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This is a well thought out article that challenges people who act as if what women are angry about is some fad and produces examples and recommendations of books that speak to what women know to be true: sexism has always existed and unless we do something about it, it will keep existing.

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Women's anger is having a moment. This year has already seen two and a half new books on the subject - Brittney Cooper's Eloquent Rage and Soraya Chemaly's Rage Becomes Her, plus the first U.K. and U.S. editions of Clementine Ford's Fight Like a Girl - with Rebecca Traister's Good and Mad and Gemma Hartley's Fed Up coming right around the corner.

Meanwhile, in just the last few weeks, Serena Williams was penalized and pilloried for raising her voice at a referee; a bunch of men whose careers were supposedly ruined by the #MeToo movement were given high-profile comeback platforms; sexual assault allegations against Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh made women of a certain age relive our fury over the 1991 Clarence Thomas hearings; and Warner Brothers put racist, anti-Semitic abuser Mel Gibson in charge of the Wild Bunch remake.

Right now, every woman I know is a live wire, snapped and flailing, in a storm that doesn't look like it'll let up any time soon.

Adding sexist insult to injury, there's apparently never been any research on misogyny. Certainly, there are no experts to consult, no Ivy League scholars who have published books on the topic in the last year. There's no obvious way for a media outlet to find someone who can contextualize recent news in terms of structural oppression, because women's and gender studies departments don't exist; books on rape culture and toxic masculinity won't come up in search engines; and women on Twitter are, to a one, keeping mum. LOL, j/k. In reality, everybody just keeps acting like all of this is brand new, because they don't want to listen to women. Which is, in a nutshell, why we're so angry.

Everybody just keeps acting like all of this is brand new, because they don't want to listen to women. Which is, in a nutshell, why we're so angry.

For those who would like to learn more about (chiefly, though not exclusively, North American) women's anger - the reasons for it, the shapes it takes, the resistance to it, the energy it saps, and the energy it produces - I present The Rage Syllabus. I've kept the number of required texts to a modest 58, so completing all lessons shouldn't take you much more than a calendar year of full-time study. Sadly, this means I've left out enormous amounts of history, including the entire First Wave and a great many important feminist publications from the mid-to-late 20th century. You have a lot of rage to catch up on.

In fact, I have focused as much as possible on texts published in the last few years, because the rage I'm talking about here is centuries old but also fresh as a girl child straight out of the bath, dancing like nobody's told her how much the world hates her yet.

Lesson 1: Introduction to the Patriarchy

Bates, Laura. Misogynation: The True Scale of Sexism. London, Simon and Schuster UK, 2018.Beard, Mary. Women and Power: A Manifesto. New York: Liveright, 2017.Manne, Kate. Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny. New York, Oxford USA, 2017.

Bates gives us everyday examples, Beard situates it historically, and Manne breaks down how it operates. Welcome to Hell.

Lesson 2: Back to the Beginning

Bonner, Lucy M. What to Do When You're Raped: An ABC Handbook for Native Girls.Lake Andes, SD, Native American Women's Health Education Resource Center, 2016.
Deer, Sarah. The Beginning and End of Rape: Confronting Sexual Violence in Native America.Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 2015.
Nagle, Mary Kathryn. "Nasty Native Women" (in Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance, and Revolution in Trump's America.New York, Picador, 2017.
Washuta, Elissa. " Apocalypse Logic." The Offing, 21 Nov. 2016.

First, read Lucy Bonner's heartbreaking primer for "Native girls" on how to deal with the aftermath of seemingly inevitable rape; the kick-in-the-teeth design recalls a kindergarten picture book. Then, consider why Sarah Deer rejects the word "epidemic" to describe the breathtakingly high rates of sexual violence against Native American girls and women: to wit, because the image of a short-term, treatable contagion masks the important connection between rape as a means of social control and colonialist systems of oppression. See how Elissa Washuta picks up this theme in the personal essay "Apocalypse Logic," and how Mary Kathryn Nagle connects it to "the trivialization of Native women's identity and bodies" (#CancelYandy) in the dominant American culture and its laws. Discuss how sexual violence, as a function of white male entitlement, is baked right into the foundation of the United States. If you're just putting that together now, please stop following this syllabus and go spend a year reading work by Native American women.

Lesson 3: The Personal Is Political, Sociological, Psychological, and Economic

Abdulali, Sohaila. What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape. New York, The New Press, 2018 (forthcoming).
Eltahawy, Mona. Headscarves and Hymens: Why the Middle East Needs a Sexual Revolution.New York, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2015.
Penny, Laurie. Bitch Doctrine: Essays for Dissenting Adults.New York, Bloomsbury USA, 2017.
Quinn, Zoe. Crash Override: How Gamergate Nearly Destroyed My Life, and How We Can Win the Fight Against Online Hate. New York: Public Affairs, 2017.
Serano, Julia. Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity.2nded., Berkeley, Seal Press, 2016.

Many of our required reading texts use the author's personal experience as a starting point for a discussion about larger societal issues. As Abdulali notes, this can make them difficult to categorize properly: "Essays? Not really. Sociology? Not Learned or Academic enough. Psychology? No, too opinionated. Research? Not comprehensive enough. Memoir? Heaven forbid." Do you suppose that's why nonfiction discussing the continued oppression of 51 percent of the world's population frequently ends up stashed on the "Women's Studies" shelf in bookstores, as opposed to, say, the "Current Affairs" display? Does interdisciplinary, reflective work suggest a peculiarly feminine form of knowledge production? Or do women feel compelled to begin with the personal - especially when the personal is traumatic and/or salacious - because the market typically responds well to the gory details of women's pain, and to female focalizers who undercut their own authority with damaged vulnerability? Discuss.

Lesson 4: Corporations Are People; Women, Less So

Marçal, Katrine. Who Cooked Adam Smith's Dinner?: A Story About Women and Economics.New York, Pegasus Books, 2016.
Moore, Kate. The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America's Shining Women.Naperville, IL, Sourcebooks, 2017.
Moore, Anne Elizabeth. Body Horror: Capitalism, Fear, Misogyny, Jokes.Chicago: Curbside Splendor, 2017.
Zeisler, Andi. We Were Feminists Once: From Riot Grrrl to Covergirl, the Buying and Selling of a Political Movement. New York, Public Affairs, 2016.

Based on your reading of these texts, consider when would be the optimum time to burn it all the fuck down.

The Radium Girls tells the horrifying true story of women who worked in radium-dial factories in the early 20th century, literally being poisoned by their jobs - first because of ignorance and then, well after their male employers knew the risks, because of greed. Body Horror combines research and personal experience to illuminate the ways women, especially poor women and those with chronic illness or disabilities, suffer under capitalism. Who Cooked Adam Smith's Dinner? demonstrates that "However you look at the market, it is always built on another economy" - specifically the unpaid and unacknowledged labor of women. And We Were Feminists Once looks at how the feminist movement that once defended women from exploitation has been co-opted by corporations, who sanitize our righteous anger and then try to sell it back to us. Based on your reading of these four texts, consider when would be the optimum time to burn it all the fuck down.

Lesson 5: (Speaking of Commodified Feminism) We've Come a Long Way, Baby

Faludi, Susan. Backlash: The Undeclared War on American Women. Anniversary ed. New York, Broadway Books, 2009.
Marcus, Sara. Girls to the Front: The True Story of the Riot Grrrl Revolution. New York: Harper Perennial, 2010.
Pollitt, Katha. " We Are Living Through the Moment When Women Unleash Decades of Pent-Up Anger." The Nation, 11 Jan. 2018.
Povich, Lynn. The Good Girls Revolt: How the Women of Newsweek Sued their Bosses and Changed the Workplace. New York, Public Affairs, 2012.
Richards, Amy, and Cynthia Greenberg, editors. I Still Believe Anita Hill: Three Generations Discuss the Legacy of Speaking Truth to Power.New York, Feminist Press, 2012.
She's Beautiful When She's Angry.Directed by Mary Dore, She's Beautiful Film Project, 13 Nov. 2014.
Solinger, Rickie. Wake Up, Little Susie: Single Pregnancy and Race Before Roe v. Wade. New York, Routledge, 1992.
Walker, Rebecca. " Becoming the Third Wave." Ms. Magazine, Jan. 1992.

Watch She's Beautiful When She's Angry, then read, in this order: Solinger, Povich, Faludi, Richards and Greenberg, Walker, Marcus, Pollitt. Then call all of your over-40 female friends and relatives to tell them how much you love them.

Lesson 6: Pop Culture Puts Us in Our Place

Chocano, Carina: You Play the Girl: On Playboy Bunnies, Stepford Wives,Trainwrecks, and other Mixed Messages. Boston, Mariner, 2017.
Doyle, Sady. Trainwreck: The Women We Love to Hate, Mock, and Fear... and Why. New York, Melville House, 2016.
Petersen, Anne Helen. Too Fat, Too Slutty, Too Loud: The Rise and Reign of the Unruly Woman.New York, Plume, 2017.
Scovell, Nell. Just the Funny Parts... And a Few Hard Truths About Sneaking into the Hollywood Boys' Club. New York, Dey Street, 2018.

All of these books examine how our popular culture is driven by literal boys' clubs and their corresponding ideas about the acceptable uses of a female person. Apart from "fuck toy" and "housekeeper," what are some examples of these uses, as determined by extremely wealthy, mostly white men? List as many as you can think of. Extra credit to anyone who can make a credible argument for more than three.

Lesson 7: Black Anger, White Anger

McFadden, Syreeta. " Men Are Allowed to Rage. Serena Williams Has to Be Graceful." Elle, 11 Sept. 2018.
Jamison, Leslie. " I Used to Insist I Didn't Get Angry. Not Anymore." The New York Times, 17 Jan. 2018.
Jerkins, Morgan. " How I Overcame My Anger as a Black Writer Online." Lenny, 1 Aug. 2017.
Davis, Angela. Freedom Is a Constant Struggle: Ferguson, Palestine, and the Foundations of a Movement. Chicago, Haymarket, 2016.
Khan-Cullors, Patrisse, and asha bandele. When They Call You a Terrorist: A Black Lives Matter Memoir. New York, St. Martin's, 2018.

McFadden and Jerkins (whose 2018 essay collection This Will Be My Undoingis also recommended) write about the ways expressing anger can hurt Black women - socially, professionally, physically, mentally - while Leslie Jamison, a white woman, writes about the dangers of repressing female rage. How does race, specifically for Black women as opposed to white women, circumscribe the boundaries of acceptable female anger? What effects do those boundaries have on which forms of activism the dominant culture will tolerate, let alone support? Black women are welcome to skip this lesson if they don't feel like it; white people will be required to write a 10,000-word essay on the above texts before speaking.

Lesson 8: STEMinism

Saini, Angela. Inferior: How Science Got Women Wrong - and the New Research That's Rewriting the Story.Boston, Beacon Press, 2017.
Dusenbery, Maya. Doing Harm: The Truth About How Bad Medicine and Lazy Science Leave Women Dismissed, Misdiagnosed, and Sick. New York, HarperOne, 2018.
Chang, Emily. Brotopia: Breaking up the Boys' Club of Silicon Valley.New York, Portfolio, 2018.
Pao, Ellen. Reset: My Fight for Inclusion and Lasting Change. New York: Spiegel and Grau, 2017.
Wachter-Boettcher, Sara. Technically Wrong: Sexist Apps, Biased Algorithms, and Other Threats of Toxic Tech. New York, W.W. Norton, 2017.

The above authors explore different ways in which male domination of science, medicine, and technology has deleterious effects on women, both individually and structurally. In light of what you learn from them, consider questions like: What the actual fuck, even my phone has it in for women? What are the symptoms of heart attack in women, since nobody else is going to teach me? And, if your daughter or niece showed interest and aptitude in a STEM field, how would you talk to her about the future? Would you smoke a bowl first, scream into a pillow after, discreetly jam a needle into your palm, or what?

Lesson 9: Taking It out on Each Other

Chung, Catherine. "Yellow Peril and the American Dream." The Rumpus, 12 Apr. 2013.
Lorde, Audre. " The Uses of Anger." Women's Studies Quarterly, vol. 9, no. 3, Fall 1981, pp. 7-10.
Shraya, Vivek. I'm Afraid of Men.Toronto, Penguin Canada, 2018.

Lorde asks, "What woman is so enamored of her own oppression that she cannot see her heelprint upon another woman's face?" Vivek Shraya is afraid of men - both despite and because of being raised with the expectation that she'd become one - but also of women "who have internalized their experiences of misogyny so deeply that they make me their punching bag." Catherine Chung writes of her increasing anger in response to racist microaggressions from white friends: "good people who have told me how they are outraged by racism, hurt by it, bewildered," but who haven't done the most basic work to understand their role in it. Looking back on the readings we've done so far, how do you think internalized misogyny and/or systemic racism make women dangerous to one another - especially white, cis women to trans women and women of color? If you are a white, cis woman, please try to answer this question without launching into a lengthy explanation of why you aren't like that. If you are not a white, cis woman, three extra credit points will automatically be deposited in your imaginary student account every time one of us does that anyway.

Lesson 10: Mansplaining and Whitesplaining

Fricker, Miranda. Epistemic Injustice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing.Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2007.
Solnit, Rebecca. " Men Explain Things to Me." Guernica, 20 Aug. 2012.
Rekdal, Paisley. " Biracial Rage." diaCRITICS, 26 Jun. 2012.

In the essays listed above, Solnit and Rekdal describe having their own books explained to them by men who blithely claimed superior authority over their topics: respectively, the life of Eadweard Muybridge and the experience of being a Chinese-European-American woman. Ever since Solnit's essay hit the internet in 2008, "mansplaining" and its intersecting cousin "whitesplaining" have become two of the most commonly remarked upon sources of present-day feminist rage. But before that, they were problems without names: irritations and humiliations many of us had experienced without necessarily being able to articulate the widespread patterns to which they belonged. In Epistemic Injustice, Fricker describes two forms of the titular offense: "Testimonial injustice occurs when prejudice causes a hearer to give a deflated level of credibility to a speaker's word; hermeneutical injustice occurs at a prior stage, when a gap in collective interpretive resources puts someone at an unfair disadvantage when it comes to making sense of their social experiences." Discuss how these two wrongs "done to someone specifically in their capacity as a knower" explain both the underpinnings of 'splaining and our collective inability to discuss it as a phenomenon until recently.

Lesson 11: Judith Shakespeare in a Rape Culture

Dworkin, Andrea. " Terror, Torture, and Resistance." Canadian Woman Studies/Les Cahiers de la Femme, vol. 12, no. 1, Fall 1991.
Elliott, Alicia. " CanLit Is a Raging Dumpster Fire." Open Book, 7 Sept. 2017.
Friedman, Jaclyn. Unscrewed: Women, Sex, Power, and How to Stop Letting the System Screw Us All.Berkeley, Seal Press, 2017.
Gadsby, Hannah. . Netflix, 2018.
Gay, Roxane, editor. Not that Bad: Dispatches from Rape Culture. New York, Harper Perennial, 2018.
McGuire, Danielle. At the Dark End of the Street: Black Women, Rape, and Resistance - A New History of the Civil Rights Movement. New York, Knopf, 2010.
Valenti, Jessica. Sex Object: A Memoir. New York, Dey Street, 2016.
Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One's Own. London, Hogarth Press, 1929.

If Judith Shakespeare were alive today, do you think she would become a famous writer - or would she give up after being sexually harassed by her M.F.A. advisor?

Virginia Woolf asks us to imagine Shakespeare had a talented, intelligent sister named Judith - "as adventurous, as imaginative, as agog to see the world as he was" - and then consider the many ways in which her society's treatment of women would have prevented her from achieving anything remotely like her brother's success. If Judith Shakespeare were alive today, do you think she would become a famous writer - or would she give up after being sexually harassed by her M.F.A. advisor and a celebrated literary magazine editor she thought was genuinely interested in her work? How would her career trajectory be affected if she dropped out of college after being raped? Would prestigious outlets accept her poetry if she kept returning to the subject of her own victimhood, as if enraptured by it, because no matter how hard she tried to write about anything else - and she would try - it just kept demanding its place at the center of her work? Discuss how much women's art, literature, and creativity has been sacrificed - is still sacrificed, daily - to men's harassment and violence. Have Kleenex handy.

Lesson 12: Feminism, Resistance, and Revolution in Trump's America

Clinton, Hillary Rodham. What Happened.New York: Simon and Schuster, 2017.
Mukhopadhyay, Samhita, and Harding, Kate, editors. Nasty Women: Feminism, Resistance, and Revolution in Trump's America.New York, Picador, 2017.

