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A Failure of Whiteness

In On Choosing Trump and Being Bad, Caleb Crain wrote that his peers

…argue that what triumphed on Tuesday was white racism.

That strikes me as true. And it also strikes me as true that white workers were acting out of a deep economic grievance on Tuesday. Argument A doesn’t falsify Argument B, in this case.

His analysis of the economic betrayal of white lower- and working-class Americans makes sense to me, as does his critique of arguments that blame the ignorance of Trump supporters as the reason for their voting him in.

Still, I think what’s missing from this analysis is a discussion of the way Whiteness functions. Specifically, a discussion of the way Whiteness functions as the link between Arguments A and B.

While both arguments can stand either on their own or together, that “together-ness” should be understood not as a side-by-side arrangement of two separate phenomena, but rather as a fully entangled phenomenon. Whiteness is the glue that keeps that entanglement in place.

This is because, in addition to being a socially-constructed set of beliefs, attitudes, norms, and values that influence and implicate all of us , Whiteness is also a covenant

It is a promise of ongoing material privilege, security, and superiority that the “right” kind of White peoplemake to the “wrong” kind of White people2, as long as the latter group agree to constantly affirm the supremacy of Whiteness by internalizing its norms and values, particularly when it comes to the presumed inferiority of Black and Brown people. In this way, they prove to the “right” kind of White people that they are deserving of material privileges like the kind Jamelle Bouie tweeted about here.

However, if that covenant is broken by the “right” kind of White people – say, for example, through free trade agreements that move manufacturing jobs from White Americansto Black and Brown people in Global South countries in Asia and Africa – then the betrayal felt by the “wrong” kind of White people is intense, inarticulate, inchoate.

Trump’s election, then, is in part the result of a failure of Whiteness.  That is, a failure of the “right” kind of White people to uphold the covenant of Whiteness and protect the material advantages of “wrong” kind of White people against the rise of globalization and the threat of Black and Brown countries’ economic power.

Trump, as a representative of the “right” kind of White people, was therefore all the more believable and desirable when he promised to return greatness to America, because what he really meant was that he was going to repair the broken covenant, and restore the Whiteness of America.

Economically. Politically.




1 People of Anglo-Saxon and Protestant heritage, who also have high degrees of gender, class, and political privilege, and who are deeply invested in and committed to a false racial hierarchy, in which they sit at the top.

2 People of other European heritages, and who have less – or no – gender, class, and political privilege. Some of the more subtle ways this group upholds the covenant of Whiteness include: anglicizing their names; demanding that their children speak only English, rather than their native tongue(s); doing their best to minimize or erase their accents; and adopting Anglo-Saxon foods and cultural practices as their own.

Given the link between affirming Whiteness and gaining economic advantage, these actions are understandable. That doesn’t make it less problematic that these actions needed to be made in first place, though.

3 Never mind that White Americans are not the only ones who work in the manufacturing sector…

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THIS magazine used to have a feature called “WTF Wednesday”, in which they profiled issues of a particularly f*cked up, “I can’t believe they did that!” variety.

Today is a good day to bring back that feature.

Not just because I can’t believe the majority of Americans elected Donald Trump for President (quite honestly, there’s a small but resigned part of me that’s not the least bit surprised), but because it feels as though his election marks the beginning of a period when WTF becomes the norm, rather than the exception.

When our capacity for recognizing – and mobilizing against – all the WTF-ness we are about to experience will be reduced to the point where even the most egregious WTF moments will go unremarked upon.

Many people may say that that could never happen, that there will always be those who will stand up against oppression, no matter how bad it gets.

Then again, many people also said that a Trump presidency could never happen, that the American people couldn’t be that fooled by the theatre of his campaign, no matter how offensive his supporters were.


This is where we are, and this is where I worry we will stay, at least for the next four years. I don’t think we have an adequate frame of reference for dealing with the reality of this situation. (I mean, George W. Bush was bad, but Trump is a whole other classification of badness. I think he may even defy classification.)

