Abigail Barnette's Blog, page 71

No Rome Post Today

Hey everybody! Fridays is usually when I post my #XIIILegion post, but there was a death in the family yesterday, so this week is off the menu. This teaches me for leaving Friday posts until Thursday morning. Probably no #DSBM post, either, though those are pretty much just for my own amusement, I think.

Anyway, have a good one, y’all, and I’ll be back whenever!

The Annual Trout Nation Love, Actually Watch Along

Do you hear those sleigh bells ringing? Just kidding, it’s your doorbell, and Rick Grimes is here to inappropriately express his love to your wife.

Yes, Rick, we have seen Carl.

 

He’s part of the worst plot line of the entire movie, yo.

Yes, it’s that time of year again, when we watch the movie you always put on in front of your kids or parents because you remember it being pretty safe, but you forgot all the scenes where naked Bilbo Baggins simulates sex with an equally nude blond girl.

It is time for us all to watch Love, Actually.

This year, just like last year, there will be two chances to join in the fun. I did three slots one year to cover as many time zones as possible, but I was up for like twenty-four hours straight. If anyone from another time zone wants to set up their own watch along, put it in the comments!

So, grab some popcorn and tweet to #BillyMack as we revel in our annual holiday tradition of watching the movie I once described as “a warm, snuggly blanket for my internalized misogyny.”

Friday, December 18, 4 p.m. EST (UTC -5)

Friday, December 18, 8 p.m. EST (UTC -5)

 

Jealous Hater Book Club: Apolonia, chapter 16

This is the chapter where if anyone knows anything about radio, we could use some fact checking. So even if you don’t generally read these recaps, it would be swell if you’d take a look at a section toward the end where radio wattage and frequency is being discussed.

We last left Rory in the medical ward of the Nayara, the ship flown by Cy’s betrothed, the titular Apolonia.

My eyes opened and blinked a few times. It wasn’t a surprise. I’d come back from much worse.

Rory is the polar opposite of Anastasia Steele, who always wakes up surprised. The two recaps really balance each other out. Rory is  talking about the fact that she’s immortal, but as the scene goes on, it becomes unclear whether or not she actually died and came back, or if she was just asleep. The consistency of the story’s inconsistency is comforting to me.

Benji is sitting beside the table she’s on, and Tsavi, the alien doctor, and Cy are missing. Rory is dressed in a pair of what are basically alien scrubs, and Benji is super relieved that she’s conscious:

Benji rubbed his eyes with one hand and rested the other on my arm. “You had a significant laceration in one arm and a bullet hole in your thigh. It was clean. Exit wound.”

I looked down. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Apolonia did something. She had this little…” He was trying to draw it in the air. “Anyway, you don’t even have a scar. Lost a lot of blood, though.”

I can’t believe blood got mentioned, but wasn’t used as a chance for something like, “Blood, like the kind I had laid in, watching my mother and my best friend die, while I didn’t die, because I’m immortal. Blooood” or whatever.

Cy, Dr. Z, and Tsavi come in.

Benji helped me off the table, and Cy hurried over to help as well.

“I’ve got her,” Benji said.

“I see that,” Cy grumbled, and then he hugged me.

Just in case you missed the last fifteen chapters, here’s some backstory: both of the guys want Rory. It’s a subtle theme, but it’s crucial to the plot that you’re aware that both of them are fighting over the heroine.

“I was worried for a bit.”

“You shouldn’t have been. I’ve told you a million times–”

“And I’ve told you once, you’re not invincible, Rory. Lucky but not invincible.”

Could someone please clear up whether or not she’s actually invincible/immortal/what the fuck ever?

“I don’t know, Tsavi said. “Judging from the extent of the scars she has, I would say she has survived many wars.”

This is important, because we need to know that Rory is just as tough and battle hardened as Apolonia, who is not as good as her. Rory feels violated by having her scars revealed, because hiding them is how she controls her perception of the event.

“I would not call it luck,” Apolonia said, frowning.

So even Apolonia thinks Rory is this tough, strong type. Maybe she can tell us if Rory is actually immortal?

Apolonia needs to contact her father so he doesn’t burn down the entire Earth to find her, but the Nayara‘s communications are not an option. Benji suggests the campus radio station, but Dr. Zoidberg shoots that theory down as hard as the government shot down the Nayara, because:

“If Rendlesham starts shooting at us again, we don’t want an innocent student to get in the way.”

True facts, but here’s a question: why is Rendlesham still alive? We saw death machine Apolonia carving up everyone and everything, but somehow Rendlesham escaped and Apolonia didn’t go after him, despite the fact that he’d killed her entire crew. Why did he get away, other than convenience to the plot? And why didn’t we see how he escaped, other than the author just not having any idea how to get him out of Apolonia’s path?

But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is Cy and Benji fighting over Rory:

“How do you just happen to be everywhere at the right time? The fact that you attached yourself to Rory is questionable in itself. You’re not even remotely her type. You look like the kind that would be chasing Ellie Jones or Laila Dixon.”

I frowned at Cy. “Laila Dixon? From administration?”

Cy shrugged. “She’s more Benji’s type, voluptuous and oblivious.”

This is important. This is what we should be arguing about at the moment. Whether or not Benji could possibly be attracted to someone as skinny and smart as Rory.

“I haven’t lied to her,” Benji said.

“What have you omitted?” Cy said, unyielding.

“Omitted? Let’s talk about omission. You don’t lie? Please. Not being honest is lying, Cyrus. Don’t fool yourself.”

Cy’s jaw worked under his skin. “I haven’t lied to you. But he” –he pointed at Benji–”hasn’t told you who he really is. Tell her, Benji, or I will.”

That’s an interesting punctuation choice with those em dashes. Also, underlines indicate italics.

The line between Benji’s eyebrows deepened. He was clearly troubled by Cy’s threat. He looked to me, trying to find the words to say next.

His expression made me nervous, even more so than Cy’s threat.

Rory tells Benji that she’s tried to get everyone to trust him. But he does have a secret, a secret he claims he’s been trying to tell Rory for a long time:

Cy spoke, “He’s Benji Reynolds, son of Agent Frank Reynolds, chief intelligence officer for the Majestic Twelve.”

Wait, wait, wait. Cy knew this all along. He knew this from the moment that Dr. Zoidberg told them about the CIA’s interest in the rock. He told Rory not to hang out with Benji, but he never thought to make it clear why? On top of that, did he even bother to tell Dr. Zoidberg? This is information that, if it needs a big reveal, can’t be something Cy knew about all along, because that means he actively endangered Rory for seemingly no reason at all.