Yes, I am that professor telling you to buy a book I get royalties on, but in this case, I'm doing it because of the 22 other women in this anthology - including Nicole Chung, Randa Jarrar, Melissa Arjona, Meredith Talusan, and Alicia Garza - who explore questions like: How can undocumented women trapped between borders and 100-mile checkpoints access the health services they need? How can a transracial adoptee survive Thanksgiving with white family members who voted for Trump? What precautions does a fat, queer, Muslim woman need to take before road-tripping in this country? How can activists from different backgrounds work together without turning their righteous rage on each other? And when, if ever, is it time to stop asking politely for our human rights and start throwing bricks? Please reserve your answer to that last question until after you finish reading What Happened.

Lesson 13: Hear Us Roar

Chemaly, Soraya. Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger. New York, Atria Books, 2018.
Cooper, Brittney. Eloquent Rage: A Black Feminist Discovers Her Superpower.New York, St. Martin's, 2018.
Ford, Clementine. Fight Like a Girl.London, One World Publications, 2018.
Hartley, Gemma. Fed Up: Emotional Labor, Women, and the Way Forward.New York, Harper One, 2018 (forthcoming).
Traister, Rebecca. Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women's Anger. New York, Simon and Schuster, 2018 (forthcoming).

Congratulations, friend. If you've made it this far, you are officially what ye olde femynyst internette's favorite Spinster Aunt would call an "Advanced Patriarchy Blamer." Now read these last few texts to get fired up and ready to fight. Or crawl under a blanket and cry, because the news is a lot right now. It's okay. The fight will still be there when you're ready. The fight will be there until we win.

And one day, I promise, we will.

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A Master Class in Women's Rage - Electric Literature

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Women's anger is having a moment. This year has already seen two and a half new books on the subject - Brittney Cooper's Eloquent Rage and Soraya Chemaly's Rage Becomes Her, plus the first U.K. and U.S. editions of Clementine Ford's Fight Like a Girl - with Rebecca Traister's Good and Mad and Gemma Hartley's Fed Up coming right ...

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In 2014, at John F. Kennedy airport in New York, Korean Air executive Heather Cho flew into a rage when she was served macadamia nuts in a bag rather than on a plate, by an attendant on one of her own airline's flights. Her violent tantrum - which became known around the world as the 'nut rage' incident - had serious consequences. Cho lost her job and was sentenced to ten months in prison by a South Korean court.

This was just one of the most recent examples of a proliferation of new and specific forms of rage that emerged in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries - many of them linked to modern technologies - starting with 'road rage' in the 1980s, followed by air rage, Twitter rage, vending machine rage, phone charger rage, internet connection rage... and now even nut rage.

The different forms of rage and anger are among the most talked about emotions of the twenty-first century, and some psychologists argue that anger is one of a small number of 'basic emotions', shared by all humans in all times and places. They suggest that anger is rooted in an evolved 'fight' response. A very aggressive version of anger was one of the five basic emotions in the 2015 movie Inside Out, and there is no doubt that there are sometimes links between aggressive instincts and angry emotions. However, research into the history and philosophy of furious feelings suggests that there is more to it than that. The words, ideas, and physical movements that help make up our emotions have all changed over time.

For instance, people sometimes say that the ancient Greek epic poem the Iliad - one of the first works of Western literature - is all about the anger of Achilles. However, none of the Greek terms used is really the same as our modern idea of 'anger'. Sometimes Achilles is described using the term mēnis, which is a kind of long-lasting hateful sulk, while later in the book, distraught with grief for the death of his friend Patroclus, Achilles goes on a violent killing-spree among his enemies - something more frenzied and homicidal than we would normally associate with 'anger'.

We can also think about what anger and related emotions have looked like over time. If the theory of basic emotions were true, then we would expect to find a single 'angry' face in all historical periods. What we find, instead, is that the sinful passion of 'wrath' or ira was originally depicted not primarily as a facial expression but as a kind of story or situation - sometimes involving drunkenness or violence - as in this depiction of Ira from around the year 1500 by Hieronymus Bosch.

Only in the seventeenth century did European artists and philosophers start to try to match up emotion words with facial expressions. Even then, what they came up with did not match modern theories. There was no single emotion to correspond with modern 'anger', and the faces that were matched with anger-like feelings - such as rage, despair, and hatred - can seem strange to modern eyes. The most influential theorist on this topic was the French artist Charles Le Brun and his face for colère (the French term most often translated as 'anger') is pretty odd. Personally I find it physically impossible to produce it in my own features!

Finally, we need to think about what elements, if any, are shared by all experiences of the emotion of anger. What must be present for an emotional episode to count as 'anger'? Theorists disagree about this. The philosopher Martha Nussbaum thinks that the key components are, first, the belief that I - or someone I care about - have been wronged or insulted in some way, and, secondly, the desire for pay-back or revenge. I don't know about you, but I really don't think that revenge is often in my mind when I lose my temper. More often I might just growl in frustration at my own incompetence or curse the uncooperative nature of the world, but not with any thought of getting my own back. I also think that some kind of physical agitation and outward bodily expression is central to 'anger', but that is neglected by Nussbaum.

So, even among modern-day users of English it is hard to agree what 'anger' really is, even though we all know roughly what it means. It's something to do with being unhappy about something and probably involves an aggressive feeling - but beyond that, it's hard to pin down. One of my favourite attempts to summarise this painful passion is a phrase in the King James Version of the Bible - 'hot displeasure'. This is just one example of how tracing the historical ancestry of our emotional ideas, expressions, and language, can help us to name and understand our feelings today.

Books

Jean L. Briggs, Never in Anger: Portrait of an Eskimo Family

William V. Harris, Restraining Rage: The Ideology of Anger Control in Classical Antiquity

Martha C. Nussbaum, Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, and Justice

Carol Tavris, Anger: The Misunderstood Emotion

From the History of Emotions Blog

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In 2014, at John F. Kennedy airport in New York, Korean Air executive Heather Cho flew into a rage when she was served macadamia nuts in a bag rather than on a plate, by an attendant on one of her own airline's flights.

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Main character: Amy Dunne
Why is she angry: Her husband for everything he took away from her/ their failing marriage/ cheating

I must admit that I love this movie, and every time I watch it, I root for Amy Dunne. Her character is polarising, on one hand you have people who call her despicable, and on the other you have people who applaud her.

In The Take's 'Why You Root for Gone Girl's Amy Dunne' they begin the video essay by declaring that the vastly different reactions Amy’s character gets are based on our own feelings about female rage, they go on to describe it as a quiet sort of anger women are expected to suppress. In their video they look at Amy Dunne as an antihero who is praised for letting out the anger and that her actions don't have to be justified to feel cathartic to the everyday woman.

The anger Amy represents is anger directed at the inadequate spouse. A good point The Take make is how the anger and resentment Amy feels towards her husband is not only considered normal but accepted.

To break this down:

1. Sit-coms and TV shows/Movies portraying the nagging wife and the fed-up husband (or better put incompetent husband and wife with reasonable requests)

2. Real life, where studies show that marriage improves the quality of life and length of a man's life, while lowering the quality of life and length of a woman's (career prospects stagnate, especially with children, they take on extra chores and basically parent their spouse). Yet men are the ones who constantly complain about marriage and 'the old ball and chain' while their wives are literally improving their lives at the cost of their own happiness

3. Generations upon generations of men who have no idea what emotional labour even is and can't realise that telling their wife ‘You could have asked me to do X thing', is not the same as getting up and doing X thing without being told by the wife who has to assume the extra responsibilities of being the household manager (household that the husband-and-wife share).

All these things (and more) added together result in a world where we expect wives to be unhappy, nagging, and resentful which is why seeing Amy break the mould and get revenge for all of these perceivably little things that chip away at her is freeing to especially the female viewers.

The Take goes on to mention how Amy is unnervingly calm, that she's excellent at putting on the mask that allows women to curb their emotions to avoid being hysterical.

Another characteristic we should keep in mind when viewing Amy's story is that she's white. Her plan would have not worked if not for the way white women are regarded in society. White women have always been considered helpless, infantilised, and pure; these sort of attributes that society associates with them can be weaponised which Amy does with finesse. Considering this we must think of her perhaps, real life counter parts, white women crying calling the police on a black person they feel wronged them because they know they have power simply by being white and showing vulnerability.

Is Amy wrong to have used these traits that society assigned her? I'd argue that society deserved it and all she did was play into the role it assigned her and forced her into.

Are white women who weaponize their tears for racist acts in real life wrong? Absolutely.

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Main Character: The Bride
Why is she angry: The assassin team she was a part of attempted to kill her and murdered her unborn baby

Kill Bill vol1 is an entertaining movie, but that's not to say there aren't things that leave a lot to be desired. For instance, the MC 's identity is stripped down to the two things women are told to aspire to in this life, bride and mother. She is literally called 'The Bride', a purposeful choice as every time her actual name is mentioned, it's beeped out.

Aside from this identity stripping, the scene of her implied repeated rapes is unnecessary and doesn't add anything to the plot but falls into the media trope where female character's must undergo rape as a phoenix moment, for more character 'depth' (as male authors can't fathom defining a woman by anything else but her sexuality). It could be argued that she had to kill the male nurse to use his car and get out of there, so him raping her was the justification as to not make us hate her. I think that that is unfounded, she literally killed a mother in front of her four-year-old daughter, killing a male nurse in a frenzy after waking up from a coma would not have been frowned down upon her considering all of the violence and killing, she exhibits in the movie.

Another point I'd like to make is that as much as I commend the female representation in this movie, which is far better than any other Tarantino ones, the constant female in fighting and killing between the very gorgeous attractive leads felt a lot like fan service, men historically being fans of 'cat fights' (sexist term for women fighting), and let's face it violence against women.

The Take created a good video essay debating Kill Bill's feminist legacy, a lot of the points covered in it I talked about as well.

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Main character: Dani
Why is she angry: her boyfriend lacks the emotional intelligence to support her through her recent trauma or courage to break up with her

Watching The Take's analysis on this movie, they point out how the real horror of the movie is not in the pagan cult but in Dani's toxic romance with her boyfriend and I agree.

The reason the ending, watching Dani smile after deciding the grim fate of her boyfriend, is so cathartic and welcomed by us is because throughout the whole movie we see their emotionally draining romance play out.

The video essay also mentions how, in fear of driving her boyfriend away by being overtly emotional, Dani tries to play the cool girl. The face women put on to appeal to men, to not seem hysterical, clingy, needy, or crazy, a mask that does more harm than good, forcing women to supress their emotions, thus building resentment that will at some point come out - be it through a screaming match or murder of your boyfriend in a pagan Swedish cult.

In short this is a revenge fantasy movie, and how much we appreciate when the revenge happens depends a lot on how much we relate to the character taking it so it makes sense that women, especially women who have been with emotionally unavailable men would root for Dani's revenge.

The movie tackles a lot more than this and has a subtle racist subplot that could be missed by casual viewers. On their way to the cult, driving to Sweden, the group pass a sign with a message in Swedish, that translated roughly talks about keeping Sweden pure and white. The racism is also prevalent in the cult, Film Quarterly arguing that the cult was actually founded on racism, having everything else built around that idea. This is not something that surprises me, as the people of colour in the group were killed first and discarded as they were useless past just being mere sacrifices, while the white members were used for procreating to further the cult's bloodline. Another thing that was pointed out in the article was how in the end, Dani escaped her fate by joining a white supremacist cult, so rooting for her is saying that people of colour will always have to be sacrificed for a white woman's final peace of mind.

This is true, it's easy to root for Dani as a white woman, happy that she got her revenge, because it is characteristic as a white person to not acknowledge, ignore or simply not be aware of all of the subtle racism happening in the background - meanwhile a woman of colour will notice these things, making the ending be percieved entirely different. The racism portrayed in the movie unfortunately echoes a scary increase in the alt right movement in Sweden.

In the end I can agree that Dani's anger and resentment were justified, and I hated seeing her suffering on screen, but joining a cult of white supremacists is not the way we, as white women, should find catharsis.

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Main character: Annie
Why is she angry: At her son who she blames for killing her daughter

Hereditary is a horror movie exploring generational trauma and illness, self-destructive tendencies passed down from mother to daughter, as this article puts it, it punished Annie for not subscribing to her role of mother as the most important thing in her life and continuing to create her art.

Although the movie is not about her anger it is certainly front and centre in her interactions with her son, dreaming about telling him she never wished to be his mother, yelling over the dinner table.

Dread Central on the other hand argues that she actually is a good mother with an innate desire to protect her children. Her anger I think is motherly and although the main reason she is angry with her son is because she blames him for her daughter's death there is more to it. In the movie it is revealed that before this ever happened in a bout of sleepwalking she almost set him on fire. If anything, I think her anger stems from what many women feel when confronted with motherhood, the loss of their identity, their DE personification to fit into the role of 'Mother' and perhaps all of these feelings were directed at her first-born son who put her in that role.

This article from The NY Times  analyses motherly rage and the expectations placed on moms in a way I, a childless 20-year-old could never. It offers not only insight into Annie's character but into the mothers I know and helps me understand them better.

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Main character/s: Judy, Violet, Doralee
Why are they angry: unjust workplace dynamics that are a direct result of sexism

Although 9 to 5 is a comedy from the 80s it is still relevant today especially considering its characters.
The 3 women unite to enact their revenge fantasies against their chauvinistic boss, unlike the other movies on this list this revenge is enacted with a sense of humour.
We have to look at this movie through the lenses of its time, like Nikki Baughan writes in her article for BFI 'as the narrative unfurls, however, the audience is invited to see through such one-dimensional generalisations to the whip-smart, astute agitators who lie beneath.'
This movie evokes sisterhood and at its core it has three women who united in their anger and used it to better themselves together.

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Podcast by the 'Centre for the History of Emotions'

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published on

A series of podcasts exploring the history, philosophy, science, and experience of anger, produced by Natalie Steed for the Queen Mary Centre for the History of Emotions. The series includes three features presented by historian Thomas Dixon, two original dramas by Craig Baxter - Seneca Annoyed, and Darwin Vexed - and extended interviews with experts on emotions and their history.

Genre

Learning

Contains tracks

License: all-rights-reserved

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The Sound of Anger by Centre for the History of the Emotions

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A series of podcasts exploring the history, philosophy, science, and experience of anger, produced by Natalie Steed for the Queen Mary Centre for the History of Emotions. The series includes three features presented by historian Thomas Dixon, two original dramas by Craig Baxter - Seneca Annoyed, and Darwin Vexed - and extended interviews with experts on emotions and their history.

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May El Mantawy took the History of Emotions undergraduate module at Queen Mary University of London during 2020-21. In this post, one in a series of contributions by QMUL students to the History of Emotions blog, May explores the dark history of hysteria.
We are living in hysterical times - especially now, with 'pandemic hysteria.' Whenever someone overreacts or there's a lot of noise surrounding a situation, it's classed as 'hysteria' or 'hysterical.' But the conflation of uproar and mass fear as 'hysteria' has made us lose sight of its history. Today, we'd determine that hysteria means excitement or emotion that is uncontrollable, yet the foundation of the term is rooted in oppression and misogyny.

'Hysteria' comes from the Greek word 'hysterikos,' meaning 'suffering of the womb.' Greek thinkers like Hippocrates and Plato believed that when a woman experienced delirium, excessive emotion, and lack of self-control, this was because her uterus was moving freely throughout her body and having tumultuous effects on her mental wellbeing. Plato believed that when the womb was empty for too long after puberty, it became distressed and disturbed and started to move around the body out of irritation. Just the root of the word shows that the term has been characterised as a woman's emotional condition and illness from its inception; an illness that required treatment.

This gave the impression that women should be quick to occupy the womb - they were told that they needed to be getting married and carrying babies to anchor the womb. The threat of sexual deprivation and barrenness sending women crazy spurred the myth of the wandering womb, solidifying women's position as strictly child-bearers. It also solidified excessive emotion as a feminine emotional condition, and boxed women in as an emotional gender. This mentality persisted, with Roman medical authors still considering hysteria to be an issue with the female generative system caused by 'diseases of the womb.' and it remained that when a woman experienced mental disturbance, stress, panic or uncontrollable behaviour, it was seen as another case of hysteria.

Fortunately, physicians looked elsewhere for the cause of hysteria. In the 17 th century, Charles Lepois was one of the first to assert that "the seat of hysterical pathology was neither the womb nor the soul but the head." This type of thinking started to shake the foundations of the prehistoric relationship between a woman's reproductive system and her physical wellness. Although the focus of hysteria had shifted, it was still considered to affect women more than men, with Thomas Sydenham acknowledging that whilst some men could experience symptoms of hysteria, "women were constitutionally predisposed to hysteria due to their fragile nervous apparatus."

