Reflection: My year of reading women, 1/4 of the way through

Last year Canadian academic--in scare quotes, because honestly how can anyone take seriously any academic who writes off an entire class of people on the basis of gender or national origin--announced publically that he did not assign books by women or Chinese writers. Anna Szymanski, perhaps in a counterpoint, wrote about her year of reading women.

Independently of #readwomen2014, which I only discovered researching this blog post, I decided that for 2014 I would read books only by women authors. The only exception to this is books required for professional reasons, that is work or study, though even the first book I'll read for study is by a woman. I also signed up for a Goodreads challenge to read 40 books.

It is the beginning of April, and I am a quarter of the way through the year. I've read 13 books, so I am on track to get the 40 I need. But what has it been like, reading women? What have I read?

I typically read a lot of books, a broad mixture of male and female authors, fiction, non-fiction, novels, literature, science fiction, crime, historical fiction, popular science, biography, popular economics, social theory...and reading women hasn't changed that. I have not felt in any way deprived, or even really noticed the absence of male authors.I'd like to read the last science fiction book in a long series that is authored by a man (and came out late last year), but apart from that I am missing nothing.

What I have read is:

• Two memoirs, neither of which was especially good. One was two saccharine, and the other was too clinical
• Wuthering Heights. Second go-round, the last time was in highschool. Interesting to read as an adult, though I don't think I'll re-read it a third time.
• A crime fiction series by Kathryn Fox, an Australian author, with a female protagonist. These books cover a broad range of social topics, including rape in sport, the ethics of cruise holidays, and nature vs. nurture. Not all of them are great books, but they are all cracking reads.
• A couple of Jodi Picoult books, one of which was formulaic and the other of which was actually not bad, about motherhood.
• Little Men by Louisa May Alcott. It's interesting to note the attitudes about raising boys and girls, and the nature of men and women, that are so anathema to me in modern works.
• A couple of pieces of literary fiction, including one by Amy Tan that fails both of David Gilmour's criteria, and which was actually a good read.

The only thing I would normally have read by now that appears on the list above is popular science, as it is I am reading a book about bad language that will be the first book in that category. So, are there any differences at all? Probably the most noticeable is the number of female protagonists, also noted by Szymanski. Honestly, it's nice to see bits of myself reflected in literature, especially given that I haven't sacrificed anything to do it (still plenty of male protagonists in women's writing). I am even, at the time of writing, reading an excellent Swedish crime novel by an author whose surname is Larsson.

Despite my comfort and satisfaction with women's writing, unlike David Gilmour I don't believe that reading the writing of only a proportion of the human race is a good thing. I am enjoying reading women this year, but this is only a year's hiatus from the male point of view. I challenge David Gilmour, and anyone who shares his bigotry to examine some other perspectives. Goodness knows most of the world's population has to live with other perspectives, because dead white guys are required reading. If you are a live white guy, take a leap! You might find something interesting out here.

For anyone who is looking for ideas, you can follow along on my year of reading women on Goodreads.

Reflections: On bisexuality, and passsing

I am a mostly-out bisexual woman in a married relationship. If sexuality is a continuum, I probably fall more towards women than men (hear that? That was another closet door shattering), but my opportunities to meet women have been somewhat limited by my male-dominated profession and hobbies in my teens and 20s (during which time I met The Partner). Ironically enough, I am now in a women-dominated workplace (I'll post about what a breath of fresh air that is some other time) and have "feminine" hobbies, so had I not already been partnered, who knows what might have happened. I don't actually care--I am very happily monogamous with The Partner, as he is with me (and yes, he knows all of the above, and he doesn't care either). In the end, sexuality is for me about loving an individual, and the bits that individual happens to come with are largely irrelevant.

