In spite of what you believe, some women have an interest in the news and an income of their own, Phyri almost scoffed – but she refrained from commenting, only to let Mr. Patronising inform her of why a boycott wouldn’t work. Write to the paper, he recommended instead: of course, because women always doing what they were told to do was a sure recourse to solving all their problems.
“Do you think that if the management of the Daily Prophet actually cared what women think of the measure, they would have just gone ahead and implemented this?” No. He was trying to pacify her, but Porphyria knew who this measure was really for. This was entirely to appease men, to make them feel like they were doing their paternalistic duty to protect their wives and daughters – she bet no women at the Prophet had been so much as consulted in the process. But this man was oblivious, because all men were: if it did not affect them, why should they see a problem at all?
So she did not hold with the idea of making women write – she was sure it would make no difference, because any women’s opinions would always be thought of as lesser than of the men who approved – and Phyri had just opened her mouth to explain this to him as well, when she had another idea.
Oh, she could encourage women to write to the paper with their opinions. But, even better: she could encourage them to write to the paper as men. Porphyria had never published under a male pseudonym, if only because the Dempsey name afforded her some poetic privilege, what with her parents – but, in this case, whose opinions would hold more water?
But they could use that. Suddenly Phyri gave a sparkling, genuine smile, her rage reduced to a simmer with this new plan in her head. “But thank you for all your help,” she said in an unexpected tone, almost carefree and sunny again, as if she was taking his advice; there was a new glimmer in her eye, but she wasn’t going to let him in on the secret. “Maybe I will write in after all.”
“Do you think that if the management of the Daily Prophet actually cared what women think of the measure, they would have just gone ahead and implemented this?” No. He was trying to pacify her, but Porphyria knew who this measure was really for. This was entirely to appease men, to make them feel like they were doing their paternalistic duty to protect their wives and daughters – she bet no women at the Prophet had been so much as consulted in the process. But this man was oblivious, because all men were: if it did not affect them, why should they see a problem at all?
So she did not hold with the idea of making women write – she was sure it would make no difference, because any women’s opinions would always be thought of as lesser than of the men who approved – and Phyri had just opened her mouth to explain this to him as well, when she had another idea.
Oh, she could encourage women to write to the paper with their opinions. But, even better: she could encourage them to write to the paper as men. Porphyria had never published under a male pseudonym, if only because the Dempsey name afforded her some poetic privilege, what with her parents – but, in this case, whose opinions would hold more water?
But they could use that. Suddenly Phyri gave a sparkling, genuine smile, her rage reduced to a simmer with this new plan in her head. “But thank you for all your help,” she said in an unexpected tone, almost carefree and sunny again, as if she was taking his advice; there was a new glimmer in her eye, but she wasn’t going to let him in on the secret. “Maybe I will write in after all.”
a sublime set by Lady! <3