I realize that I may be feeling this way simply because I’m still reeling from the aftershocks of the election result.  In a few days, or weeks, or months, I may have more perspective. My faith in humanity may be restored by all of the people – Americans, in particular – who will not be taking this result lying down.

This Wednesday, though, it is very, very hard to imagine such a possibility.


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Adventures in Gardenscaping – Update

So, the thing about doing yard work is that it is never-ending. There is ALWAYS something else that needs to be done: move that plant there, dig a hole here, reposition those rocks over there, dispose of the raccoon/cat/squirrel/god-only-knows-where-that-came-from poop in the middle of the flower bed, etc.

At some point, though, you just have to put down your tools and say, “Enough. This is good enough.”  JustHusband and I reached that point a couple of weeks ago.

After creating two more “up-cycled” patios with all the bricks we inherited when we bought our house…

…we decided against levelling out the ground, spreading topsoil, and laying sod ourselves.  (We really didn’t want to cut around all those garden beds, anyway.)  So, even though we hadn’t budgeted for it1, we paid a landscaping company to do the work.  Let me tell you, it was money well spent.

Having glorious green grass after two years of looking out over a cluttered, uneven, dirt- and rock-filled wasteland was so exciting, I had to practically restrain myself from going out and making “grass angels” in the yard.  I even told JustHusband that I was looking forward to mowing the lawn (but only sometimes 😉 ) .

Now, if there was only something we could do to keep the raccoons from pulling up the sodat night, looking for grubs to eat.  * sigh *


1 I figure that since we “saved” money by doing so much of the work ourselves (with the help of friends and family, of course!), the expense was justified.

2 We were told that chicken wire is a great deterrent. The dimensions of our yard means, however, that we’d have to spend upwards of $600 to get proper coverage. For a product that we’d only use once, this was an expense that was most definitely not justified.

For the moment, we’ve been spraying the grass with a mixture of lavender essential oil and water. It seems to be doing the trick. (Mostly. I guess those grubs are just too tasty.)

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On Death and Distance

Last night, Tricia emailed me to say that David, a wonderful man we knew from an online forum to which we all once belonged, has died due to complications from neurosurgery. They are planning to take him off life support tomorrow.

I hadn’t been in touch with David in years, not since our online forum dissipated, as they often do.  Still, he was one of my favourite people from that group.  I had the privilege to meet him in person about 10 years ago. I can still remember his smile when he came up to me and asked my name (my username, to be precise!). He was one of those people who smiled with his whole face: everything just crinkled up and he looked so happy, you simply couldn’t help but smile back.

And now he’s gone.

Online relationships do funny things to the big moments in life.  We share news of marriages, births, adventures, and promotions with people we may never meet face-to-face, but with whom we feel just as close – if not closer – as we do to the people we have offline relationships with. In a way, those moments are amplified, despite the geographic distance among us.

However, when it comes to death, for me, the amplification effect feels… different.

I didn’t receive a phone call from Robin, David’s best friend who was also a part of our online community. In fact, I didn’t even know he was having brain surgery.  I did not visit him in the hospital, and I will not be there at his funeral. I know this is true for most of us from our old online group; the news about David is being shared via email, Facebook and other social media, among people who are literally scattered across the globe.

Tricia tells me that it’s comforting to see all of the condolences, prayers and memories being posted on Facebook by people who mostly knew David virtually.  I imagine that it is. Sharing our grief amplifies it in a way that makes it easier, not harder, to deal with.   Still, it’s not enough.  At least, not for me.

I think that death is one of those moments that requires in-person community.  As strong as the bonds formed in an online community can be, I think sharing actual, physical space with the people who knew your friend in ways that are different from the way you knew them is “better”.  I’m not entirely sure why… perhaps it has something to do with getting to know a fuller version of your friend, because the limits of online communication mean that we only ever see a particular, partial version of them.