In a lot of ways, my marriage protects me from the dangers and oppressions that come with my orientation (for which my personal preferred term is "gender-bender"). For a start, I am in a state-sanctioned union, with all the rights and protections that pertain to that. I never have to answer that awkward question about a boyfriend with some variation on "uh, girlfriend, actually". I wear a ring that marks me as part of one of these societally approved partnerships which bizarrely enough means I get to behave (at least in terms of the longing eyes, or comments on attractiveness I need to stop indulging in) much more according to my preferences, because heteronormativity often blinds people to what is actually happening right in front of them. In many ways, I benefit from the appearance of straightness, even though I am not straight. I pass, and it not only makes many things easier, it actually keeps me safer.

Nonetheless, though, I am not straight. I have had the uncomfortable experience of being "outed" under circumstances not of my choosing. Every piece of anti-gay legislation that gets passed could one day apply to me. I have to self-censor when talking about my attractions in public, particularly when I am not with The Partner. I am certainly not claiming to be as affected by any of these things as my gay friends and loved ones, but they nonetheless affect me.

And then there is the third, weird set of...issues, for want of a better word that I deal with because I am bisexual and hetero-partnered (and each of these things has been raised with me several times, so they seem to be common misconceptions):

• The assumption that my bisexuality is not actually real for lack of a visible history, or that it was something I have "grown out of"
• The heteronormative assumption that I am straight, and therefore will not be offended by gay jokes or slurs (now, I would be offended by these even if I was straight, but that is a whole 'nother issue)
• Being questioned as to whether my bisexuality is meaningful now that I am married, since I won't act on it
• Or having it assumed that I will be unfaithful, just because I am bisexual.

Here's the thing: Bisexuality is real, and we bisexuals are just as in control of our sexuality as everyone else. Being bisexual is neither a stepping stone on the way to gayness for all who claim it, not a childish dalliance. Monogamous partnering is a reduction of choice under all circumstances: confining your sexuality to a single person doesn't change the gender or type of person you are attracted to, and being attracted to a wider range of people doesn't mean confining yourself to one person is impossible.

The purpose of this post is certainly not to get into any form of "oppression olympics", nor is it to call out (often loved and respected) the people in my life who have asked me these questions--I understand that my position is unusual. Really, this post is just a descirption of my own postiont, and an explanation about me for anyone looking for it (I don't claim to speak for anyone else). My bisexuality is an integral part of my identity. I benefit dramatically from being lucky enough to be partnered with a man, for sure--but the fact that I pass doesn't change who I am--and nor would I want it to.

Rant: 'Milk' and the closet doors

Last night I went to see the movie 'Milk', about Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man elected to major office in the US, and a significant force in the activism for gay rights. I'm depressed. Don't get me wrong, the movie was awesome, and if the Oscars had anything to do with real merit, Penn should win an Oscar for his performance.

The reason why I am depressed is this: Harvey Milk hoped, in a recording he made in anticipation of his assassination that 'if a bullet should enter [his] brain, let the bullet destroy every closet door...' Well, sure enough, Harvey got shot to death (and the guy who did it got away with it, essentially), but the closet door remains firmly closed.

I live on the other side of the world. I know who Gloria Steinem and Alice Walker and Betty Friedan and Martin Luther King and Medgar Evers and Angela Davis are, though some of the oppressions they fought are not oppressions I face. For fuck's sake, I even know who Camille Paglia is, though I could live without her. And to be fair, I knew roughly who Harvey Milk was, though I knew very little about him--even though the oppression he fought is one I face, to a lesser degree than many of my comrades, to be sure--I pass, making me one of the lucky ones--but I face it nonetheless. Let me be clear, I am not trying to diminish the achievements of any of the civil rights activists I listed, nor I claiming any one of them was a paragon of virtue, but...

Why isn't Harvey Milk's name up there in the pantheon of American civil rights heroes? Because that closet door is made of kevlar. Because sexuality isn't visible, and because there seems to be an insidious sense that it is a choice, and because it is about sex, GLBTQI civil rights just aren't an issue that many people are interested in.