“So, you were a plant, just like Ellie? I was your target?”

Dr. Z was immediately next to me, holding my arm. He always knew what I needed. And right now, I needed not to fall onto my knees in shock.

So, did Dr. Z know about all this already? Because he doesn’t react at all in the scene, other than to support Rory.

Benji came to my other side, but I pushed him away. “I knew what Cyrus was. Even before that, I knew Majestic was watching Dr. Zorba. I know this looks bad–really, really bad–but I wasn’t using you, Rory, I swear. Dad said he wanted me to watch out for your safety. Heck,I wanted to watch out for your safety. And by the time I knew what Majestic really wanted, it was too late. I’d already made a decision by then.”

“We do not have time for this,” Apolonia said, crossing her arms over her stomach.

“We don’t have time for this” is to Apolonia as “I’ve got a bad feeling about this” is to Star Wars. It seems like everyfreakingbody gets to say it.

The obsession with Rory’s safety continues, despite the fact that she’s highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat and apparently immortal. The one step that, inexplicably, no one seems willing to take is actually telling Rory what’s going on so that she will be safe. Both Cy and Benji knew the threat posed to Rory by the Majestic, and neither of them bothered to give her a heads up about it. If you’re walking down the sidewalk and a bear is chasing you, you’d want someone to yell, “Watch out for that bear!” You probably wouldn’t want them to keep that information to themselves while they tried to figure out the bear’s motives, right?

“What kind of decision?” I asked, facing Benji.

Benji shrugged, as if it should have been obvious. “That I was in love with you.”

Dr. Z watched for my reaction. If you recall, Rory, Ellie also said that there was one member of Majestic who couldn’t stay away from you.”

See how Dr. Z seems completely unfazed by the reveal here? Did he know all along? If so, that’s three people who were keeping important information from Rory, despite having more than one opportunity to warn her. But it never occurs to Rory to question this, because Dr. Z is basically set decoration/a convenient exposition device at this point.

“What was too late?” I asked.

Benji took a few steps toward me and then cupped my shoulders. Purplish half-moons under his dim brown eyes revealed just how sleep deprived he was from looking for me the night before and from watching over me on the infirmary table. His shirt was wrinkled, and his hair was tousled. “It was too late for them to convince me to help them because whatever side you were on was where I wanted to be.”

So…why not turn double agent? If you knew Rory was on the run from Majestic, if you had access to all of this information and you desperately wanted to keep Rory safe, why not tell Rory, Cy, and Dr. Z everything you knew? Because if the motivation there was “I don’t want to ruin my chances with Rory,” it makes you a hell of a lot less likable, buddy.

And it should make him less likable to Rory, but the romance here is more important than the CIA science fiction plot, so:

I fell into his arms, and he pressed his cheek against my hair, squeezing me tightly against him.

“I knew they were coming for the rock. That’s why I wanted to get you away from there before dinner. I was going to try to get you both out before they came. But I’ve had to plan every move carefully, Rory. I couldn’t help you if I didn’t have inside information. I wanted to tell you everything. It just had to be the right time.”

Okay, but you did have inside information at the right time. You knew that Majestic was going to storm the lab, steal the rock, and probably kidnap Cy and Rory. That was the inside information you had that would have been helpful at the time. But I guess since that would have destroyed this clumsy reveal that’s supposed to shock and intrigue the reader, we have to accept that Benji just couldn’t do that because the author is insisting that’s so.

What I really can’t accept here is Apolonia not killing Benji outright over this discovery. But she didn’t bother to kill Rendlesham, either, so her judgement is apparently not great.

Because the plot can’t move forward without it happening, Rory manages to convince every to trust Benji. The army will be coming back soon, they have to leave, but Apolonia stresses that they have to come back for the bodies of the fallen crew members so they can take them home to their families. Tsavi gives Dr. Z and Rory warm robes to wear.

Cy smiled at Tsavi. He appreciated his people being kind to humans, and Tsavi seemed to like us. The feeling was mutual. She seemed more…human–at least more so than Apolonia.

Brace yourselves, dehumanizing of coded woman of color coming in three…two…

Knowing Cy, I couldn’t imagine what made him fall in love with such a dry, emotionless, and angry person. He once called her emotional. I couldn’t disagree more. From what I’d witnessed, it was unclear if she even had a soul. Cy was a warm, kind being. He begged the soldiers–men who were out to harm all of us–not to engage his betrothed, so we wouldn’t have a massacre on our hands. How can he love such a monster?

Apolonia is emotionless, but at the same time, angry. And just a few paragraphs above, she shows clear caring for her people. She also cares for humans. Know how I know? She’s on Earth, trying to stop a devastating parasite from escaping and decimating the entire species. She also just saved Rory’s life, or at least thought she was saving Rory’s life, depending on whether or not Rory is immortal. Rather than acknowledging that and having any sense of gratitude for it, Rory is cruelly critical. And Apolonia is the one we’re supposed to feel is soulless?

And there’s no reason for this information to be included at this point. Apolonia hasn’t done anything so far in this chapter, aside from stand around, then express that they should return their dead to their families. If anything, she’s depicted as having more humanity in this chapter than in the last one. But it’s important for us to know that she’s not good enough for Cy, and Rory is. Rory is the one we’re supposed to be rooting for. Rory needs to have both guys in love with her, and all other women are described as wanting, because this book is misogynist trash.

Apolonia gives Tsavi some kind of space weapon, but Cy is against it, because he doesn’t want to see any other humans harmed.

Apolonia touched Cy’s face tenderly, but her expression still seemed emotionless. “I have already lost so many. I can’t leave Tsavi defenseless.”

I’m sorry, Apolonia. Even though you’re the most interesting character in the book–the title character, even–we have to hate you, because you’re romantic competition for the actual lead. You can’t even tenderly touch someone’s face right. We seriously have this character arming someone she cares about because she can’t stand to lose her. Because the death of her entire crew has so devastated her. But she’s emotionless and soulless.

Remember how Rory described Cy in the beginning of the book? How he was aloof and cold and unfriendly? And she persevered and cracked through that shell? How does she suddenly not remember that, when it’s a female alien displaying the same characteristics?

Oh. Right. Female.

They leave the ship, and literally nobody is outside of it. No army, no CIA, no Majestic. Everybody just left. Which is a good thing, because it would have been a lot of work to write an exciting escape.

Benji pulled the robe from my other hand and held it up.

