Monthly Archives: July 2020

Undead sexist cliche: feminists should do their own housework

So in a lengthy discussion elsewhere online, one commenter volunteered the opinion that “some white women might not be as keen on sharing that space with women of color, either (see the suffrage an earlier feminist movements), as their feminism and its gains must necessarily involve the subjugation of black and brown women. Can’t have the nanny/housekeeper/babysitter pools drying up. Can we?” I didn’t get a chance to respond before comments closed.

This is not the first time I’ve run into the argument that feminists build their careers on the backs of working-class/WOC who assume responsibility for cooking/cleaning/babycare and that this is bad. Caitlin Flanagan, for example, was complaining a couple of decades back that for career women, “Scrubbing the toilet bowl is a bit of nastiness that can be fobbed off on anyone poor and luckless enough to qualify for no better employment.” As Echidne points out, this is amazingly hypocritical from someone who by her own admission elsewhere employs a full domestic staff, never changes sheets and let her nanny attend to the kids’ diarrhea.

Flanagan also assumes that housework is by definition bad, an occupation only taken by the “poor and luckless” and therefore its inherently exploitative. Writer Sally Howard reaches a similar conclusion in an article from March: she tried paying her cleaning person well (said cleaner was very happy) but felt she was still demeaning her, implying by hiring her that she (Howard) was too good to clean the toilets herself.

I tend to see these arguments as a variation on older jokes about women who hire housekeepers even when they’re stay-at-home moms: what’s with that? As Echidne, again, says, they all hinge on the assumption that women should clean their own homes. And that finding someone else to do it “necessarily involves the subjugation of black and brown women” who are poor and desperate (one reason I’m not linking to the source is that not having had a chance to respond, I can’t be certain I’m interpreting the quote fairly). But as Howard points out, paying someone good money is an option, so finding domestic staff doesn’t require subjugation.

I admit it’s quite possible some of the cleaners wouldn’t take the jobs if they had an alternative: lots of people hate this kind of job. One of the reasons some immigrants gave for moving the American colonies that while life might be hard, it was better than going into domestic service. It’s quite possible the cleaners wouldn’t take the jobs if they had a better alternative but that’s true of many jobs such as farm work or customer service (not that all people hate customer service but I’ve known people who did feel working retail was beneath them). I’ve often wondered whether we’d see huge gaps in the economy if everyone was free to do jobs they wanted (and were qualified for) — though I’ve also heard people say they’re happy with a job that doesn’t demand anything beyond a few hours of grunt work a day. Though either way, we’re not likely to find out any time soon.

And as Echidne says (and Howard too) it’s not like this is some unique evil perpetrated by feminists alone. Men hire housekeepers. Businesses hire cleaning staff. If cleaning is inherently exploitative, then it’s a society wide issue and everyone has a vested interest in keeping the pool of help stocked. And of course, much of modern American capitalism is built around the assumption that men can work long hours because there’s a woman to take care of the cleaning, cooking and kids, only it’s the man’s wife and she’s doing it for nothing. Which is what Howard, Flanagan (quite hypocritically) and possibly the commenter seem to think is fair. The commenter doesn’t seem to see feminists getting their husband or kids to contribute is a solution; Flanagan flatly rules that out as unworkable.

I agree the system is imperfect. But arguing that feminists are hypocrites if they hire housekeepers is just a variation of the “you say you criticize capitalism but you buy things!” school of purity.

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Superheroes, sex and corruption! This week’s reading

THE FLASH: The Silver Age Omnibus Vol. 3 comes with a variety of creators (John Broome, Carmine Infantino, Ross Andru, Robert Kanigher, Frank Robbins) which underlies what a transitional era the late 1960s were at DC. Marvel was kicking their butts in sales (though the interest in Batman from the TV show made up for some of that), veteran Flash artist Infantino got promoted to publisher and many of the company’s creators were fired after asking for a better financial deal.

Thus the first year or so is standard Silver Age Flash (I consider this a plush). Then we get Ross Andru and inker Mike Esposito replacing Infantino and they don’t work at all. Frank Robbins, a veteran comic-strip writer/artist and later a great Batman writer, became the new writer for a while and he just didn’t click at all. John Broome provides a few more stories and Cary Bates (who wrote Flash in the Bronze Age) contributes one landmark story (it established we live on another world in the DC multiverse) but this is overall weaker than Volume 2 (I’m currently working through V.1)

THE SPIRIT ARCHIVES Vol. 6 is also disappointing: not horrible but these stories came out when Spirit creator Will Eisner was in the Army so they were all ghosted. Admittedly when your ghosts include Manly Wade Wellman and Golden Age artist Lou Fine, that’s pretty impressive, but they aren’t up to Eisner’s average. And a couple of yarns where the Spirit uses his sidekick Ebony as a glorified gofer are really uncomfortable to read.

