Day 264: Murder on Ice

Murder on Ice by Ted Wood.  ISBN: 9780684181349.

Knowing that this book was written over 25 years ago, and being able to put it in that context, still makes me want to throw every copy into a wood chipper.  I wouldn't actually do it; somewhere, someone out there might actually be studying misogyny, mascho-ism, and/or homophobia in murder mysteries, and this would be right up their research alley.  By the way, that is a study I might be interested in reading, especially given how large the female readership is for murder mysteries.  I don't understand it either, someone please tell me why mysteries are "fun" to read.

Anyway, at least in 1984 Wood through his character Reid (written in very telling first person) blatantly tells us that he associates feminism with man-hating.  On some level, I have to say he's right.  If feminism is about man-hating, it's about hating a very specific kind of man.  Mostly men who say things like this,

"I might have guessed. Like all good man-haters, Nancy Carmichael had put on blue jeans." 

Or this,

"I also guessed that it wouldn't take long to turn her off her man-hating, she seemed too warm a woman for her lifelong separation from us all."

Or this,

"It wasn't true [that she was still a virgin after being raped], but it was the best thing to say even though just telling her made me feel dirty and unshaven and uncouth.  I felt the old familiar disgust growing within me."

That people ever thought these things about women and in such a confident and uncaring manner should piss everyone off.  It should make everyone hate the man (or woman!) who thought them, or at least be as disgusted as Reid feels talking to the rape victim.  If those passages made you feel a bit like vomiting, or made your blood pressure rise, chances are you are a feminist.  It means that you respect women enough to know that wearing blue jeans in a snowstorm does not mean one hates men; that feminism is not a "phase" that women go through just because a man did something completely horrible to them and they'll forget it in a few weeks, months, years; and/or that no one has the right to blame or judge a rape victim for what happened to him or her.

And I get really angry at people who insist that feminism equals man-hating, because in the long run it really doesn't.  Feminism is about creating the kind of men (and women) that we can feel good about loving.  It is about promoting the idea that women are more than just appliances with vaginas and treating us like the people we are instead of vacuum cleaners that can make a sandwich and perform fellatio.  Sure, we can do all those things, but you can also go fuck yourself with a razor blade.  Just because you can treat a woman like crap, doesn't mean you should, and a feminist knows that treating a woman like a human being with rights, thoughts, and ideas of her own is a good and desirable thing.  For everyone.

*Note, this is the cover for the 1995 version, rather than the 1984 copy I was reading.

My angry, but accurate review can be found on Goodreads.

Day 263: Murder on Ice

Murder on Ice by Ted Wood.  ISBN: 9780684181349.

For those of you who don't know, I'm currently in Northeast Ohio for ThanksChristmasGiving, and it is snowing.  It is snowing a lot.  About the same level as in this book on the night that Nancy Carmichael is kidnapped from a beauty contest by a feminist group, or is she?  The premise of this book is enough to make me want to talk about the weather and the convoluted plot is twisted in ways that make me want to leave Ted Wood stripped and running naked in the snow, just as he did one of his characters.

So as of the 13th I have been snowed in.  I am currently house sitting for a couple of friends with dogs and cats and chickens.  Those last two require some going outside, with the chickens being the most intensive outdoor caretaking activity.  At some point I will have to make myself shovel the driveway, but since I'm not driving in this weather there doesn't seem to be a point.  Let's just say I'm not looking forward to that and I hope, hope, hope that we get a couple of warm days before my friends get back.

I have to say, I really kind of like taking care of the chickens.  I get a somewhat perverse pleasure from collecting their eggs.  Something along the lines of, "Hah! I have to get out of bed at 7am, but I also get to eat your babies!  Mwahahaha!"  This becomes less pleasant when I have to go out twice a day, once early in the morning to let them out of the hen house, feed them scratch (seeds and such), and give them fresh water, which comes in a 2 gallon canister.  The canister is actually one of the more annoying aspects of taking care of the chickens, especially in winter.  It comes in two parts: the bottom part where the water flows out, and the top part, which keeps the water covered and hopefully free of chicken poop, dirt, whatever.  They still manage to poop in the water (and I've even found feathers inside of the canister, explain that one).

It is a bit of a trick getting the water out without spilling it all over the place, and most likely on myself.  I've found that filling the top part and holding it upside down in a football hold works best until I get it where it needs to go.  Then I flip it around with little to no water splashed over my already snow covered pants.  That's just taking the water out to the chickens.  At night, I go out to put the chickens up for the night, check for eggs (only 1, jerks), give them their shell makin' food, and bring in the water.  Oh, and I check the mail.

On the 13th, it was so flipping cold that the water in the canister froze after I had unplugged the heater it was on and set it in the snow to close the coop door!  I'm sure the metal of the canister facilitated in the cooling process, especially since I set it in the snow, but this was less than two minutes.  Needless to say I am staying inside as much as possible, and my someday-to-be mother-in-law had to pick up my fiance because the roads were just awful and I have a bitty Kia Rio.  On the one hand I feel guilty about making her come out, but on the other hand, I'm not dead by the side of the road (note: neither is she).  I am thankful that I don't have to be anywhere in this weather; to those of you who do, please be careful.  To those of you who don't have this kind of weather and have never experienced it, I have a snow ball or two with your name on it.  It's yellow and about the size of a Volvo. 

*Note, this is the cover for the 1995 version, rather than the 1984 copy I was reading.

My angry, but accurate review can be found on Goodreads.