Except they are interested. Just not in a good way. It is still bizarrely acceptable to poke fun at gay people in movies. Obama is seen by so many as ushering a new era of human rights, and being fabulous for gay people, but as Ann at Feministing points out "not-Bush" is a pretty low threshold. He didn't come out openly against any of the anti-gay-marriage bills in the US, and all 11 of them passed, including one in California, Milk's adopted home state, and the place where he did such amazing work (and this is similar the world over--there are few places that recognise full marriage equality). I'm aware of the arguments against state-sanctioned marriage--this post isn't about those--but while the state does sanction marriage, to deny it to people because they happen to be the same gender is unacceptable. Saying "that's so gay", and calling someone a faggot are not seen as the slightest bit transgressive. People still ask each other about partners in gendered terms, and it is still up to those in non-heterosexual relationships to explain themselves. For those of us who are in a heterosexual relationship, our orientation is considered confirmed. Gay people are still beaten for who they love (though probably not nearly as statistically frequently as trans people).

30 years after Milk's death, not much has changed. Gay people are still told consistently in subtle and not-so-subtle ways that they are not acceptable. I still cannot imagine an openly gay leader in New Zealand (which is fairly diverse in its political representation--we've had female leaders, openly gay and lesbian MPs, a trans MP, MPs of many ethnicities...), much less the US. The closet door is still firmly closed. And the biggest shame of all? Until the movie, the world didn't even know Milk's name.

Update 28 Jan 09: Iceland has just gotten a female, openly gay prime minister (thanks, Shakesville, for bringing me the news). Yes, she has been appointed, not elected, but--was that the sound of one more closet door shattering?

Rant: 'Please die ana' and other food obsessions

This is going to be a bit of a rant, so if that offends you I suggest you look away now. The topic of today's rant is food, and in particular the way we have managed to generate obsession in a time of plenty.

In the past week I have watched someone suffering so deeply from an eating disorder I can count every bone in her body put out eating disorder awareness fliers out before she went to work out. I've read a posting on an online community from someone who, trying to instill healthy eating habits in her children said there was no dessert, and then ate candy from her desk; this post led to others (all women) saying they can't open Halloween candy because they eat it all. I've seen one of the fittest people I know actively wage war on half a slice of cake. I've read the story of someone trying to balance blood sugar and digestive disorder, saying that the "healthy" pasta was not worth it for her. I've had someone tell me that they need to join weight watchers because of their risk for heart disease (and their hatred of exercise), but they are worried about it because they have no food or body issues. I've seen a man on TV claim that the meal he cooked at 50 (his first) was the high point of his life, and that until that point food had been merely fuel. Is it any wonder 'Ana's Song' is in high rotation for me right now?

The nexus of all this, of course, is food and the ways in which people do not enjoy it, and all of them in one way or another resonate with me. My relationship with food is only now starting to normalise after a time where I could eat nothing due to illness, and then a time where I would eat a table if it wasn't nailed down because I was on prednisone, and frankly that is enough to headfuck anyone. Part of coming back to food, for me, has been coming back to enjoying it without fear, and part of that process has been noticing how completely and utterly fucked up most people's relationship with it (and I am not letting myself off the hook here) is.

In a time of plentiful food, as many of us in the west are privileged enough to enjoy, instead of enjoying it, food has become an instrument of torture for so many of us. Fat hatred has talked huge numbers of women into imposing artificial famine upon themselves, and when we do break that famine we gorge, because we're not being "good" so why the fuck not? The wester beauty ideal has a lot to answer for, let me tell you. When it isn't famine, it is eating the "right" things as defined by some metric of health; there is even a named eating disorder for taking this to extreme: orthorexia. The specter of "long term health" is being used as a stick to beat food choices with now, for many, and as in the case of my friend above some people can't win for losing. And even for those who are fuelling their bodies, for some it has become utilitarian and there is no joy in it. And lack of joy does not even begin to describe the hell and the demons battled by those with EDs; hell and demons that make me unspeakably sad.

What the fuck have we done as a society? How is it that we have managed to take the joy out of food for so many people, when there is plenty of food to go around? How many people are not performing at their best right now, because they are underfuelled, or obsessing about what they want to eat? How many people are eating chocolate and feeling nothing but guilt?

