SurferOfDreams

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16,560 notes

the Bechdel test, the Ellen Willis test, ALL THE TESTS: or, a handy guide to feminist critiques of narrative

jennirl:

(reference for when i am trying to explain these to people and they are looking at me like “huh”):

  • the Bechdel test: does the story have a) more than one women, b) who talk to each other, c) about something other than a man.
  • the Ellen Willis test: if you flip the genders, does the story still make sense?
  • the Sexy Lamp test (courtesy of Kelly Sue DeConnick): can you replace your female character with a sexy lamp and still have the story work? if yes, YOU ARE A HACK.
  • the Mako Mori test: there is a) at least one female character, b) who gets her own narrative arc, c) that is not about supporting a man’s story.
  • the Tauriel test (which i made up in response to The Hobbit 2 [which passes] and Skyfall [which fails]): a) there is a woman, b) WHO IS GOOD AT HER JOB.

and in justification of my recent TV obsessions, i would like to note that Scandal, The Vampire Diaries, Buffy, and Nikita (ALL HAIL MAGGIE Q) pass all of these tests with flying colors.

UPDATE: i just discovered the Finkbeiner test and it is FANTASTIC.

(via harperhug)

Filed under reblog femenism

261 notes

fuckyeahfanficflamingo:

[GREAT PREMISE, GREAT GRAMMAR, ENGAGING PLOT (Fanfic Flamingo) NO INDICATORS TO SHOW SCENE CHANGES NO BREAKS BETWEEN PARAGRAPHS]
note: because taking the time to use the enter button (especially between dialogue of two or more characters) and using pretty asterisk borders SURPRISINGLY keeps people from hitting the back button on a fic; regardless of the flawless plot and grammar free story.

Formatting: #1 reason I will refuse to read something.

fuckyeahfanficflamingo:

[GREAT PREMISE, GREAT GRAMMAR, ENGAGING PLOT (Fanfic Flamingo) NO INDICATORS TO SHOW SCENE CHANGES NO BREAKS BETWEEN PARAGRAPHS]

note: because taking the time to use the enter button (especially between dialogue of two or more characters) and using pretty asterisk borders SURPRISINGLY keeps people from hitting the back button on a fic; regardless of the flawless plot and grammar free story.

Formatting: #1 reason I will refuse to read something.

Filed under reblog fyff

200 notes

copperbadge:

The Harry Potter tag right now is amazing. I have officially unblacklisted it.

I don’t think anyone who didn’t live through those ship wars from book four onwards can possibly understand how hilarious this is. I am dying. I cannot stop reading. Cannot stop.

Filed under reblog harry potter shipping wars

317,674 notes

lady-yuna:

2srooky:

mockingatlas:

prismatic-bell:

Can we just stop and talk about this for a minute?

Thresh doesn’t make an alliance. Thresh doesn’t waste time liking her. Thresh knows that either he must kill her or she must kill him for one of them to win.

But this is the only way he can repay her for protecting Rue when he couldn’t. It’s the only way he can repay her for honoring Rue when he couldn’t. He honors her by sparing her friend, the girl who would have died for her.

The revolution really doesn’t start with Katniss.

It starts with Rue.

SOMEBODY FINALLY SAID IT

This is exactly the point I’ve been trying to make for years. Okay, so the revolution gets it’s kindling with Katniss. She volunteers, well that’s new, she rebels in the display of talents by shooting the apple. This triggers her perfect score, okay. These aren’t really “Revolutionary” though. 

It’s not even revolutionary when Peeta professes his love, because, let’s face it, the rules of the game haven’t changed. They’re still just two kids who would have to KILL each other to win. Without a doubt, it would bring some interest to the games, so the Capitol makes propaganda about it. The “Star Crossed Lovers” in a game of life and death.

But what changes the game is Rue. Right away from her introduction in the books we know Rue is going to be somewhat of a big deal. She was compared to the most important character to Katniss, Prim, so that’s a huge indicator. She’s small, young, she’s what Prim would have been.

So Katniss instantly feels a subconscious pull toward her. 

When they meet in the trees, Katniss could have killed Rue easily, and Rue probably could have pulled a sneak attack or alerted the Careers of Katniss’s presence. Instead, Rue points out the Tracker Jacker nest.

Then it escalates, Rue and Katniss become an odd team, they’re an alliance, which is never new in the Hunger Games, as forming teams and then betraying them at the end seems to be a common, but there’s is different. It’s close, it’s sisterly, protective.

