Whoo-ee, but it’s been a long time! Since I posted, that is. I think the sheer excitement of receiving actual comments caused temporary finger paralysis. Three comments! Count ’em! Well, two really; I feel that I have to discount the one that congratulated me on the fabulousness of my musings and then signed off with, ‘You’re so interesting and fabulous I think you’ll really love the David Cameron-endorsed voucher codes available here…’ Or something equally random.
Anyway, I’m finally posting because I’m so excited I’m in danger of doing a Pretty Woman at the Opera and peeing my pants. I finally received my copy of Cordelia Fine’s Delusions of Gender which is, essentially, a punch in the face of gender essentialists everywhere (oh, you know who you are. And don’t stand up against a wall when we meet). I’m only on, like, page 21 and already I’m composing gushing love letters to the woman which are making me blush. What a woman! Smart and funny! And, undoubtedly with this new book, a feminist! And probably gorgeous – I’ve no idea, but I’m way too far down the track of obsessive fandom to imagine otherwise.
Being a big fan of neuroscience, I’ve already read her book, ‘A Mind of Its Own: How Your Brain Distorts and Deceives’, which, importantly, confirmed my suspicion that I’m not actually a depressive; I’m a realist who tells my brain to can it when it tries to lead me down the path to La La Land (a place where, amongst other things, rabbits are just cute, rather than over-sexed destroyers of the English countryside and the coalition government has the interests of the poor firmly at heart (not the work-shy poor, obviously; even La La Land has some standards). This book, however, is shaping up to be something else again. It’s impossible to impart exactly how wonderful this book appears to be, but let me just say this: that Cordelia Fine does good sarcasm.
‘…[a] French philosopher…declared women “incapable of penetrating to truths that are slightly difficult to discover”, claiming that, “[e]verything abstract is incomprehensible to them.” The neurological explanation for this, he proposed, lay in the “delicacy of the brain fibres”. Presumably, one abstract thought too many and – ping! – those fibres snap.’
‘…a headmaster at a well-known…private school [said] “Overall, boys choose subjects to suit their learning style, which is more logic based.” He was gracious enough to leave his audience to make the inference that girls’ preferred learning style was an illogical one, rather than making the point explicitly.’
What can I say? Sarcasm just melts me. I need to stop now because I need to read the rest. I’ll let you know how it goes. Though if she turns out to be Tony Blair’s bridge partner, or somesuch, I may not. My heart wouldn’t take it.