Here in the Independent Study Class of Fabulousness, I’m reading Romantics. Poets, novelists, essayists. And I just finished my assignment from Mary Wollstonecraft, “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman” which was written in six weeks. (*WHAT?!*) It’s interesting in the way any Romantic era writing is interesting (read: why say it in thirty words when you can say it in two hundred?) but also awesome in the way that Mary Wollstonecraft (I do enjoy typing [1] her name) cries out for Education. Because GIRLS ARE PEOPLE TOO. And women, no matter how fetching and charming and lovely they are at 20, will need something to fill their heads for the next several decades after they use their charms to catch their man.
Educate us. All of us.
I knew Mary Wollstonecraft was Mary Shelley’s mom, and I sort of imagined Little Mary sitting at Big Mary’s knee, spinning stories and sighing over yearning, handsome poets. But in fact, Mary the Mother died from blood poisoning contracted at the time of Mary the Daughter’s birth. They didn’t even know each other. Tragic, but so awesome that Daughter could read the words of Mother and say, “Hey, look. My mother thought I was worth the time and effort to educate. She trusted that I had thoughts. And ideas. And something more to offer the world than a corseted waist and the ability to simper.” [2]
Ladies. We are more than pretty. We have more to offer than reproductive capacity [3]. We are more than playthings. We are HUMANS. and that’s pretty awesome, don’t you know.
I don’t pretend to know anything much, but I know how I feel about being a woman, and I know that I expect the world to continue to open its doors to girls and women everywhere. Because we as a people know better than to live with doors closed. Because we, all of us, deserve the better.
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[1] I twittered about this reading last night. And I had to use two tweets to say what I wanted to say, because you know. Mary Wollstonecraft. And “A Vindication of the Rights of Women.” Leaving me very few characters to make my point. (I’m sure there was a point then, too…)
[2] This is not actually a quote from Mary Shelley. If you want to read actual words from Mary Shelley, read “FRANKENSTEIN.” Because it’s gorgeous and tragic and symbolic and lovely.
[3] Not that the reproductive capacity is anything to diss. I often claim that my children are my best thing. And I believe it. But they’re not my ONLY thing, you see.
(4) Comments for this blog
I comment ’cause it’s a delight to think, seated befront the computer, I wonder what’s on Becca’s mind? And then I find gems. And I notice you have fewer responses than you used to. Probably a combination of your teaching preoccupations for the first half of the year and summer distractions for the rest of us. SURELY nothing to do with any of us loving you ANY less.
I can’t imagine wanting to live with doors closed. Considering that women’s brains might be less than men’s seems like pondering how delectable chewing sandstone might be compared to granite. Really dumb idea. Especially in a world filled with fresh chard, new potatoes and caramel popcorn.
I comment ’cause it’s a delight to think, seated befront the computer, I wonder what’s on Becca’s mind? And then I find gems. And I notice you have fewer responses than you used to. Probably a combination of your teaching preoccupations for the first half of the year and summer distractions for the rest of us. SURELY nothing to do with any of us loving you ANY less.
I can’t imagine wanting to live with doors closed. Considering that women’s brains might be less than men’s seems like pondering how delectable chewing sandstone might be compared to granite. Really dumb idea. Especially in a world filled with fresh chard, new potatoes and caramel popcorn.
Hi, Becca. I love you, and your words, and your brain. So much. Also, I’ve only met your Dad once, and it was tragically brief, but I love him too.
Hi, Becca. I love you, and your words, and your brain. So much. Also, I’ve only met your Dad once, and it was tragically brief, but I love him too.