I think of Robin, and I can’t even imagine what she is going through right now.  If I recall correctly, she and David were friends for over 30 years. I know, though, that over the next few days and weeks, she’ll be surrounded by many of the people who knew David differently than the way she did. (I think it’s also safe to say that a few of those people will be from our old forum.)  And I know that this is what will help her through her grief.

As for me, I will just say a prayer of thanks that I had the chance to know David.  He was one of the kindest, most loving people I have ever known, and I’m grateful that I got to call him my friend.

Rest in peace, my friend, and in the knowledge that you are deeply, deeply loved.

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Adventures in Gardenscaping

When your home is over 90 years old, and has had multiple owners who have cared for it – or not – to varying degrees, there’s always a metric crap-load of work to be done, which can make it difficult to know where to start.

“Luckily” for me and JustHusband, that decision was made for us two years ago, a few months after we’d moved in.  On a particularly windy night in late October, a long section of our backyard fence collapsed.   Since it happened so late in the year, we decided to prop it up with 2 x 4’s and wait until the following summer to rebuild it.


We began with some destruction. Not of the fence, but of the old shed. Then we tore down the entire fence, because it would just have looked really weird to have one section that was all new and shiny, and two remaining sections that were all old and cruddy.

That entire summer was spent building the fence.  (Or, as I’ve come to refer to it, The F*cking Fence):


Materials for “fencing”: gas-powered auger, 2 x 4’s, and quick-setting concrete mix


Don’t ask me how late we stayed up setting the fence posts.  Seriously: don’t ask.


The finished fence!

All things considered, we built a pretty awesome fence that is still standing today, thanks to help from family and friends who actually knew what they were doing.  (Unlike me and JustHusband, who only kinda-sorta-maybe knew what we were doing.)

Naturally, after all of that work, the backyard was a hot hot mess.  So we’ve spent almost all of this summer cleaning it up.  First, we built a new, smaller (and completely rodent- and critter-free!) shed:


Day 1: Shed with a view


Day 2: Almost there!


No Vacancy For Critters!


Then we began what I call “gardenscaping”. Gardenscaping is what you do when your yard is less of a garden, and more of an archaeological excavation site. To wit:  over the past two years, we have unearthed from our backyard the following items…

Broken glass; chewed up tennis balls; marbles; rusty nails; crockery shards; empty bottles; bits of concrete; old bricks; rotting beams; roof shingles; bones from previous owners’ dinners (at least I hope that’s where the bones came from!); sea shells; a beautiful chunk of what looks like rose quartz; and most recently – and inexplicably – a bunch of twisted, rusting metal pipes about 5′ in length.

As you might imagine, this has made putting things where we actually want them somewhat of a challenge. Still, we’re managing pretty well.  We made an impromptu dining patio from some of the old pavers and bricks we dug up:


Upcycling for the win!


Who says your patio chairs have to match? I don’t!

And, last weekend, we were finally able to start putting plants in the ground:


From L to R: boxwood, hydrangea. Repeat.


From L to R: lavender, Japanese peony, dogwood tree

We still have a looong way to go, but the end is near.  I will say that through all of this, I can totally understand the appeal of playing in the dirt all day.  However, I will be very glad when the backyard is done.








Learning From Life ‘Beyond the Professoriate’

A short follow-up to the Career Day panel at Beyond the Professoriate

Since I know we all could have spent another hour talking about our post-academic journeys, I wanted to share some of the insights I’ve gained thus far¹:

1) Follow your instincts. I said it during the panel and I’ll say it again.  Follow. Your. Instincts. If they are telling you that academia is not for you, then listen.  Evolution has kept our instincts around for a reason.  If you let them be your guide, then everything will work out.  I promise.

2) Network, network, network. People keep saying it because it’s true.  As an introvert, I hate networking. But I suck it up and do it anyway, because it is so necessary to building your post- or alt-academic career. (Especially if you follow your instincts about who to connect with. 😉 ) Case in point:  I landed my current, fabulous job because a year-and-a-half ago, I approached someone at a work event – even though I was terrified – and gave them my card.²

3) Do good work, because it speaks for you in ways well beyond the final product, whatever that may be.  As grad students and PhDs, we’re very good at doing good work.  So, wherever you end up, do the best work you possibly can, even if the job is not the right fit for you (as was the case for me in government).  You have no idea on whose desk it will land, and what opportunities might come your way because of that.

