#radical books

[xerserise]

Buy your radical books from radical people who use the profits for radical purposes.

(especially if you're a professor/researcher with funding)

They have a small selection in stock, and can order and ship what they don't have.

[ancientbread]

The hunger games: capitalism pits individuals against each other in order to prevent us from uniting against the systems in power that maintain our oppression

teen dystopian YA for the next decade: light hair good boy 😍??? Or dark hair bad boy 🫣😈😈

[lunamonchtuna]

— Clementine Von Radics, from Courtney Love Prays to Oregon (via lunamonchtuna)

[hay-bails]

i know i’m a true kaladin sicko because on my first read of radiance, i was worried he WOULDN’T ask for a boon

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

Someone posted this in a Trek group:

Counter theory:

"My theory was always that Spock was the unhinged and wild one -- a rebel by Vulcan standards -- and he radicalized "stack of book with legs" Jim Kirk.😂

Spock was the one out there mind melding with every Horta, Nomad and V'Ger while Jim and Bones absolutely panicked in the background.

Then Jim usually ended up being the one to get Spock out of it, too. The Apple, Operation Annihilate, A Private Little War, The Infinite Vulcan, TMP . . . How many times did we see Kirk have to carry Spock body and limb and slightly on fire back to the ship after he got into it?

The amount of shit Jim has to do for Spock in Star Trek III alone.

Spock is like the Enterprise housecat who stubbornly insists on being an outdoor cat and keeps escaping, later having to be carried back indoors. He keeps causing mischief but everybody loves his ass anyway.

Kirk and Spock were chaotic messes who loved their frontier first contact work in TOS and onward -- they deserved each other.😂👌

Shit, cat got out again.

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[radtoken]

"Our conditioning to be ashamed of being women begins when we are barely out of babyhood (. . .) Shame is a tool men use to rule females. Men are not susceptible to it in the same way. Men don't believe that they should be ashamed of themselves as a sex for being responsible for 90 percent of the crime in the world, making wars, killing women, molesting children. They know they are men, hence they are inherently "worthy.""

— Zsuzsanna Budapest, "Grandmother Moon" (p. 214-215)

[garadinervi]

Ntozake Shange, Hijo de las Americas, in A Daughter's Geography, Designed by Manuela Paul, St. Martin's Press, New York, NY, 1983, pp. 49-50

[creekfiend]

something that makes me absolutely batty about dog fancy in general is how no one will acknowledge that the whole concept of Preservation Breeding Because Dogs Are Our Cultural Heritage requires a minimum level of buy-in of nationalist concepts. like. this is baked in and unavoidable. insane

[balkanradfem]

religion to women: you need to be servants >:(

religion to m*n: you deserve servants :D

[notbecauseofvictories]

very strongly feel that moist/adora is the only actual romantic relationship terry pratchett ever wrote.

[agardenintheshire]

tolkien (a studied linguist) and me (has taken their fair share of linguistic classes) staring at each other after the narrator casually drops that the hobbits just 'forgot' their languages and simply adopted the common speech as if that is a normal thing that happens out of the blue and isn't connected to at best cultural assimilation and at worst colonialism, imperialism, and oppression

[butchazepam]

updated radical feminist library

the radical feminist library, by aggrolesbo/ladielabrys, is great. but it has a lot of repeated and illegible files, and without the proper authors so it gets difficult to search for things. I cleaned it put and then added a lot more books recommended across the internet. Plus very good releases by suny press and routledge.

i separated the trans folder from the rest of the library so you can send it to people who would otherwise be turned off.

If you have any recommendations i would be glad to add it!

spread it far and wide please

[dressed2k1ll]

Book review: Goddesses, Whores, Wives & Slaves by Sarah B Pomeroy (1975)

10/10

This was impossible to put down. A fascinating and vibrant history of Ancient Greek and Roman Women: from all walks of life, using just about every resource available within art and archaeology and anthropology.

It’s also also very very well researched and informative with a HUGE bibliography and a great index and lots of notes for the nerdy (aka me) who has already highlighted the next set of books to chew on.

Overall she argues (and does so persuasively with a great deal of thought and objectivity) that Roman women seemed to have enjoyed a higher quality of life than the Ancient Greek women because of generally (especially in upper class households) having a more public-facing life, being slightly more protected by the pater familias model of the Roman household, and having slightly more social mobility.

However a shout out goes to the Amazons and their social model for living 🏹🏹🏹

If you’re curious about the roles of women in varying Hellenistic and classical contexts, this is a must-read.

Her final words are so interesting and prescient too: “Serious intellectual thought about women continued: Stoicism, the most popular of the Hellenistic and Roman philosophies, directed women’s energies to marriage and motherhood. The argumentation is brilliant and difficult to refute. And this rationalized confinement of women to the domestic sphere, as well as the systemization of anti-female thought by poets and philosophers, are two of the most devastating creations in the classical legacy” 😢💔

Also, if you’re upset by reading about things like sexual slavery and infanticide, it might not be the book for you.

Overall, it’s staying in my collection and I’ll definitely be referring to it again.

[arakkne]

Would there be any interest in a radfem book club? Probably hosted on discord with monthly calls to chat about the book we're reading?

(Or does anyone know if this is something that already exists?)

I'm thinking about starting something like this, so please interact with this post if you'd be interested! 📚 :)

[bonefall]

Heyyyy since there's talk of the Breezepelt Attacking Poppyfrost scene going around, I just wanna remind people that he explicitly does that because he was groomed by the Dark Forest. Jayfeather points it out on the page that Breezepelt's stated motivation doesn't make sense, because it's not actually a rational idea Breezy-P came up with. It's then shown that actual factual evil demons are exploiting the anger he has from being a victim of child abuse, to indoctrinate and manipulate him into radical violence

I wrote a little essay about this with citations and stuff. It wasn't "for no reason," and anyone who tries to use the scene as "evidence" of Breezepelt being Secretly Evil to justify the abuse he underwent as a kid either didn't read it, has bad reading comprehension skills, or is cherrypicking on purpose.

Crowfeather emotionally and physically abused his child, Breezepelt was socially alienated by WindClan as a result, which leads to this moment. That is what is on the page.