And then Rue get’s impaled. Katniss kills her first tribute with ease after that. Comparing it to hunting game. Katniss holds Rue, she cries, and then she sings. She sings for Rue a song of promised safety and warmth, something completely absent in the arena. 

And this is where the metaphorical canon fires. Katniss could have left Rue, the hovercraft would have been along to pick her up, but she can’t. She’s morally obligated to love this girl as much as possible. And this is where the revolution starts. 

She honors the dead. She honors a dead tribute from a district she’d never seen, a person she’d known for only a short period of time. But she throws away Hunger Games norms. She rejects them completely.

In the Hunger Games you’re supposed to kill mercilessly and leave the victims for the plain box they’re shipped home in. 

Katniss gives Rue a funeral in the Games, she decorates the body, she makes it look like Rue is sleeping. Like no harm had come. Katniss just ignited the coals that Rue had placed.

Rue’s District sends a parachute. Homemade bread. 

Then Thresh kills Clove and distracts Cato by taking his bag. 

The fire is going now, and the actions in Catching Fire are even more obvious.

The Speech for Rue. Peeta’s painting. Everything eludes back to this one little girl who became Katniss’s family.

So the revolution never started with Katniss, she was just the tinder for Rue’s ignition. 

Rue was the real Mockingjay.

Also, who’s four note whistle is constantly attached to the trailers?

Rue’s whistle.

Rue is omnipresent in the books and movies, and I absolutely love it.

(Source: taylor-swift, via upallnightogetloki)

Filed under reblog hunger games queue

56,179 notes

ink-splotch:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling

Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.

I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern. 

Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for. 

She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.

I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body. 

Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What is must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save. 

Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home. 

Maybe she doesn’t. 

Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?”  and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh. 

She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.

Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better. 

Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”

Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns. 

Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers. 

When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just through the brutal wars of one life, but two. 

Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand. 

A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own. 

Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it. 

(Source: ifallelseperished, via marielikestodraw)

Filed under reblog narnia susan pevensie

38,742 notes

conceivethedream:

captainirrayditation:

therothwoman:

airbenderedacted:

steppauseturnpausepivotstepstep:

autisticweirdo:

madeofpatterns:

mairzydozydiveydoats:

Raise your hand if you used to play with these things for hours and if you came across them again you would still play with them for hours.

I bought a big box of vintage wooden pattern blocks off ebay a few months ago. they’re pretty great

I bought a thing of these off amazon recently. They’re wonderful.

Fuuuuuuuck I need these. I also need therapy.

THESE WERE SO GREAT OMG

holy shit I forgot about these

where can i aquire these

I remember these were a part of the test we took to get in gifted back in the day.

conceivethedream:

captainirrayditation:

therothwoman:

airbenderedacted:

steppauseturnpausepivotstepstep:

autisticweirdo:

madeofpatterns:

mairzydozydiveydoats:

Raise your hand if you used to play with these things for hours and if you came across them again you would still play with them for hours.

I bought a big box of vintage wooden pattern blocks off ebay a few months ago. they’re pretty great

I bought a thing of these off amazon recently. They’re wonderful.

Fuuuuuuuck I need these. I also need therapy.

THESE WERE SO GREAT OMG

holy shit I forgot about these

where can i aquire these

I remember these were a part of the test we took to get in gifted back in the day.

(Source: mairzydotes, via fujo)

Filed under reblog queue not!fandom

120,324 notes

Don’t tell thin women to eat a cheeseburger. Don’t tell fat women to put down the fork. Don’t tell underweight men to bulk up. Don’t tell women with facial hair to wax, don’t tell uncircumcised men they’re gross, don’t tell muscular women to go easy on the dead-lift, don’t tell dark-skinned women to bleach their vaginas, don’t tell black women to relax their hair, don’t tell flat-chested women to get breast implants, don’t tell “apple-shaped” women what’s “flattering,” don’t tell mothers to hide their stretch marks, and don’t tell people whose toes you don’t approve of not to wear flip-flops. And so on, etc, etc, in every iteration until the mountains crumble to the sea. Basically, just go ahead and CEASE telling other human beings what they “should” and “shouldn’t” do with their bodies unless a) you are their doctor, or b) SOMEBODY GODDAMN ASKED YOU.

Lindy West, Thin Women: I’ve Got Your Back. Could You Get Mine? (via thespookytenenbaums)

There is no wrong way to have a body. 

(via pushtheheart)

(Source: all-about-male-privilege, via upallnightogetloki)

Filed under reblog feminism