I was scrolling through the vampire tag for writing inspo and I accidentally followed an nsfw blog. Iām so sorry- I did unfollow as soon as I noticed.
Iāll be more careful cause I donāt wanna be in adult spaces and I definitely donāt want nsfw.
Just noticed a blog followed me after I posted, went to go look at their blog and apparently theyāre so nsfw that apple users canāt look at their blog. What the fuck are you posting that a whole brand blocks you?
I was scrolling through the vampire tag for writing inspo and I accidentally followed an nsfw blog. Iām so sorry- I did unfollow as soon as I noticed.
Iāll be more careful cause I donāt wanna be in adult spaces and I definitely donāt want nsfw.
For example Frederick Douglasā wife did so much for his ungrateful ass. She helped him get on his feet, gave him her last name, and supported him financially and took care of house and home. And in return was does this nigga do? He lets white abolitionists tear her down and treat her like a slave in HER HOUSE. Moved two bitches into HER HOUSE over a span of 20 years. Belittles her for being illiterate while using HER MONEY. Not even in death does she get the respect she deserves. His last wife is more recognized as being apart of his life than she was. Just trash. And y'all still normalize that shit as if itās a black womanās job to struggle. Fuck that.
That negro was a massive hypocrite. How the fuck you wanna abolish slavery and support womenās rights, then treat your own wife like shit?????????????????
I donāt know about Malcolm X, but I know that Martin Luther King was in love with a white caferteria lady name Betty that he was seeing while he was attending college. The only reason why he married Coretta and not the cafeteria worker is because his dad frowned upon it. Not only that but his best friend Ralph Abernathy and Jackie Onassis exposed him for being a sex craved phony that loved cheating on Coretta. I guarantee that if black women from the civil rights era could talk now, our heads would explode.Ā
Our community has always treated us like shit no matter what. Not to mention MissĀ Claudette Colvin who was the actually pioneer of the Civil Rights Movement. She was arrested for not giving up her seat on the bus 9 months before Rosa but she was a dark skinned single mother so she wasnāt good enough.Ā
Letās not forget Black Pantherās leader EldridgeĀ Cleaver and his famous bookĀ āSoul On Iceā where he recounts how he practiced raping black women because he knew no one would care and when he āmastered his craftā he starting raping white women. Also letās never forget that he said that there is no more love left between black women and men and that everytime he embraces a black woman, he embraces slavery. Yāall gonā get this history lesson today!
I knew all of that. Martin was constantly cheating with white prostitutes even a German exchange student while protesting civil right. Cleaver was the worst. Preying on and raping young black girls in the hood as practice for raping white women. Claudette is still referenced as āthe other rosa parksā when the light bright brigade āNAACPā werenāt gonna let her share her story to begin with.
[reasons why I think most Black dudes r performative when it comes to being *proBlack* n only know how to mirror yt ally theater/chase yt validation. n nonBlack ppl better back the fuck off this post and start combatting the antiBlackness before they even think of comment.]
Just a reminder that Claudette Colvin didnāt get pregnant until 3 months after refusing her seat on the bus. She was a poor dark skinned girl. In her words āthey wanted someone PEOPLE would sympathize with and I didnāt look like that.ā Colorism AND Classism waaaay before Instagram š
Bruh I learned all of this and more in my civil rights history class last semester. My professor actually got her doctorate in black women in the black power movement. Even though two black men from California started the radical group as we know it, black women did most of the work and kept the group afloat. By the 80s it was largely female led. Also, elderidge cleaver wrote an essay after getting out of prison where he recanted everything he said in soul on ice and this was largely due to the fact that women were running the bpp and told him he couldnāt join if he was to co tibie to perpetuate this rape nonsense.
Also also claudette Colvin wasnāt the only one who was forgotten during the Montgomery bus boycott. Do y'all know who Jo Ann Robinson is? Home girl was the backbone to the whole movement tbh. Yeah rosa (a trained activist btw) was the igniting flame and yes in her documents and Jo Annās Claudette was credited as the inspiration, but jo Ann really kept the movement running. She organized car pools for all the black folks in Montgomery. Y'all the Montgomery bus boycott lasted for a year! People still had to get to work and shit. Jo Ann was on it! Plus she had a whole committee that was pushing for regulation changes and the end of segregation in busing. And hell, Montgomery buses were damn near reliant on black commuters so they eventually had to give.
Plus my all time fave is the homie Ella baker. Home girl ensured the founding of sncc when fuckboy Mlk tried to make them the youth chapter of the sclc. SNCC is the group that made sit ins a popular form of protest during the early civil rights movement. They founding students had their first sit in in 1960. Ella baker was like these students need their own separate movement and the sclc aināt it. Plus she was a true proponent of self determination which was clear in everything that sncc did.
Basically what Iām trying to say is black women been the backbone of society and they still are.
Letās also talk about how Huey P Newton, the founder of the BPP ordered the severe beating of Regina Davis. Regina Davis was an administrator at a BP school and was literally jumped for reprimanding a male BP member. She was beaten so bad that she was in the hospital for a broken jaw and had to flee to LA for her own safety. Her attack was a deliberate message to all female BP because the men were getting Ā upset with the increasing power black women had in the party and wanted to put them in their place.
In 1974 Huey P Newton also shot and killed a 17 year old sex worker in Oakland named Kathleen Smith in the face for calling himĀ ābabyā and because she didnāt give him theĀ ārespectā he wanted (x)Ā
and who could forget good olā Harry Belafonte and how he treated Ertha Kitt way back whenĀ
Ellen Holly was a super light skin soap opera actress who claimed to have a similar experience with Harry Belafonte before he married a white woman and called him out in her autobiography about his behavior towards black women
That was a much needed thread. Reminds me of the first time I discovered Tumblr and learned so much about feminism and womenās history. To add my 2 cents to this, I put the pictures of most of the ladies mentioned above (I couldnāt find a picture of Regina Davis, if you have one thatād be great), so that anyone discovering these wonderful women can put a face to their name.Ā
Keep this thread going and share the stories of how Black women have been degraded by black mens sexismĀ
Just to add some more, letās not forget the importance of Shirley Chisholm. She was an unapologetic black feminist who fought for the rights of women and the poor in her community. Ā She was a founding member of both the Congressional Black Caucus and the Congressional Womenās Caucus.Ā
She was the first black women ever elected to the US congress and was the first woman and black american to ever run for the president of the US. Her campaign to be the democratic nominee was treated like a joke, and although she had the support of her loyal husband she received NO SUPPORT Ā from black male leaders. Her campaign went underfunded and the men of the black caucus rallied around white male candidates instead because they were pissed off that she was getting attention and wanted a black male candidate instead.
āThey think I am trying to take power from them. The black man must step forward, but that doesnāt mean the black woman must step back.ā(x)
what type of sorcery is this threadā¦.not claiming none of this is a perspective worth understanding but Black womenā¦when you openly shame your men like this, it will be used to not only justify harming our men and boys as we constantly see, but YOU are also a target because youāre claiming to your enemy that you donāt make efficient men in your womb which means YOUāRE ALSO WORTHLESS!!!Ā
God the hotepery in that second to last comment!! š¤¦š¾āāļøš¤¦š¾āāļø I knew about half of these. Iāve never heard anything about Malcolm (post NoI) but I did know about King and Belafonte. And then I learned something new! Whew. And my parents get mad when I say āthe movement has to be intersectionalā in response to āwomen are the reason black people canāt move forwardāā¦..as if we donāt make up half the movement -_-
they love theĀ āblack women stop us from moving forwardā nonsense.Ā they believe were the reason for not being able to move forward because theyāre definition of progress is being white men with all the benefits and privilege.
black women have always done the work to sustain movements while black men end up being the face of the movement, reaping benefits and scrape up whatever amount of power they can just to abuse it. then when you bring up the bullshit that theyāve been able to do because theyāre men, theyāll try manipulating you by telling you your being divisive and that its not about gender but about black people⦠as if we donāt live in a patriarchal society that would rather suffer than listen to the voices of women⦠its the same shit they did a few months ago during the BLM protests, silencing black women when we brought up the fact that were not only being killed by police but by them too, reassuring us that fighting for the black men that died is a fight for all of us then called us divisive for making it about genderā¦
if black women would take even an ounce of the blood, sweat and tears they put into protecting black men and put it into themselves for once, just imagine the shift⦠we have the voice, the reach, the intelligence to fight for ourselves and the people who fight and stand for us⦠so why donāt we normalise that??
all this post shows me is a history of manipulation and pain against black women while normalising the expectation that black women are only useful when birthing children and putting in work to protect everyone before themselves becauseĀ āblack men have it roughā. iām tired of us being expected to protect and standby the same black men who would, if given the chance, completely disregarded me as a human being just for the opportunity to lick a white mans balls⦠its disgracefulā¦
this reminds of that posts going around telling non-blacks to center black men in BLM converations. Black men have always been the center of those conversations, I donāt know why that post even had to be made.Ā
Kill Your Darling (or We need to adress Donna Tartt and the Dark Academia community)
It's been some years since I realised how popular Tartt is in the Dark Academia community and how highly praised she is. At first, I thought I'd give in. I thought it'd be safe, everyone praised it, couldn't be too harmful. But after my own personal experience reading The Secret History and being met with her ever so casual racism, without ever seeing a single complaint or comment on it on the platform, I was shocked. Sure. I knew this community was extremely white and american/european centric, but I always found myself on the side trying to force more representation, to the point I haven't seen elitist, white american/european blogs in ages. I myself have worked hard on posts to help, including the Brazilian Literature Masterpost and some others still under works.
But today, after someone on the Discord server I'm a mod on not only doubted me and other's claims of Tartt's racism, they excused it under the pretense of it being "the character" and not her. Under these circumstances and others not being aware of it, I decided to make this post going on an elaborate rant and demonstrating proof via Donna Tartt's own books, interviews, analysis on her and her fanbase. All with direct quotes and resources to be read more on. If you decide to read this ā and accept it or excuse it ā, it's up to you. The source is now with you, do as you decide.
