The stories has certain irreducible ambiguities seemed never to happen to these females, nor should it have, for stories is in most methods aggressive to philosophy. They had developed a class; now they had only to create that category aware. They captured as a governmental strategy a type of distributed statement at first known as a “rap period,” then known as “consciousness-raising,” and in any situation a therapeutically-oriented U. s. states reinterpretation, according to the English feminist Juliet Mitchell, of a China innovative exercise known as “speaking anger.” They cleared and regrouped and cleared again, concerned out one another person’s mistakes and diversions, the “elitism” here, the “careerism” there.
It would have been merely sententious to contact some of their considering Stalinist: of course it was. It would have been useless even to talk of whether one regarded these females “right” or “wrong,” useless to remain upon the apparent, upon the coarsening of moral creativity to which such public idealism so usually brings. To believe in “the higher good” is to managed, actually, in a certain moral revocation. Ask anyone dedicated to Marxist research how many angels dancing on the go of a pin, and you will be requested in come back to never thoughts the angels, tell me who manages the development of hooks.
To those of us who remained dedicated mainly to the development of moral differences and ambiguities, the feminist research may have seemed a particularly filter and damaged determinism. However it was serious, and for these high-strung idealists to discover themselves out of the mimeo space and onto the Cavett Display must have been in certain methods more disturbing to them than it ever was to the audiences. They were being observed, and yet not really. Interest was lastly being compensated, and yet that attention was stuck in the simple. Even the smartest activity females discovered themselves involved in sullen community colloquies about the inequities of dish-washing and the unbearable humiliations of being noticed by development employees on 6th Opportunity. (This complaint was not atypic in that conversation of it always seemed to take on untouched Ms. Scarlett overtones, recommendations of delicate harvested blossoms being “spoken to,” and therefore breached, by uppity proles.)
They totted up the dishes searched, the rest room towels selected off the bathing room ground, the lots of washing laundry done in a life-time. Meals preparation a food could only be “dogwork,” and to declare any satisfaction from it was proof of craven acquiescence in a person’s own pressured work. Youngsters could only be odious systems for the dropping and absorbing of food, for taking females of their “freedom.” It was a lengthy way from Simone de Beauvoir’s severe and amazing identification of ladies part as “the Other” to the idea that the first thing in modifying that part was Alix Kates Shulman’s wedding agreement (”wife pieces mattresses, spouse remakes them”) duplicated in Ms; but it was toward just such trivialization that the females activity seemed to be going.