Even as the physicians shifted from womb, to brain, to the mind, women were still considered the most hysterical patients. Jean-Martin Charcot explicitly claimed that men and women alike experienced hysteria, but he's largely been linked to controversial treatment methods, including electronic massages via the vagina, and examining female patients to study hysteria - still resting on the belief that hysteria developed through the female reproductive system and characterising hysteria as a woman's emotional state (as seen below).

Although studies shifted towards more plausible explanations for hysteria, like neurology and mental wellness, it wasn't really until men returned from WWI with symptoms of hysteria that, today, we'd consider to be PTSD, that emotional pain was seen as something that needed to be taken seriously. Physicians continued linking hysteria with femininity, and this is an issue that's still relevant in contemporary history and current events. We as a society have a problem with classifying women who express any emotion as hysterical, but celebrate men who do the same. We see this frequently in reports of female fans of male artists - almost always, they are called hysterical.

The use of 'hysteria' or 'mass hysteria' to describe female fans increased when The Beatles burst onto the music scene in the 1960s and pandemonium surrounding them was termed 'Beatlemania.' Attendees at The Beatles' live shows described scenes that were "almost like collective hypnotism" and recalled how female fans were fainting, screaming and wetting their seats - actions linked to symptoms of hysteria, shown in the image below. Critics of The Beatles fans doubted the mental stability of young female fans; Paul Newman even called them the least fortunate of their generation and idle failures.

The way that male critics typified female fans of The Beatles as degenerates and hysterical shows how negatively women are viewed when they express emotion or excitement. The negative outlook on female fans is closely tied to misogyny and dated gender expectations. Barbara Ehrenreich's 1992 essay suggests that hysteria and obsession with adult men is a form of protesting sexual repressiveness, breaking free of rigid standards placed on young women in a way that wasn't considered proper or politically correct.

It's intriguing how the image of mass hysteria is tied to female mass hysteria - an image of sobbing, screaming and fainting women, overcome with uncontrollable erotic energy. When we shift focus to mass male hysteria, it's described as drunken destructiveness - a rampage of uncontrollable masculine passion. Take football fans as an example: they shout and become aggressive and emotional in a way that they can't control. This indicates that men suffer from hysteria and uncontrollable emotion, except they aren't described as 'hysterical' like women are. They're called 'passionate' and 'opinionated' football fans, but their lack of control over their emotions is the same as female fans.

Lisa Lewis' investigation into fan behaviour shows that male football fans are usually socio-economically disempowered men who find empowerment in their actions at football matches and so their hysteria is assertive. When female fans exhibit similar actions, they're seen as overstepping boundaries of proper feminine behaviour and of low intellect. See the below comparison of female music fans and male football fans.
Further Reading:
This is because, as Elke Krasny puts it, the history of hysteria is the history of patriarchy, and to indicate that men experience the emotional condition of hysteria is to indicate that they are unstable and unreliable. Hysteria is emotion in excess - men can harness their emotions for their benefit, but women don't have the mental capacity to deal with it. Hysteria is rooted in misogyny and controlling sexual behaviour of women, and this still dominates the treatment of women, their emotions, and their health today. Even when it comes to politics, authoritative and passionate female politicians are seen as unhinged, yet their male counterparts are seen as passionate and bold. Trump can be angry; Harris must remain collected (below). Diagnosing a woman as hysterical impairs her ability to effectively engage with her target audience - the gendered historicization of hysteria has served to silence and repress strong women and continues to do so today, and we need to change that.

Antony JW. Taylor, 'Beatlemania' and Mass Hysteria - Still a Much Neglected Research Phenomenon, Journal of Psychology and Psychotherapy

Lisa A. Lewis, The Adoring Audience: Fan Culture and Popular Media (Routledge: London, 1992)

Mark S. Micale, Approaching Hysteria: Disease and Its Interpretations, Princeton University Press

Elke Krasny, 'HYSTERIA ACTIVISM: Feminist Collectives for the Twenty-First Century,' Performing Hysteria: Images and Imaginations of Hysteria

Dorian Lynskey, Beatlemania: 'the screamers' and other tales of fandom, The Guardian

Rob Boddice, The Arch of Hysteria, REMEDIA

Jude Ellison Sady Doyle, "Hysterical" Women Have Been Making Men Nervous Since The 1900s. Kamala Harris Does The Tradition Proud, Elle

Sarah Jaffray, What is Hysteria?, Wellcome Collection

B.B. Wagner, Beware the Wandering Wombs of Hysterical Women, Ancient Origins

Ada McVean, The History of Hysteria, McGill

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May El Mantawy took the History of Emotions undergraduate module at Queen Mary University of London during 2020-21. In this post, one in a series of contributions by QMUL students to the History of Emotions blog, May explores the dark history of hysteria. We are living in hysterical times - especially now, with 'pandemic hysteria.'

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Some passages I found more relevant:

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This article is an in depth look at the history of 'Hysteria', its roots in misogyny and how it is still prevalent today. It points to what used to be common misconceptions about women based on their different anatomy.

It also calls out the way women displaying emotion is perceived so differently to men doing the same thing. The way the same emotions have negative connotations if felt by a woman, to the positive connotations if felt by a man. Perhaps not even positive connotations but more like expected, those are emotions men are expected to experience and entitled to.

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Will Watson is a PhD candidate at the School of History, Queen Mary University of London. In this post for the History of Emotions Blog, he reflects on the place of anger in the civil rights movement in Northern Ireland in the 1960s and 1970s, and asks what a history-of-emotions approach can add to our understanding, with particular reference to Barbara Rosenwein's recent book about anger. This is the latest in a series of research posts, conversations, and reviews asking 'What is anger?'
As Rob Boddice argues:

at the heart of the history of emotions... ...is the claim that emotions have a history. They are not merely the irrational gloss on an otherwise long narrative of history unfolding according to rational thought and rational decision-making. Nor are emotions merely the effect of history; they also have a significant place, bundled with reason and sensation, in the making of history.

What this suggests is that there is a need to acknowledge the role that emotions play throughout history; that is, emotions hold the key to a deeper and important layer to better understanding individuals, actions, communities, cultures, and societies of the past. Building upon such observations, my PhD, entitled 'The Emotions of The Civil Rights Movement in Northern Ireland, 1963-1972' explores how emotions played an important role in influencing the motivations, goals, ideology, strategy formation and mobilization of individuals and organisations involved within this social movement.

My work seeks to understand, for example, what emotions were in play at any given moment, what frameworks emotions were understood in and how they then led to, and shaped, the emergence of the Civil Rights Movement (CRM) and political discourse and activities, such as street politics, protest, and civil disobedience. Although my research explores other emotions, such as shame, guilt and humiliation, anger was a key emotion felt by those who participated within the CRM. From the anger of Catholics over issues of discrimination, such as perceived bias in housing allocation, to anger felt due to perceptions of poor Nationalist political representation, anger was an underlying emotion that influenced both individual and collective action. This raises the question of how one might explore and understand such an emotion within a historical framework.

Although research within both psychology and neuroscience suggest that anger occurs naturally - originating in the amygdala in response to internal or external stimuli, for example - studies have also shown that anger can be nurtured: anger and resulting behaviours and expression can be learned, and influenced, through upbringing, relationships, culture, and society. This allows for anger to have a history, as it implies that anger has both social and cultural specificity. Therefore, when historical actors speak of their emotions, such as anger, historians must seek to contextualise it within a cultural and social framework.

To illustrate this, my own research can offer an example. Conn McCluskey, a founding member of the Campaign for Social Justice (CSJ) - an organisation that sought to end discrimination in Northern Ireland through constitutional means - believed that anger should be rejected; this was influenced, in part, by his religious beliefs. He acknowledged that he felt angry but perceived it as sinful and a gateway emotion to sectarian violence, as it would perpetuate Protestant Loyalism and Catholic Republicanism. Therefore, when forming a strategy to challenge discrimination, he opted for a non-aggressive approach - one that was solely based on statistics and reason. What can be seen is that his understanding of anger, and the anger of others, was influenced by religion, culture, and society - set within his historical context; this, in turn, had an impact upon how he chose to express anger, and, therefore, upon the history of the CRM.

The idea that anger has a history is not a new concept within the history of emotions, yet the approach to better understanding it within a historical framework remains debated. It is here that a new book by Barbara Rosenwein (previously reviewed for this blog by Imke Rajamani) can offer further insights. By arguing for the historically changing and culturally defined nature of anger, Rosenwein's book continues to challenge the idea that emotions are hardwired and serves as an example of how one might think of anger as nurtured and contextually influenced. To better understand earlier forms of anger, Rosenwein again offers her concept of 'emotional communities': homes, schools, businesses, tribes, for example, that share norms and values with regards to emotions and emotional behaviour. As she states: 'each community favours some emotions and shuns others; each expresses its emotions in characteristic ways'.

Although my own research does not utilise Rosenwein's 'emotional communities' framework specifically, that approach does provide important methodological and theoretical considerations for my PhD, and for the study of the history of anger more generally. Rosenwein argues that the historian of emotions must uncover a system of feeling by looking for emotional commonalities and disparities within social and cultural context; to understand how emotions were understood both individually and collectively; to analyse which emotions were valued and which were deplored; and to analyse how such emotions were expressed, acted upon and with what consequences. Regardless of methodological and theoretical approach, such issues are fundamental to understanding anger in the past.

Rosenwein illustrates this in her book by studying different emotional communities. For example, Rosenwein first explores the concepts of Buddhism, Stoicism and Neo-Stoicism. Similarly, amongst these emotional communities, anger was believed to be a disadvantage and something to be abandoned or rejected. Each community shared a view of anger as having a deleterious impact upon individuals, but the understanding of anger and the approach to removing it varied. The Buddha proffered anger as suffering and a matter of ego that needed to be transcended. Conversely, Seneca, the most widely read of the Roman Stoics, argued that anger was part of human nature - it could not be avoided but could, through practice, be minimised and controlled.

In the second section of her book, Rosenwein explores anger as a vice and/or virtue. Here she analyses, for example, Aristotle and Pope Gregory the Great and, generally, the history of Christian understandings of anger. This view of anger was far removed from the anger of the Buddha or Seneca but is more closely related to the 'righteous anger' of the Patristic era Christians, right through to what emotional communities in a contemporary, modern society might believe. Finally, Rosenwein considers 'natural anger', analysing early medical understandings of anger, where emotional communities such as those that centred around the teachings of Galen and, later, medieval humoral theory, saw anger as a naturally occurring part of human nature, and, therefore, an unavoidable part of human existence.

What Rosenwein's examples demonstrate is that what might be seen simply as anger (or emotions, generally) - an outward expression or inner feeling - is, in fact, more complicated, often rooted in social conditioning and deeply held beliefs. It suggests that the communities that people are part of will determine their understanding and expression of anger, and even its functionality, and shows that even when individuals and the collective have shared values, or a shared ideology or religion, understandings of anger can be nuanced enough to define a community as uniquely separate from another.

This insight about the way that community rules and identities are fundamental to emotional life, is evident within my own research: where organisations, such as the CSJ, suggested that anger should be abandoned completely, others, particularly those that were young and more radical, saw the expression of anger as justified, and a necessary tool for mobilisation. Although both organisations had the same religious beliefs, the goal to end discrimination, and were part of the same movement - and, as Rosenwein would argue, part of a wider CRM emotional community - their differing view of anger and how it should be expressed separated them. This is an important consideration, particularly when trying to uncover the varying motivations, actions, and disparities within the CRM, and to understand why violence occurred during protest and marches.

Although such an approach offers important considerations for understanding past anger, there are some further theoretical concepts worth mentioning. The 'emotional community', as a concept, does not address the importance of embodiment or spaces for understanding anger. Instead, it suggests that society, culture, communities, and the emotions within, are mentalised and, therefore, relatively static; that anger adheres to a strict system of norms and values. However, as contemporary research within history, sociology and psychology suggests, anger can be both cognitive and subject to spaces and bodily conditioning.

The dual cognitive and bodily nature of anger was also something that has become evident in my own research. Although civil rights groups acknowledged some emotions to be important for encouraging action, the environments that protesters found themselves in often led to emotions that were beyond cognitive reasoning. Throughout the Civil Rights Movement, Catholic protesters were banned from entering certain areas, particularly areas that were heavily dominated by Unionists or areas that had significant emotional value to Loyalists. Many marches were cordoned off by the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) and far-right Unionist/Loyalist organisations. Such occurrences led to spaces becoming latent with emotional meaning - both for areas that protesters were banned from entering and for the spaces that they were confined to. Naturally, such spaces, and what occurred within them, gave rise to emotions that were not reasoned. In addition, my research has discovered that many participants that attended protest marches had no intention of conducting themselves aggressively. On the contrary, many had reasoned that emotions such as anger would be harmful to their cause. However, the spaces and bodily connection within protests engendered emotions such anger, rage, shame, and pride, often in response to ritualistic behaviours (chanting and the singing of patriotic songs, for example) and in response to the perceived threat of counter demonstrators and the RUC.

To fully understand anger within a historical framework, then, I suggest that a middle-path should be followed, understanding historical actors both as autonomous, cognitive agents, and also as subject to the emotional power of spaces and embodiment. The former suggests that individuals of the past controlled and made conscious decisions regarding their anger, which had a significant impact upon their actions, expressions, and behaviours. In line with Rosenwein's approach, such appraisals can be influenced by religion, ideologies, culture, and society. Therefore, seeking to understand the various communities that people are part of, whether a civil rights movement or political organisation, remains a valuable empirical tool. The latter, however, requires uncovering individual and collective experiences, such as through spatial environments and ritualistic behaviours, and how these created bodily manifestations, sometimes separate from conscious or cognitive processes. This moves beyond the traditional method of discourse analysis and seeks to analyse accounts of observable behaviour, making use of third-person accounts as viable sources to uncover emotions of the past - particularly anger.
References
Boddice, Rob. "The history of emotions: Past, present, future." Revista de Estudios Sociales 62 (2017): 10-15.

Gammerl, Benno. "Emotional styles-concepts and challenges." Rethinking History 16, no. 2 (2012): 161-175

Gammerl, Benno. Jan Hutta, and Monique Scheer. "Feeling differently. Approaches and their politics." Emotion, Space and Society 25 (2017): 87-94.

Pernau, Margit, (2014). Space and emotion: building to feel. History Compass, 12(7), 541-549

Rosenwein, Barbara H. Anger: The conflicted history of an emotion. Yale University Press, 2020

Rosenwein, Barbara H., ed. Anger's past: the social uses of an emotion in the Middle Ages. Cornell University Press, 1998.

Rosenwein, Barbara H. Emotional communities in the early middle ages. Cornell University Press, 2006.

Rosenwein, Barbara H. "Problems and Methods in the History of Emotions." Passions in context 1, no. 1 (2010): 1-32.

Scheer, Monique. "Are emotions a kind of practice (and is that what makes them have a history)? A Bourdieusian approach to understanding emotion." History and theory 51, no. 2 (2012): 193-220

[1] Rob Boddice, "The history of emotions: Past, present, future." Revista de Estudios Sociales 62 (2017): 10-15, 11.

[2] Barbara H. Rosenwein, Anger: The conflicted history of an emotion. Yale University Press, 2020, 4; see also Barbara H. Rosenwein, "Problems and Methods in the History of Emotions." Passions in context 1, no. 1 (2010): 1-32; see also Barbara H. Rosenwein, ed. Anger's past: the social uses of an emotion in the Middle Ages. Cornell University Press, 1998; and Barbara H. Rosenwein, Emotional communities in the early middle ages. Cornell University Press, 2006.

[3] See, for example, Monique Scheer, "Are emotions a kind of practice (and is that what makes them have a history)? A Bourdieuian approach to understanding emotion." History and theory 51, no. 2 (2012): 193-220; and, Margit Pernau, (2014). Space and emotion: building to feel. History Compass, 12 (7), 541-549.

[4] Benno Gammerl, "Emotional styles-concepts and challenges." Rethinking History 16, no. 2 (2012): 161-175; and Benno Gammerl, Jan Hutta, and Monique Scheer. "Feeling differently. Approaches and their politics." Emotion, Space and Society 25 (2017): 87-94.

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Understanding Anger within a Historical Framework

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Will Watson is a PhD candidate at the School of History, Queen Mary University of London. In this post for the History of Emotions Blog, he reflects on the place of anger in the civil rights movement in Northern Ireland in the 1960s and 1970s, and asks what a history-of-emotions approach can add to our understanding, with particular reference to Barbara Rosenwein's recent book about anger.

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The last sentences of this paragraph rang true. How many times have our experiences been dismissed, questioned, considered lies, a product of our feminine tendency to overreact?

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This paragraph specifically brings to my attention how anger and its connotations might vastly vary across different nations with different cultural norms.

