For many of these women, the reading experience begins from a place of seething rage. Take Sara Marcus’ initial impression of Jack Kerouac: “I remember putting On the Road down the first time a woman was mentioned. I was just like: ‘Fuck. You.’ I was probably 15 or 16. And over the coming years I realized that it was this canonical work, so I tried to return to it, but every time I was just like, ‘Fuck you.’” Tortorici had a similarly visceral reaction to Charles Bukowski: “I will never forget reading Bukowski’s Post Office and feeling so horrible, the way that the narrator describes the thickness of ugly women’s legs. I think it was the first time I felt like a book that I was trying to identify with rejected me. Though I did absorb it, and of course it made me hate my body or whatever.” Emily Witt turned to masculine texts to access a sexual language that was absent from books about women, but found herself turned off by their take: “many of the great classic coming-of-age novels about the female experience don’t openly discuss sex,” she says in No Regrets. “I read the ones by men instead, until I was like, ‘I cannot read another passage about masturbation. I can’t. It was like a pile of Kleenex.”

This isn’t just about the books. When young women read the hyper-masculine literary canon—what Emily Gould calls the “midcentury misogynists,” staffed with the likes of Roth, Mailer, and Miller—their discomfort is punctuated by the knowledge that their male peers are reading these books, identifying with them, and acting out their perspectives and narratives. These writers are celebrated by the society that we live in, even the one who stabbed his wife. In No Regrets, Elif Bautman talks about reading Henry Miller for the first time because she had a “serious crush” on a guy who said his were “the best books ever,” and that guy’s real-life recommendation exacerbated her distaste for the fictional. When she read Miller, “I felt so alienated by the books, and then thinking about this guy, and it was so hot and summertime … I just wanted to kill myself. … He compared women to soup.”

In No Regrets, women writers talk about what it was like to read literature’s “midcentury misogynists.” (via vulturechow)

(via thecuntosaurus)

peoplemask:

awkwardsituationist:

quimmiq is the inuktituk word for the canadian eskimo dog (canis familiaris borealis), which after four thousand years in canada’s arctic faces imminent extinction, in large part due to a policy of eradication by the royal canadian mounted police meant to force the inuit into government settlement. brian ladoon, whose dogs we see here near churchill, manitoba, has been breeding quimmiq for over forty years and is largely responsible for maintaining the species.

so it was with much trepidation that brian noticed a group of polar bears, who eat quimmiq, approaching his dogs one day in 1992. though most of his dogs became quite defensive, one of them playfully ventured up to a polar bear and the two got on like old firends. every year since, the polar bears will stop by ladoon’s place to play with the dogs on their way to the newly iced over hudson bay.

these photos were taken by famed arctic photographer norbert rosing, who just happened to be with brian on that day in 1992. the canadian eskimo dog is still on the verge of extinction, with estimates of three hundred or less left. "the last dogs of winter" is a 2011 documentary on brian ladoon’s efforts

DOG AND BEAR FRIEND EVERYONE LOOK

(via thecuntosaurus)

noirbettie:

I laughed so hard that I started wheezing. For a second I thought I was having an asthma attack, and I AM NOT ASTHMATIC.

noirbettie:

I laughed so hard that I started wheezing. For a second I thought I was having an asthma attack, and I AM NOT ASTHMATIC.