See link above. The podcast of my interview on Bi Talk Radio is now available see link above. Below are some photos from the Bilicious Show in Boston, in September of Invitation to Bar 82 reading. I answer a question from the audience--a reader who really liked Phyllida--as Rob Barton looks on. Reading from Phyllida. From a distance Must be a mistake--I look happy. What, what, friends in the face of a crime like that, what does man know about war? And remember, for every person buried there, 10 more loved that person and were shattered by the loss. Instead of saluting, softly say: 'I'm sorry.
We need to make Memorial Day a relic of the past. It breaks all the commandments; it makes rich men poor, and strong men weak.
The History of British Women’s Writing, 1830–1880
It makes well men sick, and by it living men are changed to dead men. To kill a man does not prove that he was in the wrong. Bloodletting cannot change men's spirits, neither can the evil of men's thoughts be driven out by blows. If I go to my neighbor's house, and break her furniture, and smash her pictures, and bind her children captive, it does not prove that I am fitter to live than she — yet according to ethics of nations it does.
I have conquered her and she must pay me for my trouble; and her house and all that is left in it belongs to my heirs and successors, forever. That is war! And it is not just war itself that undermines our life support system, but also the research and development, military exercises and general preparations for battle that are carried out on a daily basis in most parts of the world. The majority of this pre-war activity takes place without the benefit of civilian scrutiny and therefore we are unaware of some of what is being done to our environment in the name of 'security.
Oh no, the little man is just as guilty, otherwise the peoples of the world would have risen in revolt long ago! The laws that successfully govern a peaceful and democratic society do not interfere with the only law bombs know, which is the law of gravity.
It can never construct or create. It is not the means by which ideals are imposed. There is ultimately no way of combating a wrong idea but the setting forth of a right one. Any politician can play on panic when he wishes to stampede a people into war. It doesn't matter whether we use them or not. They will destroy us either way.
On the day of reckoning, you will not be asked to present your credentials. The devastation will be indiscriminate. This provokes an escalation of military effort, and the vicious cycle continues as the pressure of domestic expectations and domestic critics limit the President's willingness to withdraw without 'victory.
If you kill inside the country you get in trouble. If you kill outside the country, right time, right season, latest enemy, you get a medal. Our troops need to peel their own potatoes again, drive their own supply trucks, build their own barracks, guard their own generals. Private contractors are not cheaper, and they are certainly not indispensable. We operated without them for a long, long time, and did just fine, thank you very much. While a tiny fraction of men and women fighting our wars are deploying again and again, civilian life remains pretty much isolated in cost-free complacency.
It never stops. Young men fight them, and the lines of the young dead reach from earth to the gates of hell. The drums are beating long before a single shot is fired. It is frightening to see people rooting in garbage pails on streets, living in cardboard crates under bridges, while their government wages war. Even when there is an emergency in a household, decent parents do not forget to feed the children. Conceived by their mad demonic elders, and fought by boys. In turning them all into heroes, we have lost a sense of the individuality they also fight to preserve.
As I was feeding my month-old son, there was knock on the door. Two uniformed Army officers had come to tell me that my husband had been killed in Vietnam. With tears streaming down my face, I bundled up my son and drove to tell my mother-in-law that her only child was dead.
I didn't want two strangers telling her the news that would surely break her heart. She collapsed in my arms, and we cried and hugged for hours.
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The pain I felt cannot be described in words. I would never wish this devastation on anyone It has been 35 years now, and I can still hear the last words my husband ever spoke to me. As he was leaving for Vietnam he said, 'Remember, this is for just a short time. We have the rest of our lives together. It might equally be argued that the worst, the most unscrupulous man will win, although history will continue the absurd game by finding him after all the best man. This sort of language shields us from the emotional reaction that would result if it were clear that one was talking about plans for mass murder, for mangled bodies.
Defense analysts don't talk about incinerating cities; they talk about 'countervalue attacks.
War | Quotations By Women
People being killed!!! That's my life! The life of an innocent eleven-year-old schoolgirl!! A schoolgirl without a school, without the fun and excitement of school. A child without games, without friends, without the sun, without birds, without nature, without fruit, without chocolate or sweets, with just a little powdered milk. In short, a child without a childhood. That's the easy way to hate war. The safe way. I — hate it just as much for the maimed souls that stay at home Art is the language of God and war is the barking of men.
Beethoven is bigger than war. Envoys crossed word-swords and all the little men began to run, and the red threads of high-sounding idealisms and patriotism to come out in eyeballs. The inflamed voodoo dance around the cauldron brewed on the table of paternal governments began to grow That was the way the men went off to war, riveted with that paternal eye and inflamed with the generated oxygen, the generated phrases, and the generated idealism. Or, in their humility or sloth — who knows?
What are patterns for? In WWII, it was In the many smaller wars since , the ratio has been This means that the victims of wars have changed: the great majority being civilian; they are mainly women, children, and the elderly. There would be, perhaps, a few skirmishes on the frontiers, and then everything would be arranged diplomatically. There is no way to make peace while preparing for war. Not even gathering together can take the place of that vast, warm sun of approval that is shed on motherhood, on law-abiding, on killing, and on making money.
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Someday will we come into our own? Well, motherhood may move into the shade. Law-abiding is going through a trauma. But killing and making money are good for a long, long time. There it sits, a terrible mass of concrete, on our minds, on our hearts, squat on top of our lives. Its power penetrates into every single life.
It is in the very air we breathe. The water we drink. Because of its insatiable demands we are drained and we are polluted. Every woman of my generation is sick of war. Fifty years of war. Wars rumored, wars beginning, wars fought, wars ending, wars paid for, wars endured. I am fighting as an ordinary person for my lost freedom, my bruised body, and my outraged daughters.
Blood does not wipe out dishonor nor violence indicate possession. I know our hawks avoided serving in Vietnam, but didn't they, like, read about it? When it comes to the military and questions of nuclear disarmament, the gender gap becomes the gender gulf. I want my life back. I almost feel like I've been missing in action for twenty-two years. I mean the absurdity of the claim that the excessive atomic armament of both sides creates a 'balance of terror' that reduces the danger of war; that in the long run it even offers a minimum of security. Hence the cynical saying: He who strikes first will die second.
The role taboos play in the preparation for war. The number of shameful secrets keeps growing incessantly, boundlessly. How meaningless all censorship taboos become, and how meaningless the consequences for overstepping them, when your life is in danger. But alternate energies exist now — solar, wind — for every important energy-using activity in our lives.
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The only human work that cannot be done without oil is war. The history of making war with biological weapons begins in mythology, in ancient oral traditions that preserved records of actual events and ideas of the era before the invention of written histories. Tons of still-active chemical weapons from World Wars I and II lurk in long-forgotten dumping areas, releasing toxins and posing grave risks to unwitting finders.
These weapons, and the countless vials of smallpox, anthrax, and other super-pathogens stored in laboratories around the world, ripe for weaponization, have their antecedents in the 'plague demons' imprisoned in jars buried under the temple in Jersualem, and the pestilence locked inside the golden casket in Babylon. Centuries later, those containers were broken open during wartime, and plague spread over the land. Women Playwrights and the London Stage. Life Writing.
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Scientific and Medical Genres. Sensation, Art, and Capital. Writing across the Class Divide. Friendship and Intimacy. Back Matter Pages About this book Introduction This volume charts the rise of professional women writers across diverse fields of intellectual enquiry and through different modes of writing in the period immediately before and during the reign of Queen Victoria. British women's writing Authorship and gender Professional woman writer Victorian women writers Victorian female readership.