Do me a favour today: Enjoy something you eat, and don't feel guilty about it.

Postscript: Without meaning to, and truly ironically, I posted this just after the end of 'Love your Body Day' where I live. Life is so weird sometimes.

Revelation: Why I like (primarily) male vocal music

I have long been deeply disturbed by my own personal preference for music performed by male vocalists; I feel like it is something I should hand in my feminist card over--it seems contradictory to believe women should get equal opportunities in the music industry but not really be that into their music myself. And the thing is, it's not that I like what most people would cosnider "nice" male voices; I'm a huge fan of Placebo (no, really, I hear you say); I've done my time with the Smashing Pumpkins, and I was briefly fascinated by Lukas Rossi--none of these men have traditional voices. I've always been obsessed with the lyrics of songs, and I know far more lyrics than it is reasonable for one human being to know, so the words that are being sung are often (though not always) more relevant to my choice of music than the voice that is singing them.

So, recently I was working on a playlist for a mix CD for a friend of mine who likes female vocalists, and to my surprise, I discovered that actually, I like quite a number of female vocalists--Dilana, Brooke Fraser, both the Runga sisters, Alanis, Marie Fredriksson, Beth Ditto and Hanna Pakarinen--to name a few she might not have heard, or who she might not have heard recently (which doesn't even begin to touch on my flirtations with better-knowns like Annie Lennox, Stevie Nicks and P!nk who I know she listens to). I was trying to figure out what the common theme was, and initially I thought it was rage, but that should imply that I would like (for example) Lily Allen, who I cannot abide. Thinking about it more, I realised it was actually just having something interesting to say, and saying it to an appealing melody in a way that meant I could connect with it emotionally. This allows for the spectrum Placebo have presented me with, for Hanna's rage and Bic's homesickness, even for Brooke's devotion that I do not share.

So where, I hear you asking, do I get my feminist card back? The answer is pretty simple: Exposure. The majority of my music exposure is through popular channels, for example the gym, commercial radio, television, and my itunes recommendations. At a guess, exposure is usually going to come via a record company, adn besides suing 12 year olds and screwing artists out of the majority of their royalties, record companies exist to make money. In a culture where women are objectified, dismembered and made two dimensional at every opportunity, it's a big risk for a record company to take on a woman who has strong feelings about anything, because you know, thinking and feeling women who sing about it are more than just tits, ass and male sexual fantasy. Even when such a woman does make it through the record company gauntlet, too often the lyrics are about how men have altered their lives for the worse, and how they are still cut up about it (this is probably how Alanis made it out, but all the subsequent albums were much more interesting). Men, on the other hand, can sing about whatever they want and get away with it; record companies will still sign them if they are angry or even write music that doesn't have women at its centre.

While this discovery has made me realise my discovery channels are failing, and has reinforced to me that the record companies are failing to provide what I want in so many ways, I no longer feel like I should hand in my feminist card over my musical taste...I just need to keep looking in less mainstream channels for women to love.

Update 8 Jul 2008: For a more theoretical and coherent discussion, read this at Smart Like Me.

Rant: Gynecology, choice, "annual exams", and the medical establishment

For those readers of this blog who are made squeamish by feminism, medicine, or vajayjay talk, I suggest you look away now. Consider yourselves warned.

Recently, I read a post on feministing asking how women felt about getting their "annual exams". I didn't weigh in on the topic, because where I live now, and where I lived before, "annual exams" aren't annual, and include only a pap smear, rather than the breast exam and everything else that seems to happen in the States. Also unlike the U.S., here these exams are usually done by your family doctor, rather than a gynae specialist. what this discussion reminded me of, though, was a pro-feminist framing of gynae care I'm not sure I am comfortable with. I'm not sure I can agree that gynae care is entirely feminist--while being healthy is certainly pro-woman, I'm not sure viewing the female reproductive system as something that needs to be checked once a year to remain healthy, or the pap smear as a pre-requisite to a birth control prescription is feminist. The first reminds me enormously of the medicalization of birth, with all the patriarchal control of female reproductive organs and disconnect between a woman and her own body and health (after all, what other body system needs so much checking out once a year?). Requiring a pap before prescribing birth control smacks of medical paternalism to me--even in the highly legalized medical environment in the U.S., surely a woman ought to be able to sign a waiver and get her birth control anyway (there are some places that offer this option, but from what I have heard they are in the minority). I think it is likely, too, that this insistence on intimate exams may actually prevent some women from getting hormonal birth control--this insistence will not force unwilling women to get gynecological exams, it will cause them to use other (potentially inferior) methods of birth control.