THE SILENT SEVEN was the sequel to the Shadow novel The Death Tower, which revealed the villainous Dr. Palermo was one member of this mysterious crime cartel (they apparently replaced Palermo between books as they’re at full strength here). Gibson has an ingenious plot here: rather than a straight Shadow vs. Seven fight, he has a schemer replace one of the members to enlist their resources in his own crime plans. It’s fun, but the Silent Seven never seem as formidable as Palermo in the previous story.

I felt oddly nostalgic reading THE PLAYBOY BOOK OF SCIENCE FICTION as it brought back the days when Playboy not only existed, it was a honking big deal, and not just for the playmates; for all the jokes about “I read it for the articles” I have female friends who did just that. Hugh Hefner knew sex + sophistication would sell better than sex alone and he paid for quality. Thus we have stories by Ray Bradbury, Harlan Ellison, Kurt Vonnegutt, Doris Lessing and some non-genre names such as Donald Westlake and Billy Crystal. A good collection though like most anthologies it has some stories I didn’t care for (Doris Lessing’s bored me) and some that are just bad (Vonnegut’s Welcome to the Monkey House has the protagonist raping drugged-out future women to make them see Sex Is Wonderful!)

ALL THE KING’S MEN by Robert Penn Warren is one of TYG’s favorite novels, and I can see why. Narrator Jack Burden is a former historian, former reporter, now right-hand man to Willie Stark,, governor of an unnamed Southern state (Warren resisted the assumption Willie was modeled on Louisiana politician Huey Long). The noirish tale bounces through Jack’s and Willie’s past and future, showing how both men’s idealism has drained away in politics, though Stark is no worse than the people he’s up against and in some ways better (he taxes corporations who don’t want to be taxed) — but only some. As the power struggles come back closer to Jack’s own life, he has to figure out what the hell he’s going to do.

This is more a dark character study than a political drama and it’s strikingly written:

“It was the kind of apartment house where the bulb burns out and nobody ever puts a new one in and there is always a kiddie car left on a landing and the carpet is worn to ribbons and the air smells dankly of dogs, diapers, cabbage, old women, burnt grease and the eternal fate of man.”

And switching to something more fun and much less serious or literary, over at Atomic Junkshop I blogged this week about how I love Scooby-Doo Team-Up.

#SFWApro. Flash cover by Carmine Infantino, the other by Paul Gamarello. All rights remain with current holders.

 

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A doctor, a pirate: this week’s movies

Reading Amicus Horrors prompted me to rewatch Amicus’ contribution to the Whoniverse, DOCTOR WHO AND THE DALEKS (1965) . This reworking of TV’s The Daleks — on the big screen! In color! — starred Peter Cushing as “Doctor Who,” with Who apparently his real name (I’m equally curious why he’s reading an issue of the Eagle weekly comic; you’d think TV Comic, which had the actual Doctor Who strip would be the choice). Still it’s a nice character bit: while his granddaughters Barbara (Jennie Linden) and Susan (Roberta Tovey) read physics for fun, old Who is reading SF comic strips like Dan Dare.

In this story, Who has invented TARDIS (no “the”). When Barbara’s boyfriend Ian (Roy Castle) shows up, Who shows off his machine, Ian accidentally activates it and they land on an alien planet where radiation has left everything dead. As in the TV show, the Doctor fakes a TARDIS breakdown to give him an excuse to explore a nearby city. Unfortunately the city is inhabited by the Daleks, just as malevolent on TV. Can the time/space travelers and the pacifist Thals stop the Daleks from killing them all?

I was very tired when I watched it so the amount of running back and forth from the city to the dead forest got pretty tedious. And the Thals drop their pacifism way too easily when the Doctor pushes them. That said the sets look decent, the Daleks are menacing and Cushing makes an enjoyably grandfatherly Doctor, much more affable than Hartnell’s rather toplofty First Doctor. And while TARDIS’ interior is a mess, it certainly looks like something the Who family could have cobbled together in the back yard. “If the Daleks consider us to be monsters, what must they look like?”THE CRIMSON PIRATE (1952) starts Burt Lancaster in the title role as one of the most acrobatic swashbucklers ever, which may have something to do with having actual circus acrobat experience (Douglas Fairbanks in The Black Pirate is the only one to match Lancaster).  Captain Vallo (Lancaster) captures a British envoy (Leslie Bradley) out to crush revolution in the Caribbean. Vallo strikes a deal to sell the envoy’s cargo of guns and gunpowder to one of the rebel movements, then capture the leader and sell him back, all of which horrifies a traditionalist pirate (Torin Thatcher) who declares “this isn’t piracy — it’s business!” Like so many cynical opportunist heroes, Vallo and his sidekick Ojo (Nick Cravat, Lancaster’s trapeze partner, who stays silent to hide his thick Brooklyn accent) are out for themselves, but when Vallo gets a look at Eva Bartok as the rebel leader’s daughter, things start to change.

