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52 pages 1 hour read

Kate Millett

Sexual Politics

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 1970

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Key Figures

D. H. Lawrence

Writing in the early 20th century, D.H. Lawrence attempted to challenge the prudish attitudes of the period by addressing “the noble and necessary task of freeing sexual behavior of perverse inhibitions” (238). In many respects, however, he is a reactionary figure, responding to the liberated woman of the sexual revolution with fear and outrage. Earlier works such as The Rainbow underscore this fear. Throughout the book, Lawrence is in awe of “the power of the womb” (258) and terrified of women’s “fecundity, serenity, their magical correspondence with the earth and the moon” (260). More pressing than his awe and terror of this archetypal woman, however, is his fear of women being liberated from their traditional sex role and entering “the male’s own lesser sphere of intellect and social action” (260). He shows this in “Ursula’s invasion of the ‘mysteriously man’s world’” (260) in The Rainbow and even more clearly in the book’s sequel, Women in Love in which “the new man arrive[s] in time to give Ursula her comeuppance and demote her back to wifely submission” (262). Similar themes are apparent in Lady Chatterley’s Lover in which Lawrence, convinced that “modern man is ineffectual, modern woman a lost creature” (242), offers the tale “the salvation of one modern women […] through the offices of the author’s personal cult, ‘the mystery of the phallus’” (238). In other words, much of Lawrence’s work is concerned with showing that “free female sexuality” can “be manipulated to create a new order of dependence and subordination” (241). A theme of repressed homosexuality also runs through much of his work as Lawrence moves “‘beyond women’ to homosexual attachments, forming sexual-political alliances with other males” (257). The central characters of Aaron’s Rod reflect this, “swearing off women” and choosing to cohabit, only to find themselves in a “dispute over mastery” in which it is “inconceivable that either should debase his manhood before the other” but equally “difficult for two such power-hungry individuals to live without one attempting to subordinate the other” (275). For Lawrence, “love had become the knack of dominating another person” (269) and so, as the men of Aaron’s Rod hold to the conviction that “should their relations assume an erotic character, one must be subjected to the other” (276), so too is Lawrence unable to see love or sexuality as operating outside of a power and domination.

Henry Miller

Miller considered himself to be a “disciple of Lawrence” (296) and certainly he shares similar preoccupations with the reactionary reestablishing of traditional roles and the professed aim of challenging puritanical views of sex. However, his approach is radically difference from Lawrence’s own. Where Lawrence’s heroes use “expert psychological manipulation” (296) to distort “feminist claims to human recognition […] into a vegetative passivity calling itself fulfillment” (297), Miller does not credit women with the personality or psychological depth to require such manipulation. Instead, he simply reduces them “to ‘cunt’—thing, commodity, matter” (297), existing only to be used for male gratification. In other words, Miller’s hero “just ‘fuck[s]’ women and discard[s] them” and, as such, is “merely a huckster and a con man, unimpeded by pretension, with no priestly role to uphold” (296). In this case, then, male sexuality is less about “taming” women than it is about proving masculinity. That is, Miller is preoccupied with a model of manhood that must be proven through “masculine achievement” (298) measured through sex and money and, despite rejecting the “money mentality,” he recreates it by “converting the female to commodity” so that “he too can enjoy the esteem of ‘success’” (298 by proving his masculinity through abusive sexual “conquests.” Reinforcing the preoccupation with proving masculinity is the fact that these conquests are then bragged about to “an ubiquitous peer group jury” of other men, to such an extent that that Miller’s “strenuous heterosexuality depends, to a considerable degree, on a homosexual sharing” (303). Although differing in approach, like Lawrence, Miller claims to be challenging traditional prudishness but is in fact a reactionary force in sexual politics. Despite his claims, his work actually reflects “the disgust, the contempt, the hostility, the violence, and the sense of filth with which our culture, or more specifically, its masculine sensibility, surrounds sexuality” (295). Parasitically dependent on the “conventional morality” (306) his work claims to challenge, he is largely simply retelling “the old story: guilt fear, a reverence for ‘purity’ in the female; and a deep moral outrage whenever the ‘lascivious bitch’ in woman is exposed” (310). As such, despite his recognition as a radical challenging outmoded prudery, his true “value lies not in freeing us from such afflictions, but in having had the honesty to express and dramatize them” (295).

