Tom Matlack hopes we can use the Millenium Trilogy as a way to talk about violence against women.
Like almost everyone else in the world, I read Steig Larsson’s trilogy about a bisexual computer hacker, Lisbeth Salander, who suffers sexual abuse and is out for revenge.
Salander, a brilliant woman with a photographic memory, is wrongly locked up in an asylum for violently attacking her father, a Russian spy, to protect her mother. Her legal guardian violently rapes her, but Salander gets him back by, among other things, tattooing “I am a sadistic pig and a rapist” across his chest—giving readers a vicarious thrill. Despite a poor translation and some pedestrian prose, I enjoyed all two thousand pages of the tale, in three volumes.
Then I caught myself. Okay—my wife caught me. “This book minimizes the brutal rape, torture, and murder of dozens of women,” she said after reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the first book in the series. “It seems entirely inconsistent that Larsen would allow his ‘principled’ character [journalist Mikael Blomkvist ] to conceal all of the murders from the police and the families of the victims.” The next time I saw a little old lady clutching the yellow paperback (among a dozen others on my subway train), I thought twice about the amazing popularity of Larsson’s books.
Americans are obviously enthralled by the topic. But rather than simply being voyeurs, we should use the book’s popularity as a way to initiate a real discussion about sexual assault—a pervasive problem we, as a culture, don’t talk about enough.
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The U.S. Justice Department recently estimated that only 26% of all rapes or attempted rapes are reported to law enforcement officials. 17.6% of women in the United States have survived a completed or attempted rape. (Of these, 21.6% were younger than age 12 when they were first raped, and 32.4% were between the ages of 12 and 17.)
With the Millennium Trilogy rivaling Harry Potter and Twilight in popularity, the recurring theme of sexual abuse, and its relationship to real life here in America, has gone largely unacknowledged in the pubic discourse. Domestic abuse rarely makes headlines—unless a celebrity is caught beating up his girlfriend—and yet we can’t seem to get enough of Salander. As my wife points out, it’s hypocritical to remain silent on sexual abuse while slurping up graphic fiction that exploits our curiosity about the issue.
“I found the polemical concern for women to ring quite hollow,” David Greene, the executive director of The First Amendment Project, told me. “If Larsson really wanted to write about sexual abuse, perhaps he could have chosen a male hero [Blomkvist] that was not seemingly irresistible to women of all ages. To me the book read as a condemnation of the most atrocious acts—Nazism, serial rape, exploitation by a guardian—but not of the more subtle forms of exploitation and abuse.” Blomkvist, the savior and detective, sleeps with every likable female character, undercutting the feminist sentiment that Larsson sets out to express.
“I do think that Larsson’s goal was to raise awareness about the issue,” Amanda Wolfe told me. She is an education and prevention specialist at Casa Myrna Vazquez, and speaks across the state about domestic abuse. “The attack of Salander by her guardian was graphic, but I don’t think it was done to be titillating. It was definitely trying to show the severity of the violence within that rape.”
Salander is portrayed as childlike in appearance, but possesses powerful sex appeal to men and women, young and old. It leaves open the question whether readers are getting off on reading about a woman whose promiscuity can be seen as resulting from her abuse. Wolfe doesn’t agree. “As a bisexual, I wasn’t offended by [the portrayal of Salander’s sexuality]. I just thought [it portrayed] her as a strong female who’s not afraid to take ownership of her sexuality.”
Jenny Efimova, manager of SafeLink, a statewide domestic violence hotline, adds, “I agree with your wife: There’s a lot of misconceptions about sexual violence perpetrated by men against women. [It] isn’t really talked about in our society the way it should be talked about, and particularly the dynamics of power and control.”
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Larsson himself once witnessed a gang rape of a young girl that he was unable to stop—an event that shaped him as a feminist and as a novelist. Efimova points out, “Salander doesn’t just get raped—she gets raped by her guardian. So I think [Larsson] was also trying to shed light on the power imbalances that are inherent, not just in the sexual assault, but on the power imbalance that their relationship had to begin with, and that she had no power in that society and he had all the power in the society.”
“People think the victims [of domestic violence] are staying because they want to, and the victims are choosing their partners, so thereby it’s their fault,” Efimova says. “We need to connect the dots for people, to talk about what this is all about, and the power imbalances that are inherent in our society. We consider that to be an individual thing, and we think rape is about sex, and domestic violence is about somebody’s used too many drugs or alcohol—we attribute it to individual factors.”
