In certain Victorian novels, female authors paint a bleak picture of limited options available to women lacking means or family status; of a lonely and loveless existence, yet one lacking privacy and subject to uninvited comment; of a life peopled by men who, as love interests or otherwise, are often cruel and domineering.
This species of novel came to mind as I read samples of Tamil poetry written by women in R. Parasarathy’s 2007 essay “Indian Poetry Today” (Poetry, September 2007).
In a scandal-causing poem, Kutty Revathi writes of breasts: “They swell, as if straining / to break free… like two teardrops that survived / an unhappy love.”
The poet Salma was confined in her home from the age of thirteen until her marriage nine years later, at which time she began to write.
This bed
is my husband’s weapon:
by reminding me of only pregnancies,
it strikes terror in my heart.
(From No Traces Remain)
I need more exposure to these poets’ work to form an appreciation of it. I had it present, however, in reading about a French essay in The Guardian. The story is a fruit tree sagging with Gallic plums.
Pauline Harmange, 25-year-old activist from Lille, pens an essay titled “I Hate Men.”
Small publisher Monstrograph prints a limited run. Ralph, special adviser to the ministry of gender equality, rises to the bait: the vile “ode to misandry” is criminally prosecutable, an incitement to hatred on the grounds of gender.
Mais non! Mlle Harmange says the pamphlet is really an invitation to rediscover the strength of female relationships; an exploration of anger towards men as an emancipatory path, a way of making room for sisterhood.
“A state official who has a power crisis facing an 80-page book released in 400 copies, I find that very problematic,” she said.
The little book’s editor asserts:
“The title is provocative but the purpose measured. It is an invitation not to force oneself to associate with men or to deal with them.“
So much inviting, so little hating! The book’s sales have soared on the controversy. A larger publisher is set to take the title on. Mlle Harmange counts it a “gigantic snub” to the man who wanted to ban her words.
I wish her well. The “I Hate Men” project appears to be enjoying a boost from Ralph’s pique. In her shoes I would include the man in the book’s credits.
(Alison Flood, “French book I Hate Men sees sales boom after government adviser calls for ban,” theguardian.com, 9-8-20)
(c) 2020 JMN
EthicalDative 
‘I Hate Men’ Two
There’s more to Pauline Harmange, French author of I Hate Men, than met the eye of Ralph Zurmély, the gender equality ministry adviser who sought to prosecute her for incitement of gender-based violence. His ministry said “it appeared [he] had read only the title and the publishers’ description of I Hate Men, [and] had acted on his own initiative.
There’s at least one man whom the author counts as an “exception”: her husband Mathieu, 29.
In the thanks at the end of the book, she writes that he was “the first of us to believe in me”. She said: “He’s as astonished as I am about the reaction to the book, but he supports me and my writing. He just worries about me getting harassed online.”
I regret citing her as “Mlle” Harmange in my “Pen Pricks” post of 9-9-20. Where I live, people might think me a “sensitive” man, persnickety over a tick, and therefore nasty liberal. As a student and observer of writing style, however, I stick to my guns even in Texas.
A stark last name sounds brusque. To impress the francophile in me I titled Ms. Harmange “mademoiselle” without a thought. Was it complacent maleness assuming that a 25-year-old woman exploring the redemptive power of man-hating would not be married? Hard to be sure.
What is sure is that, like Ralph Zurmély, I haven’t read Pauline Harmange’s book — only two Guardian articles about it. But it seems that she expresses her emergent rationale for misandry with admirable sang-froid — I read that as composure and equanimity — as well as Gallic eloquence. Maybe a copy of “I Hate Men” can be spirited over my country’s man wall for me to read with a flashlight under the counterpane.
(Kim Willsher, ‘We should have the right not to like men’: the French writer at centre of literary storm,” 9-9-20)
(c) 2020 JMN