I am a fan of Stephen King. I know the usual criticisms of his writing and even agree with some of them, but I love his imagination, the delicious creepiness he evokes, the goose bumps his books give me. But this post isn’t a book review—or a defense of my taste in fiction. It’s about a single sentence in one of King’s most popular works: Volume V of The Dark Tower series: The Wolves of Calla. King is writing about his character Susannah Dean, how much she loves her husband, Eddie, and how she chose to take his last name. She did this, he writes, because she missed the feminist squabbles of later decades.
Feminist squabbles. The phrase stood out like a blood tumor on Pimli Prentiss’s chin (okay, you have to read the series to get that reference). I read the sentence several uncomfortable times before moving on. It was one of those occasions where something takes you right out of the story and you have to struggle to get back in.
What is a squabble? A petty quarrel. A spat. A silly fight. Now, the choice of whether to change your name when you marry is a personal one, and I’m not about to argue either side. But for us who came of age in the 60’s, it was a serious question. It was a time when a woman’s career goals were generally dismissed, when your ability to do math or handle money was routinely ridiculed, and when you couldn’t even dream of becoming a physician or attorney (let alone an astronaut or Supreme Court judge) without being laughed at. In many ways, your identity disappeared the moment you said “I do.” For example, if I’d married my undergrad boyfriend Bob in the late 60’s, I would have paid out-of-state tuition even though I’d lived in the state my entire life: Because it was his residence that counted.
In those days, we were desperate to be taken seriously, to be seen as individuals, to be given some credit for god’s sake, and for some of us, keeping our own names was a way to do that. Things are different now, which is one reason the issue isn’t a big deal to younger women. But for us, the decision was important. Even crucial.
Please note: I’m not accusing Stephen King of misogyny here. I’ve read enough of his work to know better. I’m just saying he doesn’t get the name thing, and hearing it called a “squabble” made me cringe.
What that sentence brought to mind is how easy it is to trivialize something in a simple phrase—and how hurtful it can be. Unfortunately, we do it all the time. Take my friend Sheryl, who was worried about upcoming surgery on her hand, anxious about anesthesia, post-surgical pain, and using her hand while it healed. Her husband thought she was worried about nothing. “Your little operation will come and go in no time,” he said. Yes, little operation.
So it wasn’t brain surgery. My friend knew that. But her worry was real. Maybe the operation was little, but her feelings weren’t.
I had a similar thing happen when an acquaintance offered a criticism that I found rather sharp. When I told her I’d been hurt by her comments, she shrugged my complaint off: “I was busy,” she said. “I didn’t have time for pretty words.”
So, apparently, that’s what I wanted: prettiness. A little bouquet of phrases. A lacy hankie of a criticism. In one two-word phrase, pretty words, my acquaintance managed to literally add insult to injury. What I didn’t say back was, Did you have time for kindness? Because that’s really what I wanted. Not pretty words, but compassion.
Politics, of course, is full of trivializing language. The “Great Communicator” himself, Ronald Reagan, incited fury when, in the face of large-scale unemployment, he complained, “Is it news that some fellow in South Succotash has been laid off?” It was the South Succotash that did it: For the unemployed of small-town America, this was a major slap in the face.
Feminist squabbles, little operations, pretty words, South Succotash. Little phrases that pack a big punch by making something seem small. We all need to watch this, to be careful. To realize how painful it can be to have your sincere and deeply-felt concerns treated as silliness. Because the thing we are treating as little might be big to someone else. What you are calling a squabble might have actually been an act of defiance, an act of courage.
Feminist squabbles. The phrase stood out like a blood tumor on Pimli Prentiss’s chin (okay, you have to read the series to get that reference). I read the sentence several uncomfortable times before moving on. It was one of those occasions where something takes you right out of the story and you have to struggle to get back in.
What is a squabble? A petty quarrel. A spat. A silly fight. Now, the choice of whether to change your name when you marry is a personal one, and I’m not about to argue either side. But for us who came of age in the 60’s, it was a serious question. It was a time when a woman’s career goals were generally dismissed, when your ability to do math or handle money was routinely ridiculed, and when you couldn’t even dream of becoming a physician or attorney (let alone an astronaut or Supreme Court judge) without being laughed at. In many ways, your identity disappeared the moment you said “I do.” For example, if I’d married my undergrad boyfriend Bob in the late 60’s, I would have paid out-of-state tuition even though I’d lived in the state my entire life: Because it was his residence that counted.
In those days, we were desperate to be taken seriously, to be seen as individuals, to be given some credit for god’s sake, and for some of us, keeping our own names was a way to do that. Things are different now, which is one reason the issue isn’t a big deal to younger women. But for us, the decision was important. Even crucial.
Please note: I’m not accusing Stephen King of misogyny here. I’ve read enough of his work to know better. I’m just saying he doesn’t get the name thing, and hearing it called a “squabble” made me cringe.
What that sentence brought to mind is how easy it is to trivialize something in a simple phrase—and how hurtful it can be. Unfortunately, we do it all the time. Take my friend Sheryl, who was worried about upcoming surgery on her hand, anxious about anesthesia, post-surgical pain, and using her hand while it healed. Her husband thought she was worried about nothing. “Your little operation will come and go in no time,” he said. Yes, little operation.
So it wasn’t brain surgery. My friend knew that. But her worry was real. Maybe the operation was little, but her feelings weren’t.
I had a similar thing happen when an acquaintance offered a criticism that I found rather sharp. When I told her I’d been hurt by her comments, she shrugged my complaint off: “I was busy,” she said. “I didn’t have time for pretty words.”
So, apparently, that’s what I wanted: prettiness. A little bouquet of phrases. A lacy hankie of a criticism. In one two-word phrase, pretty words, my acquaintance managed to literally add insult to injury. What I didn’t say back was, Did you have time for kindness? Because that’s really what I wanted. Not pretty words, but compassion.
Politics, of course, is full of trivializing language. The “Great Communicator” himself, Ronald Reagan, incited fury when, in the face of large-scale unemployment, he complained, “Is it news that some fellow in South Succotash has been laid off?” It was the South Succotash that did it: For the unemployed of small-town America, this was a major slap in the face.
Feminist squabbles, little operations, pretty words, South Succotash. Little phrases that pack a big punch by making something seem small. We all need to watch this, to be careful. To realize how painful it can be to have your sincere and deeply-felt concerns treated as silliness. Because the thing we are treating as little might be big to someone else. What you are calling a squabble might have actually been an act of defiance, an act of courage.
You make so many relevant points in this short essay, which should be sent out as a NYTimes op-ed article, maybe with anothe examples of political speech thrown in (for good measure during this election year).
Glad you found it interesting. There certainly are plenty of good examples from politics.