I used to be a feminist. There, I said it. I've been putting off writing this post, because to me people who say "I used to be a feminist" have always seemed ungrateful. But the plain fact is that feminism does not meet my needs as a trans person.
Feminism has always been about questioning traditional notions of gender. I believe it's not going too far to say that the fundamental axiom of feminism is that everything society teaches us about gender is wrong. And yet most feminists, upon encountering the word "transgender," suddenly become extremely conventional. Suddenly society's definitions of gender are not to be questioned. Why is that?
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Spiritual Nourishment
The sermon at my Unitarian Universalist church one recent Sunday was on the topic of addictive behaviors and spiritual nourishment. The general idea was that people stuff themselves with food, alcohol, etc. because they feel an emptiness inside - and it may be true that spiritual practice helps to fill that void better than addictive substances.
While listening to the speakers, I felt like I was looking in a mirror: and by that I mean, I saw my own image reversed. For some reason I don't have an addictive personality. As I've mentioned here before, the closest I come to any kind of compulsive behavior is undereating, rather than overeating; and even that has always seemed to me like a semi-instinctive response to stress, not a choice I make in order to make myself feel better. Also I've done a lot of spiritual exploration. If there is a void inside each one of us that can only be filled by spirituality, then my void has been pretty much taken care of. I believe it is fair to say that I preferred spiritual practice to alcohol, or ice cream, or whatever else the people around me were using.
Nonetheless - and this is what struck me on that Sunday - even genuine spiritual nourishment didn't help me feel connected to other human beings. The spiritual world and the human world seemed to be completely separate from each other. I felt the love of the spirit, I felt compassion and universal connectedness - I knew it was real. But when I looked into the human world I saw none of those things.
During my formative years, I don't recall ever hearing anyone say the word "compassion." Even the word "love" was in short supply. As for the idea that all life is sacred, that we are all connected in the web of life - I don't believe those concepts are part of traditional Western culture. Of course, those are big ideas. The people I knew were focused on daily events, the mundane world, the struggle to provide the necessities of life. Maybe some of them were aware of the existence of compassion, and just didn't bother to mention it to me.
And yet, at the Unitarian Universalist church I heard people speak who were thoroughly familiar with the words "compassion," "love," "connectedness," "social justice," "sacred community." They had devoted many years of their lives to speaking those words and trying, with others, to enact those concepts in the world. They were experts and I was less than a novice - and yet they still couldn't bridge the gap between the human world and the spiritual world. They still felt something which they called "an emptiness inside." This actually encouraged me. It really is hard, I thought. It's not just me.
It would seem that spiritual practice and social practice are two different things.
While listening to the speakers, I felt like I was looking in a mirror: and by that I mean, I saw my own image reversed. For some reason I don't have an addictive personality. As I've mentioned here before, the closest I come to any kind of compulsive behavior is undereating, rather than overeating; and even that has always seemed to me like a semi-instinctive response to stress, not a choice I make in order to make myself feel better. Also I've done a lot of spiritual exploration. If there is a void inside each one of us that can only be filled by spirituality, then my void has been pretty much taken care of. I believe it is fair to say that I preferred spiritual practice to alcohol, or ice cream, or whatever else the people around me were using.
Nonetheless - and this is what struck me on that Sunday - even genuine spiritual nourishment didn't help me feel connected to other human beings. The spiritual world and the human world seemed to be completely separate from each other. I felt the love of the spirit, I felt compassion and universal connectedness - I knew it was real. But when I looked into the human world I saw none of those things.
During my formative years, I don't recall ever hearing anyone say the word "compassion." Even the word "love" was in short supply. As for the idea that all life is sacred, that we are all connected in the web of life - I don't believe those concepts are part of traditional Western culture. Of course, those are big ideas. The people I knew were focused on daily events, the mundane world, the struggle to provide the necessities of life. Maybe some of them were aware of the existence of compassion, and just didn't bother to mention it to me.