“Dr. Zorba called this warm. It’s a millimeter thick and has no liner.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I said, slipping my arms into the sleeves. The front melded together, and instantly, the cold dissipated from my body. “The fabric must include some special form of technology. It’s better than my goose-down coat.”

“And all this time, I though you didn’t own a coat,” Benji said with a teasing smile.

A character just pointed out an inconsistency. Though I suppose you could make the argument that Rory hasn’t been immune to the cold for a while. Probably because of the power of love or something.

Cy and Dr. Z explain away the lack of military presence by stating that the roadblocks must surely be manned, and the area quarantined. Which still doesn’t make enough sense because a spaceship just crashed on Earth. This is not the kind of thing our government would just kind of wander away from until they can get to it later. But again, it’s much easier for the army and the CIA to just shrug and leave than to write the characters escaping without detection, or fighting their way out.

Dr. Zoidberg mentions that there’s an old radio station ten miles away, and that its equipment is old and highly inefficient.

“So, we cannot use it?” Tsavi asked.

“No,” I said. “Efficient broadcast signals make the signals weaker for someone to pick up in space.”

“That’s right,” Dr. Z said. “Old radio programs were broadcast from massive ground stations that transmitted signals at thousands of watts. In theory, those signals could be picked up relatively easily across the depths of space. This is exactly what we need–an inefficient old station. [...]“

Okay, now, wait a second. I’m not an expert, but I know a little about radio, albeit second hand from informal conversations. I may be misunderstanding the concept of radio waves here, but wattage doesn’t increase range when there are other transmissions on closer frequencies, does it? Do we have any radio peeps reading this who can confirm the wattage/range connection? Because the way I’ve always pictured radio working is that it just kind of shoots up into the sky and fans out like water ripples, becoming less intense the further you get from the center point. Which is the reason radio stations cut out when you get closer to another station near the same frequency, right? Because the stronger ripples overlap the weaker ones? So if there are other stations in range, the “inefficient” wattage wouldn’t necessarily make the range of the station stronger in space.

God, I hope at least one of you is a broadcast expert, because of all the things that have been weird or inaccurate in this book, this is going to be the one that bugs me the most. I could call my grandfather, who is the source of any radio-related knowledge I have–he was a senior engineer at Electro-Voice and worked on NASA’s Project Mercury–but he cannot break it down Barney-style at all, and that’s what I’m looking for from one of you.

Anyway, Dr. Z says that three beings of higher intelligence should be able to get the station going again, and Benji makes a snide comment about how being of an older race doesn’t equal higher intelligence. Cy argues that he learned to speak every language on Earth in two months, and Benji is like, yeah, but can you write a symphony?

I elbowed Benji. “They already don’t trust you. You’re not helping yourself.”

He pulled out keys. “I have the only car, and it’s fast. Does that help?”

I don’t know, Benji. Are you going to actually use the car, or hide it from Rory for her own protection, until you’re all in mortal peril?

This book. This fucking book.

Double Steve Bonus Monday

(Universe)

Jenny Reads 50 Shades of Midnight Sun: Grey, Saturday, May 21, 2011 or “THE BIGGEST CHAPTER EVER: PART THREE”

Let’s have some happy news this time, about Fifty Shades of Grey-related movies, rather than the actual tragedy that will undoubtedly be the second movie.

First up, Marlon Wayans has given Fifty Shades the Scary Movie treatment. His parody, Fifty Shades of Black, will be out in January 2016, just a month before Fifty Shades Darker was supposed to have hit the screen. Knowing Wayans, the movie will probably be raunchy and in very poor taste, which is like, the #1 reason I like his movies in the first place. I feel like I should send him flowers and a thank you card for making my dreams come true with this one.

Also? Fifty Shades of Grey star and my imaginary girlfriend, a.k.a. most adorable woman alive, Dakota Johnson, has a new movie coming out soon with two of my other lady crushes, Leslie Mann and Rebel Wilson, called How To Be Single. Does it look like the most feminist and diverse thing that’s ever happened to cinema? Not at all. But it isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey, for which we can all be thankful.

Now, let’s plunge ourselves into something far more ridiculous. Let’s get into this recap of part three of the chapter that will probably never end.

Today’s recap is part three of a chapter that spans numerous chapters in Fifty Shades of Grey. So if you want to read this recap in tandem with the original recap, you’re going to want chapter seven.

This day in history: Iceland’s Grímsvöten volcano erupted.

So, Chedward has just shown Ana into his “playroom” a.k.a. his “safe space” a.k.a. the only place where he’s truly himself.

Ana stands in the middle of the room, studying all the paraphernalia that is so much a part of my life: the floggers, the canes, the bed, the bench… She’s silent, drinking it in, and all I hear is the deafening pounding of my heart as the blood rushes past my eardrums.

You know how I keep saying over and over that this book is written in a way that assumes everyone reading it has already read 50 Shades of Grey? Here’s yet another example. Here’s the description of the room from the Writer’s Coffee Shop version of 50 Shades of Grey:

The first thing I notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It’s very pleasant, and the lighting is soft, subtle. In fact, I can’t see the source, but it’s around the cornice in the room, emitting an ambient glow. The walls and ceiling are a deep, dark burgundy, giving a womb-like effect to the spacious room, and the floor is old, old varnished wood. There is a large wooden cross like an X fastened to the wall facing the door. It’s made of high-polished mahogany, and there are restraining cuffs on each corner.

One could argue that since it’s Christian’s room, in Christian’s house, he’s not going to notice shit like the smell of wood polish. But he’s watching Ana looking at everything, giving E.L. the opportunity to cover at least some of this shit for the reader. But again, the assumption is that people should have already read the first book.

As a reader, I’m a fan of getting description of this stuff in books. Sometimes, if you’re reading a series, it gets tedious to hear the same thing described over and over, so I’m okay with descriptions sort of gently waning as the books stack up. But this isn’t part of the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy. It’s a separate novel. We need some description.

It would also be a really good place to explain to us why the room is red (which, so far as I’ve seen in this section, is never mentioned).

Ana wanders around, taking her time as she looks at everything:

Her silence is unbearable. I need to know if she’s going to run.

“Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?”

Finally!

As always, underlines indicate italics.

Remember how E.L. James can’t understand why anyone thought Christian was abusive in her books, and how everyone was like, “Look at all these hallmarks of an abuser he displays”? This shit right here is a red flag we’re getting in his head. He shows something to Ana that he believes is shocking. He doesn’t care about her emotional reaction to his actions, he’s concerned about whether or not her physical reaction will be to leave, which would displease him. And when he finally gets the response he’s entitled to, it wasn’t immediate enough, which exasperates him.

