"...each day I sit down in purposeful concentration to write in a notebook, some sentences on a buried truth, an unnamed reality, things that happened but are denied. It is hard to describe the stillness it takes, the difficulty of this act. It requires an almost perfect concentration which I am trying to learn and there is no way to learn it that is spelled out anywhere or so I can understand it but I have a sense that it's completely simply, on the order of being able to sit still and keep your mind dead center in you without apology or fear. I squirm after some time but it ain't boredom, it's fear of what's possible, how much you can know if you can be quiet enough and simple enough. I move around, my mind wanders, I lose the ability to take words and roll them through my brain, move with them into their interiors, feel their colors, touch what's under them, where they come from long ago and way back. I get frightened seeing what's in my own mind if words get put to it. There's a light there, it's bright, it's wide, it could make you blind if you look direct into it and so I turn away, afraid; I get frightened and I run and the only way to run is to abandon the process altogether or compromise it beyond recognition. I think about Celine sitting with his shit, for instance; I don't know why he didn't run, he should've. It's a quality you have to have of being near mad and at the same time so quiet in your heart that you could pass for a spiritual warrior; you could probably break things with the power in your mind. You got to be able to stand it, because it's a powerful and disturbing light, not something easy and kind, it comes through your head to make its way onto the page and you get fucking scared so your mind runs away, it wanders, it gets distracted, it buckles, it deserts, it takes a Goddamn freight train if it can find one, it wants calming agents and sporifics, and you mask that you are betraying the brightest and the best light you will ever see, you are betraying the mind that can be host to it......Your mind does stupid tricks to mask that you are betraying something of grave importance. It wanders so you won't notice that you are deserting your own life, abandoning it to triviality and garbage, how you are too fucking afraid to use your own brain for what it's for, which is to be a host to the light, to use it, to focus it; let it shine and carry the burden of what is illuminated, everything buried there; the light's scarier than anything it shows, the pure, direct experience of it in you as if your mind ain't the vegetable thing it's generally conceived to be or the nightmare thing you know it to be but a capacity you barely imagined, real; overwhelming and real, pushing you out to the edge of ecstasy and knowing and then do you fall or do you jump or do you fly?"Shattering.
Wow. This book is 344 pages of sheer pain and rage. I can't say that I enjoyed it, but I am glad I read it. It made me think about a lot of things that I would rather not, but that I needed to.I have a problem with porn in general because I think it objectifies women and gives men an unrealistic idea of what women should look like and act like. I think women participate in it not because they like sex or think it's fun or whatever, but because they need the approving male gaze to believe that they are attractive or worth something, or worse. However, even I can see that there is a big difference between cheeseball crap like Playboy and the hardcore S&M porn that Andrea, the narrator, rails against. It's not ALL like that: women being hung, whipped, etc. And obviously that kind is worse. And there is obviously a difference between women who choose to take part in it (for bad reasons, but still they do choose) and women who are forced. You have to make a distinction somewhere if you're going to be reasonable.Here is a sample passage: "I have two questions all the time, why she ain't dead is one and why would anyone, even a man, think it's true--her all strung out, all painted, all glossy, proclaiming being peed on is what she wants; I do not get how the lie flies; or ain't they ever made love, or ever seen no one real; and maybe she's dead by now; they must think it's like you are born a porn thing; in the hospital they take the baby and they say take it to the warehouse, it's a porn thing. They must think it's a special species..or they think every girl is one, underneath... And they get hard from it, the porn thing, flat and glossy, dead and slick, and after they find something resembling the specimen from under the glass and they stick it in."One thing that bothered me throughout the book was that Andrea continually allows herself to be in situations where she is likely to be victimized, then behaves as if it came out of the blue. OBVIOUSLY it is never the victim's fault, but as an adult you can make choices that will decrease the likelihood of abuse. I would not recommend this book to any woman who is already on the border of hysterical hatred of porn or men. It will upset you too much. Anyone and everyone else would benefit from reading it.
What do You think about Mercy: A Novel (1993)?
I did not enjoy reading this book, to be honest. However I am thankful that I read it. It definitely “expanded my horizons” and not in a clichéd way. The style is unlike most novels I’ve read and it was tiring for its format not just its content. I almost gave up on this book several times because it was so disturbingly graphic and overall a real downer (I felt physically ill at several points in this book), but in the end I completely believe it was worthwhile to read. I am not a victim of sexual violence but it seems like survivors may have a hard time with some of the triggers in this book. I think it is a fascinating example of one radical feminist’s writing and I appreciated it as both a historic document of sorts and as a well-written novel in its own right. Andrea Dworkin was (and continues to be after her death) an important and controversial figure in radical feminism. I am very intrigued with her opinions on pornography and women (as a feminist issue, I see valid points on both sides of the porn argument and am rather undecided about where I stand). Perhaps someday I will feel up to delving into Pornography: Men Possessing Women but it will probably be at some point in the future when I’m craving a good mental workout.
—Dimity
I actually think Andrea Dworkin was one of the most badass persons in history. I often disagree with her & her opinions, but she was an excellent writer and had ovaries of steel. I mean, how in the world is this worse than Paradoxia: A Predator's Diary? In fact, it's better. But Lydia Lunch is a countercultural icon and Dworkin is boring and sanctimonious and FAT (the worst sin) and blah-blah-blah ask anyone. Well, like, shut up.Oh, and the way she writes about sex would do honor to any of her "sex-positive" rivals.
—Rosa Vertov
