“But at second sight the words seemed not so simple. The title women and fiction might mean, and you may have meant it to mean, women and what they are like, or it might mean women and the fiction that they write; or it might mean women and the fiction that is written about them, or it might mean that somehow all three are inextricably mixed together and you want me to consider them in that light… At any rate, when a subject is highly controversial—and any question about sex is that—one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold. One can only give one’s audience the chance of drawing their own conclusions as they observe the limitations, the prejudices, the idiosyncrasies of the speaker. Fiction here is likely to contain more truth than fact. Therefore I propose, making use of all the liberties and licences of a novelist, to tell you the story of the two days that preceded my coming here—how, bowed down by the weight of the subject which you have laid upon my shoulders, I pondered it, and made it work in and out of my daily life”–Ginny W. nee Stephens
Context does change some things...
The woman at question here:
my mother–who transformed like the swan brothers in the Danish fairy tale from impotent to proud, resistant: clothes make the man– context makes the woman.
Icelandic culture–the media in the US that i’ve been able to consume is preoccupied somewhat with running the story of economic meltdown in the country through the relay of gender and power– although fwiw, Obama seems to have received similar treatment at times, as well– and yet– similar cries or consciousness raising in the US about women’s economic power have not occurred despite similarities–American women still make less than men and are underrepresented in the very high risk professions that landed the planet in this crisis.
myself– the I/me double spoken/speaking, written/writing subject who couldn’t get here by any way shorter than this because, to paraphrase Blanchot– a short cut doesn’t get you there faster– you just end up missing stops that were necessary for your journey.
I am no novelist, essayist, or even much of an academic writer–but i am blogging– so I am “becoming a blogger” (Blanchot, ibid).