In case it’s not already clear enough that Christian does not see Ana as a person deserving of her own thoughts, feelings, and actions, he let’s her (and us) know in his response:

“People?” I want to snort. “I do this to women who want me to.”

Women who want to submit in a BDSM relationship aren’t people to Christian. They’re objects, and hearing them compared to people inspires his derision.

Look, none of this is subtle. None of this is hidden. So I’m not sure why so many readers (and the author) defend Christian Grey as the most romantic hero ever written.

She frowns. “If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?”

Her phrasing here should give Chedward pause. She’s not categorizing herself as a willing volunteer. But that doesn’t even cross his mind:

“Because I want to do this with you, very much.” Visions of her tied up in various positions around the room overwhelm my imagination; on the cross, on the bed, over the bench…

The first-time reader doesn’t know there’s a St. Andrew’s cross in the room, so they’re probably picturing something like this:

“You’re a sadist?” she says startling me.

Fuck. She sees me.

Okay, like all this time for the entire whole book all of it he’s wanted to show her who he really is, so she knows what he’s like and she can melt into the arms of his abusive truth or whatever. Now he doesn’t want her to know what he’s into?

“I’m a Dominant,” I say quickly, hoping to move the conversation on.

GAME SHOW BUZZER NOISE. I’m sorry, but “sadist” and “Dominant” are not mutually exclusive. Christian gets off on control, but he also says later that he gets off on causing women pain. That makes him both a (shitty) Dominant and a sadist. You can be one without being the other, but Christian Grey is both.

Chedward tells Ana that he wants her to willingly submit to him. She asks why she should do that, and he says:

“To please me,” I whisper. This is what I need from you. In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me.”

What she actually wants is of terrifically little importance here. His needs are paramount.

He goes on to explain what he expects of her, and honestly, when I first read 50 Shades of Grey, I was too distracted by the shock of how bad the writing was that I totally missed how creepy this line was:

“I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn.”

First of all, I highly recommend, when writing American characters, that you use “shall” as much as possible. We say “shall” all the time.

Just kidding. An American would say: I’ll reward you. If you don’t, I’ll punish you, and you’ll learn.”

Without Ana’s internal monologue telling us that she’s actually pretty curious and kind of into the idea–even though she’s into it for really bad reasons, a.k.a, she wants a relationship despite his near constant reminders that he doesn’t date–without those thoughts, it’s even clearer that he’s already exerting his control over her. It’s not, “There WOULD be rules, and I WOULD want you to comply with them,” it’s just, “I want, I want I want,” as though she’s already agreed.

And why, exactly, are the rules for her benefit? Yes, a lot of the rules have to do with Ana eating well and taking care of herself, but his assumption is that she doesn’t do any of these things already, and he’s doing her some kind of favor by forcing her to do them. He even refers to this as an “incentive package.”

 “It’s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you’ll let me exert my will over you.” I need your permission, baby.

I actually laughed out loud when I read that, because for most of their actions, the consent is either dubious, coerced, or just plain not given at all.

“Okay, what do I get out of this?”

“Me.” I shrug. That’s it, baby. Just me. All of me. And you’ll find pleasure, too…

I love this phrasing. “You get me, but don’t worry, there’s other stuff. It’s not all a bum deal.” Also, “all of me”…uh, excuse me, Mr. Proud Of Withholding, you might want to rethink that. Because at the moment, and through basically this entire book, the only thing you’re actually willing to give her is a sexual relationship. Unless sex is “all of you”, in which case I now understand why you’re so damned boring.

Her eyes widen fractionally as she stares at me, saying nothing. It’s exasperating. “You’re not giving anything away, Anastasia. Let’s go back downstairs where I can concentrate better. It’s very distracting having you in here.”

There’s always a subtle blaming of Ana when she “affects” him. He brought her into the room, and when she’s not responding exactly as he wants her to, he’s exasperated.

I hold out my hand to her and for the first time she looks from my hand to my face, undecided.

Shit.

I’ve frightened her. “I’m not going to hurt you, Anastasia.”

Whenever a guy says “I’m not going to hurt you,” I’m 100% certain that he’ll probably hurt me. And I’ know I’m not the only woman who hears alarm bells at that phrase.

Christian takes her to see the bedroom she’ll stay in on weekends if she enters into his agreement, which he’ll negotiate with her. He tells her to come downstairs because she “must” be hungry.

“Weirdly, I seem to have lost my appetite,” she declares, with her familiar stubborn expression.

Heads up, if a woman says she’s lost her appetite after you talk about potentially banging, that’s not a great sign.

“You must eat, Anastasia.” Her eating habits will be one of the first issues I’ll work on if she agrees to be mine…that, and her fidgeting.

Looking past the obvious question of why Chedward would want to be with Ana in the first place if she’s such a fixer-upper, I want to circle back around to the eating thing. I not only beat this horse to death in my first set of recaps, but I kept on beating it long after it died, and when nothing was left but flies and bones and a harsh desert wind, I tracked down the horse’s family and I beat them, too. On this topic, my horse murdering spree is unchallenged in the face of human history.

Well, welcome back to my Red Room of Horse Pain, my pony friend, because I’m once again furious with Christian Grey. If Ana was overweight, and Christian thought to himself, “Her eating habits will be one of the first issues I’ll work on”, it would be outrageous. Maybe not to 88.88888% of readers, as the view that fat people universally need guidance from other, non-fat people in order to become less fat than they are, but more conversations would have occurred on the subject. There would be all sorts of discussions about how reading something like that would hurt girls’ self-esteem, there would be think pieces and hashtags and the whole nine yards. But since this is the fantasy of a woman who’s just too darn thin all the time, not because of illness or just because she works out a lot, Christian’s fixation on how much she eats not only strikes a certain type of reader as reasonable, but desirable. For all of our lives, no matter our weight, women have been trained to look for permission to eat. Having a sexy, mysterious billionaire that every woman wants telling you to eat? What greater level of permission could you be blessed to attain? And when you do eat, this paragon of sensuality still respects you as a person? That’s almost more appealing than any of the BDSM.

And let’s take that one step further, now that we’re in Chedward’s head. Women, raise your hand if you’ve ever been on a date with a man, and he’s commented on the food you order. “I’m so glad you’re not the kind of girl who orders a salad.” “How do you stay so skinny and eat so much?” “What are you, on a diet?” It’s a guessing game where there’s no right answer; no matter what you do, he’s going to judge you. How much simpler is it to just have a man tell you what you have to eat to make him happy? There’s part two of the demented, harmful “fantasy” this book weaves.