Because it would be impossible for me to accurately describe or analyse how these cultures contextualise anger, for my project I will focus on it through a Western lens.

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Another point made towards how anger is a deeply personal feeling that is tied to so many things that define us yet are out of our control. E.g., religious upbringing, country we were born in, education, nurturing, parental examples etc.

I would put it this way, anger is an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation, for each of us to add more nuances to it, in turn passing it on to our children, them moulding it into something different for their children and so on.

Another thing that we might be able to link to this is 'Generational Trauma', studies show how the trauma our forefathers experienced gets passed down to us in our DNA.

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This underlines the importance of space, of how a simple room could be filled with emotional context which links back to Isabel's Worldbuilding workshop.

I will investigate places that would evoke a sense of anger through they themselves or through the action that took place there. For example, a person who was deeply traumatised by religion might feel angry when in church, a place many people find solace in.

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This article highlights the way anger affects black women and what can be done about it from the perspective of a black woman. It also points out the health detriments anger and stress have on black women, linking back to what Soraya Chemaly was mentioning in her speech for Ted X.
Something very important it mentions are the harmful stereotypes that surround black women and emotion, 'The Strong Black Woman' that goes hand in hand with 'The Angry Black Woman'.

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It is an infuriating reality that Black women are encouraged to repress our anger even when we have so much to be angry about. When I sit weeping from anger in the office of a white male supervisor gaslighting me out of my job, when I show up as a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle at an International Women's Day event and am directed to the catering staff entrance (despite wearing a press pass), when my middle-aged white female supervisor passive-aggressively jokes that she fears I will replace her as she nears retirement age and then proceeds to fire me - I seethe silently and am reminded that to be a Black woman in America is to be constantly exposed to hostility inspired by one's mere presence.

For years, I coped with this reality by smoking cigarettes and drinking a lot. I avoided feeling my feelings because I had no models for what it would look like to advocate for myself without unleashing the rage I had suppressed for so long.

In her 1981 keynote at the National Women's Studies Association conference, ​" The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism," poet and Black feminist author Audre Lorde introduced a pioneering intersectional vision of anger's usefulness in coping with racism, classism and sexism. ​"My response to racism is anger," Lorde said. ​"That anger has eaten clefts into my living only when it remained unspoken. ... Black women are expected to use our anger only in the service of other people's salvation or learning. But that time is over."

While Lorde found some relief in expressing her anger, it comes at a cost. I have always felt the invisible pressure of respectability politics - the notion born in the Reconstruction era and championed in the Obama era that for Black people to be successful, to be worthy of the protections of white citizenship, we have to behave ourselves and assimilate to the dominant culture. Or, to use Michelle Obama's famous mantra: When they go low, we go high.

The constant refrain of respectability politics, explicitly or implicitly, is that marginalized people must rise above racism and sexism and the emotions they inspire - such as anger, depression and anxiety - in order to gain favor from those in power. As such, Black women have al-ways been discouraged from expressing such emotions. In 2018, when tennis champion Serena Williams openly expressed her anger at a notoriously strict umpire, she was fined $17,000 and headlines generally portrayed Williams' rage as an ​" outburst " unbecoming of a sports star.

Growing up, I was encouraged by my mother, even as a poor child in the Bronx, not to embarrass her by throwing a temper tantrum like some white children I saw screaming at Sunday Mass, for instance.

We never want to give white people - who already view us as immune to pain, as consistently and forever unequal - a reason to think we are irrationally upset, which is how anger voiced from a Black woman is usually construed. But the catch is that never expressing your emotions makes people believe you don't have them or your feelings don't matter. And it allows deeply rooted biases about race and gender to persist.

In the decades since Lorde gave language to a legacy of righteous rage, scholars and scientists have started to pay serious attention to the deleterious effects of the chronic stress caused by enduring racism and sexism, which wears Black women's bodies down over time. Quite literally, this stress is killing us.

Arline Geronimus, a professor at the University of Michigan, pioneered research on the psychosocial impacts of inequality by identifying a physiological ​"weathering" process, which ​"accelerates aging and increases health vulnerability. It is spurred by chronic toxic stress exposures over the life course and the tenacious high-effort coping [that] families and communities engage to survive them, if not prevail."

This ​"high-effort coping" manifests in the body in bursts of adrenaline commonly known as a ​"fight or flight" response, when the nervous system kicks into high gear. In a , re-searchers Bridget Goosby, Elizabeth Straley and Jacob Cheadle found that the daily stressors that uniquely affect Black women trigger this response with deleterious consequences: ​"Because stress response systems are optimized to deal with immediate threats but can be harmful when continually activated... the need to constantly prepare for and adapt to stress accelerates wear and tear on the body (i.e., allostatic load)."

New studies are linking this higher ​"allostatic load" to the host of health issues disproportionately suffered by Black women: high blood pressure, heart disease and diabetes-related deaths. Research also suggests that allostatic load is associated with Black women's internalized and constantly affirmed sense of political and social powerlessness - and of the contrast between that powerlessness and the Strong Black Woman stereotype.

The result of knowing we are expected to be strong while also being among the least considered, lowest-paid people in society is ​"heightened levels of emotional distress that include frustration, anger and resentment," write A. Antonio Gonzalez-Prendes and Shirley Thomas in their ​"Powerlessness and Anger in African American Women: The Intersection of Race and Gender." For her 2017 dissertation, researcher Naomi M. Drakeford studied 210 Black women and found correlations between belief in the Strong Black Woman stereotype, emotional suppression and depression.

So what is to be done? If not even a celebrity like Serena Williams can voice her anger without being penalized, noncelebrities are certainly at risk. If we take up space with our justifiable fury, the negative consequences are myriad, from employment backlash to reinforcing stereotypes about Angry Black Women. If we suppress our anger, we risk validating a different, damaging caricature that paints Black women as feeling no pain.

There are some glimmers of hope: The Drakeford paper found that spiritual coping mechanisms decrease the negative health effects of adherence to the Strong Black Woman stereotype. There are also some local health interventions. In New York City, health officials have started racial sensitivity and culturally appropriate healthcare training in OB/GYN and maternity wards to stem escalating maternal deaths, for example.

But ultimately, the persistent problem of bias at the intersection of race and sex stems from a broader white supremacist culture that has reinforced notions of Black female inferiority for hundreds of years. Expressions of rage then allow racists and sexists to justify their bad behavior as existing only in the imagination of the survivor of their biases.

Health and longstanding biases aside, there are a number of political reasons Black women shouldn't keep our anger bottled up. Lorde noted that suppressed anger undoubtedly helped white patriarchal power keep women silenced and angry at one another. ​"In the male construct of brute force, we were taught that our lives depended upon the good will of patriarchal power," Lorde said. ​"And if we accept our powerlessness, then of course, [expressing our anger] can destroy us." But channeling collective anger - supporting Black women's civic engagement and increasing representation in Congress, for example - is an important first step in the foundation for building sustainable political power. We saw this in the Black Lives Matter movement, for example, which began with the shared outrage of three Black women over the killings of Black men and boys.

But Black women's expression of anger and suffering will not dismantle white supremacy on its own; it is only the alarm bell that signals the urgent need for change. Consider, for example, Stacey Abrams' run for governor in Georgia. She embodies the concept of speaking truth to power, of expressing anger appropriately, but the manifestations of a racist and sexist political system (in the form of widely reported voter suppression) resulted in her being shut out.

Allostatic load gives the medical establishment's imprimatur to a fact Black women have long known: Life under white patriarchy is wearing us down. To the extent there are political or policy solutions that could help reduce our chronic stress, they must include not only listening to Black women but hearing us.

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It is an infuriating reality that Black women are encouraged to repress our anger even when we have so much to be angry about.

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The study talked about in this article highlights a very depressing reality, people (regardless of gender) undermine women's emotions. How are we supposed to feel when the study shows that when the 'Alicia' character was angry at the verdict, it made people more confident in it, instead of questioning it.

Our anger is not taken seriously and that affects us in our day to day lives and interactions

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Why Angry Men Are More Influential Than Angry Women

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A new study suggests that female anger is simply less persuasive-to both men and women-no matter how it is expressed

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An excerpt where the author of the study shares her thoughts on why she thinks the results came out as they did.

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A look at the life of artist Louise Fishman and her subjective, angry paintings. She took a medium that was male dominated and filled with machismo and inserted her feminine rage into it.

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Louise Fishman, whose feminist consciousness-raising paintings requisitioned the male-dominated practice of abstract expressionism to speak of her queer, Jewish identity, died last month in New York at the age of 82.

Born in Philadelphia in 1939, Fishman moved to New York after graduate school. "I thought I was going to meet the abstract expressionists. I found out very quickly that there was no place for me, though," she told , recalling those early days in NYC. While she may have initially felt alienated by this particularly machismo art movement, she did find another community in which she felt accepted. She explains, "I got involved in the lesbian movement, which really changed my life. I blossomed in a way I don't think I would have without it."

Postwar abstract expressionism was intended to be entirely self-referential, each painting presented under the pretence that it existed in isolation and without reference to anything beyond the parameters of the canvas itself. In the 1970s, when postmodernists denounced painting as a dead art form, Fishman began rebelliously re-appropriating this traditionally male-dominated medium, requisitioning abstract expressionism to speak of her time, her community, and her experiences.

While she briefly abandoned painting during the late 1960s-early 70s to pursue sculptural processes such a sewing and knitting - traditionally considered "female crafts" - she's best remembered for her large-scale, densely coloured and textured compositions. These stylish, vigorously worked abstractions - at once intricate and energetic - are created using scrapers, trowels, and brushes to alternately apply and remove the paint.

Her 1973 "Angry Women" series represented her return to the form, and referenced seminal figures in the feminism movement, celebrating their righteous female anger - an emotion which we are routinely conditioned to think of as unfeminine. Emblazoned with the subject's name and the declarative adjective "angry", this series reclaims feminine fury. "Angry Louise" appears to be marked by a series of diagonal slashes as if clawed by an animal or a rapid explosion of lunges with the brush, and the words "serious RAGE" are embedded beneath the title text.

A trip to two eastern European concentration camps in 1988 motioned a further exploration of darkness and materiality. "There are periods when I have taken cold wax and mixed it with paint so that it has a different surface, it is much more physical," she told Artforum. "The group of paintings I made when I came back from seeing the Auschwitz and Terezín concentration camps in 1988, 'Remembrance and Renewal", used beeswax that had ashes and little pebbles ground in with it."

Another notable influence was the reclusive painter Agnes Martin. The pair became close when Fishman relocated to New Mexico in 1990, near to where Martin had been living off-grid for the best part of five decades. Having eschewed modernity and all its trappings for a life of isolation, Martin survived without any conveniences of modern life. Fishman was destined to return to New York before long, but she took the memory and inspiration of Martin's celebrated "grid" paintings with her.

Despite the deeply personal and subjective nature of Fishman's paintings, her works still resonate today in a way that can be understood collectively, beyond the frame of her own experience. "The world has lost a formidable painter, activist, and friend, whose pursuit of individual freedom and personal expression was her primary motivation as an artist," Karma, the New York gallery who represented Fishman shared in a recent statement. "Her death leaves a tremendous void in the art world."

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Remembering Louise Fishman, who brought female anger to abstract art

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Louise Fishman, whose feminist consciousness-raising paintings requisitioned the male-dominated practice of abstract expressionism to speak of her queer, Jewish identity, died last month in New York at the age of 82. Born in Philadelphia in 1939, Fishman moved to New York after graduate school. "I thought I was going to meet the abstract expressionists.

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A look at how activists used posters to transmit their message to the masses, in appealing, strong ways

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Art as Activism: Graphic Art from the Merrill C. Berman Collection - Google Arts & Culture

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Google Arts & Culture features content from over 2000 leading museums and archives who have partnered with the Google Cultural Institute to bring the world’s treasures online.

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Image depicting fear.

I am interested in, for lack of a better word, mutilating my female characters who will be depicting rage, moulding them into something more and less human.

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Even though this is about love and not anger I thought it would be useful to look at how other artists and people approach emotion in art. Love I believe is also one of the closest emotions to anger, the people that have made me angriest in my life have always been people I loved.

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You might not think of Daffy Duck when you think about love, but Andy Holden turned to this cartoon character as inspiration when tackling the question "What is Love?" Love has often been caricatured within art and pop culture, and as an animator, Holden has used images which remind him of cartoons to explore this unifying, terrifying, and tearful emotion. See the works that Holden chose when he dived heart first into the Google Arts & Culture archive (he even got one of the works tattooed on himself after a breakup)...

Explore more

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What Can We Learn From Art About Love - Google Arts & Culture

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You might not think of Daffy Duck when you think about love, but Andy Holden turned to this cartoon character as inspiration when tackling the question "What is Love?" Love has often been caricatured within art and pop culture, and as an animator, Holden has used images which remind him of cartoons to explore this unifying, terrifying, and tearful emotion.

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Excerpt that intrigued me. I have to explore unconventional ways to express emotions, perhaps not just realism.

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Soraya Chemaly recites a powerful speech deconstructing women's anger, how it's perceived in contrast to men's, how it's seen differently based on race and how a society that doesn't allow women to be angry, is a society that doesn't respect women.

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The power of women's anger | Soraya Chemaly

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JSTOR is a digital library of academic journals, books, and primary sources.

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Jane Marcus, Art and Anger, Feminist Studies, Vol. 4, No. 1 (Feb., 1978), pp. 68-98

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The Serena Williams firestorm at the U.S. Open started a conversation about women's anger. We'll have it with author of the new book " Rage Becomes Her."

Soraya Chemaly, writer, activist and author of " Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger." Director of the Women's Media Center Speech Project, which aims to curb online abuse, increase media and tech diversity, and expand women's freedom of expression. (@schemaly)
On the double standard when it comes to expressing anger and displaying emotion
"We really understand from a very early age what the risks and costs of our displaying full emotions, and particularly this emotion, are. We're not misunderstanding the situation. I mean, study after study after study shows that when men display anger, it reaffirms gender norms, it reaffirms masculinity. And so there are rewards for doing that, they gain power from doing that even if it's ugly and uncomfortable and causes people distress. They are not penalized in the same way as when women do it, it actually transgresses, so we violate gender norms. And we end up being powerless in that situation."
On understanding anger as a force for positivity
"What I really want to focus on is we have a sense of that in our culture, we have an emotional culture that thinks of anger as destructive and as negative when in fact it's the way we perceive and manage anger that yields these bad effects. I want to be able to consider the ways in which this emotion, which we all have as humans, is equally leverage-able for good. And so I provide examples of that in the book and talk both the ways it hurts us and the ways it can so powerfully help us."

On the idea that "anger is filled with information"
"A lot of studies really indicate that men are much more likely to associate anger with power and women to associate it with powerlessness, and I think that's because how we tend to experience this emotion. We can't really control if we feel angry or not. We can control what we do about the feeling, how we behave in the wake of the feeling, but that aspect of saying, 'Let's just not feel angry,' doesn't really work. It doesn't work for men, and it doesn't work for women because the anger will always find a way. When women express anger, regardless of how they're expressing it, they can tip toe around people and can use really nice words. The fact is that they are making an assertion that something should change and that they are demanding people around them do something. And in so doing, they are breaking connections and they are challenging traditional status quo hierarchies. And that matters even in intimacy, it matters in politics. And so that quality of saying 'I'm angry,' I think, is vitally important because what we're saying is I have knowledge, we don't associate anger with knowledge. Audre Lorde said this years ago, anger is filled with information. And so when we shut down somebody's anger we are literally silencing the knowledge they have and saying it's not valuable to us as a social resource."
On managing and channeling anger as an emotion
"There is the presumption that anger is negative. It's just an emotion, it is actually a human emotion. It's neutral on its own grounds. It's a signal that something is wrong. We would not be here, we wouldn't be alive if we didn't have this emotion. Because it's the warning that we are facing a risk or a threat. So in and of itself, I think we just need to respect that about that particular emotion. It can be equally related to contempt, and disgust, and fear, which we see for example the fuel for authoritarian beliefs, or social justice movements. Anger is as compassionate as empathetic as powerfully sympathetic as love can be. And so that's the kind of distinction we need to make - to just shut down the entire fact of the emotion and to say it's bad, we don't want to carry anger - isn't particularly helpful I don't think. We don't want people to be raging, that's also a terrible mismanagement. What we need is people to consider what their anger is telling them. And then to strategize how to utilize that anger."
Excerpt from "Rage Becomes Her" by Soraya Chemaly
My parents' 1965 wedding was a lavish affair that went on for more than twenty hours, with over five hundred guests in attendance. Photos show glamorous women in long evening gowns and smiling men in carefully tailored black tie standing, in glittering groups, around a cake that covered the expanse of a five-foot square table.

