name, not because I’m *not* a feminist, but because my path was paved by Karen, Susan, Janet, Laura, and countless of their contemporaries. Through their rebellion, they’ve freed my path to change my last name without feeling that I’ve given up my identity to this Man. (Who was, by the way, surprised that I wanted his name at all.) If I were married in the 1970’s I would have kept my name, I think. My mother and so many other role models have allowed me to complacently take my husband’s name and retain my Self.

So, I read about Gloria Steinem’s exposé in Show magazine of the Playboy clubs. I knew of this in a pop-culture sense: the famous feminist took an undercover position as a Bunny at the NYC club with the purpose of observing and reporting on the objectification of women there. Beware of coming in with a preconceived conclusion: as my Brother Gerber warns me about Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America, the conclusions are tarnished by the author’s preconceptions. (I LOVED this book and agree with its conclusions, but I share Gerber’s concerns about its mass appeal.) Steinem is an admirable figure. But (says Mr. Playboy by Steven Watts, page 238 and thereabouts) her fellow Bunnies argued that they were liberated, and empowered, by their employment. If sex is power, they were paid to exercise their power, in their own ways. They made money and felt that they chose their own destinies.

I once worked at a local beer bar – which will remain nameless, but my local friends will recognize it. I’m a serious beer enthusiast and have held several beer-expert jobs, and once wrote a local column on the subject. When I served beer at this bar, I wore a plaid miniskirt, knee-high socks, and Mary Janes (later Doc Martens which were also appreciated), and I was told by a manager that “We Sell Sex” which I found very offensive (I am not a prostitute!) but was true in a way. As a tomboy, this was an interesting experience.

(or maybe more like this. librarian style?)

I think I can understand a little bit what the Bunnies meant. In a way, I felt empowered, and excited, by dressing up this way and playing a role. I made some damn good money. I got to talk about beer, over the heads of the men I served. They were impressed. It was fun and profitable and empowering. I also moved on, putting on more clothes by the time I was 24 and finding a professional career well before 30. And, I did this in the 20-oughts (what are we calling those years? 2000-2010), with all the benefits earned by my mother and her contemporaries. We still experienced, and experience, sexual harassment and objectification, but our lives today are easier than my mother’s was in ways I know I can’t imagine.

I think gender politics are extraordinarily complicated. I consider myself one of the easier women I know to understand. I will tell you what I think if you ask. I don’t play any games like saying “nothing” if you ask what’s wrong, when I’m really angry; I don’t encourage the Husband to compliment women I’m jealous of and then punish him for it; I don’t make him guess. (You poor heterosexual men; I think hetero women can be cruelly complicated.) But I’m still complicated: I want to be one of the guys (and I AM a tomboy) and I mostly keep up when we play, but don’t leave me behind and defenseless either, and I want to be a Princess sometimes, too… what’s a poor guy to do? I think that I still sympathize with Hefner. I think he did a lot of good for a number of causes. I think he objectified women, and especially in his private/personal life was rather deplorable in his relationships with women. But a lot of our admirable *public* figures were not admirable private figures; he’s one of these, but not spectacularly so. (I’m a huge admirer of Hemingway. Need I say more?) His impact on Women In Society is very complicated, and that’s all I’m willing to commit to at this time.

(I am not in this picture. It's a concept representation)


I award you a prize if you’ve made it through this post. Sorry for being long-winded! But I found I had a lot to say today.

I’m off to work on our local trails tomorrow. I’ll be putting on gloves and lifting chunks of sidewalk and I still want to be sexy, and the Husband loves me and will be working alongside. Chew on that. 🙂 Enjoy your Sunday.

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