“I’m fully aware that this is a dark path I’m leading you down, Anastasia, which is why I really want you to think about this.”

Where all dark paths lead.

No, you don’t want her to think about it. Because if she thought about it, she might start getting some crazy idea about having a choice or autonomy. I mean, you already have to wear her down and weave an intricate psychological trap to get her to submit to you full-time, anyway.

If this is going to work, she’s going to have to communicate.

What he means is, if this is going to work, she’s going to have communicate in the way I expect her to. Because Ana has already communicated that she’s not into this. She said she lost her appetite discussing the subject with him. She’s communicated that she doesn’t want anything to eat. But these are not the things he wants to hear, so that makes her uncommunicative.

Christian looks around the kitchen for food to feed Ana, because her tiny female brain can’t possibly know whether or not she wants to eat.

Gail wasn’t expecting me to have company, and this is not enough…I wonder if I should order some takeout. Or perhaps take her out?

There are two ways one can interpret this. Either he wants to take Gail out for a lovely dinner, or he wants to have Gail “taken out” because she didn’t leave enough food at the house. Either way, this all applies to Gail and not Ana. But why the hell doesn’t Gail know that Ana is coming over for dinner? Christian invited Ana over for dinner, and there’s no dinner? Why doesn’t she immediately suspect that he’s a serial killer?

Christian doesn’t want Ana to get the idea that he’ll date her, because “the thought is irritating.”

Bread and cheese will have to do. Besides, she says she’s not hungry.

So, he acknowledges that she’s not hungry. Then the matter is settled, I assume.

Ana brings up the paperwork he mentioned before, and Christian explains that there’s going to be a sex contract that will keep things totally consensual. Because telling the reader that something is consensual makes it so, even when it isn’t depicted that way.

“And if I don’t want to do this?”

Shit.

“That’s fine,” I lie.

“But we won’t have any sort of relationship?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“This is the only sort of relationship I’m interested in.”

If Chedward was truly willing to say, no, I’m not interested in a relationship with you, that would be one thing. But Ana is clearly sitting here saying, hey, do I have a choice to have a relationship with you without the BDSM element, and he’s saying no, and he’s not willing to walk away. He wants to wear her down, or dazzle her into accepting his “incentive package.”

Then we reach the portion of the book that was paid for by the Wisconsin Dairy Council:

“Why is anyone the way they are? That’s kind of hard to answer. Why do some people like cheese and other people hate it? Do you like cheese?[...]”

Ana asks him about the rules, and he says they’ll look at them once they’ve eaten.

“I’m not really hungry,” she whispers.

“You will eat.”

Jeez, Ana, didn’t you read the sign?

She gives him a “defiant” look, because it’s somehow “defiant” to decline food when you’re not hungry.

“Would you like another glass of wine?” I ask, as a peace offering.

As a peace offering, guys. See, from Ana’s POV, it only looked like he was trying to get her drunk to bypass consent. It was really because he’s a great guy. I’m so relieved.

I pour wine into her glass and sit down beside her. “Help yourself to food, Anastasia.”

She takes a few grapes.

That’s it? That’s all you’re eating?

Read the sign, Ana!

Is it striking anyone else as hilarious that he’s upset that she’s only eating grapes, but he pours her another glass of wine? If he’s so hell bent on the cheese thing, he should have given her a glass of milk.

Ana asks Christian how long he’s “been like this” and earlier she asks how he became “this way.” These are all questions that would be totally appropriate if you were dating Bruce Wayne, and he’d just shown you the Bat Cave–the real one, not a euphemistic one. But BDSM doesn’t need a superhero origin story. “Have you been like this for a while?” Like what? Like having a sexuality? Probably since he was born, Ana. It’s kind of something you either have or you don’t. The question you’re looking for is probably, “How long have you been interested in this? How did you get involved?” that sort of thing.

Ana asks why, if there are women who are willing to do this, would he want to have this relationship with her. There’s another P.S., guys: if a woman is asking why you don’t just find someone else, she’s not swooning with lust for you.

Baby, you’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want to do this with you?

“Anastasia, I’ve told you. There’s something about you. I can’t leave you alone. I’m like a moth to a flame. I want you very badly, especially now, when you’re biting your lip again.”

You know how when a woman gets murdered, and they interview her husband on TV and he’s like, “She was so beautiful, she had such an amazing smile,” and that’s like, all he seems to be able to come up with about her, then he ends up convicted of her murder? Christian Grey doesn’t want to just sleep with Ana because she’s beautiful or he’s attracted to something about her personality (he actually wants to completely overhaul that), he’s into her because she’s an object she likes. We learn later, with the introduction of Leila, that these objects are disposable. The more time we spend in Christian Grey’s head, the more we see how deep his vile, misogynistic streak runs, to the point that it can no longer be chalked up as inept writing or the occasional poor phrase. The character we saw in Fifty Shades of Grey is exactly the character E.L. James meant to write, and perceived as the ultimate romantic hero.

“I think you have that cliché the wrong way around,” she says softly, and it’s a disturbing confession.

It’s okay for him to want her, but it clearly spoils the fun if she wants him.

“Eat!” I order, to change the subject.

“No. I haven’t signed anything yet, so I think I’ll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that’s okay with you.”

But of course, what does Ana do immediately after her next line of dialogue? She eats.

He tells her that he’s had fifteen past relationships like this. She asks if he ever hurt anyone, and he admits that he did, but not badly.

Dawn was fine, if a little shaken by the experience. And if I’m honest, so was I.

That’s it. That’s where it ends. Not a thought of remorse or an indication that he’s learned not to do that. Just a line to make him the victim, too.

Ana asks him if he’ll hurt her.

“I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful.”

For example, when you get drunk and put yourself at risk.

We should have started a victim blaming tally at the beginning of these recaps. I fucked up.

Her lack of appetite is irritating and is affecting mine.

Yet again, he’s complaining that Ana isn’t having the reaction he wants her to have, and it’s victimizing him in some way.

He takes Ana to his study to show her the contract.

It’s a blessing that she’s curious–she hasn’t run yet.

Okay, we get it, you hobbled her so she can’t run away. You are clearly a superior horseman. Stop bragging.

Her eyes scan the page. “Hard limits?” she asks.

“Yes. What you won’t do, what I won’t do, we need to specify in our agreement.”