Combine this climate of control and medical paternalism (of which there is a long history with regard to women's bodies) with the fact that often women are not in charge of their gynae exams--take this and this as examples from the medical blogosphere and the feminist blogoshpere respectively that make my toes curl in their shoes--and you have a pretty ugly scenario.

In Australia, around 61% of women go for their pap smears every two years as recommended. That means 39% don't. To try to raise this number the government is paying doctors extra for treating women who have not been tested for a while (but you can guarantee that that extra money is not being passed on to patients). In a country the size of Australia, you can guarantee some of the problem is access and choice--when you're dependent on a rural health service that covers a wide area, well, it might take a bit longer to get to a doctor. Like anywhere, though, some women's reluctance will have to do with what doctors call "anxiety or embarrassment", which I believe is meant to cover everything from anxiety and embarrassment right up to fear and trauma. While the medical approach is that these women should "get over it for their own sake", I am a little disappointed to note the actual level of care being offered--I'm going to talk about the Australian model, because I've done some research about it.

In Australia, around 2% of the ordinary non-liquid paps are inconclusive (usually because they contain blood or mucus), requiring the woman to come back for another test 6-12 weeks later. While there is a more effective test, the cost of this test is not covered by the Australian government (unlike most other medical testing), and even where it is performed an ordinary pap must be performed anyway. In a traumatised woman, the additional testing, expense, and discomfort may be the barrier between getting successful health care, and not getting it, but it is much easier to trot out the line about how "women with cervical cancer should have come in for a smear" than actually address this problem.

HPV testing could be offered as an alternative to traditional pap smears, meaning women did not have to get tested so frequently, but again, this is not covered by the Australian government, and therefore does not actually help many women.

And then there is collection method. Blind sweeps, and self sampling (either with the traditional method, as this midwife offered, or with the newer mechanisms) can offer women an non-traumatic way to collect the necessary samples. The Australian cancer screening program., however sees 'no evidence' to support the use of this approach. I guess the women in this study who would use this approach but did not get regular pap smears are not enough evidence. As this paper says, self sampling could bring the participation rate in cervical screening to near 100%, but cynically I have to wonder if it is easier and cheaper to blame women for getting cervical cancer.

My point is this (and yes, I have one): I do believe that being healthy, and having a healthy reproductive system are feminist objectives. I also believe that choice, knowing one's own body, and questioning the patriarchy are feminist objectives, and given the above it is clear that (at least in Australia) choice is being restricted (and may pose a barrier to the health of up to 39% of women). I am all for taking care of our bodies, and I am grateful that (largely thanks to the feminists who went before us) gynecological care has advanced enough that women are allowed to get pap smears these days. Having said that, the fact that the medical patriarchy is denying birth control without a pap smear, or constricting womens choices about what kind of pap smear they have (financially, practically or informationally) quite frankly makes me think that too much gynecological care isn't feminist. Until women everywhere can get care in the way that works best for them, until the blaming of cancer victims for "not coming in for a pap" stops, until women are seen as intelligent beings and allowed to decide for themselves about the risks associated with birth control, I can't quite see the "annual exam" as feminist.

Rave: The reclamation of my own body

I've decided I need to write more in this blog, as a space for the things I can't put on any of my professional blogs. I shall try not to ignore it for nearly a year in future.

Being an avowed feminist, and getting more avowed by the day, I've been thinking a lot about the mind-body dichotomy and how it plays out where I can see social ideals exerting controls over women's bodies, through food and fat, through sex (and rape), through fashion, through forced childbearing or denial of the right to bear children, through sports, and ultimately through murder (to name just a few).

