This month has seen the deaths of fierce women. In some ways, that's true of every month; fierce women often meet fiery ends, and much too soon. This morning, I was sad to hear of the death of Sinead O'Connor, and earlier this month, sad to hear of the death of Minnie Bruce Pratt. Both women faced life circumstances, particularly around motherhood, that I will never have to face; I can make this claim as a post-menopausal woman. Both highlighted the hazards that come from living life on one's own terms.
O'Connor's battles were much more public than Pratt's, who was one of the first to write about the sacrifices that she made when she decided to pay attention to her desires for other women; she lost custody of her sons because of that choice.
I only bought one of O'Connor's albums, or maybe two. I loved I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, but by the time later work came out, I wasn't as interested for reasons I no longer remember. I always cheered for her as she took on various causes, even as I wondered if less confrontational tactics might win more believers for those causes. It's a question I often have--what means justify what ends?
I had some of Pratt's books, back in the days when I was buying any feminist work I could find, back when more of it was published, back when there were more small presses. I have likely let a lot of that work go, and I do wonder if I'll regret it, in later days, when books may be harder to find and the power that fuels online collections dwindles/becomes ghastly expensive. I wonder the same thing about all the music that has come through my hands.
If that end time comes, and I've read all my books, I'll just read them again. If I can't play the music of others, I'll finally have time to teach myself all the instruments that has been waiting for me. I will be a fierce woman, trying to avoid a fiery end.
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