Women Need Adjectives

Women Need Adjectives



There’s jazz music at eight in the morning at Bar Svetozar in Belgrade. People are smoking cigarettes. It would be cool if I had been here the whole night, drinking whiskey and writing my Bukowski book. Instead, my face is puffy from eight hours sleep and I’m reading Stephen King’s advice on leaving adverbs out in writing. I’m drinking black coffee, though, which might give me the Patti Smith edge? 


Stephen King's rule on adverbs makes me think of those other things called adjectives and how women seem to need them. At least, men think so. A few weeks ago I read so on the cover text of Max Dax’ newest book Dissonanz, published by Merve Verlag: 


“Die schöne S., die geheimnisvolle W., Hans Ulrich Obrist, Harun Farocki, Jean-Michel Jahre, Ed Ruscha, Imre Kertesz, Claude Lanzmann, Arto Lindsay, die Prinzessin von Sizilien und der Stadtfuchs.” 


In Max Dax’ world women are “beautiful” and “mysterious”. Or they are a “princess” which also suggests a beautiful and mysterious quality. Their name is a letter: “S.” “W.”  Men just are, they don’t need descriptions, they are complete and fully named: Hans Ulrich Obrist, Harun  Farocki, Jean-Michel Jahre, Ed Ruscha, Imre Kertesz, Claude Lanzmann, Arto Lindsay. 


Of course, “beautiful” and “mysterious” would make no sense as adjectives with men. Beauty doesn’t matter for them, nor are they mysterious. They are very much visible and take up space. If men are being called anything, it’s the word “genius”. Yesterday, at the Museum Nikola Tesla it was done so, but luckily Tesla’s mother was called so too (for her embroidery). 


So while the caffeine is hitting my system, I myself like to propose a rule for writers. Don’t give women adjectives and never ever call a man a genius. 

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