I asked the owners of the blogs of the posts I tag at the end and I highly recommend you check out their posts on the matter. Some of these scenes speak for itself, others I'll put in bold what I'm trying to point out since some have read this and glossed over this. I will be cynical and sarcastic about a lot of this, because I had to read through every single one of this to the point I was physically sick, so allow me to use humour to cope with this clusterfuck. So, grab a glass of water and get comfy cause this is a long one.
Trigger Warnings for racism, unnecessary use of slurs, homophobia, fetishization of people of asian descent, mentions of rape/main character wanting to rape someone, abuse, antisemitism, ableism, harmful stereotypes about people of colour, Tartt's description of people of colour (and those of south european descent)
Let's go chronologically with books before tackling interviews, thesis papers and the overall analysis, shall we?
1. The Secret History (1992)
The following quotes are not in book chronological order and instead on the order I found them.
Bunny took a jaded bite of the cheesecake. āHe say why he left?ā
āNo.ā Then, when Bunny didnāt respond, I added: āIt had something to do with money, didnāt it?ā
āIs that what he told you?ā
āNo.ā And then, since he had gone mute again: āBut he did say you were short on cash, that he had to pay the rent and stuff. Is that right?ā
Bunny, his mouth full, made a brushing, dismissive motion with one hand.
āThat Henry,ā he said. āI love him, and you love him, but just between the two of us I think heās got a little bit of Jew blood.ā
āWhat?ā I said, startled.
He had just taken another big bite of cheesecake, and it took him a moment to answer me.
āI never heard anybody complain so much about helping out a pal,ā he finally said. āI tell you what it is. Heās afraid of people taking advantage of him.ā
We do love the implication that jut because your friend is rich and doesn't want to pay for your every single expense, they are Jewish. Just... The casual antisemitism, fucking lovely. /s
I sat up in bed and switched on the light.
āYou donāt care about a goddamn thing, do you?ā I heard Bunny scream; this was followed by a crash, as if of books being swept from desk to floor. āNot a thing but your own fucking self, you and all the rest of themāIād like to know just what Julian would think, you bastard, if I told him a couple ofāDonāt touch me,ā he shrieked, āget awayā!ā
More crashing, as of furniture overturned, and Henryās voice, quick and angry. Bunnyās rose above it. āGo ahead!ā he shouted, so loudly Iām sure he woke the house. āTry and stop me. Iām not scared of you. You make me sick, you fag, you Nazi, you dirty lousy cheapskate Jewāā
Yet another crash, this time of splintering wood. A door slammed. There were rapid footsteps down the hall. Then the muffled noise of sobsāgasping, terrible sobs which went on for a long while.
I have a lot to say about this whole scene, but I'm fairly sure it speaks for itself. I don't even have anything to add, honestly. I just want to forget I ever read that.
She was pretty and Jewish, with a dazzling smile and a penchant for Mary Tyler Moore mannerisms like hugging herself or twirling around with her arms outstretched. The three of them smoked a lot, told long boring stories (āSo, like, our plane just sat on the runway for five hoursā) and talked about people I didnāt know. I, the absent-minded bereaved, was free to stare peacefully out the window.
This is more of a personal one, I guess. I just love the misogyny having a dash of antisemitism /s. The implications that it's rare to be pretty and Jewish are just baffling.
She rattled on. I stared at her, lost in my own awful thoughts. Suddenly I realized sheād stopped talking. She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for a reply.
āWhat?ā I said.
āI said, isnāt that the most retarded thing you ever heard?ā
āUmmmm.ā
āHer parents just must not give a shit.ā She closed the makeup drawer and turned to face me. āAnyway. You want to come to this party?ā
āWhose is it?ā
Well, uh... That's some hot ableism, innit? We love the implication that someone is the r-slur. I understand this is from the 90's and DiFfErEnT tImEs or whatever but... As a neurodivergent person, I will be taking great offense especially with the context of it.
Heād actually enjoyed talking to them, he told me. Davenport was a Philistine, not worth mentioning but the Italian was somber and polite, quite charming. (āLike one of those old Florentines Dante meets in Purgatory.ā) His name was Sciola. He was very interested in the trip to Rome, asked a lot of questions about it, not so much as investigator as fellow tourist. (āDid you boys happen to go out to the, what do you call it, San Prassede, out there around the train station? With that little chapel out on the side?ā) He spoke Italian, too, and he and Henry had a brief and happy conversation which was cut short by the irritated Davenport, who didnāt understand a word and wanted to get down to business.
This is about four or five pages (if not more) after being introduced to the detectives. Until this, he was only referenced as the Italian. There's also slight implications of Italian stereotypes which could be me just pushing it until you see uh... The following:
Sciola made a weary, Italianate gesture of resignation. āEven if he wasnāt,ā he said. āThe ground was muddy. It was raining. It couldāve been dark for all we know.ā
Nobody said anything for several long moments.
āLook, son,ā said Sciola, not unkindly. āItās just my opinion, but if you ask me, your friend didnāt kill himself. I saw the place he went over. The brush at the edge was all, you knowāā he made a feeble, flicking gesture at the air.
Now, I think it's safe to move on towards the misogyny, male gaze and incest. I'll make it short since we've all seen it.
Camilla looked enchanting. She wore a narrow sleeveless dress, salmon-colored, which exposed a pair of pretty collarbones and the sweet frail vertebrae at the base of her neckālovely kneecaps, lovely ankles, lovely bare, strong-muscled legs. The dress exaggerated her spareness of body, her unconscious and slightly masculine grace of posture; I loved her, loved the luscious, stuttering way she would blink while telling a story, or the way (faint echo of Charles) that she held a cigarette, caught in the knuckles of her bitten-nailed fingers.
Alright, that wasn't creepy at fucking all, Richard /s. I've considered throwing this in r/menwritingwomen about 200 times and see if anyone would guess this isn't written by a man.
Also, I just adore how being Charles' twin is literally ¾ of her personality /s.
āSheād behave a lot more like Charles if she were allowed to; heās so possessive, though, he keeps her reeled in pretty tight.Can you imagine a worse situation? He watches her like a hawk. And heās also rather poorānot that it matters much,ā he said hastily, realizing to whom he was speaking, ābut heās quite self-conscious about it. Very proud of his family, you know, very well aware that he himself is a sot. Thereās something kind of Roman about it, all this regard he puts in his sisterās honor. Bunny wouldnāt go near Camilla, you know, he would hardly even look at her. He used to say that she wasnāt his type but I think the old Dutchman in him just knew she was bad medicine. My God ā¦
Are we ready to talk about how toxic this is? About how Donna used another character to romanticize the already romanticized relationship between two twins? About her calling Camilla "bad medicine", the only female main character of her book that gets half an ounce of respect, is like a "bad fruit"? "No proper man would want her"?
I'm not therapist or psychology student but I'm pretty sure Donna is either projecting her misogyny onto Camilla or the hate for herself onto her, especially considering the whole uh... Well, how Camilla and Charles seem to be based of Donna herself and Paul McGloin. [ See lower in this post for a deeper look onto Donna Tartt and Paul McGloin ]
I'll break down the following scene into different moments so we can fully grasp it.
āHowās my brother?ā
āWhy donāt you go see him yourself?ā
She put down the bookāah, lovely, I thought helplessly, I loved her, I loved the very sight of her: she was wearing a cashmere sweater, soft gray-green, and her gray eyes had a luminous celadon tint.
āYou think you have to take sides,ā she said. āBut you donāt.ā
Richard seeing Camilla, who came to (allegedly) talk about the whole situation with her brother and be clear about it, as solely the object of his desire and not as a proper human being really boils my blood here. She's not an object.
āIām not taking sides. I just think whatever youāre doing, you picked a bad time to do it.ā
āAnd what would be a good time?ā she said. āI want you to see something. Look.ā
She held up a piece of the light hair near her temples. Underneath was a scabbed spot about the size of a quarter where someone had, apparently, pulled a handful of hair out by the roots. I was too startled to say anything.
āAnd this.ā She pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. The wrist was swollen and a bit discolored, but what horrified me was a tiny, evil burn on the underside of the forearm: a cigarette burn, gouged deep and ugly in the flesh.
It was a moment before I found my voice. āGood God, Camilla! Charles did this?ā
She pulled the sleeve down. āSee what I mean?ā she said. Her voice was unemotional; her expression watchful, almost wry.
āHow long has this been going on?ā
She ignored my question. āI know Charles,ā she said. āBetter than you do. Staying away, just now, is much wiser.ā
Now... This is where I'm reluctant to say that Camilla came to actually be clear about the situation. I understand her coming out about the physical violence her brother put her through during their uh, assumed-to-be-consensual relationship (Richard is already an unreliable narrator because he's never told the full story, doesn't fully know the others and, in this case, because he's obsessed with Camilla and being with Camilla). But Camilla refuses to carry on explaining the abuse, which is absolutely valid. I, myself, would never just go and talk about all of the abuse I've been through with anyone. My problem here is her directing it right back to the issue of the group, which is Richard (and Francis) not trusting Henry and considering Charles' side.
The sun came suddenly from behind a rain cloud, flooding the room with glorious light that wavered on the walls like water. Camillaās face burst into glowing bloom. A terrible sweetness boiled up in me.
Everything, for a momentāmirror, ceiling, floorāwas unstable and radiant as a dream. I felt a fierce, nearly irresistible desire to seize Camilla by her bruised wrist, twist her arm behind her back until she cried out, throw her on my bed: strangle her, rape her, I donāt know what. And then the cloud passed over the sun again, and the life went out of everything.
āWhy did you come here?ā I said.