And yet, at the Unitarian Universalist church I heard people speak who were thoroughly familiar with the words "compassion," "love," "connectedness," "social justice," "sacred community." They had devoted many years of their lives to speaking those words and trying, with others, to enact those concepts in the world. They were experts and I was less than a novice - and yet they still couldn't bridge the gap between the human world and the spiritual world. They still felt something which they called "an emptiness inside." This actually encouraged me. It really is hard, I thought. It's not just me.
It would seem that spiritual practice and social practice are two different things.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Santa Olivia, by Jacqueline Carey
I have enjoyed Jacqueline Carey's books for many years now. One of the things I admire most about her writing is that she doesn't write the same thing over and over. She hit the big time with Kushiel's Dart, and she could have dined out on that genre for the rest of her life, but in each of her subsequent series she has tried new things. Many otherwise-good writers don't bother to do that.
Now with Santa Olivia she has made an even bigger leap: from faux-medieval fantasy to near-future science fiction. And she pulls it off pretty well. For some reason it's difficult for people who got started in a different genre to switch to SF. I can't really think of anyone who's done it successfully. Walter Mosley is an example of a great writer whose SF writing sucks. (I have only read his first SF book, and I am not going to read any more.) Some people have started out doing SF and later produced good work in another field, such as Nicola Griffith (mystery) and Lois M. Bujold (fantasy.) But apparently SF is tricky to get right.
The mistake most people make is to show off how much they know about science by inserting too many details. I once read the first two pages of an SF novel by Felice Picano. He devotes a long paragraph to explaining how the automatic door works. Hello? Doors that open automatically have not been unusual since 1966, when they appeared on Star Trek.
Carey avoids that mistake. In fact I would say that she errs in the opposite direction and doesn't put in enough detail. Her Terre d'Ange books are all loaded with intricate descriptions of food, fabrics, buildings, landscapes, and people. She doesn't do that here. For example, she barely describes the town of Santa Olivia at all, and therefore it doesn't exactly come off like a real place. I kind of wish she had chosen a real Texas town and described that. As it is, I had to rely on whatever generic Southwestern images I have in my head, which is not sufficient.
The other big change in Santa Olivia is that there's a lot more swearing. Faux-medieval worlds have very little swearing in them for some reason, and when people do swear they never use the words to which we have become accustomed. (I seem to remember that Mary Gentle's Ash series is an exception to this rule.) Carey appears to have decided to drop the F-bomb as often as possible. And I guess that's okay. But I'm afraid that her language still sounds a little stilted.
So what do I like about the book? It was interesting to see Carey grappling with real-world problems, instead of mythic quests with the required happy endings. I was totally pulled into the book, and at the climatic moment I was all excited, even though as you can tell from this review I had been having some reservations. I also like the way Carey takes her usual themes - sex, religion, angels, war - and turns them upside down.
For example, Carey switched from writing about a sex-positive culture to a culture that more closely resembles our own. She does it with subtlety - anyone who has read her earlier books knows how she feels, and yet she manages to avoid getting up on a soapbox. Here's an example: the town of Santa Olivia has been turned into a military base. Lots of soldiers live there; that means prostitution is a major industry. In Carey's near-future world, the US military has become an all-male institution once again. (She mentions that without dwelling on it; that's one.) So the military will only provide one form of contraception: condoms. Santa Olivia has been cut off from the rest of the world, and it appears that no other forms of contraception are allowed in. Think about that for a bit. She mentions it and then she moves on.
There was one other thing that seemed odd to me: in addition to being sex-positive, Carey has always been queer-positive. Loup, the protagonist of Santa Olivia, gets involved in a same-sex romance. But I never realized while reading Carey's other books that she writes queer romance from a heterosexual point of view. Loup becomes a female boxer; her lover is an ultra-feminine woman. In a lesbian novel someone would have pointed out that they're a butch-femme couple, even if it were only mentioned as a joke. Nothing like that happens here. In fact Loup and Pilar don't even identify as lesbians. Loup is more or less asexual outside of this one relationship; Pilar thought of herself as straight and is very nervous about getting into a lesbian relationship. That's realistic but it's also, I have to say, kind of a cheat. It comes across as pandering to a straight audience that enjoys girl-on-girl. I still admire Carey's work but that bothers me.