4) Contribute to your field(s) on your own terms.  As I wrote in my final “Teaching While Me” post, I’m currently working on my last scholarly article.  I made every decision about this article on my own terms (which is probably why it has taken me so to get it published!). But there’s a real freedom in that, because my goal as a researcher and scholar has always been to contribute, not to get tenure.  As PhDs, we are trained to engage with ideas, full stop. So, it doesn’t matter how many articles you write, or how long it takes, or where they get published.   Just find the way – or ways – in which you want to contribute (e.g. blog, social media, print media, podcasts, etc.), then do it.

And that’s all (for now).  Looking forward to #beyondprof Day 2!


¹ I say “thus far” because we are all constantly learning in our careers and in our lives.
² The actual story of how I got my current job is so much more convuluted – and mindblowing – that it’s hard to put down in words.  If you’re really interested, though, feel free to email me or DM me on Twitter.

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Teaching While Me, Redux: The Last Article

I hadn’t planned to write another post for this series.  After the last one, where I reflected on the loss of my academic library privileges, I thought that was it.  I was done. There was nothing more for me to say. As it turns out, I was wrong. I’d forgotten about the Last Article.

I began this article when I was still in my position at the university. Shortly after I completed the research for it, however, I was laid off. On the upside, this  meant I had ample time to continue working on the article with my co-author. In addition, because I had been laid off and not fired (nor had I quit), I retained full access to the university library (woo!).

Once I found full-time work, though, I had less and less “bandwidth” available for keeping up with my writing.  Also, as many academics can attest, getting an article published can take a Really. Long. Time.¹  Eventually, our article was accepted to a journal last year.

My co-author and I are currently revising the article. As I’ve been working on it, I’ve found myself thinking about the times I’ve run into former university colleagues and the second question they invariably ask me (after “How are you?”) is whether I’m still researching / writing / publishing. I would always fumble for an answer to this question, because it was so absurd to me: didn’t they understand how difficult it is to keep up with your scholarship without access to the necessary resources, such as

  • access to a wide range of academic and other scholarly resources;
  • a work environment that supports writing (e.g. libraries, offices);
  • generally flexible labour hours, which allows for the scheduling of writing time around classes, meetings, etc.; and, significantly,
  • appropriate financial compensation for doing the work?

Now, as I try to carve out time to finish this article, I have come to realize just how absurd that question is.  It puts me in mind of something Kelly J. Baker wrote; namely, that academia is a “total institution”, where the individuals within its walls “lead an enclosed, formally administered form of life” and  where “other roles are lost to [them] because of the particularity of what the total institution wants [them] to be”.

This is why the article I’m currently working on will be the Last. Perhaps I was naive to think otherwise, but there is simply no room in a total institution for people who have taken on other roles, but who still wish to remain connected to it.

This is not to say that I will never do scholarly work ever again.  My post-academy life has shown me that you never know what kinds of opportunities will come your way, or when. I just know that, for now, I’m done trying to create space in an institution that doesn’t want to – or, perhaps more accurately, doesn’t know how to – make room for me.


¹ We submitted the article to two different journals before finding the right fit with a third. With the exception of the editor of the first journal, it took several months (in one case, just over a year) for the journal editors to respond to our submission and let us know its status. My “favourite” response was from the editors of second journal, who basically said, “This article is fantastic, we really like the approach you’ve taken, it makes a great contribution, but it doesn’t fully align with the objectives of this special issue, but since we really want to include it because it’s so great, can you completely re-write it and submit again in two weeks?”

Um… no.

² It’s quite telling that, when bemoaning my loss of these privileges, it never once occurred to me that I could draw upon the resources of my local public library. One of my current colleagues had to point that out to me.

