Daily Wisdom-isms: That Hideous Strength (Equality and House Work)

I came across this passage and thought it explained things so well. In it, Jane, Mark’s wife, is being shown around The Manor at St. Anne’s. The Manor is the opposition to the N.I.C.E. and things are done quite differently there. Enjoy!!

“There are no servants here,” said Mother Dimble, “And we all do the work. The women do it one day and the men the next. What? No, it’s a very sensible arrangement. The Director’s idea is that men and women can’t do housework together without quarreling. There’s something in it. Of course, it doesn’t do to look at the cups too closely on the men’s day, but on the whole we get along pretty well.”

“But why should they quarrel?” asked Jane.

“Different methods my dear. Men can’t help in a job, you know. They can be induced to it: not to help while you’re doing it. At least, it makes them grumpy.”

The cardinal difficulty”, said MacPhee, “in collaboration between the sexes is that women speak a language without nouns. If two men are doing a bit of work, one will say to the other, ‘Put this bowl inside the bigger bowl which you’ll find on the top shelf of the green cupboard.’ The female for this is, ‘Put that one in the other one there.’ And then if you ask them, ‘in where?’ they say, ‘in there, of course. There is consequently a phatic hiatus.”

“There’s your tea now,” said Ivy Maggs, “and I’ll go and get you a piece of cake, which is more than you deserve. And when you’ve had it you can go upstairs and talk about nouns for the rest of the evening.”

“Not about nouns: by means of nouns,” said MacPhee but Mrs. Maggs had already left the room.

Advertisements

About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on May 14, 2012, in Author, Fiction, Philosophy, Religion and Spirituality, Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. true … hehe “Different methods my dear. Men can’t help in a job, you know. They can be induced to it: not to help while you’re doing it. At least, it makes them grumpy.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: