This week’s post is a little short because I broke my darn wrist and the combo of typing with one hand and potentially nodding out from Percoset is making blog writing a highly undesirable activity. But I just had to weigh in on the Samantha Brick story from a bit of a different perspective.
The last three chapters–“Sex,” “Hunger” and “Violence”–of Naomi Wolf’s seminal text were at least twice as compelling as the first half of the book (bogged down as it was by sloppy “Culture” and irrelevant, albeit interesting, “Religion”), primarily because Wolf finally interrupted her endless litanies of ad copy and study results to share her own, […]
When Naomi Wolf started writing nonsensical, victim-blaming screeds about rape accusers, I thought, “Too bad I never got around to reading The Beauty Myth, because there’s no way I’m subjecting myself to more of her foolish blubbering.” I’m glad that I abandoned my initial boycott of Wolf, because I’ve found the first half of The […]
Sometimes in life, a book or song or film of such epically bad proportions falls into your lap that you find yourself practically obsessed with the magnitude of its “failure to launch,” trying to comprehend the unlikely combination of lazy editing, awful directing, and personally skewed authorial worldview that allowed the mess to ever coagulate […]