āBecause I wanted to see you.ā
āI donāt know if you care what I thinkāā I hated the sound of my voice, was unable to control it, everything I said was coming out in the same haughty, injured toneāāI donāt know if you care what I think, but I think youāre making things worse by staying at the Albemarle.ā
I'm gonna claim my right not to say what I'm thinking cause that just triggers me in 20 different ways. I could be wrong but that's not what a decent person thinks of their friend. I'm- I'm gonna move on before I start crying. That just- I can't talk about that. I'm also gonna stop analyzing this scene here because, yeah. Feel free to read and analyse that yourself.
āCasparās a super guy,ā Bunny said as we followed the waiter to the table. āMaĆ®tre dā. Big old fellow with moustaches, Austrian or something. And notāā he lowered his voice to a loud whisperāānot a fag, either, if you can believe that. Queers love to work in restaurants, have you ever noticed that? I mean, every single fagāā
I saw the back of our waiterās neck stiffen slightly.
āāI have ever known has been obsessed with food. I wonder, why is that? Something psychological? It seems to me thatāā
Do I need to say why a cisgender heterosexual white american woman saying these slurs is bad? Using queer people's trauma and pain is not ever valid or okay. It's not their narrative to use and no one has the right to use and explore a minority's struggles and trauma to get shock points or impact. Our realities are not fucking plot points.
āThanks,ā I said weakly, looking away from his lingering, hateful smile until I was sure he had gone.
āYou know, thereās nothing I hate like I hate an officious fag,ā said Bunny pleasantly. āYou ask me, I think they ought to round them all up and burn them at the stake.ā
Iāve known men who run down homosexuality because they are uncomfortable with it, perhaps harbor inclinations in that area; and Iāve known men who run down homosexuality and mean it. At first I had placed Bunny in the first category. His glad-handing, varsity chumminess was totally alien and therefore suspect; then, too, he studied the classics, which are certainly harmless enough but which still provoke the raised eyebrow in some circles. (āYou want to know what Classics are?ā said a drunk Dean of Admissions to me at a faculty party a couple of years ago. āIāll tell you what Classics are. Wars and homos.ā A sententious and vulgar statement, certainly, but like many such gnomic vulgarities, it also contains a tiny splinter of truth.)
The more I listened to Bunny, however, the more apparent it became that there was no affected laughter, no anxiety to please. Instead, there was the blithe unselfconciousness of some crotchety old Veteran of Foreign Warsāmarried for years, father of multitudesā who finds the topic infinitely repugnant and amusing.
āBut your friend Francis?ā I said.
I was being snide, I suppose, or maybe I just wanted to see how he would wriggle out of that one. Though Francis might or might not have been homosexualāand could just as easily have been a really dangerous type of ladiesā manāhe was certainly of that vulpine, well- dressed, unflappable sort who, to someone with Bunnyās alleged nose for such things, would rouse a certain suspicion.
Bunny raised an eyebrow. āThatās nonsense,ā he said curtly. āWho told you that?ā
āNobody. Just Judy Poovey,ā I said, when I saw he wasnāt going to take nobody for an answer.
āWell, I can see why sheād say it but nowadays everybodyās gay this and gay that. Thereās still such a thing as an old-fashioned mamaās boy. All Francis needs is a girlfriend.ā He squinted at me through the tiny, crazed glasses. āAnd what about you?ā he said, a trifle belligerently.
āWhat?ā
āYou a single man? Got some little cheerleader waiting back home for you at Hollywood High?ā
I-I fucking can't. She did just need to add the fucking "He just needs the right girl", didn't she /s? For fuck's sake. i'm sorry I'm getting heated but you can't expect me not to.
Not that Francis, in normal circumstances, wasnāt perfectly able to take care of himself. He had a quick temper, and a sharp tongue, and though he couldāve put Bunny in his place pretty much any time he chose, he was understandably apprehensive about doing so. We were all of us painfully aware of that metaphoric vial of nitroglycerine which Bunny carried around with him day and night, and which, from time to time, he allowed us a glimpse of, unless anyone forget it was always with him, and he had the power to dash it to the floor whenever he pleased.
I donāt really have the heart to recount all the vile things he said and did to Francis, the practical jokes, the remarks about faggots and queers, the public, humiliating stream of questions about his preference and practices: clinical and incredibly detailed ones, having to do with such things as enemas, and gerbils, and incandescent light bulbs.
You can see how she's using as a plot device and to show Bunny's bigotry but the fact is: you can show bigotry and prejudice without utilizing slurs used to attack those minorities. It's not her place to use them, at all.
A small, dark man in shirtsleeves, who had been waving his hand in the air for some time, was finally called upon by Liz and stood up.
āMy name is Adnan Nassar and I am Palestinian-American,ā he said in a rush. āI came to this country from Syria nine years ago and have since then earned American citizenship and am assistant manager of the Pizza Pad on Highway 6.ā
Mr. Hundy put his head to the side. āWell, Adnan,ā he said cordially, āI expect that story would be pretty unusual in your own country. But here, thatās the way the system works. For everybody. And thatās regardless of your race or the color of your skin.ā Applause.
Liz, microphone in hand, made her way down the aisle and pointed at a lady with a bouffant hairdo, but the Palestinian angrily waved his arms and the camera shifted back to him.
āThat is not the point,ā he said. āI am an Arab and I resent the racial slurs you make against my people.ā
Liz walked back to the Palestinian and put her hand on his arm, Oprah-style, to comfort him. William Hundy, sitting in his mock-Shaker chair on the podium, shifted slightly as he leaned forward.
āYou like it here?ā he said shortly.
āYes.ā
āYou want to go back?ā
āNow,ā Liz said loudly. āNobody is trying to say thatāā
āBecause the boats,ā said Mr. Hundy, even louder, ārun both ways.ā
Dotty, the barmaid, laughed admiringly and took a drag off her cigarette. āThatās telling him,ā she said.āWhere your family comes from?ā said the Arab sarcastically. āYou American Indian or what?ā
Mr. Hundy did not appear to have heard this. āIāll pay for you to go back,ā he said. āHow much is a one-way ticket to Baghdad going for these days? If you want me to, Iāllāā
āI think,ā Liz said hastily, āthat youāve misunderstood what this gentleman is trying to say. Heās just trying to make the point thatāā She put her arm around the Palestinianās shoulders and he threw it off in a rage.
āAll night long you say offensive things about Arabs,ā he screamed.
āYou donāt know what Arab is.ā He beat on his chest with his fist. āI know it, in my heart.ā
āYou and your buddy Saddam Hussein.ā
āHow dare you say we are all greedy, driving big cars? This is very offensive to me. I am Arabic and I conserve the natural resourceāā
āBy setting fire to all them oil wells, eh?ā
āāby driving a Toyota Corolla.ā
āI wasnāt talking about you in particular,ā said Hundy. āI was talking about them OPEC creepos and them sick people kidnapped that boy. You think theyāre driving around in Toyota Corollas? You think we condone terrorism here? Is that what they do in your country?ā
āYou lie,ā shouted the Arab.
For a moment, in confusion, the camera went to Liz Ocavello; she was staring, without seeing, right out of the screen and I knew she was thinking exactly what I was thinking, oh, boy, oh, boy, here it comes ...
āIt aināt a lie,ā said Hundy hotly. āI know. I been in the service station business for thirty years. You think I donāt remember, when Carter was President, you had us over such a barrel, back in nineteen and seventy-five? And now all you people coming over here, acting like you own the place, with all your chick peas and your filthy little pocket breads?ā
Liz was looking to the side, trying to mouth instructions.
The Arab screamed out a frightful obscenity.
āHold it! Stop!ā shouted Liz Ocavello in despair.
Mr. Hundy leapt to his feet, eyes blazing, pointing a trembling forefinger into the audience. āSand niggers!ā he shouted bitterly. āSand niggers! Sandāā
The camera jerked away and panned wildly to the side of the set, a tangle of black cables, hooded lights.
I'm not even going to say anything besides that if you listen to the audiobook, narrated by Donna herself, she says it all. She says that slur three times. And it might be just me but you can hear the smile on her face as she says it. Almost like she has some sort of pleasure in saying them. She does also smile in many other scenes where there's bigotry involved.
2. The Little Friend (2002)
Let's just get on with this starting with the fact that I'm not saying that white authors can't write about black narratives, it's not my place to say that. We all want diversity in books, sometimes the books are written by white people.
The problem here as I see it, is how she narrates this and how her prejudice is palpable.
She was not looking at Mrs. Fountainānot even looking at the tree, where her dead sonās tree house rotted forlornly in a decayed fork. She was looking across the street, past the empty lot where the ragged robin and witch grass grew tall, to where the train tracks threaded bleakly past the rusted roofs of Niggertown, far away.
I could stop it here. I should stop here. That's more than enough, but unfortunately, the name of the town is the least of my concerns. I wonder if she has an n-word limit per book, since she wants to say it so fucking badly.
So the big house, which had been in the Cleve family ever since it was built, in 1809, had to be sold in a hurry to pay o the Judgeās debts. The sisters still mourned this. They had grown up there, as had the Judge himself, and the Judgeās mother and grandparents. Worse: the person they had sold it to turned right around and sold it to someone else who turned it into a retirement home and then, when the retirement home lost its license, into welfare apartments. Three years after Robinās death, it had burned to the ground. āIt survived the Civil War,ā said Edie bitterly, ābut the niggers still got it in the end.ā
Actually, it was Judge Cleve who had destroyed the house, not āthe niggersā; he had had no repairs done on it for nearly seventy years, nor had his mother for forty years before.
Let's play a game! A shot for everytime she says the N-word in her book. That's bound to land us all in the hospital for alcohol poisoning, so please don't play this drinking game.
āI threw some rocks at them,ā he said bravely. āI yelled at them, too. Then they ran off.ā
āWhat were they shooting with?ā said Harriet. āA BB gun or something?ā
āNo,ā said Hely after a slight, shocked pause; how could he make her grasp the urgency of this, the danger?
