"the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all" (The History Boys, Fiona, PG-13)
Written as a yuletide treat, 2007.
There’s some Jane Austen book that has a bit about history, and how it’s so boring because there’s no women in there. You must ask someone, someone who’d know. Mrs Lintott maybe. Would Hector know? Would Irwin? Irwin knows everything, of course, if Dakin is to be believed, so you won’t ask him. You can’t.
You want to ask him questions like what are you doing and why are you teaching here and how on earth have you captivated them in the way that you have? And when you say them you mean Dakin, the one most difficult to impress. Unless you are Irwin, in which case all the rules are broken. Apparently.
This is not the big love of your life. You are not heartbroken, just tired. There is a familiarity about this that you can’t quite place. Not that it’s happened before but you feel it has. Maybe it’s that, so clearly, you can see it happening all over again. And again and again, until you are old and grey and eccentric.
You can see Irwin is just a man. Nothing special, just an ordinary run-of-the-mill teacher, just a man. But then maybe that’s it, that’s all it takes. The men are the ones who make things happen, who set it all in motion. You are just there, acting when you are called to, saying no more often than yes, saying little instead of saying everything that’s on your mind.
Because you’re not a part of their world, not really. You are to them what women are, you are a woman and not Fiona. You are beautiful, which you know they know. Your body is up for grabs, which you know because they know. You are not going to run off to Oxford or Cambridge to study history and what men have done in the past, what they could have or should have done, why it matters. Does it matter? Do you have any thoughts on this, Fiona? Have you been asked?
Irwin is just a man, and you will let Dakin fuck you. And you will ask Mrs Lintott what that quote is, maybe, so that you will have something clever to say if ever you are asked.
*
“I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all -- it is very tiresome” -- Catherine Morland (Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey)
There’s some Jane Austen book that has a bit about history, and how it’s so boring because there’s no women in there. You must ask someone, someone who’d know. Mrs Lintott maybe. Would Hector know? Would Irwin? Irwin knows everything, of course, if Dakin is to be believed, so you won’t ask him. You can’t.
You want to ask him questions like what are you doing and why are you teaching here and how on earth have you captivated them in the way that you have? And when you say them you mean Dakin, the one most difficult to impress. Unless you are Irwin, in which case all the rules are broken. Apparently.
This is not the big love of your life. You are not heartbroken, just tired. There is a familiarity about this that you can’t quite place. Not that it’s happened before but you feel it has. Maybe it’s that, so clearly, you can see it happening all over again. And again and again, until you are old and grey and eccentric.
You can see Irwin is just a man. Nothing special, just an ordinary run-of-the-mill teacher, just a man. But then maybe that’s it, that’s all it takes. The men are the ones who make things happen, who set it all in motion. You are just there, acting when you are called to, saying no more often than yes, saying little instead of saying everything that’s on your mind.
Because you’re not a part of their world, not really. You are to them what women are, you are a woman and not Fiona. You are beautiful, which you know they know. Your body is up for grabs, which you know because they know. You are not going to run off to Oxford or Cambridge to study history and what men have done in the past, what they could have or should have done, why it matters. Does it matter? Do you have any thoughts on this, Fiona? Have you been asked?
Irwin is just a man, and you will let Dakin fuck you. And you will ask Mrs Lintott what that quote is, maybe, so that you will have something clever to say if ever you are asked.
*
“I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all -- it is very tiresome” -- Catherine Morland (Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey)