This is the underside of my world.
Of course you don’t want me to be stupid, bless you! you only want to make sure you’re intelligent. You don’t want me to commit suicide; you only want me to be gratefully aware of my dependency. You don’t want me to despise myself; you only want the flattering deference to you that you consider a spontaneous tribute to your natural qualities. You don’t want me to lose my soul; you only want what everybody wants, things to go your way; you want a devoted helpmeet, a self-sacrificing mother, a hot chick, a darling daughter, women to look at, women to laugh at, women to come for comfort, women to wash your floors and buy your groceries and cook your food and keep your children out of your hair, to work when you need the money and stay home when you don’t, women to be enemies when you want a good fight, women who are sexy when you want a good lay, women who don’t complain, women who don’t nag or push, women who don’t hate you really, women who know their job and above all—women who lose. On top of it all, you sincerely require me to be happy; you are naively puzzled that I should be wretched and so full of venom in this the best of all possible worlds. Whatever can be the matter with me? But the mode is more than a little outworn.
As my mother once said: the boys throw stones at the frogs in jest.
But the frogs die in earnest.Joanna Russ, The Female Man (via yourdailyfeminism)
JOANNA ♥ ♥ ♥(Most of the longass Russ quotes on goodreads.com are probably mine, heh.)
Once, Jack Crawford called up a trainee barely old enough to rent a car, and asked her to interview the most notorious serial killer currently living, in order to catch one that was, for the moment, slightly less notorious. He knew he was making her a sacrificial animal; the second he saw her, Hannibal Lecter knew it, too—the hidden language of powerful men who understand each other. Hannibal was offended to have been sent a student; he had been prepared to crack whoever Crawford sent him until they broke, and felt he’d been robbed of an honorable victory by being given someone so green and so doomed to failure.
But she was Clarice Starling, and she won.
This is 1000% the beautiful brilliant response I wanted when people kept telling me “But you don’t understand, it doesn’t matter that they can’t have Clarice! There’s all these other women on the show!”(via theredshoes)
This took off! Wow!