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Trudeau, Obama, and Trump Walk Into a Bar…

They are immediately greeted by a chorus of:

“Oh la la, Justin… votre père aurait été si fier!”1

“Yo, B.O., last call?”

“Whoa, Donald… how’d you get in here?  We didn’t know you were coming.”


Not really.


The recent media coverage of American and Canadian politics has been making me reflect on how political leadership is understood by different groups in our society.

Perhaps “reflect” is too serious a word; this is more along the lines of “somewhat linear, probably naïve, and possibly nonsensical musings from deep within the strange and unpredictable workings of my brain, which has become far too obsessed with Nalini Singh’s Psy/Changeling novels.”  Allow me to digress for a moment:

The Psy/Changeling novels are a paranormal romance/urban fantasy series about a world inhabited by three races: regular humans, with no special abilities; an intellectually-advanced humanoid species known as the Psy, who are born with various aptitudes for telepathy, telekinesis, and teleportation; and Changelings, creatures who are both human and animal and can change into either form at will, and whose social organization is based on the pack animal hierarchies found in the real world.

A fan (not me, I swear!) once asked Ms. Singh whether she has researched actual pack animal behaviour, because her descriptions of Changeling pack life are so detailed and nuanced.  She replied that she has, indeed, done a lot of research on the topic; however, she keeps in mind that the Changelings are human as well, so she isn’t necessarily translating the way pack animals behave directly onto how the Changelings interact in the books.  The Changelings have fully integrated both their animal and human natures.

When I first began this series, what was most notable to me was how the Changelings conceive “dominance” and “submission” within their pack hierarchies. Sincere apologies to Ms. Singh if I get this wrong:  dominant pack members are not considered superior to submissive members, and, likewise, submissives aren’t considered inferior to dominants. Those designations are simply the way Changelings determine the responsibilities each pack member has, because all of those responsibilities are needed to maintain the overall health of the pack.

That’s why the pack hierarchy must be maintained at all costs: not in order to keep pack members – especially the submissives – “in their place”, but in order to ensure that all the functions and duties that are necessary for a healthy pack are being taken care of.  If the hierarchy is broken for any reason, pack members will start to feel confused, anxious and, nervous.  This can quickly escalate to feeling unsafe, which is a dangerous situation for beings who are as fully animal as they are human.  Because what happens when animals feel unsafe?  They lash out in violence.


It is often said that humans are pack animals, despite all of our technological advances, trappings of civilization, and strict adherence to the ideology of individualism (in so-called Western societies, at least). It is also often said that our pack-like tendencies are the most obvious during an election period. Lots of time and energy has been spent on trying to figure out why we humans identify so strongly with one political party – and, significantly, one political party leader – over another.  Here’s my theory (and I use that term very loosely):

Politics is, fundamentally, about deciding which party is going to best use our society’s resources and capacities to ensure our safety: economic, social, etc.  Our human brains, with their comparatively overdeveloped neo-cortices, generally understand this.  Our pack animal brains, however, don’t.  While our human brains may care about a party’s position on environmental policy, or its approach to market regulation, our pack animal brains are only concerned with whether the “alpha” of the party is dominant enough to keep us safe. This explains why the cult of personality is such a central feature in election campaigns, regardless of a party’s political stripe.

In a society that is as fundamentally inequitable as ours, though, “safety” is a complicated issue, because one group’s safety often comes at the expense of another’s. Consider, for a moment, what safety looks like in a Changeling pack: safety isn’t achieved by marginalizing the submissives to the advantage of the dominants. It’s achieved through a hierarchy that requires the positions of all pack members to be equally valued.

Our society, however, is still largely based on a hierarchy that requires the “dominants” to ensure safety by disenfranchising, subordinating, and even murdering2, the “submissives” whenever they don’t “stay in their place”.