Among the most prized gifts my parents received that day was their wedding china. These white-and-gold plates were more than an expensive gesture: they were an important symbol of adulthood and their community's and family's approval of marriage in general and of this marriage in particular. For my mother, they represented a core aspect of her identity: that of being a woman, soon to be mother, the nurturer of her family. Growing up, these look-but-don't-touch dishes were at the top of a hierarchy of plates that my mother established. When my siblings and I were small, we used them only on the rarest and most special occasions and always with great care.

That's why, one day when I was fifteen, I was dumbfounded to see my mother standing on the long veranda outside our kitchen, chucking one china plate after another as far and as hard as she could into the hot, humid air. Our kitchen was on the second floor of a house that sat perched at the top of a long, rolling hill. I watched each dish soar through the atmosphere, its weight generating a sharp, steady trajectory before shattering into pieces on the terrace far below.

While the image is vivid in my mind, I have no memory of any sound. What I remember most was that there was no noise at all as my mother methodically threw one, then another, then another, over and over until her hands were finally free. She didn't utter a sound the entire time. I have no idea if she even knew anyone was watching. When she was done, she walked back into the kitchen and asked me how my school day had gone, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I desperately wanted to know what I had witnessed, but it didn't feel like a good time to ask questions, so I sat and worked on my homework as my mother prepared dinner and the day morphed into night. We never talked about anger.

Why do we so rarely learn how to be angry?

Like most of us, I learned about anger in a vacuum of information, by watching the people around me: what they did with their anger, how they responded to other people when they were mad. I don't remember my parents or other adults ever talking to me about anger directly. Sadness, yes. Envy, anxiety, guilt, check, check, check. But not anger. It turns out that, for girls, this is par for the course. While parents talk to girls about emotions more than they do to boys, anger is excluded. Reflect with me for a moment: How did you first learn to think about emotions, and anger in particular? Can you remember having any conversations with authority figures or role models about how to think about your anger or what to do with it? If you are a woman, chances are the answer is no.

As far as my own early understanding of anger, the plate-throwing incident said it all. My mother may have been livid, but she gave every appearance of being cheerful and happy. By staying silent and choosing this particular outlet for her feelings, she communicated a trove of information: for example, that anger was experienced in isolation and was not worth sharing verbally with others. That furious feelings are best kept to oneself. That when they do inevitably come out, the results can be scary, shocking, and destructive.

My mother was acting in a way that remains typical for many women: she was getting her anger "out," but in a way that explicitly separated it from her relationships. Most women report feeling the angriest in private and interpersonal settings. They also prioritize their relationships-at home, work, and even in political contexts-in determining, consciously or not, if and how to express negative emotions.

Throwing plates is an example of a coping mechanism, but it is not an effective or healthy way to express anger. Coping often involves self-silencing and feelings of powerlessness. Getting anger out in this way is not the same as envisioning anger as a transitional tool that helps you to change the world around you. Plate throwing did, however, allow my mother to be angry without seeming angry. In this way, it allowed her to be a "good" woman, which, significantly, meant not being demanding, loud, or expressing her own needs. Even though this episode happened more than thirty-five years ago, it remains true that social norms continue to dictate how we think and feel about emotions, especially when it comes to women and anger.

But first, what happens when we experience anger? Feeling anger involves a constellation of factors, including physiology, genetics, and cognitive processing. These make up the character of anger. For example, you might be a person who tends to get angry quickly, known as "trait anger"; or you might be slower to anger and experience it mainly when provoked. That is called "state anger." Context is equally critical, however. Our responses to provocation, our assessments, and our judgments always involve a back-and-forth between character and context. Where you are and who you may be angry with, as well as the broader social construction of anger (part of what's called an "emotional culture") matter.

While we experience anger internally, it is mediated culturally and externally by other people's expectations and social prohibitions. Roles and responsibilities, power and privilege are the framers of our anger. Relationships, culture, social status, exposure to discrimination, poverty, and access to power all factor into how we think about, experience, and utilize anger. Different countries, regions-even neighboring communities in the same state-have been shown to have anger profiles, exhibiting different patterns of behavior and social dynamics. So, for example, in some cultures anger is a way to vent frustration, but in others it is more for exerting authority. In the United States, anger in white men is often portrayed as justifiable and patriotic, but in black men, as criminality; and in black women, as threat. In the Western world, which this book focuses on, anger in women has been widely associated with "madness."

Anger is also not unidirectional but part of endless mental, physical, and intellectual feedback loops that operate below our conscious understanding. It is sometimes called a "secondary" emotion-resulting from other, often hidden, feelings of shame or fear. You might not always identify anger as part of what may be causing you discomfort, pain, or distress, but chances are that if you look closely, unexpressed or inadequately expressed anger plays a part in what you are experiencing. For some of us, being angry causes anxiety, which, in turn, makes us angrier. For others, anger becomes part of our bodies, causing physical discomfort, which then makes us short tempered, unhappy, and impairs our health. These anger feedback loops often directly implicate unacknowledged social injustice. One of the most common feedback loops that women live with involves anger caused by discrimination that, if denied, intensifies, increasing stress and its effects.

Of course, everyone feels anger. Studies show that differences between men's and women's experiences of feeling angry are virtually nonexistent. Where there is a difference, they defy stereotypes about men being the so-called angry sex. For a variety of reasons, which we will explore, women report feeling anger more frequently, more intensely, and for longer periods of time than men do. Most episodes involving anger do not involve physical interactions but verbal ones, and women are more likely than men to use angry and aggressive language. Additionally, men more frequently associate feeling powerful with experiencing anger, but women, notably, associate powerlessness with their anger.

If everyone feels anger, why focus on women? Why does gender matter?
Excerpted from RAGE BECOMES HER by Soraya Chemaly. Copyright © 2018 by Soraya Chemaly. Reprinted with permission of Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Elle: " How Women Are Turning Centuries Of Silence Into Rage" - "'If you're not angry, you're not paying attention.' Along with the millions of people who joined the 2O17 Women's March, there were millions of placards. But the signs about anger are the ones I remember most. A man who'd boasted about being able to grab women 'by the pussy' had been elected President of the United States and, furious at his sexism, racism and Islamophobia, women were angry - and showing it.

"Today, we stand at an extraordinary moment in history, when women's rage is finally being unleashed. The #MeToo and Time's Up campaigns, alongside a resurgence of fourth-wave feminism, have flooded the internet with thousands of stories detailing abuse. It hasn't always been this way, though. When a man put his hands between my legs on a London bus in 2O12, I didn't feel angry. I felt scared. When I said out loud what was happening to me and people on the bus looked the other way, I didn't feel angry. I felt ashamed. When I got off the bus and walked the rest of the way home, I didn't feel angry. I felt resigned."

The Guardian: " 'Of course Serena Williams was angry': writer Soraya Chemaly on why women should unleash their rage" - "'I remember my first feeling of rage very clearly,' says the writer and activist Soraya Chemaly. 'I was, maybe, eight years old and my brother was six. We were sitting with our parents at dinner when my father said to me: "Get up and clear the table with your mother." My brother just looked at me with this big grin on his face.'

"Outrage, indignation, resentment - whatever you call it, these often maligned emotions are essential for our survival. They tell us when a line has been crossed, when we have been violated and when we should say 'no.' Anger is a 'doing' emotion. It demands recognition. It demands change. And it is the subject of Chemaly's new book, Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger.

"She has focused on female anger because this is an emotion so often suppressed and stymied in women. For men, it is valorised, particularly when applied to protecting or leading others. But girls are taught from birth to prioritise the feelings of others and that being angry is undesirable. They come to learn that they will be better rewarded by society if they curtail it, be polite and stay quiet."

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'Rage Becomes Her': The Current Conversation Around Women's Anger

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The Serena Williams firestorm at the U.S. Open started a conversation about women's anger. We'll have it with author of the new book " Rage Becomes Her." Soraya Chemaly, writer, activist and author of " Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger."

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Excerpt from the interview with Soraya Chemaly. Here she explains something so ingrained in our society that we all subconsciously know but can't place in words. She puts it so eloquently and gives a voice to something so many women are aware of in some way or another.

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Mammies, jezebels, Sapphires. Black women in America have long been dogged by negative stereotypes, rooted in a history of racism and slavery. In the aftermath of Serena Williams' controversial US Open loss, it's the trope of the "angry black woman" that has once again re-emerged.

During the US Open final, Williams received a code violation for coaching, a penalty point for breaking her racquet and a game penalty for calling the umpire a "thief". And later, a fine of $17,000 (£13,000).

Her reactions to the referee's calls - which the Women's Tennis Association has since decried as "sexist" - were no different from how many top players react in the heat of a championship game.

But it was the way she was punished for her anger that has sparked further outrage.

"As it was unfolding I could tell this was not going to turn out well," says law professor Trina Jones. "I knew it was going to be a trainwreck."

In addition to being a long-time tennis fan, Prof Jones has studied racial stereotyping and how it plays into the lives of African-American women.

"Black women are not supposed to push back and when they do, they're deemed to be domineering. Aggressive. Threatening. Loud."

Similar words have been levelled at Serena Williams more than once, as well as former First Lady Michelle Obama and top Democrat Maxine Waters in recent years.

Williams has been docked before for her behaviour on the court - in 2009, she was fined $82,500 for an angry outburst - though she is far from the only player to face punishment for similar conduct.

Prof Jones says some have compared the referee's calls to speeding tickets: many people speed and sometimes a few are caught.

But that analogy, she says, misses the point that African Americans are disproportionately pulled aside. In the case of Williams, she was first dinged on a coaching violation that happens often but is rarely called out as the player's fault.

"Why would a black woman in a championship match therefore be called on it?" Prof Jones says, adding that an attack on one's integrity is only natural to be angry about.

"[Williams] is outraged because she knows the context."

The myth of the 'angry black woman'

The "angry black woman" trope has its roots in 19th Century America, when minstrel shows, which involved comic skits and variety acts, mocking African Americans became popular.

Blair Kelley, associate professor of history at North Carolina State University, says black women were often played by overweight white men who painted their faces black and donned fat suits "to make them look less than human, unfeminine, ugly".

"Their main way of interacting with the men around them was to scream and fight and come off angry, irrationally so, in response to the circumstances around them," she says.

The 1930s programme Amos 'n Andy was one of the first modern media portrayals to cement this stereotype through the character of Mrs Sapphire Stevens.

"The real problem in their everyday life was not the structural things that black people faced, but the mouth of the black woman - her tone, her irrationality and her anger," Prof Kelley says of Sapphire's role.

As segregation laws known as Jim Crow laws saw black Americans assaulted, jailed and killed, popular culture pushed ideas of "sassy mammies" and "Sapphires" - an archetype depicting black women with iron-fists, yelling at everyone from children to white men.

This trope of the "angry black woman" has endured, and has been pervasive in modern media even without more overtly racist portrayals, says Brandi Collins, senior campaign director at the racial justice organisation Color of Change.

On screen, it is easy to push sass for laughs. But black women in America see these depictions translate differently in real life.

For Ms Collins, the picture of the "hyperemotional" black woman has become more commonplace as Americans grapple with issues of polarised politics and civility.

Black women, she says, are often faced with people responding to their emotions "from a place of perceived fear".

"There's almost a paranoia around it. A feeling that you have to go above and beyond to make people feel comfortable around you."

In a 2016 interview with Oprah Winfrey, former First Lady Michelle Obama echoed the same sentiment.

"You think, that is so not me! But then you sort of think, well, this isn't about me," she said of being labelled as an "angry black woman".

"This is about the person or the people who write it...We are so afraid of each other, you know?"

Robin Boylorn, an intercultural communications professor at the University of Alabama told the BBC it seems impossible to be a black woman and not be angry, after "generations of oppression, discrimination and erasure".

"Black women should be celebrated for not being completely consumed by anger," she says.

"Men are allowed to be angry as a performance of masculinity. White women are allowed to be angry as a clarion call. So black women should be encouraged to express their anger as well, particularly in the face of injustice."

For Serena Williams, Prof Boylorn says the issue is compounded by the fact that "she cannot separate her blackness from her womanhood, from her class or social status".

But it's the double standard with men in particular that has come up in the ongoing debate of Williams' US Open performance.

In a cartoon that went viral after the final, Williams is drawn as a petulant, mannish figure while the referee tells her opponent, "Can you just let her win?"

"It's indicative of the way in which Serena has been, throughout her career, treated both by media and within US tennis as angry, unhinged, really aggressive," says Ms Collins of Color of Change.

"When you see her be degraded or treated in that way, it really can lead young black girls and girls in general to question whether or not they should be the full range of what it means to be a woman."

But Ms Collins notes that fixing the problem is not just about eliminating the "angry black woman" trope.

"For every type of white man you can imagine, there's a movie about his story and his experience and his journey. Black women in media aren't afforded that diversity of experience," she says.

Instead, understanding the diversity of a black woman's experience - and not just her anger - is key.

For Williams, that's a lesson she hopes her fans will learn from her US Open upset.

"I'm here to fight for women's rights and women's equality. The fact that I have to go through this is an example," she told reporters after the match.

"Maybe it didn't work out for me, but it's going to work out for the next person."

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Mammies, jezebels, Sapphires. Black women in America have long been dogged by negative stereotypes, rooted in a history of racism and slavery. In the aftermath of Serena Williams' controversial US Open loss, it's the trope of the "angry black woman" that has once again re-emerged.

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A look at what's been considered ugly art throughout the ages and art movements. It also highlights why 'ugly' art is important, how the emotions it makes us feel are relevant and we should not be ashamed of experiencing them.

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Inside an old brick building in Somerville's Davis Square, below the gilded stage and the red velvet seats, there is an unusual museum. Hidden in the basement of the 1914 Art Deco building is a collection of hideous paintings and disturbing drawings otherwise known as the Museum of Bad Art. "You won't ever see this stuff in the Museum of Fine Arts," the curator Michael Frank says. Frank is the kind of guy who can't pass a yard sale or a flea market without stopping to browse. He loves ugly things, but for him, ugly is a problematic word. "When I read your email, I thought, Uh-oh," he admits. "Calling something ugly is like calling something beautiful. The minute you say it, you're in a difficult spot, trying to define what that really means."

Frank prefers to think of these paintings as "badart," one word, no hyphen. Badart is not the inverse of "good art"; it's the inverse of "important art." Some might call these pieces outsider art, and in the past, many of them could have been termed primitive or art brut. I prefer to think of them as ugly. Charming-like the dancing dog wearing a tutu or the nineties eyebrows on one particularly serene Virgin Mary-but ugly nonetheless.

However, I understand where Frank is coming from. For Frank, ugly is a word that suffocates, depriving his favorite paintings of their rightful playful air. Ugly is also a word that carries hard moral implications; for centuries, ugliness has been associated not only with sickness and deformity but also dishonesty, violence, aggression, and bigotry. Consider the term ugly American or the repeated critique of Trump's "ugly" acts. The word itself comes from the equally discordant-sounding ugga and uggligr, two Old Norse adjectives that mean "dreadful, fearful, aggressive." (Other words that bloomed from the "dreadful" root include loath and loathsome.) The meaning changed only in the fourteenth century, when uglike stopped meaning "terrifying" and began to mean "unpleasant to look at."

Even though the word ugly is now primarily used to describe the unaesthetic aspect of things rather than their deep moral fiber, it retains elements of its original meaning. Using it can shift a well-meaning aesthetic critique into the realm of moral judgment. This is unfortunate for those of us who genuinely enjoy, and celebrate, ugly things. If you, too, want to appreciate ugliness, the first thing you have to do is stop assuming that it is the inverse of beauty. We tend to talk about aesthetics as though the categories are locked in a battle: good versus evil, light versus dark. But opposites are a crutch. Beauty and ugliness do not negate each other.

Science supports this idea. Studies done in the emerging field of neuroaesthetics (studying how the brain responds to aesthetic stimuli) have found that beautiful paintings and ugly paintings light up the same regions of the brain: the orbitofrontal, prefrontal, and motor regions of the cortex. Oddly enough, the pictures ranked most beautiful activated the orbitofrontal region most and the motor region least, whereas the pictures ranked ugliest activated the orbitofrontal region least and the motor region most. The author of this particular study, Semir Zeki, tentatively suggests that perhaps ugly things mobilize the motor system so that we can flee from the unwanted stimuli. The same study has led Eric Kandel, author of The Age of Insight, to argue, "Beauty does not occupy a different area of the brain than ugliness. Both are part of a continuum representing the values the brain attributes to them." Although we experience them differently, beauty and ugliness both tap into our emotional center, an area deeply involved in analyzing other's motives and actions and generating both sympathy and empathy. Kandel writes:

Our response to art stems from an irrepressible urge to recreate in our own brains the creative process-cognitive, emotional, and empathic-through which the artist produced the work. This creative urge of the artist and of the beholder presumably explains why essentially every group of human beings in every age and in every place throughout the world has created images, despite the fact that art is not a physical necessity for survival. Art is an inherently pleasurable and instructive attempt by the artist and the beholder to communicate and share with each other the creative process that characterizes every human brain-a process that leads to an Aha! moment, the sudden recognition that we have seen into another person's mind, and that allows us to see the truth underlying both the beauty and the ugliness depicted by the artist.

