Charms in Bad Feminist

Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay (Amazon // Goodreads )

I bought this book over winter break and I am finally done with it. I had to take a break from reading it because I wasn’t really enjoying it, but the second time I picked it up, I was around 60 pages in, I finished it in a day and actually enjoyed it more than I was expecting to. I had thought that this review would turn out to be rather scathing but it’s going to be pretty appreciative, at least later on. 

During the first 50 or so pages of this book I was constantly thinking the author had good ideas but terrible delivery. The language sounded repetitive and fragmented, like Hemingway, but without the literary grace. This first part of the book, which focuses on the author herself, felt as though the humor was forced and superficial with phrases like, “I consulted Dr. Google regularly.” At some point I even had a fear that my style of writing was similar to that of Roxane Gay’s and people would react similarly to how I wrote.

I got over this, however, during the second part of my reading and the subsequent parts of the book. Gay brings forward a good and succinct representation of the immigrant and minority experience in America. She has good critique of privilege. She became more relatable as I kept reading – subtly and in unexpected ways.

She covers a variety of topics (gender, sexuality, race, entertainment, and politics) and how they all intersect in different ways. My favorite chapter in the book was “How to Be Friends with Another Woman.” She has 13 rules overall, and she starts with, “1. Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses – pretty but designed to SLOW women down.” Her humor and writing style started appealing to me in this chapter. Her snark and biting critique continue from here onward (my favorite is when she rips apart 50 Shades of Gray in a later chapter). She makes important points about how women interact with other women and she does it in a way that doesn’t feel like she’s preaching. In fact,  to me, she becomes trustworthy in this chapter, when she tells us rule number 4, “Sometimes, your friends will date people you cannot stand. You can either be honest about your feelings or you can lie. There are good reasons for both. Sometimes you will be the person dating someone your friends cannot stand. If your man or woman is a scrub, just own it so you and your friends can talk about more interesting things. My go-to explanation is ‘I am dating an asshole because I’m lazy.’ You are welcome to borrow it.” She is honest and I don’t doubt it. She establishes this credibility. 

Another chapter I enjoyed and learned from was “Not Here To Make Friends.” Gay talks about likability and how the concept of likability is applied only to women and is a manifestation of the double standard in society’s expectations of behavior from men and women. She talks about likability in fiction especially, and how for works written by women authors with women heroes, discussion always includes the likability of the heroine and how this usually colors the literary critique of the work. How when men fit the same categories unlikable women fit, they are called antiheroes and interesting, but when women are in this position, they render the work uninteresting and not an ideal read. This is definitely a trap I fall into – I care if the characters in a book are likable or not, but my experience so far has been extreme irritation and boredom with the male antiheroes in literature. I’ll change this outlook nonetheless, it allows for a more in-depth and complex approach to whatever I am reading. 

Something I admire about Gay is that she’s not afraid to say she doesn’t know what to do to solve a certain problem. This isn’t really hard to do of course, some people own up to their lack of knowledge with pride and I think there is no need to overdo it. What sets Gay apart is that she doesn’t just repeat what problems we are facing and then declare she doesn’t know what to do. She manages to add detail and complexity to the debates we’re already having and sometimes proposes theories as to how we can approach these layered problems. But even when she has no idea, she has done something new. She has brought a fresh and eye-opening perspective to the table that can take us a step closer to finding the right way to deal with a problem. Through this, she is able to bring much-needed nuances to our discussions of things like “rape culture” and trigger warnings. 


Some of the passages I liked in the book are:

“The problem is, cultural critics talk about privilege with such alarming frequency and in such empty ways, we have diluted the word’s meaning. When people wield the word “privilege,” it tends to fall on deaf ears because we hear that word so damn much it has become white noise.”

“What I remind myself, regularly, is this: the acknowledgement of my privilege is not a denial of the ways I have been and am marginalized, the ways I have suffered.”

“Too many people have become self-appointed privilege police, patrolling the halls of discourse, ready to remind people of their privilege whether those people have denied that privilege or not. In online discourse, in particular, the specter of privilege is always looming darkly. When someone writes from experience, there is often someone else, at the ready, pointing a trembling finger, accusing that writer of having various kinds of privilege. How dare someone speak to a personal experience without accounting for every possible configuration of privilege or the lack thereof? We would live in a world of silence if the only people who were allowed to write or speak form experience or about difference were those absolutely without privilege.”