But here’s the rub: our society is also based on a democracy, which is meant to be the reverse of a hierarchy. It’s meant to be a system where both dominants and submissives are equally valued, and have the collective power to choose an “alpha” to serve them, not to lead them.

Despite the fact that it is built into a fundamentally stratified, hierarchical system, democracy has certainly helped us progress towards equality between our dominants and submissives, which makes some groups of people feel safe. This is one way to explain the currency of  political leaders (“alphas”) like Obama or Trudeau.

On the other hand, the hierarchical system is a very powerful draw for many other groups of people (mainly, but not exclusively, dominants, because hegemony! And kyriarchy!), because it makes them feel safe.  This is one way to explain the currency of political leaders like Trump.

This makes me wonder:  what would it take for us to live in a democratic society where our safety didn’t come at the expense of others’? Is this even possible, given our pack animal-like need for the comfort of a hierarchy? Does that need make democracy, ultimately, a fool’s errand?  I don’t know…

To paraphrase that guy who may or may not have been Winston Churchill3, “Democracy is a hot mess, but at least it’s not as messy as the all other sh*t we’ve tried before.”

So, maybe we just need to get better at it.


1 According to Google Translate, that means, “Your father would have been so proud!”

2 Both within and outside the law.

3 Winston Churchill did say it but, apparently, he was paraphrasing someone else.

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John Boyega Has Really Nice Skin

So I saw Star Wars: The Force Awakens last weekend. (I know, I know… I joked to JustHusband that we were probably the only people in the Northern Hemisphere who hadn’t seen it yet.)  Overall, I thought the movie was pretty good, though, at times, I found the writing to be a bit clunky and facile. I honestly expected better from JJ Abrams & Co. But anyway…

The fact that I saw the movie two months after it was released doesn’t mean I’ve been living under a rock, however.  It was virtually impossible for me not to be aware of the racist backlash against John Boyega when it was announced that he’d have one of the leading roles, as a Storm Trooper.   So, of course my seeing him in the movie was coloured by that (no pun intended… maybe).

When came on screen for the first time,  the first thing I noticed was how clear and beautiful his skin is. (Seriously. He is obviously a man who knows how to moisturize.1)  I struggled with acne for nearly twenty years, and I still have the habit of automatically evaluating other peoples’ skin.  Now, I know John’s skin was made-up and lit to its best advantage, but to me, it was obvious that the make-up artists and light designers were building on a good foundation (no pun intended… really).

Of course, everything has a context, and in this context, John’s skin as “John”, and his skin as “A Black Person” can’t be seen separately.  This is because Black people, especially those of us with darker skin, were never meant to be seen  – literally and figuratively – as beautiful. Or, desirable, or capable, or intelligent, or respectable, or dignified, or acceptable, or heroic, or… you know… human.  Those attributes have been reserved solely for White people.

This visibility of Whiteness has been so deeply reinforced within Western storytelling (be it through movies, books, plays, etc.), that it has effectively become invisible… until, that is, someone decides to tell a story with a Black or otherwise racially-marginalized main character. In this wild and wacky world of Whiteness, all hell breaks loose and you get things like racist Hunger Games tweets, freak-outs over the mere possibility that Idris Elba might play the next James Bond, and cries of “continuity!” and “canon!” in response to the reality of a Black actress playing Hermione in the upcoming “Harry Potter” play.

It’s as if those people simply can’t exist in a world that – very occasionally – asks them to see beyond the limits of their own experience.  Not incidentally, this is precisely what good storytelling should do.

So, here’s hoping that John, Idris and Noma (and Viola and Lupita and Chiwetel and…) are signalling – finally – a real shift in the diversity of the stories we tell and who gets to be in them, and not just another brief spike in tokenism, before returning to the status quo.

And, oh yeah…

Happy Black History Month.


1 No, I am not going to make any references to “smooth”, “dark”, or “creamy” chocolate, etc., because Black people are not a f*cking flavour of ice cream or candy.