Nonetheless, if you want to see a talented writer branch out into a new genre, read Santa Olivia. The sequel, Saints Astray, came out just recently and I am looking forward to reading it. (Incidentally, a fan on Carey's Facebook page came up with the sequel's title.)
Now with Santa Olivia she has made an even bigger leap: from faux-medieval fantasy to near-future science fiction. And she pulls it off pretty well. For some reason it's difficult for people who got started in a different genre to switch to SF. I can't really think of anyone who's done it successfully. Walter Mosley is an example of a great writer whose SF writing sucks. (I have only read his first SF book, and I am not going to read any more.) Some people have started out doing SF and later produced good work in another field, such as Nicola Griffith (mystery) and Lois M. Bujold (fantasy.) But apparently SF is tricky to get right.
The mistake most people make is to show off how much they know about science by inserting too many details. I once read the first two pages of an SF novel by Felice Picano. He devotes a long paragraph to explaining how the automatic door works. Hello? Doors that open automatically have not been unusual since 1966, when they appeared on Star Trek.
Carey avoids that mistake. In fact I would say that she errs in the opposite direction and doesn't put in enough detail. Her Terre d'Ange books are all loaded with intricate descriptions of food, fabrics, buildings, landscapes, and people. She doesn't do that here. For example, she barely describes the town of Santa Olivia at all, and therefore it doesn't exactly come off like a real place. I kind of wish she had chosen a real Texas town and described that. As it is, I had to rely on whatever generic Southwestern images I have in my head, which is not sufficient.
The other big change in Santa Olivia is that there's a lot more swearing. Faux-medieval worlds have very little swearing in them for some reason, and when people do swear they never use the words to which we have become accustomed. (I seem to remember that Mary Gentle's Ash series is an exception to this rule.) Carey appears to have decided to drop the F-bomb as often as possible. And I guess that's okay. But I'm afraid that her language still sounds a little stilted.
So what do I like about the book? It was interesting to see Carey grappling with real-world problems, instead of mythic quests with the required happy endings. I was totally pulled into the book, and at the climatic moment I was all excited, even though as you can tell from this review I had been having some reservations. I also like the way Carey takes her usual themes - sex, religion, angels, war - and turns them upside down.
For example, Carey switched from writing about a sex-positive culture to a culture that more closely resembles our own. She does it with subtlety - anyone who has read her earlier books knows how she feels, and yet she manages to avoid getting up on a soapbox. Here's an example: the town of Santa Olivia has been turned into a military base. Lots of soldiers live there; that means prostitution is a major industry. In Carey's near-future world, the US military has become an all-male institution once again. (She mentions that without dwelling on it; that's one.) So the military will only provide one form of contraception: condoms. Santa Olivia has been cut off from the rest of the world, and it appears that no other forms of contraception are allowed in. Think about that for a bit. She mentions it and then she moves on.
There was one other thing that seemed odd to me: in addition to being sex-positive, Carey has always been queer-positive. Loup, the protagonist of Santa Olivia, gets involved in a same-sex romance. But I never realized while reading Carey's other books that she writes queer romance from a heterosexual point of view. Loup becomes a female boxer; her lover is an ultra-feminine woman. In a lesbian novel someone would have pointed out that they're a butch-femme couple, even if it were only mentioned as a joke. Nothing like that happens here. In fact Loup and Pilar don't even identify as lesbians. Loup is more or less asexual outside of this one relationship; Pilar thought of herself as straight and is very nervous about getting into a lesbian relationship. That's realistic but it's also, I have to say, kind of a cheat. It comes across as pandering to a straight audience that enjoys girl-on-girl. I still admire Carey's work but that bothers me.
Nonetheless, if you want to see a talented writer branch out into a new genre, read Santa Olivia. The sequel, Saints Astray, came out just recently and I am looking forward to reading it. (Incidentally, a fan on Carey's Facebook page came up with the sequel's title.)
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