{"product_id":"somebody-with-a-little-hammer-isbn-9780307472335","title":"Somebody with a Little Hammer","description":"In essays on matters literary, social, cultural, and personal, Mary Gaitskill explores date rape and political adultery, the transcendentalism of the Talking Heads, the melancholy of Björk, and the playfulness of artist Laurel Nakadate. She celebrates the clownish grandiosity and the poetry of Norman Mailer’s long career and maps the sociosexual cataclysm embodied by porn star Linda Lovelace. Witty, wide-ranging, tender, and beautiful, \u003ci\u003eSomebody with a Little Hammer \u003c\/i\u003edisplays the same heat-seeking, revelatory understanding for which Gaitskill’s writing has always been known.\u003cb\u003eA Lot of Exploding Heads\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Reading the Book of Revelation \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Trouble with Following the Rules\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn “Date Rape,” “Victim Culture,” and Personal Responsibility \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Lovely Chaotic Silliness\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of The Fermata by Nicholson Baker \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eToes \u003c\/b\u003e’n\u003cb\u003e Hose\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eFrom the Tip of the Toes to the Top of the Hose \u003ci\u003eby Elmer Batters, and \u003c\/i\u003eNothing But the Girl, \u003ci\u003eedited by Susie Bright and Jill Posener \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eCrackpot Mystic Spirit\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eInvisible Republic: Bob Dylan’s Basement Tapes \u003ci\u003eby Greil Marcus \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eBitch\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of\u003c\/i\u003e Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women\u003ci\u003e by Elizabeth Wurtzel \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDye Hard\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eBlonde \u003ci\u003eby Joyce Carol Oates \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMechanical Rabbit\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eLicks of Love \u003ci\u003eby John Updike \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eI’ve Seen It All\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThoughts on a Song by Björk \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eAnd It Would Not Be Wonderful to Meet a Megalosaurus\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn\u003c\/i\u003e Bleak House\u003ci\u003e by Charles Dickens \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eRemain in Light\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn the Talking Heads \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eVictims and Losers: A Love Story\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThoughts on the Movie Secretary \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Bridge\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Memoir of Saint Petersburg \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSomebody with a Little Hammer\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Teaching “Gooseberries” by Anton Chekhov \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eEnchantment and Cruelty\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn \u003c\/i\u003ePeter Pan\u003ci\u003e by J. M. Barrie \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWorshipping the Overcoat\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAn Election Diary \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThis Doughty Nose\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Norman Mailer’s \u003c\/i\u003eAn American Dream\u003ci\u003e and\u003c\/i\u003e The Armies of the Night \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLost Cat\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Memoir \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eI See Their Hollowness\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003cb\u003eCockroach \u003c\/b\u003eby Rawi Hage \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLives of the Hags\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eBaba Yaga Laid an Egg \u003ci\u003eby Dubravka Ugresic \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLeave the Woman Alone!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn the Never-Ending Political Extramarital Scandals \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eMaster’s Mind\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eAgaat \u003ci\u003eby Marlene van Niekerk \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eImaginary Light\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Song Called “Nowhere Girl” \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eForm over Feeling\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eOut \u003ci\u003eby Natsuo Kirino \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eBeg for Your Life\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn the Films of Laurel Nakadate \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Cunning of Women\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn \u003c\/i\u003eOne Thousand and One Nights\u003ci\u003e by Hanan al-Shaykh \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePictures of Lo\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Covering \u003c\/i\u003eLolita \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Easiest Thing to Forget\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Carl Wilson’s \u003c\/i\u003eLet’s Talk About Love \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eShe’s Supposed to Make You Sick\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Review of \u003c\/i\u003eGone Girl \u003ci\u003eby Gillian Flynn \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eIcon\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Linda Lovelace \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThat Running Shadow of Your Voice\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eOn Nabokov’s \u003c\/i\u003eLetters to Véra \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eAcknowledgments \u003c\/i\u003e“A cool and formidable collection.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Essential reading. . . . [Gaitskill] has a gift for traversing taboo territory with a subtlety that’s sometimes downright Jamesian, even if the shenanigans that catch her eye would have shocked the Old Master out of his wits.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “[Gaitskill’s] exceptionally discerning writings on women . . . make one wish she had (or even wanted) her own syndicated newspaper column.