If I were Elaine Showalter, I'd have secretly written a bodice-ripping romance novel full of poor character development and trite symbolism by now, to be released only upon my death.
You know, just to mess with people.
Part of me says it would be to deconstruct my own deconstructions, to prove that no one viewpoint is ever the entire objective picture, but my gut says it's just to make people think.
Because people hate thinking. Especially people who plan on doing your for you.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
On Feminism
Labels:
assholes
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blow hards
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books
,
elaine showalter
,
feminism
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feminist
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feminist wild
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maya banks
,
phonies
,
smart people
,
sweet addiction
,
the wild
,
thinking
,
writing
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