This grotesque image might seem to be at odds with a righteous heart. But for anyone who might not be blameless, anger with reason and purpose and a will of iron is even more frightening than tumultuous, flailing rage. The Furies agree to abide by the outcome. Their goal, after all, is not merely blood.
It is justice. Feminism was the bag that fit my baggage; it showed me how experiences that had hurt and bewildered me were actually part of a vast, lofty structure of wrongs, much larger than my tiny griefs. I still tried to dismiss it at first: The anger seemed so loud, so needy, compared to my typical habits of laughing and blaming myself.
I can protect someone else. I built anger like a bicep: little by little, complaining all the while. Fifteen years ago, my mother passed out from altitude sickness, hit her head, and temporarily lost her sense of smell.
It was to the connections between them: the nerves that transmitted olfactory signals, that turned air molecules into smells and smells into memories. To get it back, she had to retrain those connections, to take a great whiff of what felt like nothing and say to herself: This is gasoline. This is rotten meat. This is a rose. Learning to be fluent in anger was similar.
That meant learning to recognize the smell of mistreatment, to see it and name it and recognize it as a cause for anger and not for deprecation or self-blame. I took great whiffs of what sometimes felt like nothing: This is misogyny. This is rape culture. This is abuse. Finding anger was like building a sense, but not the sense of smell—more like a sixth sense.
Telepathy, or maybe even telekinesis: a sense of how to move, with my mind, with my words, what had formerly seemed solid. A superpower. And one of the first things I was able to perceive, with this new sense, was how much it frightened men.
Their reactions varied—matching anger, mockery, calls for calm—but the message was clear: Stand down. All the self-protective laughter, all the excuses, all the making myself a concave bowl to hold an insult where it would not hurt: Had those been to protect someone else all along? Justice is not actually served in The Eumenides. Then Athena, casting the deciding vote to tip a hung jury, says flat-out that she only really cares about men, which means she considers Clytemnestra killing Agamemnon a worse offense than Orestes killing Clytemnestra.
Orestes is acquitted purely on the strength of disdain for women.
FURIES Poetry Anthology of Women Warriors Paperback
Women are still treated as carrying containers for sperm, not as people. We are still punished more for hurting men, even in self-defense, than they are for hurting us.
- Nancy Pelosi: An Extremely Stable Genius.
- Dear Tia Juana (Free and Cheap Materials for Teaching ESL Book 1).
- Deadlock Armageddon.
- Anger That Can Save the World: On Justice, Feminism, and the Furies.
- Erinyes (Furies).
- the Furies.
Men like that persist today, too. But the real Furies, if there were real Furies, would not let it stand. Relationships Relationship status Thoroughly single Interested in Nobody.
Favorites Quotations "Justice delayed, is justice denied. Cite This Page. Logging out…. Logging out You've been inactive for a while, logging you out in a few seconds I'm Still Here! W hy's T his F unny?
Gaia Mom , Ouranos Dad Nemesis she totally gets our whole vengeance thing. Dike a goddess who understands justice Hades We're very pleased to work in his Dungeon of the Damned.