“I’m not sure about accepting money for clothes. It feels wrong.”

“I want to lavish money on you. Let me buy you some clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions.”

In case you’re a reader who never experienced the joy of the original trilogy, this isn’t the first time Ana will say, “This is a hard limit” only to have Christian argue with her that it’s not a limit she gets to set. This is just the inaugural event in what becomes a solid tradition.

“And I want you dressed well. I’m sure your salary, when you do get a job, won’t cover the kind of clothes I’d like you to wear.”

It’s really inspiring how the Detroit-born, college drop-out, son of a crack addict has risen to such great heights that’s he’s able to perfectly imitate the bourgeoisie disdain for the proles.

Ana also says:

“Okay. I don’t want to exercise four times a week.”

“Anastasia, I need you supple, strong, and with stamina. Trust me, you need to exercise.”

This is super laughable, considering the most physically arduous thing Ana does in this entire book is move from one apartment to the other. During the sex scenes, she just lays there while he does stuff to her. But yet again, here she’s setting a limit and he’s telling her that she can’t.

Christian asks Ana if she wants to intern at his company, and she says no.

Of course she’s right. And it’s my number-one rule: never fuck the staff.

Dude, you’re the one who just asked her if she wants to intern at your company while she’s fucking you. Suddenly, Ana’s rejection of his offer is his deeply held principle that of course he would never go against.

He then gives her his list of limits, which of course she’s going to have to respect, and respect is not a two-way street.

This is it, shit-or-bust time.

That is not an American saying. So much so that I had to look it up to make sure it was an actual saying at all. And it is. A quick google gave me results pinning the phrase to Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia. In case you’re looking for the actual, American equivalent, it’s “shit or get off the pot,” or “fish or cut bait.” Those are how we would say “shit or bust.”

Christian is worried that his limits will scare Ana away:

How can I persuade her to give this a try? I should reassure her, show her that I’m capable of caring.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Deep down I hope she won’t add anything. I want carte blanche with her. She stares at me, still at a loss for words. It’s irritating. I’m not used to waiting for answers. “Is there anything you won’t do?” I prompt.

It’s irritating that she won’t immediately answer him. It’s irritating that she won’t give him exactly what he wants as quickly as he wants it.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Well, here’s the deal, pal. You tell her you want to discuss something with her. You invite her to dinner, but there is no dinner. You showed her your sex room and told her you want to have a D/s relationship with her despite the fact that you know nothing about her apart from the fact that she doesn’t want a relationship with you. And now you’re wondering why she might not have an answer at the ready, instantly, when you hand her a sex contract that you’re pressuring her to sign. While he does think:

Patience, Grey. For fuck’s sake. You’ve thrown a great deal of information at her. I continue my gentle approach. It’s novel.

Wheedling until he gets a woman to fuck him is “gentle,” and that gentleness is “novel”. Be still my flooding panties.

Christian notes that Ana can’t even talk about sex, because she’s so innocent, which suggests to me that maybe she’s not the person to plunge into a 24/7 submissive relationship with?

“Well, I’ve not had sex before, so I don’t know,” she whispers.

The earth stops spinning.

I don’t fucking believe it.

How?

Why?

Fuck!

A refreshing

return

to the random

line

breaks.

This reaction is probably the most realistic one in the whole book, to be honest. People react like that–often out loud–when adult virgins say they’re virgins. But hopefully only a small number react like this:

Anger lances through me. What can I do with a virgin? I glare at her as fury surges through my body.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I growl, and start pacing my study. What do I want with a virgin?

And we’ll leave that there. Until next time, remember those paragraphs and remember that this man is the fantasy you should be longing for.

Fat, Fandom, and Jessica Jones, or “Where the fuck were you?”

Content warning: fat hate, disordered eating, and every other warning you’ve already heard about Jessica Jones (rape, PTSD, violence, misogyny, all sorts of warnings that fat women don’t deserve).

You’re on the internet, so I assume you’ve heard of, if not already binge watched, the Netflix/Marvel series, Jessica Jones. The show has been praised–rightfully so–for its unflinching, unapologetic themes of rape, PTSD, and even the sinister, casual misogyny of a man telling a woman to smile.

If the title of this post drew you in because you’re looking for another fawning think piece about how refreshing and wholly feminist this marvel (no pun intended) of a modern superhero franchise is, you’re probably the exact feminist I want to have a confrontation with.

I’d heard so many wonderful things about the show, so I tried it. It sucked me in immediately. About seven minutes into the first episode, our heroine is on a fire escape, spying through people’s windows. She sees a fat woman running on a treadmill. The woman steps down and retrieves a fast food burger to messily gorge herself on while Jones looks on and sneers, “two minutes on the treadmill, twenty minutes on a quarter-pounder.”

Despite the claims of notorious fat hating internet enclaves, there hasn’t been an outcry over this “triggering” content. And that’s what I–a sniveling, cowardly SJW, just to get that bit out of the way–am concerned about.

You know about trigger warnings–the term “content warning” is preferable, as it doesn’t appropriate or water-down terminology pertaining specifically to PTSD–because everyone on your Facebook timeline is complaining about them. Trigger warnings are everywhere, coddling the gentle feelings of a generation doomed to failure from being handled with white kid gloves, or so increasingly crusty fellow Gen Xers have decided. So where was the warning for that fat shaming joke that the pathetic, bottom-feeding Reddit dwellers so gleefully noted the absence of? Like most of the online drama that feeds their oxygen-deprived, shriveled little erections, the outcry was totally manufactured. In fact, when I googled the quote, not a single result on the first two pages were about the joke itself, but the overblown reaction the fat haters believed everyone was having.

So where the fuck was the overblown reaction, guys? Where was the trigger warning everyone thinks wasn’t needed? Where the fuck was it? There have been plenty of content warnings for rape, for violence, for suicide, for PTSD flashbacks. Was there no compassion or consideration left for the fat women? If even the fat shamers believed that the absence of a trigger warning should be cause for outrage, where the fuck were you? In a day and age where a marine biology Tumblr tags its posts with the mind-bogglingly obvious “TW: water”, where was a single social media feminist when your fat sisters were being brutally let down? And not just let down, but mocked for a reaction that wasn’t happening at all, let alone on the scale dreamed up by a bunch of sentient pubic hairs on the internet?

“But it’s feminist here! And over here!” you might be tempted to cry. Put a hold on that transaction, because I’m not buying. If I’m willing to cop to my seasonal worship of the misogynist shit-fest that is Love, Actually, you can good and goddamn admit that your unproblematic fave has two lines that are problematic, and you can take two seconds out of your day to acknowledge that and give fat women a head’s up.