āIt was a real gun, Harriet. Real bullets. Niggers running everywhereāā He flung out an arm, overwhelmed with the difficulty of making her see it all, the hot sun, the echoes of the bluff, the laughter and the panic....
āWhy didnāt you come with me?ā he wailed. āI begged you to comeāā
āIf it was a real gun they were shooting, I think you were stupid to stand around throwing rocks.ā
I- I'll remain silent. I'll let Donna do the talking.
āWhat I want to know about is the Ratliffs. What can youāā
āWell, I can tell you they chunked bricks at my sisterās grand-baby while sheās walking to school in the rst grade,ā said Ida curtly. āHow about that? Big old grown men. Chunking bricks and hollering out nigger and get back to the jungle at that poor child.ā
Harriet, appalled, said nothing. Without looking up, she continued to fiddle with the strap of her sandal. The word niggerāespecially from Idaāmade her red in the face.
No, really. She's great at exposing her own bigotry. Better than Bunny Corcoran, even /hj.
I wouldnāt want any food she put on the table, thought Hely.
āYounguns today all think they have to have,ā Farish said flatly. āThey would do just as well to be like yourn and go without.ā
āWhen me and my brothers and sisters were coming up, we didnāt even have us an icebox,ā said Odum in a quaver. He was getting good and wound-up. āAll the summer long I had to chop cotton out in the fieldsāā
āIāve chopped my share of cotton, too.ā
āāand my mama, Iām telling you, she worked those fields like a nigger man. MeāI couldnāt go to school! Mama and Daddy, they needed me at home! Naw, we never had a thing but if I had the money itās nothin in the world I wouldnāt buy those little ones over there. They know old Diddyād rather give it to them than have it himself. Hmm? Donāt yall know that?ā
His unfocused eyes wavered from Lasharon and the baby to Hely himself. āI said, Donāt Yall Know That,ā he repeated, in an amplified and less pleasant tone.
He was staring straight at Hely. Hely was shocked: Geez, he thought, is the old coot so drunk he donāt know Iām not his kid? He stared back with his mouth open.
āYes, Diddy,ā Lasharon whispered, just audible.
Now, using a child for this whole plot really says a lot considering how many interviews Donna has said (unprompted) about how the book totally doesn't relate to her family [ I'll go in depth when I approach interviews and articles ] and how the book starts in her birth year, in an atmosphere she's very used to (the area surrounding her hometown).
āRelax,ā said Catfish, sliding up behind Odum and laying a hand upon his shoulder. Catfishās high spirits were inexhaustible; he was cheerful no matter what happened, and he was unable to understand that not everyone was so resilient.
With a feeble, half-crazed blusterāmore pitiable than threatening āOdum swaggered back weakly and cried: āGet your hand off me, nigger.ā
Cafish was unperturbed. āAnybody can play like you, brother, not going to have trouble winning that money back. Later on, if you feel like it, come and me over at the Esquire Lounge and maybe we can work out a little something.ā
Odum stumbled back against the cinder-block wall. āMy car,ā he said. His eye was swollen and his mouth was bloody.
Fucking hell, it just keeps on going.
Gum said, in a whisper: āWell, Iāll tell you the truth, what worries me is this nausea Iāve got from the other medicine Iām taking.ā
āI hope you told them that this is like to put you in the hospital again. Dragging a poor old crippled lady out of her houseāā
Diplomatically, Loyal interrupted: āWhat kindly trial are you on, maam?ā
Gum sopped her bread in the syrup. āNigger stoled a tractor.ā
Farish said: āTheyāre going to make you go all the way down there? Just for that?"
Does it ever stop? (Yes, when the book ends.)
You never knew where Catfish might pop up: in Niggertown, collecting his uncleās rents; on a ladder at the courthouse, washing windows; behind the wheel of a taxicab or a hearse.
...
So that was the old lady. E. Cleve. He had not seen her or thought of her in years. When Tribulation caught fireāa fire that lit up the night sky for miles aroundāDannyās father and grandmother shook their heads with sly, amused gravity, as if they had known all along that such a house must burn. They could not help but relish the spectacle of āthe high and mightyā brought down a notch or two, and Gum resented Tribulation in particular, since as a girl sheād picked cotton in its fields. There was a certain snooty class of white ātraitors to their race, said Dannyās fatherāwho regarded white folks down on their luck as no better than the common yard nigger.
. . .
Again he kicked Danny. Danny rolled over on his side in a ball, clutching his knees.
āIs Catfish in on this with you?ā
Danny shook his head. He tasted blood in his mouth.
āBecause I will. Iāll kill that nigger. Iām on kill the both of you.ā Farish opened the passenger door of the Trans Am and slung Danny in by the scruff of his neck.
. . . This is, in fact, written by white southern american woman. Writing about black violence in the american south... Using all the slurs and all that.
āAll right,ā said Hely, and swung without thinking, and hit the ball crack without even looking at it, hit it so far that even Pemās jaw dropped as it ew overhead and sailed far far far, straight and undeviating on its path until it crashed, bang: right through the sun-porch window and practically into the lap of his grandmother, who was talking on the telephoneāto Helyās dad, as it turned out. It was a million-to-one shot, impossible: Hely was no good at baseball; he was always the last non-gay or -retarded kid to get picked for a team; never had he hit any ball so high and hard and sure, and the bat had clunked to the ground as he stared in wonder at its clean, pure arc, curving straight for the center panel of his grandmaās glassed-in porch.ā¦
. . . This is starting to get old. And more and more offensive.
The grandsonsāstartledāgazed at him suspiciously, while the retarded-looking child waved at Dr. Breedlove with enthusiasm. āHi!ā he said.
I'm sorry, I swear I'm trying to let Donna's words speak for her but I just want to kill her.
āI thought you were interested in that, Harriet,ā said Adelaide, holding the card out at armās length and surveying it with her head to one side. āAll those old mummies and cats and things.ā
Harriet blurted: āAre you and Mr. Sumner going to be engaged?ā
Adelaideāwith a distracted airātouched an earring. āDid your grandmother tell you to ask me that?ā
Does she think Iām retarded? āNo, maam.ā
Is this you guys' favourite writer? The "iconic queen of Dark Academia" or whatever the fuck?
The cop was still looking at Eugene as if expecting him to say something.
āMy little brother,ā he said, wiping a hand over his face. āHeās retarded. I canāt just leave him here by himself.ā
āWell, bring him along,ā said the cop. āIāll bet we can find a candy bar for him.ā
Does she know a single adjective that isn't offensive?
āIām going over to the club now,ā she said, standing up. āDad said heād drop you o at band this morning, Hely. But donāt you go around telling people at school about this. And donāt worry about Harriet. Sheās going to be fine. I promise.ā
After their mother left, and they heard her car pulling out of the driveway, Pemberton got up and went to the refrigerator and began to grapple around on the top shelf. Eventually he found what he was looking forāa can of Sprite.
āYou are so retarded,ā he said, leaning back against the refrigerator, pushing the hair out of his eyes. āItās a miracle they donāt have you in Special Ed.ā
...
Silence. Mr. Dialās appraising, salesmanās gaze roved over the small group of uninterested faces. The churchānot knowing what to do with the new school busāhad begun an outreach program, picking up underprivileged white children from out in the country and hauling them in to the prosperous cool halls of First Baptist for Sunday school. Dirty-faced, furtive, in clothing inappropriate for church, their downcast gazes strayed across the door. Only gigantic Curtis Ratliff, who was retarded, and several years older than the rest of the children, goggled at Mr. Dial with open-mouthed appreciation.
...
āKnife fight or something. Canāt remember. Every single one of the Ratliffs has been in the penitentiary for armed robbery or killing somebody except the baby, the little retarded guy.And Hely told me he beat the shit out of Mr. Dial the other day.ā
I just sit back and observe.
Harriet (staring bleakly at the sidewalk) was distracted from these thoughts by a gargling noise. Poor retarded Curtis Ratliffāwho roamed the streets of Alexandria ceaselessly in the summertime squirting cats and cars with his water pistolāwas lumbering across the road towards her. When he saw her looking at him, a wide smile broke across his smashed face.
. . . y i k e s
He was running a nervous hand over his hair (which he wore greased back, in the vanished hoodlum style of his teen years) and gazing out the window at his retarded baby brother, who had just left the apartment and was pestering some black-headed child out on the street. On the door behind him were a dozen dynamite boxes filled with poisonous snakes: timber rattlers, canebrake rattlers, Eastern diamondbacks; cottonmouths and copperheads andāin a box by itselfāa single king cobra, all the way from India.
We get it Donna, you're ableist. We got that. Can we move on?
Sheād been only fourteen when he was born; she was (heād said) āthe prettiest little coon-ass gal you ever saw.ā By coon-ass he meant Cajun, but when Danny was small heād had a vague idea that Gum was part raccoonāan animal which, with her sunken dark eyes, her sharp face and snaggled teeth and small, dark, wrinkled hands, she indeed resembled.
I can't even say that I think she'd call me a slur cause she already did use a shit ton of them. She just... She could just shut up. Or hire someone to edit the slurs out. i'm just saying, it's pretty easy not to be this bigoted.
āVery good!ā said Mr. Dial. Annabel came from a fine familyāa fine Christian family, unlike such cocktail-drinking country-club families as the Hulls. Annabel, a champion baton twirler, had been instrumental in leading a little Jewish schoolmate to Christ.
. . . And now forcing religions too.
Beneath this was a decal of an American flag, and the following:
The Jews and its municipalities, which are the Antichrist, have stolen our oil and our Properties. Revelations 18:3. Rev. 18:11ā15. Jesus will Unite. Rev. 19:17.
If only I had time to unpack all of that.
3. The Goldfinch (2013)
Let's get this shit over with. I'm sick of these quotes.