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Appropriating Austen

Or, Why I Hate to Love Hate-Reading

As you may have noticed, I read.  A lot.  Books have been an integral part of my life for as long as I can remember.  Even before I knew how to read, I pretended that I could, turning the pages of my children’s books with the same level of seriousness one adopts when reading high literature.

Unlike with other things in life (e.g. shoes, men), I’m not particularly picky when I comes to the books I read. (I’m referring specifically to fiction, here.  I’m very picky when it comes to non-fiction.)  As long as the story is somewhat entertaining and/or intriguing, and the characters are relatively interesting, I’ll read just about anything.  So it was that when I stumbled across Katie Oliver’s Prada and Prejudice from her “Dating Mr. D’Arcy” series, I decided to give it a try.  Though I haven’t read Pride and Prejudice yet (!), was curious about Oliver’s book because it appeared to be a contemporary adaptation of Austen’s work.

By the end of Prada and Prejudice, I discovered that the book is less “adaptation” and more “appropriation”:  Oliver basically plays with the title, and some of the characters’ names (e.g. the female protagonist’s last name is “Dashwood”), and uses them as a hook into her own derivative, marginally interesting story.  Not only are the characters predictable and shallowly-drawn, but the females exist on an emotional pendulum that is more appropriate to a petulant teenager, rather than the grown-ass women (Tricia™) they are supposed to be.  Their irrational outbursts seem only to serve the purpose of driving the plot (e.g she thinks her man is cheating on her, so she decides to get him back by going out with another man.  Hijinks – ostensibly – ensue).

As far as I could tell, there was nothing even remotely Austen-ian about the story (say, for example, a pithy, veiled critique of societal gender norms), save for the fact all the characters are English, and that the male love interest is, at first, an arrogant and/or dismissive and/or philandering jerk.  (I presume this is to signal to readers that he is the “Mr. D’Arcy” of the piece. ‘Cause, you know, they wouldn’t have been able to figure that out on their own.) This is true for all of the books in the series.  How do I know this?

Because I. Couldn’t. Stop. Reading. Them.

Seriously. There are three books in the “Dating Mr. D’Arcy” series, followed by three more in the “Marrying Mr. D’Arcy” series.  So help me, but I hate-read them all in the space of about three weeks.  Part of my entrapment can be explained by the compulsion some of us have to keep reading something awful because a) we can’t believe that it’s really that bad; and b) we’re waiting to see just how bad it’s going to get.  I can’t explain why, but there is a delightfully perverse pleasure in doing this.

My entrapment can also be explained, however, by the fact that I’m a sucker for a serial narrative, especially romantic ones that promise a “happily ever after” at the end.  JustMom’s response to my previous post¹ beautifully explains why those narratives are so compelling:


A defense of the pathology that is love between Cathy and Heathcliff.

Lordy, Lordy, Child! Me thinks I hath truly faileth thou!

For me, your comments are truly those of an academic, and reflect what most bothers me about the ACADEMIC-IZATION of the mind. It can cause one can miss a great deal. Whereas I have difficulty with the literary Canon, I also have difficulty with the position that, for one to insert oneself in the narrative of a story, it must reflect one’s experience. If that is what you are saying² and if it is true, then I have missed something. For me, it seems that every story reflects my (one’s) experience, whether that story is One Hundred Years of Solitude or The Pilgrim’s Progress. We, our experiences, are in every story ever written.

I won’t deal with Sense and Sensibility, but with Wuthering Heights.  Sure, Cathy and Heathcliff can be seen as ridiculous, but their attachment is more pathological than ridiculous. We see Heathcliff as some kind of crazy man, grabbing and kissing Cathy’s corpse. (Today we call it necrophilia, perhaps it was rather commonplace back then.) Old, deranged Heathcliff also mistakes the sound of dry branches scratching on the window for Cathy’s ghostly return; he even bashes his head on the trees.  Yes, I can see and appreciate the weirdness of it. Now, “Just Dominique”, we can say that that was the way of excessive attachment back then, but, as far as I can tell, the excess is alive and well today, streaming through human consciousness, but differently.

