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oursinI was actually rather irked by this piece on British lesbian fascists, because a) I think there's a huge lacuna there, which is not talking about the (probably relevant) class origins or aspiration of the women along that trajectory b) 'many suffragettes became fascists'? (plz to be giving cites) c) I can think of several well-known lesbians sympathetic to fascism who were certainly not sympathetic to feminism (don't think Radclyffe and Una were particularly of the sisterhood, and nor was 'Victor Barker'). It's All, may I suggest, More Complicated. (And wot abaht the communist lesbians driving ambulances in Spain, eh, wot?)
I suspect in any movement there are going to be those who like to lay down laws and police other people and go and see what they are doing and tell them to stop, and this is probably particularly acute if they were born and brought up among those who felt it was their right to rule.
Just as there are people who think that the world is made to accommodate their pleasures, and it is only sad miserable prudes who could possibly object. I see that an English translation of Vanessa Springora's Le Consentement, a memoir of having been sexually abused by French literary figure Gabriel Matzneff between the ages of 14 and 16, when he was more than three times her age, has just been published. The mindset excusing him for far too long is reflected in the revelations coming out as France confronts decades of neglect of incest cases.
I feel this somehow fits in as well, as about who is allowed to be fun and playful: The Problem With the Postcolonial Syllabus: Against a peculiarly Western allergy to the pleasure of the text:
[O]nly the delight of being a morally conscious reader is considered nutritious. Kiran Manral, an Indian writer of several novels in a genre that the snootiness of academia and publishing calls “commercial fiction,” once asked this question in a Facebook post: “Why am I unable to enjoy or finish any of these books that are on long lists and short lists of literary prizes?” Manral is an honest reader. Her expectation from literature as an adult is consistent with the one she had as a child: It is to experience the independence of her emotions, including the ability to feel pleasure without being judged or grudged.
The same question should be asked of the postcolonial syllabus. While the moralizing mission might appear admirable, these courses ignore all literature that does not fit its agenda. What else explains the utter absence of comic novels in the postcolonial course? How else to explain why Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay’s novels, particularly Aranyak, are not taught? Or why Amit Chaudhuri’s novels, with their life-loving energy, do not find a place here? Or why stories and novellas about provincial life, such as we find in the magical writing of R.K. Narayan, have not yet been included? Literature about the moment, about the everyday, is rejected: Comedy, laughter, pleasure — the postcolonial subject must not be seen partaking of these contraband things.