For me, personally, my body has been a source of discomfort for as long as I can remember. Because I cannot run fast or catch a ball, and I grew up in a society that values sports above all else, my body and its failings have made me an object of school ridicule since I was small. I do not fit in to an idealized beauty standard, and this has been readily apparent to me for a long time. And in my early adulthood, I suffered the bodily betrayal of chronic illness; pain, dependence, weight loss and gain due to illness and medication, loss of control in general (the illness with which I am diagnosed has particularly socially unacceptable symptoms, being intestinal in nature). And of course the usual stories of sexual harassment and the like that all the women I know could tell, well, I can tell them too.

I'm not saying all or any of this for pity, but because I want to demonstrate how from the time I went to school, my body has been a source of embarrassment, shame, inconvenience, pain, and discomfort. Until I left my teens, I walked with a hunch to make myself smaller and less obvious. I wished I could be like that Roald Dahl story, and just be a brain in a jar, because nothing good came of having a body.

Recently though, I have begun to realise the joy I take in my body. Now, for those of you whose minds have already hit the damn gutter, I'm not even going to talk about sex--partly because it too bloody obvious, partly because it is fraught and I don't want to get into it. Instead, I'm going to talk about other things:

• Discovering swimming at 13, and realising I could swim further than pretty much anyone I knew, but that that didn't matter because it was good to just move through the water and be tired afterwards.
• Discovering the gym at 14, and learning to enjoy group exercise in a way where I was my own master, and where I did not have to be able to run or catch a ball.
• Playing basketball in girls-only physical education in Finland, where all that mattered was that everyone was having a good time.
• Learning to climb and be the master of my own destiny, and getting bloody strong along the way (oh, and meeting my husband wasn't bad either).
• Lifting weights, and changing the shape of my body, not in a way that pleased society, but in a way that pleased me.
• Taking up running on the treadmill with a goal in mind, and being surprised at how fast I could run without even trying
  
• All the other gym classes -- step, where I was particularly talented and could learn anything; boxing aerobics, where I was quick and my aggression didn't matter, pilates and body balance where I learned to concentrate on what my body was doing and how small changes affected it, deep water running, where I could do great cardio without joint pain and most recently and importantly...
• ...body jam, where I dance. I've always loved to dance, but I've never had any faith that I didn't look stupid or pornographic. It's taken a year of jam, but I simply don't give a flying fuck anymore what I look like. I don't care that some of the moves are sexual. I enjoy moving, and I am moving not for anyone other than me. It's about how I feel, rather than how I look (though I've been told that my dancing is pretty damn pleasing to the eye, these days).
  

It's taken doing the jam thing (for a year!), and losing my shame about moving my "child bearing hips", "thunder thighs" "boobies" and all the other parts of me that attract less attention for me to look at all of these experiences and stand up and recognise the joy I take in them. The brain in the jar scenario doesn't allow for any of these joys, and finally I am choosing to focus on the joy in all of it, rather than feeling slightly embarrassed and apologetic.

This is not, of course, to say that I love the way my body looks, or that the creepy jerk staring at my chest in the gym/elevator/train doesn't make me want to hide (or smack him), or that pain and illness don't make me curse my body as a bastard traitor that isn't playing the game. It's just that that isn't the dominant narrative anymore; it's no longer about what my body can't do, or what it is, but about what it can and does do. I've reclaimed my body.

I can't help but wonder, though, if I wouldn't have come earlier to this if physical education at school had been better rounded, and exposed me to other things than running and catching balls (and after all, the majority of us are not great at these things or sports heroes wouldn't be worshipped the way they are), and perhaps I might have come to the joy in simple movement earlier. It wouldn't have completely ameliorated all the other baggage, but knowing my body did one good thing just for me might have helped along the way. If I have daughters who are as hopeless at sports as I am, I'm certainly going to do my damndest to expose them to other types of movement...just in case.