"Belligerence" and "contempt" are two of these codes. "Belligerence" refers to taunting, challenging remarks designed to provoke another person.-- When Men Batter Women:
Both the dichotomy and the correlation between helplessness and violence is interesting, and in the now wearying inundation of the European procedural, Unni Lindell exposes a standard conceit in the mystery narrative: the disturbed imbecile whom most people would suspect committed the crime, but whose secret, once released, offers up the truth.
In Unni's story, The Mourning Cloak (I cannot read Norwegian) a distinct minority may not see the actions of the antagonist as villainous. The system failed her, and she was unable to shed the baggage of her tormented injury-- yet by the same token, Esther's death was grotesque, the opening murder on whom Vesla's vengeance was enacted. What is deserving here? You have a rape, and an assertion of bulling dominance which destroyed something fundamental, and then you have the repercussions of what Vesla's pain did to the boy Markus whose mother she killed, married and separated from the rapist whose emotional fragmentation would always be with him. Drugs and counseling would not necessarily heal it, and Steiner's fidelity to Vesla is sinister in its simplicity, the helpless waif who couldn't support himself without the aging father. The savant, shorn of the social corrections applied in a sweet and poignant arc in Nancy Oliver's Lars and the Real Girl, frightens people. Because the impairments are so elemental, our willingness to dispense with consideration of others so frank, that even in constraint, buffeted to one small domain, wives and mothers want us to go away, and the Canadian left scolds aggressive wheelchair users: "Issuing threats with medical equipment isn't the way to channel anger." One of my member's stories from my group, Disability Arts, who didn't understand why we were all arguing with each other, who didn't understand that I was chasing after an esoteric and ambitious thesis, because once upon a time, coincidence led a leftist Shakespearean to investigate the rather storied studio apartments renovated by a Roman invalid's father, and the invalid wasn't cognizant enough to realize she'd never get over that event, the following chance conservation, her fucking naive attachment to him she fought not so valiantly, tears flowing as if to nourish the miraculous springs of Lourdes?
What can you offer in comparative self-hating tendencies, hmm?
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