A first impression of The Second Sex
Shockingly, women exist. They've existed in parallel with men since the extrication of our species from the primordial muck. This incredible discovery was made by Simone de Beauvoir in 1949. I've been reading disparate pockets of continental philosophy, much like one might eat a continental breakfast, since my youth. I felt Madame Beauvoir had escaped my tonsils for far too long.
I'm only half way through currently, and it looks like the film adaptation isn't happening any time soon, so you'll have to excuse my commentary if I fail to mention any big twists.
The most prominent first impression thus far has been her eloquence. This wasn't surprising; a writer and thinker of her renown ought to be a pleasure to read. She makes numerous literary references that even the most wretched book-head will miss, but often with enough context or quotations to infer the point.
One of the more exciting recurring references is to Hegel. She makes semi-regular use of the Hegelian dialectic (you know the drill: thesis, antithesis, cowabunga) as a framing device. I recall places where she laboured the point that women have been simultaneously persecuted and revered throughout history, albeit as objects rather than subjects. Persecuted, in that their rights across various time periods and places, lacked relative to men, and revered in the sense that mothers and prostitutes alike enjoy favour and freedom respectively to extents unknown to their contemporaries in other occupations. The industrial revolution brought greater parity to women, leading to political strife when machines created physical parity in the labour market and greater wage competition for the same jobs as men. Yet at the same time, expectations of motherhood and home making remained, even when simultaneously employed in brutal factory work. This is one of the central premises, in my opinion: woman as a contradiction of values in the eyes of men, and even in each other. The early references to Hegel prime the attentive reader (read: sickos) to view these dichotomies in these crusty, Germanic terms.
I made use of the terms "object" and "subject" there, which if you were so inclined, could also be interpreted as another dialectical flight of fancy. These are terms Madame Beauvoir repeats in the first half of the book regularly, thus causing me to regret being a disinterested observer in my aesthetics elective (bit of aesthetics humour for the aesthetics heads). Fortunately, the terms are more or less solvable from context; my interpretation is that an "object" is a non-conscious, non participatory entity, and a subject the opposite. Therefore the most trite, blunt force interpretation of her thesis might be "women have been objects throughout human history, and men the conquering, adventuring subjects". She makes reference to a gaggle of misogynistic playwrights from the bad old days in their references to solitary, painfully male heroes and their cold indifference to the women in their lives. Odysseus was quite aloof to his besmirched Penelope. Heracles was rather emotionally unavailable. These pseudo-stoic, idealised heroes embodied the enlightenment ideal of lonely subjectivity. Even as an unrealistic ideal, the very idea was wrenched from women by lack of representation, societal standards, and prominently, obligations pertaining to genetic determinism.
This leads me to a slightly darker, unsavoury road in Beauvoir's work. By "genetic determinism" I'm referring to the author's belief that part of women's historic subjugation stems from physiology. While I can understand her in some respects, there are others that come across as farfetched as a 21st century reader.
Regarding where I understand her: men being physically stronger in ancient societies put women at a disadvantage. Prior to the industrial revolution, says Beauvoir, this lack of parity in strength and speed relegated women to domestic chores, as they weren't as effective labourers tending crops in the fields, hunting buffalo wings and whatnot. It also had dire consequences during sieges, wars, and other contests and occupations where relative lack of strength could be a liability, to say the least.
Regarding where I can't in good faith understand: she makes many psychoanalytic references and diagnoses that date the book heavily. From passages about female homosexuality merely being an escape from the subject/object power dynamics in relationships with men, to "tomboyish" women being as they are as a means to seize the subjectivity of maleness, she makes spurious leaps. These are typically backed up by anecdotes or passages from texts that reference female puberty, other female writers' sexual experiences in memoirs and so forth. Granted, I don't expect hard science in my philosophical writing from the 40s, but you best believe some odd things are about to be asserted when Freud comes up. It's for this reason I don't hold this against her; she was working with the best psychological insights her time could offer. However, as academically interesting as it is to read an eloquent argument that some sexual proclivities are merely an expression of a woman's subconscious identification of the subject/ object dichotomy and the need to either escape or embrace it, I doubt most young adults are reflecting upon their social position with eudaimonic reverie when something unexpected makes them cum.
There's a lot to like thus far, but it's definitely a mixed bag. I like the myriad historical and literary references, and she makes poignant observations about women's lot for the most part. It only veers with any noticeability when pseudoscience and inadvertently-dismissive theories of sexuality get involved. Am I going to finish this book? I don't know. Do I regret reading as far as I have? I don't know. Am I going to take a break by reading Andy Weir for a while? Yes.