Sent

An artist retrospective: Montreal-born Jill Ciment’s memoir asks ‘Me Too?’ after the fact.

This is a better and more perceptive review than I was expecting it to be. I have not read (and probably will not read) Ciment’s book, but I like how Maltz Bovy does not go for the easy bien-pensant head-nodding along with current harmful strictures of how relationships “should” work.

It gets trickier once you factor in the newer, more questionable quasi-taboos. #MeToo has long since stopped being the of-the-moment fixation, but it has left its mark. Relationships between what would have once been deemed consenting adults now get picked apart for imperceptible or theoretical power imbalances. Itโ€™s squicky to meet someone at school or at work, even absent any supervisory capacities, because (supposedly) women find it threatening to be hit on, even by men who take no for an answer.

Facilitated by the existence of dating appsโ€”that is, by the possibility of meeting someone only after vetting their willingnessโ€”we now have a generation increasingly convinced itโ€™s weird and problematic to flirt with someone your own age, with whom there is no power imbalance, in a public space. A woman should be allowed to go to the supermarket without some man talking to her! (Never mind that most women will at some points in their lives want this sort of thing, or initiate it, even.) Age-gap discourse is not, in its current incarnation, particularly concerned with what would legally constitute statutory rape. Rather, itโ€™s all about whether itโ€™s a violation (of what? of whom?) for a 30-year-old to date a 50-year-old. #MeTooโ€™s legacy is, in part, this proliferation of relationship categories that are a bit hmm, one that will soon enough encompass all potential love affairs.

What a great couple of paragraphs. In not that many words, she really shows how absolutely absurd the accepted discourse and conclusions are now. #MeToo, though it began for noble ends, caused and continues to cause quite a lot of harm to women. Like incels, many women have torpedoed their chances of happiness and then blamed others for their self-gestated problems.

I don’t want to detract from the work with my ranting. I’ll have more to say in other posts. But it is a good one; read it.

Toes

โ€˜The Life Impossibleโ€™ by Matt Haig book review.

I love negative reviews! They are so rare these days. Ron Charles totally torches this rotten-sounding work. And I loved this line.

Sheโ€™s apparently unharmed, but she starts experiencing everything around her with the super-heightened sensory perception of your extremely high college roommate who wants to tell you how miraculous his toes are.

Heh. That is a a very valuable service, preventing me from wasting my time reading something so putrescent.

Bit

I was reading that book below to start to find the answer to a specific question. It wasn’t in there as I think the work was too basic for what I want to know1 — but I did (obviously) think the quote was interesting. (And no, the answer is not on the internet.)

But I think I might be able to amble toward an answer in the next book up: Einstein’s Entanglement: Bell Inequalities, Relativity, and the Qubit, combined with some other works. Basically, I want to know that since the Bell inequalities are violated by quantum entanglement, could earlier-than-expected decohorence imply that there might be a lot of primordial black holes out there of microscopic size that we can’t “see” in the CMB data?

(Be vewwy vewwy quiet. I’m hunting dark matter.)

  1. Though I needed to brush up anyway.

Escapade

I quickly read L.D. Smithson’s The Escape Room. It’s not worth the minimal time. It’s as light as a feather and has no content to match its convictions. It never commits to anything. It’s ostensibly about a group of eight people forced to compete to the death in reality TV show while giving us a look at the relationship of an older, kind of overbearing sister to her younger, more easygoing sibling. However, the work never explores any of this satisfactorily and it neither examines the problems with the pigeonholing of the younger sister as “scatty” nor the horror of being essentially forced into almost-gladiatorial combat with seven other people.

It’s not clever, it’s not interesting and it doesn’t know what it wants to be. Is it horror? Is it family drama? Is it just plain drama? It’s never observant enough of human behavior or extreme enough to warrant any reaction. Both the book and all the characters in it are so milquetoast that you want to call the novel and all the people in it “Obama.” The book feels like it was written by a committee who had seen Fincher’s Se7en with all the good parts edited out combined with a binge of Golden Girls and Sex in the City.

The prose — well, let’s not talk about that.

I rarely encounter a bad book that I read all the way through, but this one I did. I wanted to see what happened when the two sisters finally had their big confrontation that the book should’ve been building to. And you know what happened? Not a damn thing. I guess I fooled myself because even that encounter was an anticlimactic waste of time.

Do not recommend.