This is a terrific, fun movie, and quite unusual in swashbucklers. Despite all the evil tyrants who get overthrown in these films, the genre is actually pro-monarchy — once you remove the usurper or the corrupt vizier or awake the king to his true duties, it’s a great system of government. In The Crimson Pirate and The Flame and the Arrow Lancaster overthrows colonial governments in favor of independence, rather than resolving things by having the king appoint a better governor.

A second departure from the usual is the climax. One of the revolutionaries is a scientist and when the revolution takes on the British troops they’re equipped with steampunk versions of tanks and machine guns. It adds fun to what’s already a delightful film. The only flaw is that Bradley isn’t quite strong enough as the villain. “If you know it was bolted you must have tried it — and if you tried it, you know why it was bolted.”

#SFWApro. All rights to images remain with current holders.

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I think things fell apart when I went to the library …

But I’m still glad I went.

The Durham Library recently reopened, though only for picking up books placed on hold (maximum of five). Which is disappointing — they just completed a massive remodel of the main library and I’d love to visit — but obviously the right thing to do. As my pile of new books is vastly shrinking (no used bookstores or library sales to visit) I reserved some books and picked them up Thursday afternoon, as they don’t open Saturdays. It went smoothly, with no major risk and everyone masked, though to my disappointment Ghosts of Manhattan turned out not to be the superhero novel of that name but a mainstream book about a stockbroker’s personal crises. I may read it anyway.

However, after I got back from the library I had to engage in some extra dog care and wound up getting very little done Thursday. Then this morning I took Plushie for his walk and for a change he was ready to go on a long one. We spent probably an hour, which is good — he really needs to get some weight off — but quite exhausting for me. I not only lost a chunk of writing time but it took me a while to get over the stiffness and focus on writing (I exercise plenty but walking wipes me out way more than most workouts. I’ve no idea why). This may happen again, as we’re now taking one dog each in the morning, which makes it easier to get them walked before the heat is unendurable.

I also made the mistake of dropping Thursday morning’s planned focus on Questionable Minds to do a little extra work on Undead Sexist Cliches and Impossible Takes a Little Longer. I think there are two ways to juggle multiple projects: allot each of them some time in your schedule and give them the time or make one project the priority and do whatever it takes to get that work done, even if it cuts into the time spent on others. I set my priorities based on option A — get something done on each of them per week — but then I wind up shifting them around. I still got work done in that time, but I’d be happier, I think, if I’d gotten some on all three big projects instead of skimping on my Minds final draft.

Oh, and I took Monday off, which was the right call. I’d let a lot of life stuff build up unfinished (paperwork, bills, checks to deposit, things to clean) plus my brain was slowing down from cabin fever some. That didn’t help with productivity either, but I’m glad I did it. Unfortunately the library doesn’t do appointments on Mondays or I’d have taken care of it then.

On Impossible I got through Chapter Three on the new draft which brought me up to a scene I had no idea how to fix, where Lahatiel (evil fake angel) attempts to kill KC (alias the Florida Panhandle’s superhero, the Champion). The old version didn’t work — it plays on fears and worries KC no longer has — but I think I figured out where to go with my current concept of her character. I’ll try it next week. And I posted Ch.2 to my writers’ group, as I’ll be reading it next week. Undead Sexist Cliches has the first two chapters done on the final draft. Questionable Minds … well, nothing, obviously. Plus I got some Leaf articles done (most interesting: “Do Physician Assistants Wear White Coats?” There’s more to the answer than I’d have thought.

For illustration, here’s a photo I took of someone’s broken lawn ornament recently. I’d like to claim it as an allegorical artistic statement on the ongoing statue controversies, but it’s just a photo.#SFWApro. Image is mine.