Art, both badart and "important art," can reveal the inner workings of artists' minds. Beautiful art is at its best and most useful when it illuminates truths about the human condition, but badart can reveal the inner workings of one individual's mind-their strange lusts, their disturbing daydreams, their antisocial desires, and their nonsensical fears. Beautiful art can speak to the general trials and triumphs of being human, but badart can speak in equal eloquence to the highly specific neuroses and joys of one singular mad mind. After all, we all like sunsets. But there's a unique appeal to the Museum of Bad Art's behemoth crimson cat devouring a pale-faced human under a Pepto-Bismol-pink sky.

Ugliness has never been the subject of much scrutiny. For the most part, artists and thinkers have treated ugliness as an immutable category, filled with things they simply didn't like. These included dangerous landscapes, people with disabilities, and objects that showed signs of too much use. When survival was a number one priority, people viewed anything potentially threatening as ugly. And for the most part, ugly works, particularly pieces that were unintentionally ugly, were forgotten to history.

As a result, the most significant ugly works created before the nineteenth century were intentionally ugly, created by technically skilled painters who decided, for whatever reason, to depict an ugly subject. Often, ugly art was created as a warning. There but for the grace of God go I, screams the gargoyle clinging to a medieval facade. To contemporary eyes, the art of the Dark Ages looks ugly as a whole (consider this great Vox explainer about ugly babies in medieval paintings.) At the time, however, people didn't consider the malformed dogs or awkward hat-wearing crows to be ugly, though they did know that doom paintings, which depict the worst-case afterlife scenarios, were hideous. Doom paintings highlight the difference between heaven and hell in order to strike fear into the heart of viewers and thus discourage them from, say, coveting their neighbor's hot spouse or lying when the tax official came around to collect coins. Sometimes these paintings function like the medieval version of Jonathan Edward's hellfire-and-brimstone sermons: they actually make the afterlife look interesting, stimulating, and perhaps even a little bit appealing.

Painted in the late fifteenth century, Hieronymus Bosch's The Garden of Earthly Delights takes from the tradition of doom paintings to create a strangely humorous and oddly enticing image of the Netherlands. Bosch was warning viewers not to be too tied to earthly pleasures, and yet looking at his painting is so much fun. Despite the masterful composition, the painting is ugly-or at least, it contains bright spots of ugliness. It is dappled with barbarity and splattered with joy. Heaven, shown on the left side of the triptych, looks rather boring and notably empty. Hell, shown on the far right, has fornicators and flute-assed musicians.

Bosch showcases how ugliness can be playful, but other Renaissance artists approach ugliness with a more serious and steady hand. When Leonardo da Vinci began his search for beauty through interrogating a "series of disgusts," as the historian Walter Pater terms it, he began by painting deeply misogynistic images (perhaps as a way to air out his disgust for heterosexual sex) and people with diseases and disabilities. These bruttezza drawings were intentionally unattractive; the supposed ugliness of these individuals was intended to contrast with the beauty of Leonardo's other sitters. Quentin Matsys's 1513 painting A Grotesque Old Woman can be located in this same tradition of grotesques. Known more commonly as The Ugly Duchess, this work shows a woman in a tight bodice and regal headdress. "The sitter is now diagnosed as suffering from Paget's Disease," Stephen Bayley explains in his 2011 treatise Ugly. Despite the fact that we now "know better" than to gawk at the suffering of others, Bayley claims there is a "magnificent absurdity" to this painting's popularity. It is, he notes, "one of the most popular postcards sold in London's National Gallery Shop."

Like church-perching gargoyles and vulva-spreading Sheela Na Gigs, these paintings are curious outliers. For the bulk of human history, artists have been far more concerned with beauty and the heavens than the ugly and the earthly. Ugliness was used as shorthand for spiritual damnation, when it was shown at all. Philosophers, while concerned with questions of beauty and morality, have not often grappled with visual ugliness (though they've spilled plenty of ink on ethical offenses). "You can't write a historical narrative on ugliness, at least not in the academic sense," Bayley argues. "The books simply do not exist: appropriate to its aggressive nature, ugliness is a subject writers have generally avoided. Perhaps they have avoided it like a plague."

Bayley does identify a few other peak eras for ugly art, including the Baroque period, which spanned from around 1600 to 1750. During this time, artists were very into ornamentation, and every surface that could be fluted or gilded or scalloped or molded was, with a very heavy hand. Baroque artists were the original maximalists. But while many consider Baroque art to be rather unappealing or "ghastly" or " gag-makingly hideous," as Bayley puts it, I have trouble calling this art ugly. The word b aroque means "a deformed pearl," yet there is order in most Baroque art-the ornamentation and uneven surfaces on Francesco Borromini's buildings do not appear at random but rather undulate like a slithering snake. Caravaggio's dramatic canvases feature classically inspired compositions and high levels of technical skill. They are extra, certainly, but they're not really ugly. And for my money, Bernini's Apollo and Daphne is the most beautiful sculpture ever created, so I suppose I quibble with Bayley's distaste for the baroque. I certainly prefer it to what came next: the prettified fluff and saccharine frills of Rococo-crazed Europe.

But slowly, these decorative phases fell out of style, and with the advent of Romanticism, European artists began to turn toward a more naturalistic form of painting. This coincided with a newfound desire to define both beauty and its opposite. In the early nineteenth century, theorists began approaching ugliness as though it were its own aesthetic category. In 1853, Karl Rosenkranz published one of the first deep dives, Aesthetics of Ugliness. This picks up the aesthetic baton from Hegel and attempts to figure out how negative aesthetic categories-like the uncanny, the grotesque, the ghastly, and the ugly-relate to one another and how they differ. For previous generations, a mountainous landscape would have been viewed as rather ghastly-it was ugly simply because it was scary. The Romantics challenged this notion and began to create scenery that was both beautiful and frightening (i.e., sublime). Caspar David Friedrich's paintings are an excellent example of this. They're beautiful and frightening, but few would call these landscapes ugly. What had once been terrifying was newly approached as aesthetic, and so ugliness was pushed into another realm. The new home for ugly art became the big tent of the abstract.

Even though today we're perfectly capable of finding beauty in Rothko, when it arrived on the scene in the nineteenth century, abstraction felt like a deviant impulse. And as Impressionism gave way to Expressionism and the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth, the impulse to label these artistic experiments as morally wrong or degenerate grew greater. In July 1937, the Nazi-curated "Entartete Kunst" ("degenerate art") exhibit opened in Munich, featuring works by Karl Schmidt-Rottluff, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Edvard Munch, Emil Nolde, Franz Marc, Lyonel Feininger, and Marc Chagall. Were these works ugly? Some of them were. But they were not nearly as ugly as the Nazi's genocidal vision. The paintings were also part of a new art world, one in which categories of ugliness and beauty didn't hold so much importance-at least, not to the makers. Some of these works were ugly, and that was the point. They were intentionally strange, surreal, and disorienting. They showed a chaotic and fragmented society. They were broken mirrors for a broken world.

In our postmodern or post-postmodern art world, it can be hard to remember why ugliness matters because ugly paintings are now everywhere. Ugly paintings hang in every major museum, and ugly work has been accepted as part of the canon. But while ugly art crosses genres and time periods, it can still be useful to think of ugly art as falling into its own unified aesthetic category. Like zany, cute, and interesting, the three labels defined and clarified by Sianne Ngia in her book Our Aesthetic Categories, ugliness plays a pivotal role in art history and in contemporary design.

Unlike grotesques, which elevate their subjects until they approach the beautiful, truly ugly works aren't about pleasing anyone. Ugliness is about discomfort. It makes us feel a little unsettled-not because we're looking at a depiction of something unsettling, like a gory religious scene or a photograph of a war zone or a painting of a warted nose, but because we're confronted with a sense of disorder.

This can be intentional, or it can be the result of badly applied technique or poorly chosen colors. Typically, the ugly art we see in museums was made that way consciously, either to highlight the artist's abilities (like with Leonardo's elegantly drawn caricatures), to rebel against the conventions of the art world (for example, Philip Guston or the contemporary painter Neil Jenney), or to reveal something about the world and our place in it (Hieronymus Bosch, Otto Dix, and Francis Bacon and their stomach-turning depictions of bodily pain).

Frank and his colleagues at the Museum of Bad Art don't collect the kind of significant ugly paintings that the New York Times might write about or the Met might display. Instead, Frank uses his aesthetic judgment to choose works that feel compelling. "I reject anything that is uninteresting," he says. "Uninteresting work is unacceptable. If something is silly or if it was made cynically in an attempt to get into the Museum of Bad Art, then I'm not interested." He's also not interested in kitschy pieces or commercial art, like black velvet paintings or taxidermy sculptures.

There's a sense of brazenness to unintentionally bad art-it embodies desire gone awry. And being able to enjoy ugly art isn't simply about making fun of it. It's also about being able to sit in discomfort and recognize mistakes. Ugly art demands a sense of looseness; it asks you to dip into a slippery state of mind where you can hold multiple beliefs simultaneously. The piece can be both ugly and unappealing, and it can also delight and appeal for those very reasons. It can pull you closer-you want to know why this ugly art was made, what it means, and what the artists were thinking. And if you let yourself get unbalanced enough, you might just find yourself a little bit in love. "If you go on social media, you'll see the most common comment I get," Frank says. "People are always posting, I like it. Or even, I like this painting-it shouldn't be here."

Frank often responds, "I like it too. That's why I collect this art. I like it."

Katy Kelleher is a writer who lives in the woods of rural New England. She is the author of Handcrafted Maine.

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Ugliness Is Underrated: In Defense of Ugly Paintings

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Inside an old brick building in Somerville's Davis Square, below the gilded stage and the red velvet seats, there is an unusual museum. Hidden in the basement of the 1914 Art Deco building is a collection of hideous paintings and disturbing drawings otherwise known as the Museum of Bad Art.

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Looking into showcasing the ugly side of anger in my artwork? Unsettling people but maybe offering a sense of comfort: 'I'm not the only one thinking like this, feeling like this'.

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The article above goes in depth into the harmful stereotype about black women and anger and aggression and the way they are villainised for showing they are human. The question is, if media outlets are saying all of these awful things about someone as famous as Serena Williams, how far does this harmful behaviour extend in the daily lives of black women.

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Women, in America's traditional view, are moral creatures. Justice and Liberty? Ladies both. Since ousting the redcoats, American politicians have been lionizing " the republican mother": a woman who stays within the domestic sphere but shapes her country by instilling her inherent virtues in young patriots. Killing Eve's hilariously brutal assassin, Villanelle, would have flown their wigs.

She's not the only one. Women behave badly on television often now. It's not exactly new-murderous, scorned women are a crime show staple-but the tone has shifted. Villanelle and TV's other killer women don't just slay, say, cheating husbands, they take down truly odious adversaries: racists, rapists, men who dress women up like dolls. In the Netflix zombie comedy Santa Clarita Diet, Drew Barrymore's Sheila literally eats a men's rights activist alive. (The Santa Clarita Diet, you see, involves dining exclusively on horrible people.) On Killing Eve, Villanelle's targets are often prescribed (she's an assassin, after all), but she often executes them through methods made easier by the fact that they've underestimated her because she's a woman.

It's hard not to grin when Villanelle kills a creep with a knitting needle and a toilet brush or when Sheila rips a neo-Nazi's throat out with her shiny realtor teeth. A similar feeling comes from watching Arya Stark dispatch Littlefinger after everything he inflicted on her sister. It's savage; it's overtly gendered and political. It is also oddly grin-inducing. In other words, it's Tumblr.

Digital feminism has developed a very specific comedic sensibility, an in-jokey penchant for irony and shock that's both rallying cry and defense mechanism. That iconic mug of male tears is only a joke, but is also a digital signpost: "No Trolls Allowed (Or Tolerated)." Over the last few years, especially in the wake of #MeToo, that humor has made its way out of niche online spaces and onto more and different screens. But it's not male tears they're drinking. The women are shamelessly (sometimes literally) gulping down blood.

Women criminals have always carried disproportionate weight in the cultural imagination. "If a woman kills her children, news stories will call her a modern-day Medea," says Jennifer Cavenaugh, who studies the depiction of women criminals on television at Rollins College. "Every Greek drama ever written ends with a pile of bodies, and most of the time it's men who are killing or even eating them. But 'modern-day Agamemnon' means nothing.'" (Agamemnon is Ancient Greece's Stannis Baratheon: a jerk who sacrifices his daughter so the gods grant him good fortune in war.)

The criminal woman who gets turned into a metaphor becomes incandescent in media during times of strong feminist resurgence: Mata Hari was executed just as flappers started swinging, and Aileen Wuornos' killing spree-the one chronicled in -coincides with the rise of second-wave feminism. According to Cavenaugh, the message is always the same: "Look what women will do when they are not properly socialized in their normal gender roles." Most often, the media portrays these women as deviant and/or mannish (Wuornos, Lorena Bobbitt) or exceptionally lascivious (Wuornos again, Mata Hari, the whole notion of femmes fatales). Whatever picture the news paints, it's always implicitly a diptych. The criminal is made to look all the more "unnatural" by the republican mother beside her.

Once again, we are living in a time of strong feminist resurgence. On screens and in real life, society has barely diverged from the "beware the deviant woman" script. It echoes through the coverage of Elizabeth Holmes, the Theranos founder. It echoes through the trials of women who are convicted of domestic murder cases. (A recent study found that judges frequently remark on their failure to conform to feminine stereotypes and give them harsher, longer sentences than men who committed the same crime.) Society sees each woman as a gender-wide warning sign, but meanwhile "an individual male threat stays individual," Cavenaugh says.

Killing Eve's and Santa Clarita Diet's total lack of shame is somewhere between magic and obscenity. Their plots go beyond the tropes of female murderers to show women enacting cheerfully brutal revenge fantasies for an entire gender in revolt. "I'm not saying we should go out and eat men, but maybe it has to be shocking. The baby steps aren't quick enough for some people," says Emilie Lawrence, a PhD student at University College London who studies online feminism. "It's almost as if there's a rumbling, with the rise of ironic misandry online and these shows that are part of it in a sort of neo-capitalist way. It's clever." To Lawrence, places like Tumblr are feminist training grounds, environments in which to build the communication skills and attitudes needed to not just put up with the internet's sexist culture and humor, but to try to change them. Maybe these shows are just the next step, online skills and jokes getting bolder, and being applied offline. Coming soon: Male Tears: The Movie.

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Women's Homicidal Rage Is All Over TV-and It's Funny

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Women, in America's traditional view, are moral creatures. Justice and Liberty? Ladies both. Since ousting the redcoats, American politicians have been lionizing " the republican mother": a woman who stays within the domestic sphere but shapes her country by instilling her inherent virtues in young patriots.

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This article highlights the rise of the aggressive, blood-thirsty, and murderous female character. It especially talks about how that can be viewed as cathartic by women who feel powerless in their day to day lives.

The excerpt above talks about how when women are angry at the world and have a strong new interest in feminism, a criminal female figure will be villainised in order to remind women what happens if you don't stick to the status-quo

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https://www.artsy.net/artwork/andy-warhol-andy-warhols-index-book-2

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How to make a pop-up book? Sounds like a simple question but that depends on how complicated you want the pop-up book to be. If you take a look at some projects from artists and students on YouTube, you'll find lots of beautiful self-made pop-up books ranging from basic to very complex. Everything is possible as long as you want to invest time in your project. Making a pop-up book is not something that you will do in a day. It demands dedication, precision, patience and lots of paper.
In this guide, we will try to answer the question How to make a pop-up book? and you'll get a step-by-step explanation that describes the process that is needed to create and publish a pop-up book. If you don't have any plans publishing or printing your book, you still can use this guide to find out what is needed to plan a complex project like a pop-up book. We also have a Pop-up Dictionary that can be handy if you want to get familiar with frequently used pop-up related terms. So here we go! How to make a pop-up book in 11 steps!

How to make a pop-up book: step by step

Become a Paper Engineer

It's easier said than done to become a paper engineer. If it's your goal to make an advanced pop-up book with complex pop-up techniques, you should be prepared that this is a skill that normally takes years and years to develop. It's good to keep in mind that an impressive pop-up book isn't always about how advanced the engineering is. Some of the most beautiful pop-up books use basic pop-up techniques.