“We put a lot of responsibility on popular culture, particularly when some pop artifact somehow distinguishes itself as not terrible. In the months and weeks leading up to the release of Bridesmaids, for example, there was a great deal of breathless talk about the new ground the movie was breaking, how yes, indeed, women are funny. Can you believe it? There was a lot of pressure on that movie. Bridesmaids had to be good if any other women-driven comedies had any hope of being produced. This is the set of affairs for women in entertainment – everything hangs in the balance all the time.”

“[…] women are often the brightly polished trophies in the display case of reality television. The genre has developed a very successful formula for reducing women to an awkward series of stereotypes about low self-esteem, marital desperation, the inability to develop meaningful relationships with other women, and an obsession with almost pornographic standards of beauty.”

“Disagreement, however, is not anger. Pointing out the many ways in which misogyny persists and harms women is not anger. Conceding the idea that anger is an inappropriate reaction to the injustice women face backs women into an unfair position. Nor does disagreement mean we are blind to the ways in which progress has been made. Feminists are celebrating our victories and acknowledging our privilege when we have it. We’re simply refusing to settle. We’re refusing to forget how much work there is yet to be done. We’re refusing to relish the comforts we have at the expense of the women who are still seeking comfort.”

“Perhaps we too casually use the term “rape culture” to address the very specific problems that rise from a culture mired in sexual violence. Should we, instead, focus on “rapist culture” because decades of addressing “rape culture” has accomplished so little?”

“How do you write violence authentically without making it exploitative? […] We cannot separate violence in fiction from violence in the world no matter how hard we try.”

“I knew things but I knew nothing about what a group of boys could do to kill a girl.”

“Just because you survive something does not mean you are strong.”

“This is the uncomfortable truth: everything is a trigger for someone. There are things you cannot tell just by looking at someone.”

“The illusion of safety is as frustrating as it is powerful.”

“I don’t believe people can be protected from their histories.”

“Despite our complex cultural climate and what needs to be done for the greater good, it is still an unreasonable burden that someone who is marginalized must bear an extra set of responsibilities. It is unfair that prominent cultural figures who come out have to forge these inroads on our behalf; they carry the hopes of so many on their shoulders. They stand up and are counted so that someday things might actually be better for everyone, everywhere, not just the camera - or radio-ready celebrities for whom coming out is far easier than most.”

“There are injustices great and small, and even if we can only fight the small ones, at least we are fighting.”

“Women’s fiction is often considered a more intimate brand of storytelling that doesn’t tackle the big issues found in men’s fiction.”

“Male readership shouldn’t be the measure to which we aspire. Excellence should be the measure, and if men and /the establishment/ can’t (or won’t) recognize that excellence, we should leave the culpability with them instead of bearing it ourselves. As long as we keep considering male readership the goal, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Many comedians are very proud of themselves for saying the things others are supposedly afraid to say. They are at the forefront of this culture of entitlement where we get to do anything, think anything, and say anything.”

“Time and time again, people of color are supposed to be grateful for scraps from the table. There’s this strange implication that we should enjoy certain movies or television shows simply because they exist.”


“I approach most things in life with a dangerous level of confidence to balance my generally low self-esteem.”

“I have always enjoyed board games. I love rolling dice and moving small plastic or metal pieces around game boards. I collect Monopoly sets from around the world. I will play any game so long as there is a possibility I can win. I take games seriously. Sometimes I take them too seriously and conflate winning the Game of Life with winning at life.”

“I had no idea what it mean to be likable, though I was surrounded by generally likable people.”

“Every from a young age I understood that when a girl is unlikable, a girl is a problem. I also understood that I wasn’t being intentionally mean. I was being honest (admittedly, without tact), and I was being human. It is either a blessing or a curse that those are rarely likable qualities in a woman.”

“Being good is the best way to be bad.”

Charms in Sputnik Sweetheart

Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami (Goodreads // Amazon )

I read Sputnik Sweetheart for my current humanities class, and I loved it. Two-hundred pages of beautiful writing and a gripping storyline, with interesting and multi-dimensional characters who are relatable in the most unexpected ways.   

Sputnik Sweetheart is the story of K, Sumire, and Miu. K is the narrator and Sumire's best friend (he's also in love with her). Sumire herself is in love with Miu. They each have a tangled and unrequited bond with one another, and their paths all intersect on a Greek island where Sumire disappears.

Let me start with the narrator – K. K is my favorite character in the book. He is equal parts mysterious and ambiguous. He is real, raw – but not irritating and overdone. He is humorous in a tasteful way, he is contemplative and introspective. He manages to deliver a comprehensive story, as though he’s not relating events from a first-person perspective, but rather as an omniscient narrator. He makes the other characters speak and rarely uses direct quotations, creating an illusion for his knowledge of other characters’ thoughts and emotions. 