By the end of the first episode, it was clear that this is going to be a show I love, and I’m going to stick with it all the way to the end because I am thoroughly enchanted. Krysten Ritter is, without any whiff of overstatement, flawless. The writing–in the first episode, at least–is tight as a drum, and it’s probably the only time I’ve seen a television character who wasn’t Olivia Benson tell a rape survivor that her assault wasn’t her fault. Jessica Jones is a great show. I was about to gush to my husband about how great it was, when I realized that he might want to watch it as a result. I thought about all the times he’s seen me red faced and sweating after a run, how many times I’ve tried to diet only to say “fuck it all!” and launch into some Taco Bell. How many times he’s seen me launch into some Taco Bell when I wasn’t saying “fuck it all!” to a diet and eating just because damn, I love those chicken quesadillas so much. I thought of him seeing the smart, strong Jessica Jones saying something I’d said to myself in my deepest moments of self-hatred a million times before. I thought about a following scene, where Jones tucks carelessly into a sandwich that will be the only thing we see her consume in this episode besides booze. And I thought about how embarrassing all of that was when combined. Even though I know that my husband doesn’t care about my weight–a shocking claim that would no doubt be denounced as a delusion or an outright lie by the slobbering anti-fat internet masses–, even though I know he’s still with me when I can’t stand being with myself, I would be mortified to watch that episode with him. So when he asked how it was, I didn’t do what I wanted to do, which was to grab him and shake him and scream in his face, “Why the fuck haven’t we watched this yet? What is wrong with us?” Instead, I shrugged and said, “It’s okay.”

And that’s me, a fat woman who no longer flirts with disordered eating, who no longer laments that her gag reflex can’t be triggered by something so puny as an index finger. A woman who would now be comfortable getting a tattoo of a Taco Bell chicken quesadilla on her forehead with the words “Fuck it all! Taco Bell!” in letters that replace her eyebrows. I can’t imagine how it must feel to women who haven’t developed a thicker skin yet, who haven’t overcome demons that will wake up hungry and cranky when they see a sweating fat woman eat a burger followed by a rail-thin beauty devouring a sandwich. I can’t imagine how many women turned off the show right there and missed all the powerful feminist content everyone is lauding. And all anyone needed to do to protect them was to mention how the show failed here. A single line in the middle of a four-thousand word praise orgy would have sufficed. A single word in defense to our legions of haters would have been even better.

Look, I’m a realist. Fat shame is here to stay. As long as horrible people are brutally oppressed by having to be nice to the people who count, fat people–who obviously don’t count–will be the target of impotent, frustrated egos that need to lash out at their own insecurities. Would I have preferred that Jessica Jones didn’t feature a fat shaming joke? Of course, especially since the production is helmed by a female show runner and is being praised as a feminist masterpiece. Do I think the show is irredeemably antifeminist because of it? Absolutely not. Do I want to prevent future episodes from being filmed, picket Netflix headquarters, and demand a full apology? Of course not. I’m not one of the fragile, fascist fatties who demand everyone worship us as sexual objects and who were completely invented by the gong farmers of the internet, because those types of fat people don’t exist. But you know what I do want? Some admission by my fellow feminists that fat women deserve just as much consideration and protection as every other woman. It’s one thing to declare that fat is a feminist issue. It’s another entirely to bother to do anything with that information. All you needed was a single content warning hashtag. All you needed was to acknowledge that we could be hurt by such a cheap, throwaway joke. And you didn’t.

#LegionXIII Rome watch along S01E04 “Stealing From Saturn” or “James Purefoy showed his wang.”

Quick rundown of the episode: James Purefoy showed his wang.

Okay, other stuff happened, too. Like, for example, Pompey’s group is sitting around in tents, all uncomfortable, while his son, Quintus, skins somebody alive. They learn that the gold they were looking for ran afoul of Caesar’s scouts, but Caesar doesn’t have it, either. Quintus is dispatched to find whoever took the money.

Atia is throwing her uncle a welcome home party, which is a big deal, because she wants to cement her status as first lady of the city. I mean, Caesar is married, but the real threat to Atia is Servilia, because she’s the chick Caesar is passionate about, in an extramarital way. Meanwhile, Octavia has figured out that her mother probably killed her husband.

Lucius Vorenus is getting ready for the grand opening of his grocery store, which involves a lot of praying. Way more praying than I usually run into at parties. But Mark Antony has shit he needs to say, and he needs to say it in the nude. And he shows his wang. And the Lord looked up on it, and he saw that it was good. Antony doesn’t think Vorenus is going to be able to pull off the whole grocery store thing. He offers him a promotion and a bonus to come back to the army, but Vorenus won’t let a bag of gold turn his head.

So, two parties are happening. At one, Servilia and Caesar are seeing each other for the first time in eight years, but they’re playing it cool. Niobe’s sister, Lyde, is trying to play it cool, too, but it’s her husband that Niobe was making out with last week, so some shit clearly went down while Vorenus was away, and it is shit that Lyde cannot keep together at all.

Caesar knows that he has to have the people on his side, and he plans to do that by buying a good sign from the priests. Speaking of religious signs, Lyde gets hammered drunk and knocks over the religious icon that’s supposed to be bringing them good luck or whatever for their business. Niobe is cleaning up the pieces when Quintus Pompey rolls in with his gang. They’re going to cut up Niobe so Vorenus tells them where the stolen gold is. Except, he doesn’t know where it is. And the man who does know where it is gets there at exactly the wrong time. Titus Pullo arrives in a litter, tossing handfuls of gold, with the slave girl from the last episode all dressed up in nice clothes and a shit ton of jewelry. There is a massive brawl, in which Vorenus and Pullo take Quintus hostage. They deliver him to Caesar at Atia’s house. Because having the son of his enemy is a pretty good thing, and since Caesar had no idea there was any missing gold in the first place, he doesn’t punish Pullo for spending some of it. But they do take the rest.

Atia figures out that Servilia is fucking Caesar, and Pullo figures out that Niobe was fucking Lyde’s husband. This is bad news for both Servilia and Lyde’s husband. And Lyde, come to think of it. Pompey gets Caesar’s message telling him to disarm and give up, but Pompey isn’t having it. He thinks he can still win, even without money or like, even being in the city at all. Caesar gets the religious sign he’s paid for, and now Pompey doesn’t even have the will of the people behind him. He’s basically on an extended camping trip for the rest of his life now.