āOver and over, I caught myself in mean-spirited thoughts like this, which I did my best to shake. What did I care? Yes, Kotku was a bitch; yes, she was too dumb to pass regular Civics and wore cheap hoop earrings from the drugstore that were always getting caught in things, and yes, even though she was only eighty-one pounds or whatever she still scared the hell out of me, like she might kick me to death with her pointy-toed boots if she got mad enough. (āShe a little fighta nigga,ā Boris himself had said boastfully at one point as he hopped around throwing out gang signs, or what he thought were gang signs, and regaling me with a story of how Kotku had pulled out a bloody chunk of some girlās hairāthis was another thing about Kotku, she was always getting in scary girl fights, mostly with other white trash girls like herself but occasionally with the real gangsta girls, who were Latina and black.) But who cared what crappy girl Boris liked? Werenāt we still friends? Best friends? Brothers practically?ā
āBoris laughed, and threw out some fake-looking gang sign. āSuit yourself, yo,ā he said, in his āgangstaā voice (discernible from his regular voice only by the hand gesture and the āyoā)as he got up and roll-walked out. āNigga gotz to eat.ā
WHEN BORIS SHOWED UP at the door around half an hour later, I tried to tell him about the visit from Mr. Silver, but though he listened, a little, mainly he was furious at Kotku for flirting with some other boy, this Tyler Olowska or whatever, a rich stoner kid a year older than us who was on the golf team.
āFuck her,ā he said throatily while we were sitting on the floor downstairs at my house smoking Kotkuās pot. āSheās not answering her phone. I know sheās with him now, I know it.ā
āCome on.ā As worried as I was about Mr. Silver, I was even more sick of talking about Kotku. āHe was probably just buying some weed.ā
āYah, but is more to it, I know. She never wants me to stay over with her any more, have you noticed that? Always has stuff to do now. Sheās not even wearing the necklace I bought her.ā
My glasses were lopsided and I pushed them back up on the bridge of my nose. Boris hadnāt even bought the stupid necklace but shoplifted it at the mall, snatching it and running out while I (upstanding citizen, in school blazer) occupied the salesgirlās attention with dumb but polite questions about what Dad and I ought to get Mom for her birthday. āHuh,ā I said, trying to sound sympathetic.
Boris scowled, his brow like a thundercloud. āSheās a whore. Other day? Was pretending to cry in classātrying to make this Olowska bastard feel sorry for her. What a cunt.ā
I shruggedāno argument from me on that pointāand passed him the reefer.
āShe only likes him because he has money. His family has two Mercedes. E class.ā
āThatās an old lady car.ā
āNonsense. In Russia, is what mobsters drive. Andāā he took a deep hit, holding it in, waving his hands, eyes watering, wait, wait, this is the best part, hold on, get this, would you?āāyou know what he calls her?ā
āKotku?ā Boris was so insistent about calling her Kotku that people at schoolāteachers, evenāhad begun calling her Kotku as well.
āThatās right!ā said Boris, outraged, smoke erupting from his mouth. āMy name! The kliytchka I gave her. And, other day in the hallway? I saw him ruffle her on the head.āā
I refuse to say anything. If you can't see the problem with that...
āThe taunting edge in his voice annoyed me. āHonestly? Becauseāā I started to say Because Kotku is a ho which was only the obvious truth but instead I said: āLook, Hadleyās on Honor Roll and stuff. Sheās not going to want to go hang out at Kotkuās.ā
āWhat?ā said Borisāspinning back, outraged. āThat whore. Whatād she say?ā
āNothing. Itās justāā
āYes she did!ā He was charging back to the pool now. āYouād better tell me.ā
āCome on. Itās nothing. Chill out, Boris,ā I said, when I saw how angry he was. āKotkuās tons older. Theyāre not even in the same grade.ā
āThat snub-nosed bitch. What did Kotku ever do to her?ā
āChill out.ā My eye landed on the vodka bottle, illumined by a clean white sunbeam like a light saber. Heād had way too much to drink, and the last thing I wanted was a fight. But I was too drunk myself to think of any funny or easy way to get him off the subject.ā
You are listening to: Tastes Like Internalized Misogyny by Donna Tartt
āIn the end, it was she who spoke first. āAt any rate.ā Resolutely she dashed a tear from her eye while I flailed about for something to say. āHe had mentioned you not three days before he died. He was engaged to be married. To a Japanese girl.ā
āNo kidding. Really?ā Sad as I was, I couldnāt help smiling, a little: Andy had chosen Japanese as his second language precisely because he had such a thing for fanservice miko and slutty manga girls in sailor uniform. āJapanese from Japan?ā
āIndeed. Tiny little thing with a squeaky voice and a pocketbook shapedlike a stuffed animal. Oh yes, I met her,ā she said with a raised eyebrow.
āAndy translating over tea sandwiches at the Pierre. She was at the funeral, of courseāthe girlāher name was Miyakoāwell. Different cultures and all that, but itās true what they say about the Japanese being undemonstrative.ā
... Fetishization of people of Asian descent. How original. /s
HADLEY, THE TALKATIVE LETTER-JACKET girl who sat by me in American history, wrinkled her nose when I asked about Borisās older woman. āHer?ā she said. āTotal slut.ā Hadleyās big sister, Jan, was in the same grade with Kyla or Kayleigh or whatever her name was. āAnd her mother, I heard, is a straight-up hooker. Your friend better be careful he doesnāt get some disease.ā
āWell,ā I said, surprised at her vehemence, though maybe I shouldnāt have been. Hadley, an army brat, was on the swim team and sang in the school choir; she had a normal family with three siblings, a Weimaraner named Gretchen that sheād brought over from Germany, and a dad who yelled if she was out past her curfew.
āIām not kidding,ā said Hadley. āSheāll make out with other girlsā boyfriendsāsheāll make out with other girlsāsheāll make out with anybody. Also I think she does pot.ā
āOh,ā I said. None of these factors, in my view, were necessarily reasons to dislike Kylie or whatever, especially since Boris and I had wholeheartedly taken to smoking pot ourselves in the past months. But what did bother meā a lotāwas how Kotku (Iāll continue to call her by the name Boris gave her, since I canāt now remember her real name) had stepped in overnight and virtually assumed ownership of Boris.ā
B I P H O B I A
Andy and I, in elementary school, had become friends under more or less traumatic circumstances: after weād been skipped ahead a grade because of high test scores. Everyone now appeared to agree that this had been a mistake for both of us, though for different reasons. That yearābumbling around among boys all older and bigger than us, boys who tripped us and shoved us and slammed locker doors on our hands, who tore up our homework and spat in our milk, who called us maggot and faggot and dickhead (sadly, a natural for me, with a last name like Decker)āduring that whole year (our Babylonian Captivity, Andy called it, in his faint glum voice) weād struggled along side by side like a pair of weakling ants under a magnifying glass: shin-kicked, sucker-punched, ostracized, eating lunch huddled in the most out-of-the-way corner we could find in order to keep from getting ketchup packets and chicken nuggets thrown at us.
Oh, sweet /s
āHey, manito, you taking off?ā he said, leaning down and sticking his head in the window of the cab. āYou gotta send us a picture for downstairs!ā Down in the basement, where the doormen changed into their uniforms, there was a wall papered with postcards and Polaroids from Miami and Cancun, Puerto Rico and Portugal, which tenants and doormen had sent home to East Fifty- Seventh Street over the years.
āThatās right!ā said Goldie. āSend us a picture! Donāt forget!ā
āIāā I was going to miss them, but it seemed gay to come out and say so. So all I said was: āOkay. Take it easy.ā
āYou too,ā said Jose, backing away with his hand up. āStay away from them blackjack tables.ā
I swear this was published in 2013.
Instead Iād spent a lot of time wishing he was a cooler dog, a border collie or a Lab or a rescue maybe, some smart and haunted pit mix from the shelter, a scrappy little mutt that chased balls and bit peopleāin fact almost anything but what he actually was: a girlās dog, a toy, completely gay, a dog I felt embarrassed to walk on the street. Not that Popper wasnāt cute; in fact, he was exactly the kind of tiny, prancing fluffball that a lot of people likedāmaybe not me but surely some little girl like the one across the aisle would find him by the road and take him home and tie ribbons in his hair?
I- Apparently, it's gay to have a dog.
āMaybe they did think of it. Why else have the gun back there?ā
āI think we had a narrow miss, is what I thinkāā
āThere was one car pulled up front, scared Shirley and me,ā said Gyuri, āwhile you were all in there, two guys, we thought we were in the shit but was only two gays, French guys, looking for restaurantāā
āābut no one in the back, thank God, I got Grozdan on the floor and cuffed him to radiator,ā Cherry was saying. āAh, butā!ā he held up the felt- wrapped packageāāfirst. This. For you.ā
Let's just...
Platt winced. āIāve seen cats that swam better than Andy. I mean, quite frankly, Andy was just about the clumsiest kid I ever saw that wasnāt out-and- out spastic or retarded... good God, you ought to have seen him on the tennis court, we used to joke about entering him in the Special Olympics, he would have swept every event.
Y'know, everytime I think it can't get worse, it fucking does.
āMister!ā He laughed fondly. āI love a polite kid. They donāt make many like you any more. You Jewish, Theodore?ā
āNo, sir,ā I said, and then wished Iād said yes.
āWell, tell you what. Anybody from New York, in my book theyāre an honorary Jew. Thatās how I look at it. You ever been to Canarsie?ā
āNo, sir.ā
...
I was on good terms with all Hobieās moving-and-storage guys. Most of them were New York City Irish, lumbering, good-natured guys who hadnāt quite made it into the police force or the fire departmentāMike, Sean, Patrick, Little Frank (who was not little at all, the size of a refrigerator)ābut there were also a couple of Israeli guys named Raviv and Avi, andāmy favoriteāa Russian Jew named Grisha. (ā āRussian Jewā contradiction in terms,ā he explained, in a lavish plume of menthol smoke. āTo Russian mind anyway. Since āJewā to antisemite mind is not the same as true RussianāRussia is notorious of this fact.ā)
. . .