Today there is the husband who can’t accept his wife’s death. Daily, he betakes himself to the cemetery to spend the greater part of his day prone, spread-eagle style, on her grave.  There is the wife who, daily, eats a bit of her husband’s ashes. Her intention is to absorb him, to take him in, so as to keep him safe within her until she dies.

Did you study Romeo and Juliet and or Anthony and Cleopatra?  Okay, Romeo and Juliet are seen as a very sweet love. Young lovers, who kill themselves in the belief that the hereafter will be kinder to them than the here and now. Anthony and Cleopatra, I have argued before, are Romeo and Juliet grown up. They, too, do the murder-suicide thing, but after Anthony’s death, and just before she knocks herself off, Cleopatra PLACES ANTHONY AMONG THE STARS!  In a soliloquy, just before she grabs her asp, she says something about how he bestrides the heavens. Her love allows her to place him in the heavenly realm. In the case of both Bronte and Shakespeare, this is either a conscious or unconscious response the the belief that LOVE TRANSCENDS ALL.

(Bronte was a pastor’s daughter:  what a great way to convey such a teaching to the masses of the time.)

This belief in the transcendent power of love is expressed by both the young and the old in our times. Young lovers, particularly in countries where love is A MATTER OF AUTHORIAL ARRANGEMENT, will kill themselves. The aged, like your dad and me, when the pension funds are no longer adequate and cat food becomes a gourmet delight, will do the murder-suicide thing, and go together. Neither wants the other to continue with the suffering on this earthly plane. I believe that those folks have a faith that assures them that the strength of their love will take them to a safer, purer, place “over there”.  A place in which love can flow, without the restrictions, oppositions, repressions that distort and deform it into a pathology.

I hold that what Ms. Bronte did was present, through Heathcliff, the factors, or some of them, that can distort love. Cathy holds the purer love and so is stronger. Bronte shows the power of pure love to transcend, because for Heathcliff and his Cathy, not only did their love ENDURE AFTER DEATH, but it was SEEN to have endured. It was EVIDENCED, WITNESSED, as being ALIVE AND WELL by the locals, who would have sworn that they had seen Cathy and Heathcliff WALKING ON THE MOORS. For all we knew, some may even have spoken with them!

And so I disagree with you and your friend Tricia. For me, Wuthering Heights conveys a powerful message: love may not find a resting place on this here earthly plane, but that does not matter because it is liberating, expansive and TRANSCENDENT. Perhaps the characters are pathological – that will be another lecture – but with what passes as love today, they ain’t so crazy.

JustMom, everybody.  (Would I be a terrible daughter if I pointed out that her missive is quite “academic-ized” as well?³)

In response, I agree that love can be pathological.  In the words of the inimitable Willow Rosenberg, “Love makes you do the wacky.(see: Nick and Amy Dunne in Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl).

I also agree that, ultimately, love is transcendent.  This is why it has such a powerful draw on the human mind, and forms the basis of so much of our storytelling.

It’s also why I simply had to finish the Oliver series, even though the “plots” (such as they were), and the annoying, whiny, screechy, blithering “heroines” (such as they were), often made me wish I could steal one of the women’s beloved Manolos and gouge out my own eyes with the heel.

I guess Spike is right:  “I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m (wo)man enough to to admit it.5


1 – She sent it to me via email.  I included it here with her permission, and edited slightly it for clarity.

2 – Not quite.  My point was that you can’t separate one’s experience from one’s identity (i.e. one’s subject position).  Moreover, space and place are used fictionally to signify actual times and contexts.  This “actuality” means that, if one’s identity is marginalized in that time or context, one experiences it as such, even as one is identifying with the characters.  Essentially, it’s a form of double-consciousness:  simultaneously being aware of one’s marginalized subject position, relative to the characters and context, while also identifying with and being immersed in the narrative.

3 – No.  No, I would not.

4 – In my opinion, there’s never a bad time for a Buffy reference.

5 – See?