Norman Mailer

Early in his career, Mailer presented himself as “a hero of the sexual revolution” (322). However, once he identifies “the real implications of a sexual revolution”—that women’s liberation would mean the end of “the double standard and the subtle way in which ‘shame’ is manipulated to control women—he realizes that it is “incompatible with his own male-chauvinist propensity to give guilt a coercive function in sexual politics” (323). Instead, he becomes an “archconservative” (323), turning “lyric about ‘chastity,’ ferocious about abortion, and wildly opposed to all birth control” (322). His work is primarily made “in defense of male supremacy” (323). Key to this is an understanding of masculinity as something that must be earned and proven, as “a precarious spiritual capital in endless need of replenishment and threatened on every side” (329). Mailer himself makes this understanding explicit in The Armies of the Night when he writes that “nobody was born a man” but rather “you earned your manhood, provided you were good enough, bold enough” (327). A way to achieve this is, for Mailer and his characters, through violent sexuality and abuse. He creates a world in which a “rapist is a rapist only to the ‘square’” (317), writing books through which the “reader is given to understand that by murdering one woman and buggering another, Rojack became a man” (15). Curiously, he sees much cruelty and violence as the product of repressed homosexuality. However, he actually believes this to be “inevitable and beneficial because [cruelty and violence] constitute the only defense against homosexuality which […] [he] regards as a greater evil than murder” (332). That is to say, it is “the secret terror of homosexuality […] which drives Mailer to his heterosexual posturing” so much so that he believes violent male sexuality is necessary to save men from “slip[ping] to the level of effeminacy and succumb[ing] to homosexuality” (331) which he considers to be a profound threat to “American virility” (322). Ultimately, Mailer is painfully aware of the dynamics of sex relations and the fragile nature of modern masculinity. However, he is only able to “dramatize and illustrate the character of masculinist sensibility while remaining totally incapable of reasonable criticism of it” (330). He cannot move beyond the limiting sex roles and the conflation of male sexuality with violence and domination and so remains always a “prisoner of the virility cult” (314).

Jean Genet

Genet is remarkably different from the other writers considered in the book. While Lawrence, Miller, and Mailer view women as obstacles, objects, or enemies, Genet “has taken thought of women as an oppressed group and revolutionary force, and chosen to identify with them” (356). Indeed, as “the despised drag queen, the maricone (faggot), contemptible because he was the female partner in homosexual acts” (17), he is, in his early work at least, “female.” This affords Genet a perspective that is lacking in the other authors, which he uses to dissect and satirize heterosexual power relations. In his autobiographical novel, The Thief’s Journey, Genet suggests that his abuse by his pimp is “perfectly natural” because “He’s a prick and I’m a cunt” (343). This is a significant passage because when “a biological male is described as a ‘cunt,’ one gets a better notion of the meaning of the word” (343). That is to say, Genet is able to strip away the dubious “justification in an assumed biological congruity” to reveal that “masculine and feminine” are primarily “terms of praise and blame, authority and servitude, high and low, master and slave” (343). Not only does Genet break down the biological explanations for sex roles, revealing them to be socially constructed categories or castes, he also supports the cause of the “female” and is “forever arranging things so that his own feminine shall be first, shall triumph somehow, even if it be the victory of despair and martyrdom” (344). Certainly, it is true that, in his early works, the victories are usually the moral victory of the martyr. However, his later plays see his “final metamorphosis into revolutionary” (349) as femininity is transformed from “abject abdicating martyrdom, broken by an undercurrent of sedition” into “an attitude of rebellious intransigence” (350). Now the “female” characters—which include a variety of “oppressed groups of both sexes: maids, blacks, Algerians, proles, all those who are in the feminine or subordinate role toward capital, racism, or empire”—struggle against the “negative aspect of femininity as a slave mentality” and do so with “increasing fury” (350).

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