Start with the basics
To decide what level of paper engineering works the best for you, you will first have to start with the basics. Learn and try to understand how basic pop-up techniques work. Why is paper moving that way? What effect does it have when you play with shapes and sizes? You have to study and test your tryouts and improve the pop-ups you make. Over and over again. It's like learning to play the guitar, you first have to learn the chords before you can play a song. A great way to start with pop-up basics is David Carter's Elements of Pop-up. A highly recommended book that contains real working examples of all pop-up techniques. Another great way to start with paper engineering is by making pop-up templates that are provided by several paper engineers. We have made a selection of some great templates and how-to video tutorials.

Think of a story or concept

Before you start designing pop-ups you first have to know what the concept or story will be. This will be the second step in our How to make a pop-up book guide. Working at a big project like a pop-up book takes time and needs structure and a well-designed plan. A story or concept is the base of your plan and must be well thought out. Is it possible to translate your subject into working pop-ups? Will it be a mix of artwork and text or just plain paper pop-ups? Who is your audience? Those are all important questions to ask yourself before you get started.

Decide what techniques to use

When you've decided what story or concept the pop-up book will be about, you can make a plan for what pop-up techniques you're going to use. When you already have learned the basics, you now can look at what is possible for you to realize. What techniques can you use for your story? What kind of pop-up is needed to create depth and movement? You can be creative at how you translate basic techniques into a spectacular pop-up by adding artwork or decoration. For example: if you want to create a pop-up boat, you can choose to use a basic V-fold pop and use artwork and cutouts to create the illusion of a boat floating on the water. Or you can choose the hard way and make a more advanced, so-called box pop-up. A box pop-up can be viewed from all angles and used as a base to build a boat with. The V-fold would be the easy way to engineer but it may need some good artwork to let it work.

Experiment and sketch

Now you have a story and some ideas about what pop-up techniques you're going to use, it's time to experiment! You first have to decide what shape the pop-up will be and if it works combined with the artwork. Make rough sketches of concept artwork and use those to create some 3D paper structures that almost look like pop-ups. At this point, you don't have to worry about how good or bad a pop-up works but you do have to keep in mind that it will have to work one day. Once you have build your first design, you can refine the design and at the same time work at the pop-up mechanism. Experiment with dimensions and compositions, test how good it pops in-and-out and rebuild a better version. Repeat this process over and over again until you've created a solid working pop-up that looks great. Work on your project page by page but if you get stuck, move on to another page until your story is complete.

Adding extra elements
Now that you have designed the main pop-up spreads you can take a look at the possibility to add mini pop-ups or pull tabs to the spreads. You can use empty space to complete the story or add more pop-ups and movables. Some pop-ups come out of the spread, leaving a lot of empty space around the base of the pop-up. You can fill this with artwork, make it more interactive by adding mini pop-ups or pull tabs or hide the text of the story behind flaps. It's up to you how to use that space!

A working prototype of the book (white dummy)

Now you have a collection of pop-up spreads that should be merged into a book. This is the final step in the process of making a prototype: combining all spreads and pages into a strong book. This is called a white dummy, the master of your pop-up book design. Engineers and publishers use the name white dummy because this version is all about the pop-ups functionality. A white dummy also reveals minor errors or wearing without distracting prints. Because of the many versions that are made, there's no need to work with artwork already because the pop-ups at this stage are all made out of plain paper. The cover needs to be extra strong to keep the pop-ups solid and the pages into place. Some pop-ups may not work that good when the pop-up spreads are attached to each other as book pages. A pop-up can behave differently because of the tension that is needed to make a pop-up work. At this stage, it's possible that you have to redesign and adjust your pop-ups to make them work as a page in your book.

Summary: When you have a single, good working prototype of your book, you can continue making it ready to print. Let's call this the master copy also known as a white dummy.

Trace and digitalize the pop-ups

Now you have completed your master copy or white dummy, it's time to take it apart. This may sound crazy because you've just finished a perfectly working prototype right? Don't worry! At this stage, you will be more familiar with all the pop-ups you've designed for this book. By making every pop-up over and over again, you have trained yourself how everything is constructed and what the weak points are. The reason why you have to take it apart is because you now have to duplicate your master and the easiest way to do this is digital. You have to trace every piece of all the pop-ups. The lines are called die lines and will be a guide to cut, fold or glue the pop-up. In case your book will be a one-of-a-kind artists copy, you can also trace all pop-ups by hand to speed up the process. Tracing pop-ups is a secure job that can take some time. It's important to use software like Adobe Illustrator because your tracing lines need to be adjustable afterwards. Adobe Illustrator is the perfect application to work with so-called vector lines.

Don't forget to also mark folding lines, glue points and cut-ins. You can use different colors as an indication so it's easy to see where you have to cut or fold the paper. Now all the pop-up parts are traced, you have to fit them into a single page that you can print. The size of this page depends on where and how you're going to print it.

Creating and adding (digital) artwork

If your design contains artwork, the next step will be adding the final artwork to your die lines. You'll, therefore, need to digitalize your artwork and import it. Tip: Make sure you're working in layers! Using different layers for both the die lines and the artwork, it's easier to print the lines at the back of your artwork afterwards. Artwork can be anything like a scan of a texture, an illustration, a photograph or artwork created in Adobe Illustrator or Photoshop.

Assembling final demo copies

Now your pop-up book is completely digitalized you can print your designs and assemble final copies of the book to use as presentation or demo models. Before a book goes into production, you'll need to find a publisher or audience so these final copies are important to use as a demo. It's very time consuming because you'll have to cut, fold and glue everything by hand. Be very careful with these copies because you'll first need to take photo's or capture it on film with close-ups. After that, you'll be free to show it to your friends and family and visit publishers and exhibitions to demonstrate your book.

Find a publisher or crowdfund your book

If you're looking for information about how to make a pop-up book, this step might be useless. In case you've decided to make just one copy of your book, you can skip this. If you have bigger plans like publishing and printing your book, you should know that it might be very hard to find a publisher for your book. Pop-up books are way more complicated to produce and very expensive (investment) to publish. Most publishers, that are specialized in pop-ups, already work with talented paper engineers from all over the world and you'll have to come up with a very good concept to make a small chance. The good news is that you can get your book funded with crowdfunding. We already have seen some successful pop-up book project from platforms like Kickstarter and Indiegogo so it's definitely worth a try! Just keep in mind that starting a crowdfunding campaign also takes a lot of work with it.

Finding a manufacturer
At this stage, you'll need to find a manufacturer specialized in pop-up books. If you're working with a publisher they probably already know some manufacturers, but when you publish the book yourself, you'll have to look for a manufacturer yourself. To discuss what's possible, how large the print run should be, how much budget you'll need from your campaign to finance production costs and when the book will be ready. All this information is important to share with the backers of your crowdfunding project.

Promote your book

As an indie publisher, you'll have to be an author, publisher and PR at the same time. Convincing enough people to back your project is a dedicated job and you'll need social media platforms to spread the word and keep the conversation going about your book. When you're working with a publisher, you also need to work for them to promote your pop-up book. There are no rules for promoting a product but the best way to do this is by creating quality content like photos and videos to share and be at every event that you can think of to promote your book.

A website about your book
Most important is to create a nice website where people can find information and contact you about your book. This will be the place where followers, editors and backers can go to for information and updates. Make sure your website contains a link to order the product, a contact mail form and high-resolution images of your pop-up book.

Creating your own website can be difficult but there are some basic steps you can start with:

Register a .com domain and choose a basic web hosting

Install WordPress and find a theme/layout

Create basic pages like Home, Contact, About and Order

Fill those pages with enough information and images

Add your website to Google and install Google analytics

Create social media channels and link those to your website

Production

What could have been Step 9 in this How to make a pop-up book guide is the production process. But when you're an indie publisher and your book is a crowdfunding campaign, the production will be the last step for you to take. Your part is to help the manufacturer on its way and through the process of making your book. You'll also need to do the quality control yourself. Looking for minor errors or mistakes. This QC is necessary at many checkpoints in the production process.

How to bind a pop-up book cover

A very useful video by Michael McGinnis that demonstrates very clearly how to make a pop-up book cover. A pop-up page needs to be flat when opened so the mechanisms work in an optimal way. A traditional book cover would curl up the center of the spreads, because of the tension that gets created in the centerfold. This can be solved by adding extra spacing between the pages and also by adding extra hinges on the spine of the cover. You will learn how to do it in this video!

Useful links

Now that you've read our How to make a pop-up book guide, you maybe would like to know more about pop-ups and get inspiration from talented paper engineers. Go check out our handy links page that contains a lot of links to websites of paper engineers, publishers and pop-up specialists! You can also read our interviews with pop-up book collectors and some of the best paper engineers about their work and recent publications.

Editors note

In this How to make a pop-up book guide, we try our best to provide accurate and detailed information about a very complex process. It's possible that some steps or descriptions may give you the idea that the process of creating and publishing a pop-up book is easy but we think it's not. How to make a pop-up book? is a frequently asked question and we think this list is a good start for everybody who wants to know more about this subject. Please feel free to contact us if you have any comments, additions or corrections!

Show your creations!

Our Community Forum is a great place to share your paper creations with other pop-up fans and paper engineers. Get ideas and inspiration or share useful tips and advice with each other about all things paper!

Registration to the forum is free and will take less than a minute so join now!

Thank you for visiting our How to make a pop-up book page! If you think this information was useful, please feel free to Like it and share it with your friends! We will update this page once in a while so stay tuned for more information about How to make a pop-up book.

Header image: Keith Allen - Indie pop-up book publisher working on his new book What a Mess!

Pop-up video tutorials

There are a lot of great video tutorials to find on the Internet that teach you how to make a pop-up. Start with the basics or just pick a nice pop-up design to create yourself! Watch tutorials...

Pop-up templates

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How to make a pop-up book - Detailed step-by-step guide

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How to make a pop-up book? Sounds like a simple question but that depends on how complicated you want the pop-up book to be. If you take a look at some projects from artists and students on YouTube, you'll find lots of beautiful self-made pop-up books ranging from basic to very complex.

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I love these striking visuals from the Carrie prom scene, it went from a normal happy evening to disaster in a heartbeat- something that I might emulate with my storyline idea

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It was important to me to look into how female artists previously tackled and expressed their rage through art

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In the wake of the Kavanaugh hearings, I've developed a new self-care routine: I put on a sheet mask, cue up some soothing music, and look at paintings of murderous women. I don't think I'm alone in this;

and

depictions of Judith beheading Holofernes, Orpheus being ripped apart by Maenads, and Timoclea tossing her rapist down a well have been popping up on my Instagram and Twitter feeds for weeks. They've become memes; recontextualized and captioned, they give voice to women's rage at the injustices of the present.

In her book Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women's Anger, Rebecca Traister challenges her readers to Google the name of any powerful woman in politics-particularly those who challenge white male power and authority-to find a cache of images of that woman yelling angrily. "The best way to discredit these women, to make them look unattractive, is to capture an image of them screaming," she writes. "The act of a woman opening her mouth with volume and assured force, often in complaint, is coded in our minds as ugly." It's not surprising that angry women, when they do appear in Western art history, often take the form of goddesses or monsters: harpies and witches, Medusa and the Sphinx.

Traister's book argues that female rage has often been the catalyst for political and social change. And yet, we know that when women express their anger, they risk being seen as hysterical, overly emotional, and unserious, even if the reasons for their fury are entirely legitimate. While I'm not suggesting we throw men down a well, I would argue that when justice seems elusive, images of angry women can be cathartic, even inspiring. What follows are seven works from art history that show the beauty and power of female rage.

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The 7 Most Vengeful Depictions of Female Rage in Art History

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In the wake of the Kavanaugh hearings, I've developed a new self-care routine: I put on a sheet mask, cue up some soothing music, and look at paintings of murderous women.

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Excerpt from the article talking about the negative connotations to women's anger

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Last night I attended the UPRISE: Angry Women exhibition at The Untitled Space, a gallery in New York's historic Tribeca neighborhood. The exhibit is currently featuring 80 selections of politically charged pieces for and by women in response to the political climate regarding women's rights in America.

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The purpose is to lead you towards more focused research and visual experimentation, basically exploring.

WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE WHY?

Female-women (who) rage(what) now and informed by the past(when) in media and real life-western society(where), because women have always had a complicated relationship with anger which is detrimental to us and our lives for a number of reasons(why)

The Detective- everything is in service of the narrative

The Activist- maybe?

Too general, be more specific about time, the now and then comparison would be more helpful if I was more specific, what is female rage in 1820s (example)

How can women express their anger in a deserved way?

Why is it such a shameful emotion for women? (Because we were socialised that way)

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This is an impressive video essay analysing the different ways Jack Nicholson portrays anger. I chose to look at it to further my understanding of the emotion as well as that of method acting (for the task).

The main takeaway from this for me is that 'No two expressions of anger are the same, not in real life and not in Nicholson's work'. What this video touches upon is how Jack Nicholson is able to portray the angry outbursts of his characters with nuance, being able to show the underlying emotion not just the anger on top. This is important to portray anger naturally as anger is what is called a 'second-hand' emotion, it is always preceded by another feeling that triggers it.

This is important for me to understand as to be able to create realistic stories based around anger, I must understand that my characters need to feel something else strong beforehand such as hurt, indignation, fear etc.

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Ryan Martin, anger researcher starts off discussing the reasons we get angry, the intricate way the emotion forms where only one thing changing in a scenario is the difference between whether or not we get angry. He ends his speech with the fact that our anger is justified, and that it is good to be angry and discusses the evolutionary benefits of anger.
He makes it really clear how anger is not a bad emotion and instead of focusing on not being angry we should focus on regulating our emotions instead.

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Why we get mad -- and why it's healthy | Ryan Martin

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Juna Mustad talks about how anger is essential to living a healthy life and how its absence can lead to leading a life without boundaries or advocating for yourself by talking about her past abusive relationship. She talks about how even after leaving him it took her finally respecting and listening to her anger to properly heal.

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Anger Is Your Ally: A Mindful Approach to Anger | Juna Mustad | TEDxWabashCollege

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For my Method Illustration task, I chose to look at real method acting and the psychology behind it, mainly because my theme is centred around anger, and actors' jobs is to portray emotions.

Looking at different advice on how to properly channel anger I followed it in the hopes of quite weirdly, getting angry myself and then I documented the different ways it was exhibited.

First, I found it quite hard to focus on something to make me angry, because my efforts were pretty aimless but then I narrowed it down.

Once I found something to trigger it just a little bit, new thoughts feeding that anger came on quick. Soon I was breathing harder, restless, pacing around my room as I could not sit still. My facial expression was pained, and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

The longer it went on the angrier I got, I started hitting my pillow and sort of growling in frustration with it covering my face as I leave in an apartment building, I couldn't do what I really wanted which was to scream. Soon in an effort to explore this emotion I started writing my feelings down on paper, specifically the reasons I was angry and trying to dissect them in relation to my feeling of anger. As I was writing, my neat handwriting devolved into a mad scrawl that then became almost unintelligible as tears began to form in my eyes. Soon I was sobbing over my piece of paper, still writing, fighting for air, having to take breaks to blow my nose.

As I was spiralling in this emotional breakdown, I had to start thinking about how to stop and come back to normal. I tried the usual, deep breathing, trying to stop crying but what helped was to keep writing and getting these feelings outside of myself on the page.

By the end I felt calmer, cleansed, the crazy act of making myself angry functioned as cathartic because of the way I chose to display it and use it- to write things down. At the end looking at the page in front of me I was able to truly see how my shallow anger at the beginning devolved into my true fears that powered it by the end. That I wasn't angry just because of this one small thing, something that is considered normal, but because of the way I placed myself opposite it. That my anger stemmed from feelings of inadequacy, abandonment, fear that I am replaceable and not enough.

I consider this anger experiment a good thing as it allowed me to look at myself in a clinical way, to see the deep hidden roots of my anger and maybe with luck, work on them.

I do think that this result came about due to my stream of consciousness writing while being angry, as a way to cope.

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There's a remarkably powerful moment in the second season of Jessica Jones that serves as the war cry for the show. In a subplot that mirrors real life, its eponymous lead Jessica Jones (Krysten Ritter) confronts Max Tatum, the sleazy director who sexually exploited Trish Walker, her adopted sister/best friend at the beginning of her acting career in exchange for roles. Trish was a minor then. The scene comes moments after Trish is forced to confront her own past that explores how trauma sparks unbridled rage in women.

Enraged at Max, Jessica pushes him around, pinning him to the hood of his car. Cowering in fear he asks her, "What the hell are you?" "I'm angry," she replies, relaxed as the calm before the storm, before picking him up and punching a hole in the car. This moment crowns Jessica as the reel-life female superhero of the #MeToo movement , as the context and her words echo what around the world have been feeling since last year (although the show was written months before the Harvey Weinstein exposé).