My favorite part of the episode: Atia’s recipe for putting oak in someone’s penis. It’s eating goat testicles. Just in case you were developing a “distinctly feminine anima” and you wanted to correct that or something. Goat testicles.

My least favorite part of the episode: Caesar’s seizure (say that a few times out loud, for funsies) is historically inaccurate. Caesar was definitely a part of the epileptic cool people brigade, but his seizures are recorded as being more like simple or complex partials, not the grand mal he’s shown having. The speed of his recovery from the seizure is also pretty unrealistic. He’s full blown tonic-clonic in one breath, totally functional (albeit out of breath) in the next.

Favorite costume:  Even though nobody is wearing them, Atia’s wigs:

Team Atia or Team Servilia: Servilia. Atia completely humiliated herself with her clumsy manipulation attempts at the party. Step up your game. I know you can do better.

Favorite watch-a-long tweet:

Even back then people were drawing dicks everywhere #LegionXIII

— Dylan Bimberg (@dylanbim) December 1, 2015

What hairdo or costume would Bronwyn steal? I actually debated on this one, but I think Niobe’s fancy up-do might be the one:

Guess Jess’s head canon. There’s naked Mark Antony and oil wrestling involved. Vorenus may or may not be there. But I think he’s there.

Now go check out Bronwyn’s and Jess’s posts, and join us Monday at 9 PM EST for season one, episode five, “The Ram Has Touched The Wall”. Tweet to #LegionXIII to join us!

 

State Of The Trout: Holy Shit, It’s December edition

Hey there everybody! I don’t have a lot of news to report, but I did want to let you know that my depressive episode I reported on before is thankfully over with. Thanks for all the messages of concern and support you guys gave me, I really appreciate that.

In other news:

There’s a new chapter of my free historical horror serial,  The Afflicted  available on Wattpad right now.
So, have you heard of people decorating their planners and stuff? I couldn’t get my head around why someone would want to do that, so I looked into it and, like many of my hobbies, that led to me actually doing it. People spend tons of money on stickers and washi tape and all these special doodads, but I’m cheap at heart, so I started making my own. On the off chance they could be useful to you, here’s a printable file. These are sized for the Erin Condren planner, and match the 2016 January color scheme. There are header stickers for work, home, and self, as well as a checklist for a.m. and p.m. meds, and some full-box ombre checklists. I print mine on matte paper so I can write on them. Feel free to share them if you like them and know someone who does this kind of stuff.
At 3 p.m. EST today (in about an hour and a half of this posting, yay for my promptness) I’ll be hanging out at the Facebook release party for A.L. Davroe’s Nexis, out today from Entangled Teen. Check out this book:

In the domed city of Evanescence, appearance is everything. A Natural Born among genetically altered Aristocrats, all Ella ever wanted was to be like everyone else. Augmented, sparkling, and perfect. Then…the crash. Devastated by her father’s death and struggling with her new physical limitations, Ella is terrified to learn she is not just alone, but little more than a prisoner.

Her only escape is to lose herself in Nexis, the hugely popular virtual reality game her father created. In Nexis she meets Guster, a senior player who guides Ella through the strange and compelling new world she now inhabits. He offers Ella guidance, friendship…and something more. Something that allows her to forget about the “real” world and makes her feel whole again. But when their separate worlds collide, Ella will have to choose between love and survival. Because Nexis isn’t quite the game everyone thinks it is.

And it’s been waiting for Ella.

Nexis is available at online retailers now.

That’s all I’ve got this time around. Look for a Grey recap this week, and possibly a much happier video from me to wash the taste of the depression one out of your brain.

Double Steve Bonus Monday!

(Wonder)

I’m Going To Revolutionize The White Male Author’s Novel.

Well, here I am. I’ve read books by white male authors before. Loads of them. I’ve read like…five. Or six. Yeah, I haven’t read every single book written by a white dude, but I’ve read the back cover copy on a few novels, and I went to a movie adapted from a Nicholas Sparks book, so I think I have a pretty good handle on the kinds of stories white male authors are putting out there.

I can do better.

I mean, think about it. White male authors haven’t given us anything new or fresh in a while. We need a braver, bigger voice, from someone who isn’t afraid to blaze new trails and really challenge the way we think about white male literature.

When was the last time you read a book by a white male author that had a real, kick-ass female character? And when I say kick-ass, I don’t mean well-rounded and capable of taking care of herself. I’m talking a female character who’s physically perfect and super strong, but carrying around some irreparable emotional damage. Maybe there’s a guy in her life who’s not as tough as she is, but she’ll need him. He’s the only one who’ll be able to heal her heart, and make her a whole woman again. You can bet you’ll see that fresh take in my novel. I’m not afraid to make that leap.

Of course, I might go a different way. I might center the story around a twenty-something guy having a quarter-life crisis. Can you imagine that? He doesn’t know where he’s going, and he has a lot of choices he has to make. Who’s going to help him? Um, why not that wacky girl who works at the record store and colors her hair with Sharpies? She wears a-line dresses and has bangs that fall into her eyes. She’ll change my protagonist’s life by showing him how to let go of his anxieties, let go of his therapist and probably the sexy older professor he’s banging back at college. By the time the story ends, he’ll be hanging upside down on monkey bars to subtly illustrate for the reader that he’s finally found a new perspective.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: why should anyone listen to me? I’ve never written a white male author’s book before. But I put some real consideration into this decision. Unless my beta-reader’s aunt–the high-profile literary agent–happens to see my book and finds something marketable about it, I’m going to self-publish this revolutionary work. It’s going to be far too controversial and outside-the-box for a traditional publishing house or their audience. People aren’t going to get this book. It’s just too edgy. But people didn’t “get” Moby-Dick when it first came out, either (speaking of which, Moby-Dick? I don’t want to be passive aggressive here, but my book is going to blow that P.O.S. out of the water).

I guess the thing we really have to remember here is that, despite having an overall uninformed opinion of the white male style of writing, I’m pretty sure I can barge right in and do it better than all the chumps who aren’t six degrees separated from a six-figure contract by stroke of pure networking luck. After all, if traditional publishing, that institution that strives to present only the most original and artistic takes, finds my novel marketable, that’s truly a sign that I’ve broken the mold. Even if I clearly demonstrate that I’m not sure what the mold is shaped like, or used for. Jell-o, maybe? Ice cubes?

Meh, I can do it better, anyway.

That’s how you sound, Scott Bergstrom.