āWhy what?ā
āWhy the hell did you take it?ā
Boris blinked, a bit self-righteously. āBecause you have Jewish Mafiya coming to your house, is why!ā
āNo, thatās not why.ā
... Okay...
āRight.ā It being my business to notice such things, Iād already noticed Borisās wristwatchāSwiss, retailing for maybe fifty thousand, a European playboyās watchātoo flashy for my taste but extremely restrained compared to the jewel-set hunks of gold and platinum Iād seen at his club. There was, I saw, a blue Star of David tattooed on the inside of his forearm.
āWhatās that?ā I said.
He held up his wrist for me to inspect. āIWC. A good watch is like cash in the bank. You can always pawn it or put it up in emergency. This is white gold but looks like stainless. Better to have watch that looks less expensive than it really is.ā
āNo, the tattoo.ā
āAh.ā He pushed up his sleeve and looked at his arm regretfullyābut I wasnāt looking at the tattoo any more. The light wasnāt great in the car but I knew needle marks when I saw them. āThe star you mean? Is long story.ā
āButāā I knew better than to ask about the marks. āYouāre not Jewish.ā
āNo!ā said Boris indignantly, pushing his sleeve back down. āOf course not!ā
āWell then, I guess the question would be why...ā
āBecause I told Bobo Silver I was Jewish.ā
āWhat?ā
āBecause I wanted him to hire me! So I lied.ā
āNo shit.ā
āYes! I did! He came by Xandraās house a lotāsnooping up and down the street, smelling for something rotten, like maybe your dad wasnāt deadāand one day I made up my nerve to talk to him. Offered myself to work. Things were getting out of handāat school there was trouble, some people had to go to rehab, others got expelledāI needed to cut ties with Jimmy, see, do something else for a while. And yes, my surname is all wrong but Boris, in Russia, is the first name of many Jews so I thought, why not? How will he know? I thought the tattoo would be a good thingāto convince him, you know, I was ok. Had a guy do it who owed me a hundred bucks. Made up big sad story, my mother Polish Jew, her family in concentration camp, boo hoo hooāstupid me, I did not realize that tattoos were against the Jewish law. Why are you laughing?ā he said defensively. āSomeone like meāuseful to him, you know? I speak English, Russian, Polish, Ukrainian. I am educated. Anyhow, he knew damn well I wasnāt Jew, he laughed in my face, but he took me on anyway and that was very kind of him.ā
I'm just gonna end the quotes with that one above.
4. Interviews, Posts, Articles and the Southern Gothic essay
Now that we're done with that, whatever in the Bunny Corcoran that was... Let's get to the fun parts. Just kidding, the fun part will be when I finish this post and stop having to read things Donna said.
Interview 1. Donna Tartt for The John Adams Institute in 1993
Around 1:05:50 is when she starts talking about how racism is gone in the American South, and its only the American North dealing with it. She talks about segregation while growing up and how it doesn't exist anymore in the South. That interviews happened just a year after 1992 Los Angeles Riots. And considering the existence Sundown Towns... And last year protests (2020)... And quite literally the number of BIPOC and LGBTQ+ people who get murdered daily, not only in the US but all over the fucking world... Yeah, Donna doesn't seem to know jack shit.
Interview 2. A Talent to Tantalise
Can we all praise Katharine Viner for not getting as angry as I did? And also for a great article/interview. It's a great glimpse into Donna and how her real life gets mixed into her books (and her reluctance to see it).
Interview 3. The Esquire's The Secret Oral History of Bennington: The 1980s' Most Decadent College
I've been waiting for this one. Remember above when I said I'd go more in depth on why I have a lot of opinions on Donna and her relationships in Bennington? Here's why. And oh boy (genderneutral) does The Esquire provides us with info. Going into Donna's friends, past letters and their memories, we get a greater glimpse of the so-called "pure fiction" and "made up" by Tartt herself. It's like eavesdropping on their past.
Let's start.
DONNA TARTT, CLASS OF ā86; WRITER; INTERVIEWED IN THE BENNINGTON VOICE, OCTOBER 28, 1992: Tell me something, I heard that Bennington requires SAT scores now, is that true?ā.ā.ā.āBecause I wouldnāt have been there if they had required them when I applied. I think I got in on a short story I sent in. Nobody I know would have been there if they had required SAT scores. That was part of the reason I went to Bennington.ā.ā.ā.ā[E]verybody there was like the oddly gifted person who made bad grades and hung out in the parking lot.
Sounds familiar? Richard's view of Hampden was pretty similar, almost identical. I'll carry on with it though, let's not get hung up here.
AMY HERSKOVITZ: In hindsight, we were a cold group of people, though in my head we were just terrified. There were a lot of references to Get the Guests from Whoās Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Weād go after people.
BRET EASTON ELLIS: Looking back, I realize I was popular. At eighteen, I had a handsomeness, and I was kind of groomed, and I was kind of sexy, and I was inundated with date requests and people wanting to take my picture. But inside I was a wreck. And I was alienated because I was a writer, because I was gay. And then there was my crystal--meth addiction. In retrospect, itās like, Why were you so fucking depressed? It was awesome! Still, people were throwing themselves at me. I had girlfriends, I had boyfriends. I really got around.
NICHOLAS DELBANCO, LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE FACULTY, 1966ā85: Back then, God help us, it was a badge of dishonor not to have slept with your professor.
Not comparing this with TSH, it's just bloody questionable if you ask me. Well, also, Julian and Henry.
JONATHAN LETHEM: There was the sense that people were playing dress-up, faking it until it became real. I saw the classics clique crossing Commons dressed up like they were at Oxford and I thought, Oh, thatās what youāre making yourself into.
Reminds you of any fictional classics clique?
BRET EASTON ELLIS: Donna and I were set up on a blind date that fall by our roommates, who hated us and thought we were uptight enough to hang out with each other. So weād have something to talk about, I put in her mailbox a couple of stories Iād written that Less than Zero would be based on. And she put in mine a story that wasnāt The Secret History but was something in that vein. There was no murder, but it was the world of The Secret History, that milieu, those charactersāClaude Fredericks and his classics students.
Just saying...
NICHOLAS DELBANCO: A strange fellow, Claude Fredericks. He dropped out of Harvard because he refused to take the swim test or something like that, but he was a genuinely learned person, an autodidact. Knew Latin, Greek, Japanese. Punctilious in his self--presentation. And he had an avant-garde printing press, quite famous at the time, called Banyan Press. It published people like Gertrude Stein and the poet Jimmy Merrill, whoād been Claudeās lover early on.
Julian, anyone? Cause it gets more uncanny
MAURA SPIEGEL: Claude was my advisor when I was a student at Bennington. I had an appointment with him, and I was waiting outside his office. The door opened and out stepped this beautiful young man with curly blond hair. And the first thing I heard Claude say was āNot, do only what is necessary. Only do what is necessary.ā And I just thought, What is going on? As my advisor, he had to write these little comments to me, and he said I was a very intelligent girl. I remember that the word intelligent somehow had this negative quality coming from it.
Compare that with the following scene from The Secret History:
I suppose Iād gone to see Julian in order to revive my flagging assurance, in hopes he would make me feel as certain as I had that first day. And I am fairly sure he would have done just that if only I had made it in to see him. But as it happened, I didnāt get to talk to him at all. Stepping onto the landing outside his office, I heard voices in the hall and stopped.
It was Julian and Henry. Neither of them had heard me come up the stairs. Henry was leaving; Julian was standing in the open door. His brow was furrowed and he looked very somber, as if he were saying something of the gravest importance. Making the vain, or rather paranoid, assumption that they might be talking about me, I took a step closer and peered as far as I could risk around the corner.
Julian finished speaking. He looked away for a moment, then bit his lower lip and looked up at Henry.
Then Henry spoke. His words were low but deliberate and distinct. āShould I do what is necessary?ā
To my surprise, Julian took both Henryās hands in his own. āYou should only, ever, do what is necessary,ā he said.
What, I thought, the hell is going on? I stood at the top of the stairs, trying not to make a sound, wanting to leave before they saw me but afraid to move.
To my utter, utter surprise Henry leaned over and gave Julian a quick little businesslike kiss on the cheek. Then he turned to leave, but fortunately for me he looked over his shoulder to say one last thing; I crept down the stairs as quietly as I could, breaking into a run when I was at the second landing and out of earshot.
And this, from the interview:
MILES BELLAMY: Has anyone described Claudeās office? No? Oh my God. Well, first of all, it was hard to find. It was in Commons, at the top of this sort of secret staircase that was outside the building and led only to his office. So youād climb this tall flight of stairs, and walk in, and thereād be these exquisite flowers, Japanese flowersāI donāt know how or where he got themāin a vase, and everything was polished, beautiful. Youād sit across from him, and heād serve you tea, and you really felt like you were in the inner sanctum.
Now, I'm fairly aware that most of us were already (I think?) aware that Julian was based off Claude. It's been debated, possibly fully proved by this whole thing by The Esquire and also dedications on Donna's books. It's known to some degree, as well, that Claude and Donna did not talk for a while after TSH was published for the very (suspected) reason that Julian was Claude. But I just wanted to draw the similarities once more.
PAULA POWERS: All I knew about Claude Fredericks was that he was having an affair with his student, this good-looking older guy, very serious, very passionate about classics.
I think this is when I should make the point that it was heavily implied in the book that Julian was grooming Henry. It was quite explicit in the hints.
TODD OāNEAL: Donna was not part of our Greek tutorials. The courses she took with Claude anyone who signed up could take. Claude adored certain women, but he was also homosexual and had a very, letās say, classical aesthetic or hierarchy, which prizes maleness and male beauty. So Donna only knew him in a limited way. She did, how-ever, know Paul McGloin, because they were lovers. Now, Paul was a bit eccentric, not a bad thing at Benningtonāa virtue, in fact. He wasnāt precisely a scholar, but he was drawn to a scholarly way of life. And Claude, I think, embodied for him an image of what college should beāBalliol or All Souls in 1843. Paul often used Victorianisms when he spoke or wrote. I remember when he first mentioned Donna. He said, āWho was that charming southern girl in the Homer class?ā And Claude said, āYou mean Donna Tartt? Sheās the only tart I have with three tās.ā
And here we have my last point on Claude and my first on Donna and Paul. Claude and Julian's lack of women in class (yes, I'm aware of Camilla being in the class but it's also never said that no woman ever took Claude's class) is the very last thing to make it so clear of how obvious the similarities were.