Larsson gives his readers a window on sadistic rape, and yet we really don’t want to make the association with reality. “It would be a very scary world for people to live in if they felt [rape] could happen to anybody,” says Efimova. “And so, as a defense mechanism we say, ‘This can’t really happen to me because I don’t do this, this, and this.’”
But ignoring the problem won’t make it go away—by choosing to remain voyeurs, we are, in effect, making the world safer for violent predators. Sexual abuse is rampant, and the real victims don’t have Lisbeth Salander’s ability to fight back. They are depending on the rest of us to do the right thing, by stamping out a culture of abuse, and holding perpetrators accountable. “Social change will happen,” Wolfe points out, “when more people stop choosing the route of saying nothing and acting like it’s not happening.”
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In September, 2009, Tom Matlack, together with James Houghton and Larry Bean, published an anthology of stories about defining moments in men’s lives — The Good Men Project: Real Stories from the Front Lines of Modern Manhood. It was how the The Good Men Project first began. Want to buy the book? Click here. Want to learn more? Here you go.
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About Tom Matlack
Vocalyze
Hey Tom … thank you. I appreciate your writing and your willingness to look at serious shit!
First I will respond to the ‘men are victims too’ argument (maybe taking some of the heat off of you) by saying that the VAST majority of serious injuries, murders (of all kinds), sexual assaults and rapes in this country are perpetrated by men. Men perpetrating against men and boys and men perpetrating against girls and women. I GET IT, MEN SUFFER! (and that is not the point here!) There is a small percentage of women who also sexually and physically abuse boys and girls, and a tiny percentage who kill. I feel for ANY victim of sexual assault and rape. I have witnessed truly heartbreaking accounts from both men and women about what they have suffered, AND I have seen incredible healing work with men who have been both perpetrators and victims (often both at different times) in the ManKind Project. [ps, when are you coming to the New Warrior Training?]
That being said … the last paragraph in your article uses the gender neutral ‘they’ and ‘we’. I would submit that when MEN take responsibility for this … by creating a culture where all men and boys are consciously ushered into mature masculinity by a community of men who are emotionally intelligent and fully accountable for their feelings and actions … then the plague of senseless violence against men and women will end. The culture will shift. It will take ongoing maintenance and rigorous accountability.
“… we are, in effect, making the world safe for violent predators.” Yes. And those violent predators are US. Male privilege is about leaving the door open so that ‘Good Men’ can do whatever it takes to get whatever they want … knowing that other men will turn their heads at the right moment, and that women will not have the real world power to do anything about it (except in sexy story-books).
It takes brave men to own up to the perpetrator within themselves (whether explicit or repressed) – and to turn and face each other with honesty and vulnerability. It is culturally safe to point at ‘those’ men (the bad apples) and blame them. It is the darkness in me that I see reflected. And the darkness in me that is enthralled and titillated by stories about the brutal suffering of women … especially when the woman in question will take responsibility for ‘punishing’ the ‘evil’ behavior of the ‘bad’ men – leaving the rest of us men free to f#ck whoever we want with a clean conscience.
There is no ‘them’. Only us men. Good Men are capable of atrocities. Only a pervasive culture of REAL men will prevent them.
Thanks for the thoughtful response Boysen. Did you read the books? Interested in your perspective on them and why they have become such a craze…Obviously widely divergent views on whether that is a sign of progress or not.
A well thought out and written article, however I’d have rather your wife had written it. You’ve given us the sense of what she said and you’ve reasoned well, but it’s still to some extent the voice of a man speaking for a woman. This aspect of it disempowers women further.
Thank you though, from one feminist to another
Tom: Thank you for a thought-provoking article/review. Although a UK rather than a US citizen, many of the social attitudes you describe also exist here.
I feel that the US and UK publishers have slightly undermined Larsson’s intent by the packaging of the novels. The original Swedish title of the first novel (and the film of it) was “Men Who Hate Women,” underlining that the rape perpetrated by Salander’s guardian is not the only sexual violence depicted (in way that I personally did not find at all titilating). The English titles focus this general point too much onto the character of Lisbeth Salander, in my opinion, losing the more general points. In the first book there are also the extreme sexual crimes perpetrated by the father and son of the Vanger family, showing how attitudes that foster abuse and violence can be passed from generation to generation. Then as the trilogy unfolds we find other men with all sorts of power agendas colluding to protect and foster their corrupt interests, including the physical and mental abuse of Lisbeth in so many different ways. The personal and the political become intertwined.
