The Globe and Mail gave a platform to non-feminist author Margaret Atwood to spew some nonsense.
Anything she says should be ignored. Is she a feminist?
Who cares? She put her name on a letter defending a predator who narrowly predated the #MeToo hit list, and that told the world the truth about her.
Nothing she says or does now can atone for that: when push came to shove, she sided with an Establishment writer — the white man with the paper crown.
That sealed her fate.
But we can take a look at her wallowy, victim-based drivel she calls novels.
Her female characters were always flighty morons who just stumble, waddle, or were just intellectual lumps.
As a teenager, I found her work to be offensive.
But as the pickings were slim, I noticed novels never had a single feminist character in general.
Where are the teenaged girls who are out to rule the world? Where were the warriors and the mavericks? The innovators and visionaries who created their own cities, corporations, art movements, religions?
Oh yeah, they didn’t exist in publishing.
Literature likes their fairy princesses and airheads who twist logic to pretend they were strong, but were just appeasing ditzes.
Rubbish masquerading as female characters.
That Atwood was sanctioned by the misogynistic Establishment of the communications industries tells you everything you need to know about her “feminist” credentials.
As in, having none, and anyone who tries to argue the opposite wouldn’t know a feminist if they woke up in bed next to one.
Atwood is a spin doctor: she helps entrench destructive qualities preventing women from breaking barriers, reassuring them that they are perfect. All they have to do is dabble in the occult or eat something, and everything will work itself out in the end.
They should see themselves as victims. Their filters must never reveal that they can be little rabble-rousing hellions from birth, even if mommy and daddy protest.
She is a patriarchal storyteller, not a matriarchal one.
So whatever babble she spews is meaningless.
But the Globe and Mail will give Canada’s enabler a platform to placate the jittery, to tell them whatever they want to hear so they do not start thinking for themselves.
Or seeing the world as it is.
Keeping stagnate misconceptions alive killed Canadian publishing.
If the government didn’t give grants, Canada would not have a single publisher. None would survive because none sell enough books to sustain themselves.
Because it always rewarded people like Atwood.
Not the true literary fighters that Canada desperately needed, but was always too scared of embracing.