Volk's last stand: a critique of Wetlands
By: Mary Volk, Columnist
Issue date: 4/16/09 Section: Opinion
Two men can articulate my feelings about graduation better than anyone else. David Bowie and Wallace Stevens achieve a level of complexity in their emoting that puts stale feelings like nostalgia to shame. If I have to suffer one more analysis of the "big picture," I'll die. I would also like to put a moratorium on the phrases "when all is said and done" and "long run."
The genius of Bowie and Stevens is that they are too interesting to focus on the general or to try to apply meaning to giant swaths of time. They also refuse to define themselves by groups to which they belong. I'm exhausted by women who talk endlessly about being women and people committing acts designed to make statements. I don't have time for them. If you want to make a statement, then state something. Do it clearly and in as few words as possible, because "important statements" about "serious issues" are yawningly tedious.
Charlotte Roche's newly translated to English novel Wetlands comes to mind, as it is setting feminist hearts aflutter all over the United States. It is about a girl who refuses to obey generally accepted rules of feminine hygiene. She likes to put bio-garbage found in public restrooms into her orifices and eschews even the most basic feminine upkeep.
If a man had written this book, he would be accused of sophomoric gross-out humor. But it's a girl, so it means something serious and important.
I am ashamed to be female when my brethren deign to call this junk "art." Boys and girls are not the same. Shaving your legs is not oppressive. All it means is that you will have smooth legs. Mascara never killed anyone. Assuming that generally accepted gender habits say something serious about society is stupid.
Even if one is oppressed, there is nothing less attractive than looking for fellow beleaguered parties with whom you can commiserate.
The best kinds of underdogs don't want to be underdogs at all. No one who genuinely wants something wastes time complaining about not having it. If Roche wanted to be free from the confines of femininity, then she would stop perpetuating those confines by grossing everyone out at the concept of losing them. She wants to be a victim. The best underdogs really do not. There is nothing funnier or more charming than an underdog who hates everyone in his own position. That is the spirit of improvement, which is a refreshing contrast to the spirit of wallowing.
The genius of Bowie and Stevens is that they are too interesting to focus on the general or to try to apply meaning to giant swaths of time. They also refuse to define themselves by groups to which they belong. I'm exhausted by women who talk endlessly about being women and people committing acts designed to make statements. I don't have time for them. If you want to make a statement, then state something. Do it clearly and in as few words as possible, because "important statements" about "serious issues" are yawningly tedious.
Charlotte Roche's newly translated to English novel Wetlands comes to mind, as it is setting feminist hearts aflutter all over the United States. It is about a girl who refuses to obey generally accepted rules of feminine hygiene. She likes to put bio-garbage found in public restrooms into her orifices and eschews even the most basic feminine upkeep.
If a man had written this book, he would be accused of sophomoric gross-out humor. But it's a girl, so it means something serious and important.
I am ashamed to be female when my brethren deign to call this junk "art." Boys and girls are not the same. Shaving your legs is not oppressive. All it means is that you will have smooth legs. Mascara never killed anyone. Assuming that generally accepted gender habits say something serious about society is stupid.
Even if one is oppressed, there is nothing less attractive than looking for fellow beleaguered parties with whom you can commiserate.
The best kinds of underdogs don't want to be underdogs at all. No one who genuinely wants something wastes time complaining about not having it. If Roche wanted to be free from the confines of femininity, then she would stop perpetuating those confines by grossing everyone out at the concept of losing them. She wants to be a victim. The best underdogs really do not. There is nothing funnier or more charming than an underdog who hates everyone in his own position. That is the spirit of improvement, which is a refreshing contrast to the spirit of wallowing.
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