Цитата сообщения verbava маргарет атвуд

коли я не пишу про релігію, то намагаюся писати про тілесність. або про обидві водночас (в сенсі, й релігію, й тілесність).
не знаю, як поєднати американського такого виразно маскулінного воннегута й канадську таку жіночну й тілесну атвуд, але так уже є. (ну й це буде freakshow, якшо я, з моєю дисертацією про воннегута, візьму й на конференціях розповідатиму про атвуд. так не роблять. мені, звісно, байдуже, як вони роблять, особливо після тої світової скорботи, яка мене нагнала сьогодні в інституті літератури, але без ступеня не дадуть нормально викладати, а без статей і конференцій з теми дисертації не дадуть нормально захиститися. бррр).
менша з тим.
ось шматочок із good bones and simple murders – абсолютно неймовірно прекрасне про тілесність.

The history of war is a history of killed bodies. That's what war is: bodies killing other bodies, bodies being killed.
Some of the killed bodies are those of women and children, as a side-effect you might say. Fallout, shrapnel, napalm, rape and skewering, anti-personnel devices. But most of the killed bodies are men. So are most of those doing the killing.
Why do men want to kill the bodies of other men? Women don't want to kill the bodies of other women. By and large. As far as we know.
Here are some traditional reasons: Loot. Territory. Lust for power. Hormones. Adrenalin high. Rage. God. Flag. Honour. Righteous anger. Revenge. Oppression. Slavery. Starvation. Defence of one's life. Love; or, a desire to protect the women and children. From what? From the bodies of other men.
What men are most afraid of is not lions, not snakes, not the dark, not women. Not any more. What men are most afraid of is the body of another man.
Men's bodies are the most dangerous things on earth.

4.
On the other hand, it could be argued that men don't have any bodies at all. Look at the magazines! Magazines for women have women's bodies on the covers, magazines for men have women's bodies on the covers. When men appear on the covers of magazines, it's magazines about money, or about world news. Invasions, rocket launches, political coups, interest rates, elections, medical breakthroughs. _Reality._ Not _entertainment._ Such magazines show only the heads, the unsmiling heads, the talking heads, the decision-making heads, and maybe a little glimpse, a coy flash of suit. How do we know there's a body, under all that discreet pinstriped tailoring? We don't, and maybe there isn't.
What does this lead us to suppose? That women are bodies with heads attached, and men are heads with bodies attached? Or not, depending.
You can have a body, though, if you're a rock star, an athlete, or a gay model. As I said, _entertainment._ Having a body is not altogether serious.

5.
The thing is: men's bodies aren't dependable. Now it does, now it doesn't, and so much for the triumph of the will. A man is the puppet of his body, or vice versa. He and it make tomfools of each other: it lets him down. Or up, at the wrong moment. Just stare hard out the schoolroom window and recite the multiplication tables, and pretend this isn't happening! Your face at least can be immobile. Easier to have a trained dog, which will do what you want it to, nine times out of ten.
The other thing is: men's bodies are detachable. Consider the history of statuary: the definitive bits get knocked off so easily, through revolution or prudery or simple transportation, with leaves stuck on for substitutes, fig or grape; or, in more northern climates, maple. A man and his body are soon parted.
In the old old days, you became a man through blood. Through incisions, tattoos, splinters of wood; through an intimate wound, and the refusal to flinch. Through being beaten by older boys, in the dormitory, with a wooden paddle you were forced to carve yourself. The torments varied, but they were all torments. _It's a boy,_ they cry with joy. _Let's cut some off!_
Every morning I get down on my knees and thank God for not creating me a man. A man so chained to unpredictability. A man so much at the mercy of himself. A man so prone to sadness. A man who has to take it like a man. A man, who can't fake it.
In the gap between desire and enactment, noun and verb, intention and infliction, _want_ and _have,_ compassion begins.