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gaitskill never fails to transport her reader . . . These essays not only embrace but define their subjects, making you rethink the way you interact with the things around you in a much more meaningful way.” —\u003ci\u003eNewsweek\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “While Gaitskill is best known for her fiction, this collection demonstrates her power as an essayist, and thrums with the same sexual energy.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A beautiful, thought-provoking work [that] cements Mary Gaitskill as one of the sharpest critical thinkers and most important cultural critics of our time. . . . A deep-dive into everything from contemporary fiction to modern politics to American womanhood, [that] will shake you to your core.” —\u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “If you have not yet worked through a thought with Gaitskill, \u003ci\u003eSomebody with a Little Hammer\u003c\/i\u003e is a primer. It makes entirely clear how seriously she takes the idea of fairness, in life and in fiction, and how averse she is to even the lightest thumb on the scale.” —\u003ci\u003eBookforum\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Strewn with . . . pearls. . . . Readers of Gaitskill’s novels and short stories will recognize the shrewdness, and the themes.” —\u003ci\u003eHarper’s Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “It feels refreshing to finally have a grownup in the room, laying down the law but not really caring whether you follow it or not.” —\u003ci\u003eBoston Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Gaitskill’s writing is somehow crucial in a way few of her peers can achieve. She says the things you didn’t know needed to be said until she says them, and only then do you know what you’ve been missing.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Buffalo News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “When Gaitskill writes about any book, it’s a full-on contact sport, where the boundaries between her and the book are so fluid as to be barely there. . . . Immersing yourself in her world for a page or three has the bracing aliveness of throwing yourself into almost-freezing water.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Columbus Dispatch\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The pages burst with insight and a candid, unflinching self-assessment.” —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “A voice of reason and sanity, of piercing intelligence and generous humanity.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Los Angeles Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The world is Mary Gaitskill’s nail in \u003ci\u003eSomebody with a Little Hammer\u003c\/i\u003e.” —Vanityfair.comMary Gaitskill is the author of the story collections \u003ci\u003eBad Behavior\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBecause They Wanted To\u003c\/i\u003e (nominated for the PEN\/Faulkner Award), and \u003ci\u003eDon’t Cry\u003c\/i\u003e, and the novels \u003ci\u003eThe Mare\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eVeronica\u003c\/i\u003e (nominated for the National Book Award), and \u003ci\u003eTwo Girls, Fat and Thin\u003c\/i\u003e. Her stories and essays have appeared in \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eHarper’s\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eArtforum\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eGranta\u003c\/i\u003e, among many other journals, as well as in \u003ci\u003eThe Best American Short Stories \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe O. Henry Prize Stories\u003c\/i\u003e.The Trouble with Following the Rules \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e On “date rape,” “victim culture,” and personal responsibility\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e In the early 1970s, I had an experience that could be described as “date rape,” even if it didn’t happen when I was on a date. I was sixteen and staying in the apartment of a slightly older girl I’d just met in a seedy community center in Detroit, where I was just passing through. I’d been in her apartment for a few days when an older guy (he was probably in his mid-twenties) came over and asked us if we wanted to drop some acid. In those years, doing acid with strangers was consistent with my idea of a possible good time, so I shared a tab with them. When I started peaking, my hostess decided she had to go see her boyfriend, and there I was, alone with this guy, who, suddenly, was in my face. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e He seemed to be coming on to me, but I wasn’t sure. LSD is a potent drug, and on it, my perception was just short of hallucinatory. On top of that, he was black and urban-poor, which meant that I, being very inexperienced and suburban-white, did not know how to read him the way I might have read another white kid from my own milieu. I tried to distract him with conversation, but it was hard, considering that I was having trouble with logical sentences, let alone repartee. During one long silence, I asked him what he was thinking. Avoiding my eyes, he replied, “That if I wasn’t such a nice guy, you could really be getting screwed.” This sounded to me like a threat, albeit a low-key one. But instead of asking him to explain himself or leave, I changed the subject. Some moments later, when he put his hand on my leg, I let myself be drawn into sex because I could not face the idea that if I said no, things might get ugly. I don’t think he had any idea of how unwilling I was—the cultural unfamiliarity cut both ways—and I suppose he may have thought that white girls just kind of lie there and don’t do or say much. My bad time was made worse by his extreme gentleness; he was obviously trying very hard to turn me on, which, for reasons I didn’t understand, broke my heart. Even as inexperienced as I was, I could see that he wanted a sweet time. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e For some time after, I described this event as “the time I was raped.” I knew when I said it that the description wasn’t accurate, that I had not said no, and that I had not been physically forced. Yet it \u003ci\u003efelt\u003c\/i\u003e accurate to me. In spite of my ambiguous, even empathic feelings for my unchosen partner, unwanted sex on acid is a nightmare, and I did feel violated by the experience. At times I even elaborately lied about what had happened, grossly exaggerating the threatening words, adding violence—not out of shame or guilt, but because the pumped-up version was more congruent with my feelings of violation than the confusing facts. Every now and then, in the middle of telling an exaggerated version of the story, I would remember the actual man and internally pause, uncertain why I was saying these things or why they felt true— and then I would continue with the story. I am ashamed to admit this, because it is embarrassing and because it conforms to the worst stereotypes of white women. I am also afraid the admission could be taken as evidence that women lie “to get revenge.” My lies were told far from the event (I’d left Detroit), and not for revenge, but in service of what I felt to be the metaphorical truth—although what that truth was is not at all clear to me, then or even now.