Now, onto Donna and Paul McGloin. Up above, I made a comment about how there is actual real life basis for Camilla and Charles' relationship. I'm not saying either of them is the character, like I did with Claude, because I think Tartt spread herself through multiple characters in the TSH Classics Clique.
PAULA POWERS: Speculating on Donna and Paulās relationship was a Bennington pastime for years. Every Bennington person knows every intimate detail about every other Bennington person, so to be a sexual enigma was an accomplishment unique to her. As Ian Gittler said, āIf flaunting your sexuality is cheap, this school is in a constant closing sale.ā
As Richard did with Charles and Camilla's for months.
TODD OāNEAL: Paul and Donna werenāt boyfriend and girlfriend. They were boyfriend and boy. She had a uniform. Black loafers, khaki pantsāboysā pants, not girlsāāJ. Pressātype button-down, necktie, blue blazer with brass buttons, and hair in this funky little asexual bob. She looked like she came straight out of an English university. She and Paul were like Oxonian homosexuals or something. I once asked him, āWhat kind of relationship do you have?ā And he said, āWell, thatās very funny, because she wants me to call her āmy lad.āāā
Donna's liking to the now called DA aesthetic can be referenced here and also how she described TSH Classics Clique's style many times.
DONNA TARTT, LETTER TO JONATHAN LETHEM, DATED JANUARY 24, 1983 (DURING WINTER BREAK): I am now in Washington with The Man [Paul McGloin]. We have a nice little apartment in an old townhouse near Capitol Hill and all is well.ā.ā.ā.āThe raciest thing thatās happened to us was when we overheard a museum guard in the National Gallery mutter, āMore faggotsā as we walked into the room. (I was wearing a baggy sweater and trousers, no makeup, and my customary shapeless gray tweed coat. Perhaps I did look like a boy.ā.ā.ā.) It pleased Paul no end.
No comments.
TODD OāNEAL: Matt didnāt like Donna. I liked her to the degree that I knew her, but I found her evasive, a bit impenetrable. And, of course, Matt and Paul and I were all seniors. The truth is, I didnāt think too deeply about her until her book came out years later.
Also reminds me of Richard's relationship with the TSH Clique for most of the book.
LISA FEDER: Bennington had something called NRT, Non-Resident Term. The school couldnāt afford to heat itself during the winter and so it shut down. You went out into the world and got an internship or job. I spent my freshman NRT at the switchboard at the Union Square Barnes & Noble. Thatās where all the Bennington punk rockers worked.
Reminds anyone of Richard halfway freezing to death?
BRET EASTON ELLIS: The book was perfectly formed. The writing was perfect. The only note I ever gave Donna was āYou have a college-age male protagonist whoās not noticing women or men or anything. Thatās unrealistic.ā I will never forget her expression. Donna has a stare, okay? She stared at me. Silent, staring daggers.
Funny how the book ended up quite creepy with the male gaze and obsession.
LAWRENCE āLARRYā DAVID: I have to say, Bret was very good at getting straight guys to sleep with him. They all wanted to be writers, and he was very charming. So he could convince them to, like, give it a try.
Oh. Not gonna say anything about Bret cause it's not about him, but seems like this does remind Francis in away.
JONATHAN LETHEM, FROM āZELIG OF NOTORIETYā: Every person I recalled from our time at Bennington seemed reworked in [Donnaās] pages, except I saw no spot for myselfāunless, as I joked to my girlfriend, it was as the murdered Vermont farmer, a character so beneath the regard of the bookās characters that he barely registers as human.
But, y'know... Donna says she made it all up. Even though everyone who knew her denies.
SARI RUBINSTEIN: I cherish The Secret History because it saves that time of my life. Iāll have it forever because of that book.
TODD OāNEAL: The Secret History isnāt so much a work of fiction. Itās a work of thinly veiled realityāa roman Ć clef. When it came out, Claude and Matt and I got endless calls. Everybody was saying, āOh, did you know Donna just wrote a book about Claude and you all? And Claude is Julian and Matt is Bunny and youāre Henry.ā
I rest my case on whether it's fiction or not.
MATT JACOBSEN: I called my mother and said, āIāve been caricatured in a book, and my character gets killed.ā And she said, āNo, no. No one would ever kill you, not even in print, no.ā Then she read the book and said, āThatās you all right.ā I wore wire-rimmed glasses like Bunny. I had dyslexiaāthatās what they called it in the 70s, anywayālike Bunny. And, like Bunny, I was an extremely affected young man. Iād make broad, questionable statements. One day in the dining hall I was gawking at some girl and said, āReminds me of the way Dianaās painted on the ceiling of my fatherās club,ā and that line found its way into Donnaās book. And Iād invite people to lunch and then realize I didnāt have any money, something dear old Bunny does. I was kind of a horrible bounder, though in my case it was never intentional. A funny thing. Bunny was actually what everyone called Margaret, Paulās first girlfriendāthe girlfriend before Donna, a cranberry heiress. Some folks thought it odd that my characterās name shouldāve been taken from Paulās old flame. But I always thought the name came from the critic Edmund Wilson. Bunny was his nickname, too.
There's no way to even question it. Which, yeah. Not the main point of this post but still.
MATT JACOBSEN: I was living in California in 1985. And lo and behold, Donna calls me in my little slum apartment. I immediately ask, āHow did you get my number?ā She says, āYour mother gave it to me.ā And then she starts asking me questions. I realized later it was her wanting to know, How would Bunny answer this? I just said, āDonna, Iāve got to go,ā and hung up.
. . .
TODD OāNEAL: Henryās apartment was like my apartment. His eye problems, the chip in his tooth. I smoked Lucky Strikes. I wore suspenders and glasses. Iād gone to a Benedictine monastery for high school, where I learned Latin, and I taught myself Greek, French, Italian, Spanish, Sanskrit. I was very deep into the study of Plato and Plotinus, as Henry is described as being. I did go on a trip with Matt, and I did end up having to pay for it because his father didnāt give him much money and he was a bit of a sponge, though he and I always had fun together. And what Henry said about JulianāāI loved him more than anyone in the worldāāwas true of how I felt about Claude. He was the single greatest influence on my life.
I seriously need to shut up and get to the Charles and Camilla point, but I'm getting there, promise.
TODD OāNEAL: No, the Montblancs were true. But it was a piece of accidentalia that Donna seized on and used in a pointed way. The only time I heard Claudeās voice in the entire novel was when Julian said, āI hope youāre ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime.ā Thatās something Claude did say. But Donnaās Julian is Claude through a glass darkly. Claude considered it a betrayalānot a personal betrayal so much as a betrayal of his teachings. He wouldnāt talk to Donna for years.
As I mentioned, Claude not talking to Donna for years.
DONNA TARTT, INTERVIEWED IN THE BENNINGTON VOICE, OCTOBER 28, 1992: Richard is actually a very skewed character.ā.ā.ā.āHis sexuality is kind of weird. Heās so paranoid about where he comes from, and thatās a large part of the paranoia of the book, his fear of being found out.
That reminds me of Bret never coming out and also Bret and his father.
TODD OāNEAL: The incestuous twins, though, I donāt know where Donna got them.
DONNA TARTT, LETTER TO JONATHAN LETHEM, DATED FEBRUARY 25, 1983: Paul & I were almost kicked out of our lodgings last Tuesday. The charges? Incest. Thatās really rather impressive, isnāt it? Fortunately we are not brother and sister, or else we would have been quite guilty. Our landlords are minor and despicable Nazis, and even though we were as pure of incest as babes in arms, by proving ourselves innocent of that we proved ourselves guilty (in their eyes) of Immoral Conduct⦠[Paul] hit upon the very excellent plan of offering⦠extra money for rent. Worked like a charm.
I wish I was kidding about this. This is where the Charles and Camilla incest came from. Also, Donna comparing some very random stuff "Nazism" is really not it. It's nothing compared to Nazism, she's just an over the top drama queen.
MATT JACOBSEN: Ten years after Bennington, not long after The Secret History came out, I met Paul at his office in New York. He said that Donna had lived with him while he was at Harvard Law and she was writing, and then dumped him like a hot potato when the book was accepted. He was very wounded talking about her. I long felt that Donna was the Yoko Ono of the Greek class. If she couldnāt be part of our tight group, she would destroy it. And thatās what happened. Our friendships fell apart.
Essay. Sleepytown: A Southern Gothic Childhood, with Codeine by Donna Tartt
I believe the essay speaks for itself on who Donna was as a child, how she remembers it, how she was raised and it's also easy to draw similarities between her family and Harriet's in The Little Friend as mentioned in Katharine Viner's Interview.
Article 1. Salon's Article on The Goldfinch and it's disgraceful racial politics
In the Pulitzer-winning novel, people of color read like wishful caricatures. Why isn't anyone talking about it?
Joy Castro put it in better words than I ever could, considering how I'm unable to talk about this without getting riled up.
Article 2. The secret herstory: what happened to Donna Tarttās women?
Goes through most of the female characters in Tartt's novels
Post 1. Pauline's (antigonick) on Donna's racism from an ask
I agree entirely with what has been said on this answer. Although, I am not white nor european, I do must add that I have always seen the possibility of (and that's just me speculating and analyzing) Richard being a POC, who was initially going to be framed by the Classics Clique. That's how it sounds like to me in the book. I just wanted to make that small addendum.
Post 2. Pauline (antigonick) on Judy Poovey and how she was underused
I again, agree entirely. Highly suggest a read.
