#yoww2016

[yoww2016]

Ah! why do women, I write with affectionate solicitude, condescend to receive a degree of attention and respect from strangers, different from that reciprocation of civility which the dictates of humanity and the politeness of civilization authorize between man and man?

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft (1792)

[yoww2016]

The power of generalizing ideas, of drawing comprehensive conclusions from individual observations, is the only acquirement, for an immortal being, that really deserves the name of knowledge.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft (1792)

[yoww2016]

Taught from their infancy that beauty is woman's scepter, the mind shapes itself to the body, and, roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft (1792)

[yoww2016]

Besides, the woman who strengthens her body and exercises her mind will, by managing her family and practicing various virtues, become the friend, and not the humble dependent of her husband...

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft (1792)

[yoww2016]

In the present state of society it appears necessary to go back to first principles in search of the most simple truths, and to dispute with some prevailing prejudice every inch of ground.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft (1792)

[yoww2016]

...a false system of education, gathered from the books written on this subject by men who, considering females rather as women than human creatures, have been more anxious to make them alluring mistresses than affectionate wives and rational mothers.

A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, Mary Wollstonecraft (1792)

[yoww2016]

Entry #040: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

I’ve fallen into the habit of prioritizing reading the books on my list instead of thinking about them and writing these posts, which means that I actually finished this book around a month ago, or so. Generally speaking, that’s not really a problem, but then when I go to write about it, I have forgotten so many of the transient thoughts that occur to me just when I’ve finished the book, and which are hard to capture again at a much later date. Nonetheless, this book made a great impression upon me (as I’m sure it has done for every person that opens it up) so I will hardly have a difficult time discussing how important of a work it is.

It’s unbelievable to me the I hadn’t picked it up before this, considering that I would think of it as being one of the most seminal American works of literature that I have ever read. Not only for the content, but the way it is presented. She has such a way with words as to make even prose seem like poetry, with every word essential, concise and clear. That quality is what has stood out to me as the differentiation between the good and the great authors on this list so far; there haven’t really been any “bad” books per se, but rather ones where the author’s style of writing didn’t resonate with me as much as others. 

The story is one of immense trauma, and the overcoming of that trauma, but it is not so simple as that--our protagonist cannot simply live as if her life is not marked by the horrible experiences of her childhood. But she makes them a part of herself, using them instead of letting them use her. That’s why even when the end of the book arrives and there has been no triumphant conclusion, the reader feels as though the protagonist is powerful, capable, and will live her life intentionally. In that sense, it is a much more realistically triumphant conclusion, believable even if we didn’t already know it was based on the author’s life.

[yoww2016]

The white kids were going to have a chance to become Galileos and Madame Curies and Edisons and Gauguins, and our boys (the girls weren't even in on it) would try to be Jesse Owenes and Joe Louises. Owens and the Brown Bomber were great heroes in our world, but what school official in the whitegoddom of Little Rock had the right to decide that those two men must be our only heroes? Who decided that for Henry Reed to become a scientist he had to work like George Washington Carver, as a bootblack, to buy a lousy microscope? Bailey was obviously always going to be too small to be an athlete, so which concrete angel glued to what country seat had decided that if my brother wanted to become a lawyer he had to first pay penance for his skin by picking cotton and hoeing corn and studying correspondence books at night for twenty years?

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou (1969)