Time Immortal

At least, I think that’s the gist of what George Jonas is getting at in his latest article. And not just establishment feminists either, who are obviously threatened that a woman who has risen as high, and as quickly, as Sarah Palin has could possibly have had five kids along the way, and who are disgusted and vexed by the thought that any woman of achievement could possibly espouse a pro-life viewpoint.

The word “insult” recurs, and not only on my phone messages. As noted by The Weekly Standard’s Noemie Emery, “insulting” is the word of choice for The New Republic’s Michelle Cottle, the Newsweek/Washington Post blog’s Sally Quinn, as well as for The Baltimore Sun’s Susan Reimer and The Washington Post’s Ruth Marcus. Why “insulting”? Here’s one obvious reason. The sickening speed with which the moose-hunting ex-mayor of Wasilla passed everyone in the queue for Queen Bee made a mockery of any woman who wore out her contact lenses reading books that essentially bored her; or who gave up a sweet guy who wasn’t going places for a nerd or a windbag who was; or who planned her parenthood because a person couldn’t have it all; or one who had it all and could no longer fit into her Dolce & Gabbana.

“Why did I plan all those hideous dinner parties?” cry the subtext of my phone messages. “Why did I read all that Proust and Joyce? Why did I pretend that I had an interest in the Seychelles? Does she even know where the Seychelles are? I bet she doesn’t.

“Why did I make nice to that wet noodle from Yale? Why was I nasty to that great guy from Alaska? From Alaska, no less! Look where it got me. Three diplomas on the wall, and I’m not even on the A-list. No children — she has five — five! — and can still fit into her Ermenegildo Zegna, even if she can’t pronounce it.”

Dear ladies, thanks for calling. What can I say to ease your hurt? Not much. Remember, you can only prepare yourself for small things. Big ones are usually gifts. You can study business, but not how to be a captain of industry. Resign yourselves to the next inhabitant of the White House having an atrocious hairdo.

There is something in all this “she’s not the right kind of woman” commentary being levelled at Palin that, I think, is quite revealing. It is revealing of the inherent insecurities of many women who have, to one degree or another, bought into modern feminist myths. It is also revealing of just how empty a life modern feminism proposes to reward women with, and the way it has distorted the perceptions of many people about even something so normal and so essential as the propagation of the species to the next generation.

Update: Welcome, Steynians!

The People’s Cube put up this graphic as a commentary on the “art”work of Yale student Aliza Shvarts, whose project supposedly involved “repeatedly inseminat[ing] herself with sperm freshly collected from campus masturbators, then induc[ing] miscarriages and stor[ing] the resulting blood with fertilized eggs in order to smear it over the surface of a large suspended cube at a student art show.”

Now, to be fair, that’s a disgusting art project, although one can hardly call it new:

Indeed, Ms. Shvarts’ pursuit of unusual purposes for body parts is not new. In 1943, another uninhibited woman named Ilse Koch tried to deconstruct the “normative understanding of the relationship between art and the human body” by having a lampshade made from tattooed skins of Buchenwald prisoners.

In their usual fashion of odd humour, the people at The People’s Cube have come up with a graphic that I think rather nicely captures the reality of the situation. I think, though, that the message of the graphic (with a touch of Photoshoppery) applies much more broadly than just in that circumstance.

Hence:

For that is the sad reality, is it not? As previously discussed, abortion exists in opposition to motherhood, and the reality is that when a woman procures an abortion, a human being — who would otherwise have gone on to grow up into a child that produces just this sort of art project for his or her mother in grade school — ceases to be.