I rather suspect that the re-titling of the novels for English-speaking audiences, together with the packaging/branding have probably made the books more immediately appealing (titllating?) than they would otherwise have been. Larsson takes us to some really dark places, but I’m not sure that the extreme and shocking way he does so really helps us to recognise ourselves. I would say that the jury is probably out as to whether the books will help real rape victims or have a significant impact on the social silence that allows rape and abuse to continue in the way it does. I really hope that they DO make a real difference.
Sue: I agree with your point about the article being “to some extent the voice of a man speaking for a woman.” However, I think there is also a need and a place (as here) for men to speak to men on this subject.
Interesting article. I read all 3 books and enjoyed them (but I agree with the problems you pointed out).
But I have 2 questions: first, you are one of a few writers I’ve noticed who refer to Salander as “promiscuous.” But if I recall correctly, she only slept with Blomkvist and Miriam Wu. This is 2 people over the course of over a year. How is that promiscous? Why is she always referred to as this? Is it because she’s bisexual? Because others constantly objectify her? Unless I’m forgetting multiple sexual partners, I don’t get it.
Also: I’m genuinely curious as to why Blomkvist sleeping with multiple women undercuts the feminist message. A man can’t fight for women and also have an active sex life? I honestly don’t understand how one contradicts the other and am interested in hearing more about this perspective. Thanks.
I do appreciate your at least talking about the issues these movies/books raise. I don’t know that these kinds of movies will ever really help the male/female power dynamic as it’s not decent men like you who need to talk about it. I guess all we can hope is that women and men talk to their sons about this issue, so future generations. I was involved in an abusive relationship 20 years ago in college with a boy from my hometown, and last I heard he was beating up his current wife. He doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. I don’t know what it would take to convince him.
Sadly when I saw the disturbing rape scene in the first movie, the first thing I thought was, “I wonder how they are going to dumb this down for American audiences?” American’s dont’ want to see this in their faces. I’m realizing that as I think back about this movie, it wasn’t the graphic nature of the forced fellatio and rape that disturbed me the most, it was Lisbeth’s helplessness in this situation. She was dependent on the guardian for her money. Men may be dependent on other men for money, or favors, but these sorts of power dynamics never involve sexuality. It’s something a man can’t relate to.
A side note: I have a problem with having Lisbeth’s “savior” being a man. I understand that it was likely Larsson’s construct to show that even though there are many many men who hate and exploit women, there are decent men among us (and on this blog). Can you imagine what a different movie it would have been if Blomkvist had been a woman?
I am surprised that no one has mentioned that Lisbeth forcibly sodomizes her guardian when she “gets him back” (except for the vague phrase “among other things”).
I watched the first movie (I have not read the books) without knowing anything about the plot, and, as a rape victim/survivor myself, I was surprised that I found myself much more uncomfortable with the “revenge” scene (don’t get me wrong, the scenes where Lisbeth is attacked were plenty disturbing, but in a way that felt pretty honest and without anything gratuitous). I have wondered, since, why exactly it bothers me– I would like to believe that I feel that rape-as-revenge/ victim-turned-aggressor is the wrong reaction to celebrate, but I also wonder if I am actually bothered because the person who raped me was never caught, thus never giving me the opportunity to see him “punished”.
I tell myself that, had my attacker been caught and convicted, I would be happy to see him removed as a threat to others, and nothing more (that I would not wish death upon him, or wish that he, in turn, would be assaulted in prison), but if being attacked taught me anything (heck, being attacked taught me many things), it is that one cannot really predict how one will react when actually faced with such a situation. Perhaps, though, I tell myself this as a coping mechanism, because I will never have the option to actively wish for (or act out) any sort of “revenge”.
Anyway, it just struck me as odd that it wasn’t more a part of this dialog.
Boysen,
It’s very kind of you to “get it” that men suffer, but your continual insistence that all men take responsibility for rape when MOST men do not commit rape, is akin to asking a whole ethnicity to take responsibility for a crime that only a minority of them committ. My father was a victim of abuse by both men and women in his life. Should he have to take responsibility for men who committ rape?