Post 3. Will's (swordatsunset) essay on Dark Academia
This sums up the final point I wanted to make. It's not enough that we gloss over Donna's bigotry like it's nothing, the Dark Academia community is also extremely bigoted and white. I mentioned this before on my Brazilian Literature Masterpost, which I make to motivate people to diversify their readings and so people would stop using the useless, bullshit excuse of not knowing what to read or that there isn't any books from outside the US/Europe they ever heard of. And yet, the reluctance people had to see it, how took ages for it to gain the slightest of attention (I'm extremely grateful for all the help from my friends for the constant support with it). It's because the community doesn't give a fuck. Me and so many other POC blogs are trying so fucking hard to speak up and let our cultures bleed into the Dark Academia aesthetic, and yet some people are so reluctant to accept it outside of our little circle.
4. Final Words & Tags:
So, I'm not sorry for exposing the obvious about little miss perfect, "goddess of Dark Academia", the DA prissy princess or whatever the fuck you'd rather call Donna Tartt. The time for someone to fully write on it, providing quotes and interviews has long passed and I only did it cause I'm extremely fucking pissed about it. i'm not saying cancel Donna Tartt or anything but know who you praise. You can read her books if you want, you can stan her if you want. No one is stopping you. I'm just laying the cards on the table and interpreting them for you. Do with the information what you will. But just know... Fuck your white, north american and european centric fucking academia. I'm not going to tolerate being pushed aside and ignored, I'm tired of it. So, if you're mad at this whole post, good. I'm here to do my best to tear your stupid white washed academia, and I like to think this was a damn good first blow.
I'm sorry about my extreme cursing, though. Can't really help it.
With that said, thank you for reading and thank you for the following people for helping me in this journey:
@antigonick (thank you for letting me use your answers to those asks, i highly appreciate it)
@swordatsunset (also thank you for letting me use your essay, and thank you for making it in the first place)
@darkravenclaw (thanks for supporting me with the Brazilian Lit Masterpost and this one, I appreciate your support and you so fucking much. love you <3)
@blurryghostt @millestudies (i love you two <3 and i hope you don't mind the tag and all)
You do owe the world things, actually.Ā Itās just those things tend to be perfectly balanced.Ā
You owe people respect and dignity; they owe the same to you.Ā
You owe children kindness; as a child, you are owed a kind world.Ā
You are owed nourishment by any world that brings you into existence, you are owed a chance to thrive. In return, you owe the same to any people or creatures you agree to take guardianship over.
The issue is not that we, and others, and the world in general, owe each other.Ā We are all born being owed certain things, and by living we acquire debts; life requires this interdependence to thrive.Ā The issue is that we are often misled as to what this actually means, by those who would take advantage of us. We are lied to by authority figures who do not want to respect us, or acknowledge their responsibility to us.Ā Worse:Ā we mistakenly come to believe that taking advantage of others is the key to restoring balance.Ā We were cheated, so others must be cheated in turn.Ā
We trap ourselves in these deadly cycles. Society betrays us so we are taught to disengage, to break it further. We are taught to forget the value of repair. We are taught to forget what is owed. Fundamentally, we are taught to forget that people are owed basic decency. When we say we owe the world nothing, we forget we are affirming the opposite: the world owes us nothing in return.
But this is so incredibly untrue.Ā We owe the world things, and are owed in return, and thatās good, that is so so good.Ā I would hate to live in a world where I didnāt believe people were fundamentally owed dignity and decency and kindness.Ā The real issue is that these things often go unpaid, and unreciprocated. We think: āThe world gave me nothing, though it should have. Why should I owe anything?āĀ
And that is such a dangerous way to think.Ā That type of thought just turns you into another gear in a destructive machine. That type of thought just allows despair to self-replicate. That type of thought validates the abusers and ensures there is never a shortage of victims. Feed those kinds of thoughts, and a plug gets pulled somewhere inside you, and lets the humanity drain away. You lose everything, trying to steal from others what was stolen from you.Ā You cheat yourself and the world, with that kind of thinking.Ā
I promise you this:Ā When we try to balance the scales by refusing to pay forward what wasnāt paid to us, we just double the debt and burden the world in the process.Ā A better world requires that we first do better.
You really don't need all the fancy bullshit every tumblr influencer will ever tell you to use. Here's my countdown ofaxtually useful shit.
A pocket knife, preferably with a wood handle. Use that bitch for everything, enchant it, carve symbols in it. It will absolutely be your best friend.
A good bag or backpack with a couple of plastic or ziploc bags in it. If you ever run off into the woods to find minerals, bones, plants, etc. A set aside bag and some things to store your treasures in becomes a necessity.
Basic divinatory sets. You don't have to buy fancy shit, learn to divine with playing cards and dice, or learn geomancy, lithomancy, or rune casting with homemade sets. A tarot deck is nice, but it isn't necessary when you've got so many other divinatory aids available.
A nice sized chunk of scrap cloth. When you process dried plants or sort new ones, that shit can and will get everywhere. A scrap piece of muslin or linen can help contain all of that mess and make clean up way easier.
A stash of good rocks. Draw sigils or symbols on those babies and leave them in the garden, the windowsill,property boundaries, under the stoop, etc. You can never have too many good rocks.
A pendulum, for fucks sake. The cards are going to be vague as hell when you're trying to figure out yes or no questions, and using a candle to communicate with spirits is really fucking hard outside. If you can't afford one, find a nice chunk of pointy quartz and learn to macrame.
A workspace. Everyone talks about having big fancy altars, but no one mentions that you need a good surface to do all your work on.
Storage, so much storage. I'm not talking about mason jars and pill bottles, I'm talking about where you put all the things you put in those jars. Having a workspace with drawers is immeasurably helpful.
A broom and water source. You're going to be cleaning up after yourself a lot, it's helpful to have a jug of water and a broom that stays by your workspace.
A mode of cleansing. I make a salt concoction to scatter around my workspace on short notice and store it close by.
On that note: SOMETHING TO CANCEL SPELLS WITH. Eventually, something will go wrong. You'll want to end that spell immediately. Have something to do it with.
A strainer. If you don't have a blender, rub dried plants across it to get a powder. If you do have a blender, you can strain that powder with it. Either way, if you intend to powder shit, get a strainer.
Small trays. It makes drying flowers so much easier if you have a small metal surface to contain them with- then just stick those suckers in a southern window and let em go.
Yarn/string scraps. Having a box or drawer of scraps makes trying this up to dry easier and a bit less wasteful.
A stash of offerings for whatever you work with. Honey for fae, coins for graveyard gatekeepers, alcohol for ancestors, etc.
Protective talismans or charms. Once you're into all of this stuff, you'll likely stick your nose in something you shouldn't. Having basic protection with you or in your workspace is incredibly important. A key and hagstone with red string is simple and effective.
A lighter- so many people forget the most basic shit. You're going to want to light shit on fire if you're a witch.
And a last tip- if something is too hard for a mortar and pestle, a plastic bag and hammer works too.
Learning about Satanism has kind of become a hyperfocus so I decided to compile a list of websites that have a decent amount of information on them. A lot of these are old websites but the information is still useful. If you have a website to suggest feel free to DM me and I'll add it!
In Satan's Honour - This website is pretty regularly updated and even has a patreon! There are a lot of thought provoking articles and great resources on there.
Theistic Satanism - This website is from like, 2006. But it does have a lot of information on it. Unfortunately, their "other websites" section does include some dead links and also linked to JOS, but does explain that they're nazis and offered alternatives at the time.
Spiritual Satanist - The website and blog is a great resource and the author is vocally anti nazi. She made a blog post about how nazis don't belong in the community a few years back.
Spiritual Satanist Blog - The blog for the above site! Lots of interesting and useful stuff here too.
Your Friendly Neighbourhood Devil Worshipper - Maintained by the same person who maintains the BGC website. LOTS of great advice, sermons and even has a section for new theistic satanists.
Black Goat Cabal - Now shut down but the websites maintained. Lots of essays, rituals and advice.
In Praise Of Satan - A website about someone's personal journey with Satan. There is an FAQ section along with some other useful information.
Hey remember when US and Russia was all like āWeāre the best!!! Weāve won the space race!!!!ā But India sent a kick-ass space probe to Mars and the whole mission was fuel efficient, costed less and a roaring success in the first try and then they were like āā¦..wait no that canāt be trueā and still have the audacity to call us āunderdevelopedā or only view us as a āthird world countryā? :)
For anyone who needs more info, the probe was called Mangalyaan (which literally means space probe vehicle) or Mars Orbiter Mission (MOM) and you can also get more information here and here
thanksgiving is a holiday based on a falsified narrative full of white guilt and the erasure of history so what are some good native organizations to donate to this coming thursday
please also consider looking into funding native/tribal food sovereignty projects if you have food to donate or money to spare. friends, please add more if you know of them and have links to provide:
native american food sovereignty alliance
meskwaki food sovereignty initiative
friends of pine ridge reservation
first nations development institute
you can also buy food/gifts from indigenous sellers or donate to gofundme fundraisers made by indigenous people who need help getting groceries, paying medical bills, or paying rent. do something to help us and our communities.
try water projects too, like the navajo water project: https://www.navajowaterproject.org/
Help DigDeep bring clean, running water to hundreds of American families. Nearly 40% of Navajo don't have a tap or toilet at home. We can fi
a lot of reservations are fucked over on water by illegal oil drilling, pipelines, or other breaches, like in the navajo rezās case: contaminated by illegal uranium mining.
I would like to put my endorsement to the Sovereign Bodies Institute, home of the database of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. The database is trans-inclusive, the data protocols follow the desires of the families of MMIW, and this holiday season, they are collecting donations to buy gifts for the families, especially the children, of missing and murdered women.Ā
Iād like to add Feeding Nunavut, the cost of living in the isolated north for Inuit is up to and sometimes over 5x the prices the rest of Canada is used to.