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Filed under Impossible Takes a Little Longer, Personal, Story Problems, The Dog Ate My Homework, Time management and goals, Undead Sexist Cliches: The Book, Writing

Pet photography

So last weekend I walked Trixie and Wisp followed us the entire way. She always sounds upset when we go, but this time it sounded a little different — given how fast she tucked into her dinner I think she was hungry. But as we were going up one nearby street, she and Trixie saw a rabbit on someone’s lawn and both immediately stopped and dropped into Hunting stance.You can just make out the rabbit in this shot.Then TYG set down one of our treat containers in front of Plushie. He smelled ’em, but he couldn’t get to them so he looked up at Mommy for help.And while our dogs rarely snuggle together, they somehow wound up doing it on the couch after I got up.Hopefully all that will brighten your day and tide you over to the weekend.

#SFWApro.

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Orphan works and other copyright links

Orphan works are potentially covered by copyright but with no obvious rights holder. As a result, even if you want to publish/show/play them, you’ve no way to request permission but doing so without permission risks copyright infringement. Back in 2005, Duke University’s Center for the Study of the Public Domain discussed the problems this creates for preserving films: thousands of yards of film are decaying but who’s going to spend money preserving something you have no right to show?

Over in the European Union, you can get past this by making a diligent search for the copyright holder. Unfortunately the law is unclear on when you’ve been diligent enough, and even meeting the minimum standard can be difficult.

All but the last 10 Sherlock Holmes stories are public domain. However the Doyle estate argues Netflix’s new Enola Holmes series about Holmes’ brilliant sister infringes on the final 10 by showing Holmes as a complex emotional human being instead of just a thinking machine.

Some companies have tried using trademark as a way to control material that’s now out of copyright. One Supreme Court decision from 2003 says that’s not going to fly.

Self-published authors and fanfic-turned-pro authors are increasingly using copyright law against their competition in dubious ways.

For an unrelated illustration, here’s TYG comparing the size of the onion we got last week to Trixie’s head.

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Who watches the Watchmen? Not me, it turns out

So this month Hulu began streaming HBO’s WATCHMEN free; seizing the opportunity, I caught a couple of episodes. It’s not bad the way Devs was bad, but I didn’t feel the need to go past two episodes.

The film is set in the same universe as the classic Alan Moore/Dave Gibbons comics series but years after those events. Rorschach has inspired the fanatical Seventh Army anarchists into a relentless war on authority, particularly cops; protagonist Angela Abar (Regina King), like other cops, has to operate masked, her identity secret. Dr. Manhattan is on Mars somewhere; Adrian Veidt (Jeremy Irons) is an old fart who in one scene burns a man to death in a re-enactment of Dr. Manhattan’s origin.

The cast is solid and there’s quite a bit I do like. The Tulsa massacre looms large in the backstory (Angela’s ancestors lived through it) and issues of race and resentment weave through the two episodes that I caught. So why aren’t I watching?

Well for one thing it’s the perennial problem of the modern age: there’s simply too much awesome TV.  It’s not as if skipping Watchmen means I’m stuck with Gilligan’s Island or Victorious; there are dozens of excellent shows I’m also not watching. Much as I don’t get excited about coming books these days, it’s hard to feel I must catch Watchmen or anything else. Plus, of course, quality is not the only factor: keeping up with the CW-verse or rewatching the old series Square Pegs on video appeals to me more than any number of arguably superior TV series.

Then again, with Damon Linkelof in charge of this one, I don’t know that it will be superior. I thought Lindelof’s Lost was a botched mess and I don’t want to commit to the remaining episodes of Watchmen only to discover Lindelof left as many plot arcs hanging as he did the previous series.

Then there’s the connection to Watchmen itself. Moore and Gibbons have been adamant that their series was completely self-contained: no sequels, no prequels, it said all that needed to be said. And that’s how it would have been had things happened as planned, with Moore and Gibbons regaining the rights once the collected Watchmen went out of print. But it never did (deservedly. It’s a classic that earned its praise) and so they never regained the rights. So inevitably we got a prequel series, Before Watchmen and now this sequel. That makes me a little guilty about watching it (I haven’t even bothered with Before Watchmen). More significantly, the TV series just doesn’t have enough of a connection to the series. Despite the name references, this could as easily be an unrelated dystopia with the sovereign citizens militia movement committing the killings. Much like Exit Stage Left and A Study in Honor, the connection to the source material is too tangential to work for me.

And last but not least, there’s the whole masked cop thing. Just as opening with the Tulsa bombing of a century ago has added resonance in the current policing debate, so does the idea of cops going masked and hiding their identities because of fears of anti-police violence. Trouble is, it’s resonant the wrong way: we now have masked, unidentified cops on the streets and loud complaints about cops being persecuted and I simply can’t buy a world where cops concealing their identities is a good thing.

So I will stick with the original series, thank you.

#SFWApro. Covers by Dave Gibbons, all rights remain with current holder.

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