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I have a confession to make. I have been not just a witness in the power of the patriarchy, I have been a player. I perpetuated the myth of separating the art and the artist. I am sorry. As the #metoo movement has asked us all to rethink how we have been performing as men, as citizens, as role models in this society, I found myself digging inwards to examine my own culpability. I have found it.
I read a great article last week in the Atlantic by Megan Garber titled, “David Foster Wallace and the Dangerous Romance of Male Genius,” and it inspired me to revisit my own literary tendencies, and how I can broaden them. So, I did. Part of my role in graduate school is to teach the introductory fiction course at the University where I study. I base the syllabus on fundamentals of the creative writing process, assigning short stories and essays which I feel successfully incorporate specific elements of this process; beginning, ending, dialect, character, etc. I include authors whose work I know, authors who were recommended to me, and authors whose work I am comfortable teaching. In review, I noticed that not only was my fall syllabus dominated by male authors, it was dominated by male authors who were/are considered to be geniuses in the literary world. Although there was no malicious intent, the assigned readings were what they were.
As the #metoo movement opened the eyes of those of us who were previously content to keep them closed – or at a squint – either by willful determination, or ignorance, I realized that my syllabus was a who’s who of predators. My syllabus included, in no specific order: David Foster Wallace, Sherman Alexie, Junot Diaz, and Ernest Hemingway. We have always known that David Foster Wallace was less than pleasant to be around, and has been accused of not only violence against women, but also sexual predation. The literary world, more specifically the male literary world, did their best to hide—or ignore—Wallace’s improprieties. Sherman Alexie and Junot Diaz were unexpected, recent additions to the list. I will admit that I had heard rumors about DFW in the past, and still tried to separate the art from the artist, as his work helped me with a specific lesson.
This is the problem with the patriarchal power system in which we live. Positions of power and/or “artistic genius” afford these men the ability to command others—younger, less powerful women—into unwilling and unacceptable positions. What is it about power that creates a desire in some men to commit such acts? This authority is not limited to men with unbridled power, like a president or professor, a CEO or television anchor?
We see this misogyny, this power struggle in middle management, between romantic partners, all while being perpetuated by the media.
I myself labored under the thought pattern that I could separate the work from the man, teaching Hemingway and Wallace as if their real lives had no effect on their work, or the people they surrounded themselves with. I was so wrong. Here is what I have come to learn from the #metoo movement:
1. “Genius” is no excuse for bad behavior. The greatest authors, actors, artists, business professionals do NOT deserve a free pass because they are talented. There are so many more talented people in this world, whose work is not overshadowed by corrupt, illegal, illicit behavior.
2. You cannot rely on a single source to represent an entire culture. Sherman Alexie’s work is often included in anthologies as he is the most well known Native American author, and Junot Diaz is one of the most well-known Latin(x) authors. This is no excuse.
3. There are so many individuals who are “geniuses” or power figures who do not behave this way. Find these people.
4. Expanding my reading list meant reading new authors, new genres, new cultures. What I found was it was so easy to remove Wallace and Alexie and Diaz and replace them with Zadie Smith or Roxane Gay or Oscar Casares or Ravi Howard.
5. The mirror is the hardest place to look. As a father, I think about my duty as role model and example for my son. I am the male he sees most, and it is my responsibility to show, through both words and actions, that one’s position or genius or popularity does not provide an avenue for misconduct.
I hope that my son watched as I consciously removed authors from my coursework who didn’t have the ethical standards that my students deserve. I hope he watched as I have rethought my own behavior in the household. I hope he pays attention when the news highlights the downfall of Harvey Weinstein or Kevin Spacey or Bill Cosby or Jeffrey Tambor or Morgan Freeman. We have to change as men. We have to rethink the definitions of power and privilege. We need to refocus our efforts as fathers to teach our sons that with great power comes great responsibility. That responsibility is to make the world better for everyone. We need to do it soon.
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