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e ***\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e I remember my experience in Detroit, including the aftermath, every time I hear or read yet another discussion of what constitutes “date rape.” I remember it when yet another critic castigates “victimism” and complains that everyone imagines himself or herself to be a victim and that no one accepts responsibility anymore. I could imagine telling my story as a verification that rape occurs by subtle threat as well as by overt force. I could also imagine casting myself as one of those crybabies who want to feel like victims. Both stories would be true and not true. The complete truth is more complicated than most of the intellectuals who have written scolding essays on victimism seem willing to accept. I didn’t even begin to understand my own story fully until I described it to an older woman many years later, as proof of the unreliability of feelings. “Oh, I think your feelings were reliable,” she replied. “It sounds like you were raped. It sounds like you raped yourself.” I didn’t like her tone, but I immediately understood what she meant, that in failing to even try to speak up for myself, I had, in a sense, done violence to myself. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e I don’t say this in a tone of self-recrimination. I was in a difficult situation: I was very young and unready to deal with such an intense culture clash of poverty and privilege, such contradictory levels of power and vulnerability, let alone ready to deal with it on drugs. But the difficult circumstances alone do not explain my inability to speak for myself. I was unable to effectively stand up for myself because I had never been taught how. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e When I was growing up in the sixties, I was taught by the adult world that good girls did not have sex outside marriage and bad girls did. This rule had clarity going for it, but little else; as it was presented to me, it allowed no room for what I actually might feel, what I might want or not want. Within the confines of this rule, I didn’t count for much, and so I rejected it. Then came the less clear “rules” of cultural trend and peer example, which said that if you were cool, you wanted to have sex as much as possible with as many people as possible. This message was never stated as a rule, but, considering how absolutely it was woven into the social etiquette of the day (at least in the circles I care about), it may as well have been. It suited me better than the adult’s rule—it allowed me my sexuality at least—but again it didn’t take into account what I might actually want or not want. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The encounter in Detroit, however, had nothing to do with being good or bad, cool or uncool. It was about someone wanting something I didn’t want. Since I had only learned how to follow rules or social codes that were somehow more important than I was, I didn’t know what to do in a situation where no rules obtained and that required me to speak up on my own behalf. I had never been taught that my behalf mattered. And so I felt helpless, even victimized, without really knowing why. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e My parents and my teachers believed that social rules existed to protect me and that adhering to these rules constituted social responsibility. Ironically, my parents did exactly what many commentators recommend as a remedy for victimism. They told me that they loved me and that I mattered a lot, but this was not the message I got from the way they conducted themselves in relation to authority and social convention—which was not only that I didn’t matter but that \u003ci\u003ethey\u003c\/i\u003e didn’t matter. In this, they were typical of other adults I knew, as well as of the culture around them. When I began to have trouble in school, both socially and academically, a counselor exhorted me to “just play the game”— meaning to go along with everything from social policy to the adolescent pecking order—regardless of what I thought of “the game.” My aunt, with whom I lived for a short while, actually burned my jeans and T-shirts because they violated what she understood to be the standards of decorum. A close friend of mine lived in a state of war with her father because of her hippie clothes and hair—which were, of course, de rigueur among her peers. Upon discovering that she had been smoking pot, he had her institutionalized. \u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Many middle-class people—both men and women—have learned to equate responsibility with obeying external rules. And when the rules no longer quite apply, they don’t know what to do—much like the enraged, gun-wielding protagonist of the movie \u003ci\u003eFalling Down\u003c\/i\u003e, played by Michael Douglas, who ends his ridiculous trajectory by helplessly declaring, “I did everything they told me to.” If I had been brought up to reach my own conclusions about which rules were congruent with my particular experience of the world, those rules would’ve had more meaning for me. Instead, I was usually given a set of static pronouncements. For example, when I was thirteen, I was told by my mother that I couldn’t wear a short skirt because “nice girls don’t wear short skirts above the knee.” I countered, of course, by saying that my friend Patty wore skirts above the knee. “Patty is not a nice girl,” replied my mother. But Patty was nice. My mother is a very intelligent and sensitive person, but it didn’t occur to her to define for me what she meant by “nice” and what “nice” had to do with skirt length, and how the two definitions might relate to what I had observed to be nice or not nice—and then let me decide for myself. It’s true that most thirteen-year-olds aren’t interested in, or much capable of, philosophical discourse, but that doesn’t mean that adults can’t explain themselves more completely to children. Part of becoming responsible is learning how to make a choice about where you stand in respect to the social code and then holding yourself accountable for your choice. In contrast, many children who grew up in my milieu were given abstract absolutes that were placed before us as if our thoughts, feelings, and observations were irrelevant.","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302096326885,"sku":"NP9780307472335","price":22.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780307472335.jpg?v=1767736914","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/somebody-with-a-little-hammer-isbn-9780307472335","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}