And yet – we don’t know. We don’t know if he’s making some things up, or if some things are genuine and he’s just not relaying it in the typical way we expect him to. And to further our doubt, he tells us this. He tells us that he can’t know everything and he might not be as objective as he ideally would like to be. And we wonder, its this sincere or is this a strategy? Is he admitting to a wrong because he knows that when he does so, our sympathy and trust for him will grow, or is he admitting to it because it’s the truth?

He is able to tell Sumire's story with flavor and intrigue, and build himself into the fabric of the story in a particularly likable way. Sumire writes “My task now, as narrator, is to gather—ever so carefully—all these elements into a whole.” One of the infinite pulls and pushes in the book. Sumire's theory is K's practice. K writes brilliantly. He forms an intimate bond with the reader, which is useful for the style in which he's writing. The characterization is on point – especially because Murakami builds two tiers of it through the beloved K. K's role and personality as the narrator colors the characterizations of Miu and Sumire, adding to how the reader perceives them.

The language of the story is rich in metaphors and allusions. Whether they be allusions to art or music or literature, K weaves them into the story in such a way that they don't alienate the reader or take away from the story. They add a layer of meaning and understanding (e.g. mentioning The Odyssey to refer to a certain type of travel) but they don't come between the reader and the story (as you might feel when reading T.S. Eliot's Wasteland (I might be projecting... maybe)).

In chapter one, Sumire explains what makes a good story. “A great new story is about to be born – I can feel it. It’ll transport me to some brand-new place” she says. Good writing makes you travel. And this book does make you travel. It takes you to another world. And that’s only one of the reasons why it’s great. 

Murakami has a really subtle way of integrating different themes and details in this story. Nothing seems to appear only once, and things that appear repeatedly are just under the radar. Active reading, taking notes and underlining passages and motifs I liked really helped with seeing this and connecting all the dots. Once I went back to write an outline for this review, I realized that from certain words to overarching themes, everything was deliberate and connected. 

For example, the book starts with a metaphor of Sumire's falling in love being a tornado. It’s a pretty vivid and strange metaphor, yet within a chapter Murakami gives us the connection for it. K is telling Sumire, “But falling in love is always a pretty crazy thing. It might appear out of the blue and just grab you.” In response, Sumire asks, “Like a tornado?”

Another part of this story is the end, the conclusion. It’s not resolved, not entirely. It’s not unsatisfying, it’s suspenseful and I liked it, but it was also eerie in a sense. Which is yet another way to describe the story. There is a sense of unknown. A veil of some sort atop the narrative. A creeping sense of almost supernatural. Almost. But still very much real. Here’s an example of how Murakami depicts the uncanny:

A delayed adolescence, I guess. When I get up in the morning and see my face in the mirror, it looks like someone else’s. If I’m not careful, I might end up left behind.
I glanced at the full-length mirror as I passed by and saw my face. It had a strange expression. It was my face, all right, but where did that look come from? I didn’t feel like retracing my steps and investigating further. 

On a broader scale, the story of Sputnik (where the book’s name comes from) provides a sad symbolization for the characters who are struggling with finding themselves and defining their identities. The book starts with a passage from The Complete Chronicle of World History: 

On 4 October 1957, the Soviet Union launched the world’s first man-made satellite, Sputnik I, from the Baikanor Space Centre in the Republic of Kazakhstan. Sputnik was 58 cm in diameter, weighed 83.6 kilograms, and orbited the Earth in 96 minutes and 12 seconds. On 3 November of the same year, Sputnik II was successfully launched, with the dog Laika on board. Laika became the first living being to leave the Earth’s atmosphere, but the satellite was never recovered, and Laika ended up sacrificed for the sake of biological research in space. 

Within the story itself we get this passage:

It made her think of Laika, the dog. The man-made satellite streaking soundlessly across the blackness of outer space. The dark, lustrous eyes of the dog gazing out of the tiny window. In the infinite loneliness of space, what could Laika possibly be looking at?

Sputnik’s story touches on loneliness and and idea of an earth-orbiting spacecraft which could never be recovered. The love and desire that consumes the characters in the story is similar. They are all in orbit – so close yet so far; not voluntarily; and unable to leave. That is unless they are lost. And never come back. 

Danger may be lurking there, something that may end up wounding me deeply, fatally. I might end up losing everything. But there’s no turning back. I can only go with the flow. Even if it means I’ll be burned up, gone for ever.  

The Sputnik nature of their relationships is another main theme. The toxicity, the dependence, the obsession, uncontrollable desire – Murakami explores it all.


And here is a selection of passaged that I really liked:

I think it was the right move, but if I can be allowed a mediocre generalization, don’t pointless things have a place, too, in this far-from-perfect world? Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it’d lose even its imperfection. 
A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.
Hieroglyphic writing, hard, uncompromising. Writing that reminded me of the beetles they discovered inside the pyramids of Egypt. Like it’s going to start crawling and disappear back into the darkness of history. 
Come to think of it, maybe it was a bit too perfect for my taste. Liszt needs to be a bit slippery, and furtive—like music at a village festival. Take out the difficult parts and let me feel the thrill—that’s what I like. 
Understanding is but the sum of our misunderstandings. 
As I said before, inside us what we know and what we don’t know share the same abode. For convenience’s sake most people erect a wall between them. It makes life easier. But I just swept that wall away. I had to. I hate walls. That’s just the kind of person I am. 
In dreams you don’t need to make any distinctions between things. Not at all. Boundaries don’t exist. So in dreams there are hardly ever collisions. Even if there are, they don’t hurt. Reality is different. Reality bites. 
Every story has a time to be told, I convinced her. Otherwise you’ll be forever a prisoner to the secret inside you. 
“Being tough isn’t of itself a bad thing. Looking back on it, though, I can see I was too used to being strong, and never tried to understand those who were weak. I was too used to being fortunate, and didn’t try to understand those less fortunate. Too used to being healthy, and didn’t try to understand the pain of those who weren’t. Whenever I saw a person in trouble, somebody paralysed by events, I decided it was entirely their fault—they just weren’t trying hard enough. People who complain were just plain lazy. My outlook on life was unshakeable, and practical, but lacked any human warmth. And not a single person around me pointed this out. “
“We do things you can’t put into words,” Sumire would probably tell me, putting it into words all the same.

Overall, an amazing read. Similar to The Great Gatsby in style, and a definite favorite that I'd gladly read and re-read. 

Background Painting by Lucas Cusimano

Rereading The Odyssey

I first read The Odyssey during freshman year of high school. I had started learning and speaking English only three years prior, I had no historical context for The Odyssey as far as my knowledge of Greek mythology went, and thus I neither understood nor appreciated the story or its literary merit much. In fact, it frustrated me that I didn't understand it, or the hype around it. I hated it. I gave it a 1/5 star rating on my prized Goodreads account. I never wanted to read it again, and I was glad I was over with it. 

The second time I read The Odyssey was this year. My first year in college, exactly four years after my first encounter. I read The Odyssey this time for a humanities class in which we were focusing on travel literature. At this point in my life, I have had eight years of English under my belt, and a better grasp on the mythology. This didn't mean that when I saw the reading list, I didn't groan for a solid minute. I did. (Maybe not a whole minute, but you get the point.) I wasn't looking forward to rereading The Odyssey and I was further disheartened by the fact that we would spend a good two weeks of discussion on it.

But – it was good. It was great actually. The thematic approach helped, we had a certain framework for analyzing the text. The close and active reading uncovered the reason why The Odyssey is a fundamental part of the Western canon. Here was an extremely old text that dealt with a range of ideas and societal norms, from divine-mortal relations to hospitality and prophecy. In fact, the second time around earned it a place on my favorites shelf.

Also, I'll swallow my pride and admit that this time it was much less sacrilegious. In the sense that while I didn't approve of many things that happened within the story, I wasn't at a point in my life where I let that color my entire view of the work. I was exposed to new ideologies, lifestyles, mentalities and had made my peace with the differences in our moral standards and guidelines. I was mature enough to acknowledge the complexity and the moral ambiguity in the story in a way that lent itself to discussion, and didn't dismiss it immediately as something I couldn't think or talk about (e.g. infidelity, limited free will, a fallible conception of the divine, etc.).

But this isn't only about The Odyssey. It's true – I learned that upon rereading a text, I can gain a better appreciation of the literary significance of some works I might not have gotten previously, but I also understood that most things in life work this way. I can't and shouldn't let first impressions dictate all my subsequent behaviors and feelings. Especially with ideas and people.

It's impossibly unfair to judge people by one interaction and I am guilty of doing this. And it's a hard habit to get rid of but I am working towards it. I want to internalize the idea of assuming best intentions and be as open-minded as I can be without compromising my own values. And I think I can be that person, but I need to work on it.

Similarly, being open to ideas, and trying to understand the reasoning behind beliefs and thoughts I don't like, agree with, or ascribe to is essential for growth. And it's easy for me to forget the constructive side of that. Not to mention that listening is most usually preferable to shutting things out, and it makes it easier to change and adopt new ideas later on (because it's easier to overcome the ego and stubbornness that once existed). 

Lots of snowflakes,

Belle