Just like Jessica Jones , we're fucking angry, and not just for ourselves but for each other too.

We first met the foul-mouthed Jessica struggling with an problem and wearing a uniform of rugged jeans and combat boots almost two years ago. If the first season dwelled on Jessica's victimhood, introducing us to Kilgrave the mind-controlling villain responsible for her trauma, then season two goes deeper into what follows the trauma - an all-consuming .

Despite her superpowers in the first season, Jessica was susceptible to Kilgrave's mind-control virus, which enabled him to turn her into his kept puppet, abusing and assaulting her at will for months. Kilgrave was a sadistic narcissist whose penchant for making people do his bidding made him the personification of toxic masculinity .

When Max asks Jessica Jones, "What the hell are you?" "I'm angry," she replies, relaxed as the calm before the storm.

Image credit: Netflix

Although Jessica took Kilgrave down at the end of the first season, the damage had already been done.

In the second season that premiered at the beginning of March, he reappears for an episode as a delusion who lives on in Jessica's brain. It's an apt portrayal of the fact that doesn't simply subside once the stops and the abuser is gone from the picture. It's emblematic of the life-long anger and fear that women have to bear the burden of throughout their lives. In the wake of #MeToo, this plotline strikes close to the everyday experiences of women - more than the generic superheroes with an equally generic appetite for being the world's saviour. This makes Jessica Jones that rare offering that allows space for women to be angry, scared, traumatised, strong, and weak at the same time.

The boiling rage that Jessica experiences is messy and uncontrollable, spilling over into . After beating up a rival private investigator, she is ordered by the court to attend anger-management classes. In a darkly humorous scene, one by one, the people in the class narrate their stories of uncontainable rage while bouncing a ball against the wall. When it's Jessica's turn, she narrates the show's plotline with increasing fury - "My whole family was killed in a car accident. Someone did horrific experiments on me. I was abducted, , and forced to kill someone. And now some maniac says that I am here for a reason. Like some sick destiny. She's out killing people, and I'm in here bouncing a goddamn ball!"

As she finishes, the ball breaks into pieces and the wall gives in, leaving her classmates gasping and terrified. It is obvious that anger management isn't going to fix Jones as the real perpetrators who violated her and turned her into a "super freak", are out living their lives. It's a stunning scene, contrary to the victimised portrayals of abused women that we conventionally see on TV. Instead of vilifying female rage, the show attempts to understand it, if not deem it as necessary.

Jessica's anger is accompanied by the rage felt by the other women in the show. Trish's violence-laden anger is emboldened by her helplessness in the face of men like Max, causing her to hunt down the doctor who gave Jessica her powers and make him perform the same dangerous procedure on her.

Instead of vilifying female rage, Netflix's Jessica Jones attempts to understand it, if not deem it as necessary.

Image credit: Netflix

*Spoilers ahead*
The big reveal of the season, however, is that the monster murdering people who are connected to the experiments performed on Jessica is her own mother. It's then that we learn that Alisa, her mother was a brilliant mathematician who was subdued by her insecure husband. It's evident that Alisa has harboured anger at her husband for years. Her story goes close to the bone for every woman whose talent has been curbed by controlling partners.

Like its characters, the representation of anger in Jessica Jones is chaotic and complex, very different from sanitised portrayals of righteous female anger. The lines between good and evil get blurry by the end. For the show's women are not just angry about the abuse they respectively faced - they're furious about a whole spectrum of systemic injustice that includes . In showcasing female anger and its different facets, Jessica Jones is one of the few shows that realistically portrays this complex emotion, even as numerous shows and films continue harping on the dangerous effects of female fury.

As Jessica Jones shows, violence may not be the answer. But anger, perhaps is.

As the second season ends, Jessica's anger shifts and lights the way to hope and healing, in tune with new psychological that tells us that anger can be a positive emotion. When used constructively, it can become a motivating force which fuels the drive and creativity required to set things right. In the finale, it is implied that anger has dragged Jessica out of the hellhole her life has been, paving the way for new experiences. Watching Jessica Jones , an eloquent portrait of female rage will not just make you angry, but also make you glad of that anger.

Although there aren't any vigilante heroines like Jessica beating up abusive men to a pulp in real life, it wouldn't be far-fetched to say that collective female anger was a driving force behind #MeToo. And shows like Jessica Jones highlight that it is high time that female anger is accepted as a natural response to injustice.

But the most important upshot is that anger is never just an emotion for women; it's laced with radical potential to help bring about real change and healing. As feminist activist Mona Eltahawy , "Angry women are free women."

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Jessica Jones and the Superhuman Power of Female Anger

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Jessica Jones is an eloquent portrait of female rage that makes you glad for the anger. The women aren't merely outraged about the abuse they've faced. They're furious about a whole spectrum of systemic injustice of which sexism is only the tip.

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All the rage: Why women feel so angry these days... and how they can go from fury to feelgood

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Annoyance, exasperation, irritation, frustration. For most of us, these feelings are part of the ever-changing emotional weather of day-to-day life. How often, on a given day, do you find yourself swallowing down resentment or frustration? Or biting your tongue in order to smooth over conflict in so…

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When men get angry, their power grows. When women do, it shrinks.

Credit: id-work/Digital Vision Vectors/Getty

My parents' wedding, in 1965, was a lavish affair that went on for more than 20 hours and with more than 500 guests in attendance. Among the most prized gifts my parents received that day was their wedding china. These white-and-gold plates were more than an expensive gesture: They were an important symbol both of adulthood and their community's and family's approval of marriage in general and this marriage in particular. When I was growing up, these look-but-don't-touch dishes were used only on the rarest and most special occasions, and always with great care.

That'swhy, one day, when I was 15, I was dumbfounded to see my mother standing on the long veranda outside our kitchen, chucking one china plate after another as far and as hard as she could into the hot, humid air. Our kitchen was on the second floor of a house that sat perched atop a long, rolling hill. I watched each dish soar through the atmosphere, its weight generating a sharp, steady trajectory before shattering into pieces on the terrace far below.

While the image is vivid in my mind, I have no memory of any noise. My mother didn't utter a sound the entire time. I have no idea if she even knew anyone was watching. When she was done, she walked back into the kitchen and asked me how my school day had gone, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I desperately wanted to know what I had witnessed, but it didn't feel like a good time to ask questions, so I sat and worked on my homework as my mother prepared dinner and the day morphed into night. We never talked about anger.

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My parents' wedding, in 1965, was a lavish affair that went on for more than 20 hours and with more than 500 guests in attendance. Among the most prized gifts my parents received that day was their wedding china.

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Credit... Photo illustration by Matthieu Bourel. Source photograph of model: Igor Ustynskyy/Getty Images.

Credit... Photo illustration by Matthieu Bourel. Source photograph of model: Igor Ustynskyy/Getty Images.

Listen to This Article.

Leslie Jamison explores the potentially constructive force of female anger - and the shame that can get attached to it.

To hear more audio stories from publishers like The New York Times, download Audm for iPhone or Android.
For years, I described myself as someone who wasn't prone to anger. "I don't get angry," I said. "I get sad." I believed this inclination was mainly about my personality - that sadness was a more natural emotion for me than anger, that I was somehow built this way. It's easy to misunderstand the self as private, when it's rarely private at all: It's always a public artifact, never fixed, perpetually sculpted by social forces. In truth, I was proud to describe myself in terms of sadness rather than anger. Why? Sadness seemed more refined and also more selfless - as if you were holding the pain inside yourself, rather than making someone else deal with its blunt-force trauma.

But a few years ago, I started to get a knot in my gut at the canned cadences of my own refrain: I don't get angry. I get sad. At the shrillest moments of our own self-declarations - I am X, I am not Y - we often hear in that tinny register another truth, lurking expectantly, and begin to realize there are things about ourselves we don't yet know. By which I mean that at a certain point, I started to suspect I was angrier than I thought.

Of course it wasn't anger when I was 4 years old and took a pair of scissors to my parents' couch - wanting so badly to destroy something, whatever I could. Of course it wasn't anger when I was 16 and my boyfriend broke up with me, and I cut up the inside of my own ankle - wanting so badly to destroy something, whatever I could. Of course it wasn't anger when I was 34 and fighting with my husband, when I screamed into a pillow after he left the house so our daughter wouldn't hear, then threw my cellphone across the room and spent the next 10 minutes searching for it under the bed, and finally found it in a small pile of cat vomit. Of course it wasn't anger when, during a faculty meeting early in my teaching days, I distributed statistics about how many female students in our department had reported instances of sexual harassment the year before: more than half of them.

A faculty member grew indignant and insisted that most of those claims probably didn't have any basis at all. I clenched my fists. I struggled to speak. It wasn't that I could say for sure what had happened in each of those cases - of course I couldn't, they were just anonymous numbers on the page - but their sheer volume seemed horrifying. It demanded attention. I honestly hadn't expected that anyone would resist these numbers or force me to account for why it was important to look at them. The scrutiny of the room made me struggle for words just when I needed them most. It made me dig my nails into my palm. What was that emotion? It was not sadness. It was rage.

The phenomenon of female anger has often been turned against itself, the figure of the angry woman reframed as threat - not the one who has been harmed, but the one bent on harming. She conjures a lineage of threatening archetypes: the harpy and her talons, the witch and her spells, the medusa and her writhing locks. The notion that female anger is unnatural or destructive is learned young; children report perceiving displays of anger as more acceptable from boys than from girls. According to a review of studies of gender and anger written in 2000 by Ann M. Kring, a psychology professor at the University of California, Berkeley, men and women self-report "anger episodes" with comparable degrees of frequency, but women report experiencing more shame and embarrassment in their aftermath. People are more likely to use words like "bitchy" and "hostile" to describe female anger, while male anger is more likely to be described as "strong." Kring reported that men are more likely to express their anger by physically assaulting objects or verbally attacking other people, while women are more likely to cry when they get angry, as if their bodies are forcibly returning them to the appearance of the emotion - sadness - with which they are most commonly associated.

A 2016 study found that it took longer for people to correctly identify the gender of female faces displaying an angry expression, as if the emotion had wandered out of its natural habitat by finding its way to their features. A 1990 study conducted by the psychologists Ulf Dimberg and L.O. Lundquist found that when female faces are recognized as angry, their expressions are rated as more hostile than comparable expressions on the faces of men - as if their violation of social expectations had already made their anger seem more extreme, increasing its volume beyond what could be tolerated.

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Credit... Photo illustration by Matthieu Bourel. Source photograph of model: Andreas Kuehn/Getty Images.

In "What Happened," her account of the 2016 presidential election, Hillary Clinton describes the pressure not to come across as angry during the course of her entire political career - "a lot of people recoil from an angry woman," she writes - as well as her own desire not to be consumed by anger after she lost the race, "so that the rest of my life wouldn't be spent like Miss Havisham from Charles Dickens's 'Great Expectations,' rattling around my house obsessing over what might have been." The specter of Dickens's ranting spinster - spurned and embittered in her crumbling wedding dress, plotting her elaborate revenge - casts a long shadow over every woman who dares to get mad.

If an angry woman makes people uneasy, then her more palatable counterpart, the sad woman, summons sympathy more readily. She often looks beautiful in her suffering: ennobled, transfigured, elegant. Angry women are messier. Their pain threatens to cause more collateral damage. It's as if the prospect of a woman's anger harming other people threatens to rob her of the social capital she has gained by being wronged. We are most comfortable with female anger when it promises to regulate itself, to refrain from recklessness, to stay civilized.

Consider the red-carpet clip of Uma Thurman that went viral in November, during the initial swell of sexual-harassment accusations. The clip doesn't actually show Thurman's getting angry. It shows her very conspicuously refusing to get angry. After commending the Hollywood women who had spoken out about their experiences of sexual assault, she said that she was "waiting to feel less angry" before she spoke herself. It was curious that Thurman's public declarations were lauded as a triumphant vision of female anger, because the clip offered precisely the version of female anger that we've long been socialized to produce and accept: not the spectacle of female anger unleashed, but the spectacle of female anger restrained, sharpened to a photogenic point. By withholding the specific story of whatever made her angry, Thurman made her anger itself the story - and the raw force of her struggle not to get angry on that red carpet summoned the force of her anger even more powerfully than its full explosion would have, just as the monster in a movie is most frightening when it only appears offscreen.

This was a question I began to consider quite frequently as the slew of news stories accrued last fall: How much female anger has been lurking offscreen? How much anger has been biding its time and biting its tongue, wary of being pathologized as hysteria or dismissed as paranoia? And what of my own vexed feelings about all this female anger? Why were they even vexed? It seemed a failure of moral sentiment or a betrayal of feminism, as if I were somehow siding with the patriarchy, or had internalized it so thoroughly I couldn't even spot the edges of its toxic residue. I intuitively embraced and supported other women's anger but struggled to claim my own. Some of this had to do with the ways I'd been lucky - I had experienced all kinds of gendered aggression, but nothing equivalent to the horror stories so many other women have lived through. But it also had to do with an abiding aversion to anger that still festered like rot inside me. In what I had always understood as self-awareness - I don't get angry. I get sad - I came to see my own complicity in the same logic that has trained women to bury their anger or perform its absence.

For a long time, I was drawn to "sad lady" icons: the scribes and bards of loneliness and melancholy. As a certain kind of slightly morbid, slightly depressive, slightly self-intoxicated, deeply predictable, pre-emptively apologetic literary fan-girl, I loved Sylvia Plath. I was obsessed with her own obsession with her own blood ("What a thrill ... that red plush") and drawn to her suffering silhouette: a woman abandoned by her cheating husband and ensnared by the gendered double standards of domesticity. I attached myself to the mantra of her autobiographical avatar Esther Greenwood, who lies in a bathtub in "The Bell Jar," bleeding during a rehearsal of a suicide attempt, and later stands at a funeral listening "to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am." Her attachment to pain - her own and others' - was also a declaration of identity. I wanted to get it tattooed on my arm.

Whenever I listened to my favorite female singers, it was easier for me to sing along to their sad lyrics than their angry ones. It was easier to play Ani DiFranco on repeat, crooning about heartbreak - "Did I ever tell you how I stopped eating/when you stopped calling me?" - than it was to hear her fury, and her irritation at the ones who stayed sad and quiet in her shadow: "Some chick says/Thank you for saying all the things I never do/I say, you know/The thanks I get is to take all the [expletive] for you."

I kept returning to the early novels of Jean Rhys, whose wounded heroines flopped around dingy rented rooms in various European capitals, seeking solace from their heartbreak, staining cheap comforters with their wine. Sasha, the heroine of "Good Morning, Midnight" - the most famous of these early picaresques of pain - resolves to drink herself to death and manages, mainly, to cry her way across Paris. She cries at cafes, at bars, in her lousy hotel room. She cries at work. She cries in a fitting room. She cries on the street. She cries near the Seine. The closing scene of the novel is a scene of terrifying passivity: She lets a wraithlike man into her bed because she can't summon the energy to stop him, as if she has finally lost touch with her willpower entirely. In life, Rhys was infamous for her sadness, what one friend called "her gramophone-needle-stuck-in-a-groove thing of going over and over miseries of one sort and another." Even her biographer called her one of the greatest self-pity artists in the history of English fiction.

It took me years to understand how deeply I had misunderstood these women. I'd missed the rage that fueled Plath's poetry like a ferocious gasoline, lifting her speakers (sometimes literally) into flight: "Now she is flying/More terrible than she ever was, red/Scar in the sky, red comet/Over the engine that killed her - the mausoleum, the wax house." The speaker becomes a scar - this irrefutable evidence of her own pain - but this scar, in turn, becomes a comet: terrible and determined, soaring triumphant over the instruments of her own supposed destruction. I'd always been preoccupied with the pained disintegration of Plath's speakers, but once I started looking, I saw the comet trails of their angry resurrections everywhere, delivering their unapologetic fantasies of retribution: "Out of the ash/I rise with my red hair/And I eat men like air."

I'd loved Rhys for nearly a decade before I read her final novel, "Wide Sargasso Sea," a reimagining of Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre" whose whole plot leads inexorably toward an act of destructive anger: The mad first wife of Mr. Rochester burns down the English country manor where she has been imprisoned in the attic for years. In this late masterpiece, the heroines of Rhys's early novels - heartbroken, drunk, caught in complicated choreographies of passivity - are replaced by an angry woman with a torch, ready to use the master's tools to destroy his house.

It wasn't that these authors were writing exclusively about female anger rather than female sorrow; their writing holds both states of feeling. "Wide Sargasso Sea" excavates the deep veins of sadness running beneath an otherwise opaque act of angry destruction, and Plath's poems are invested in articulating the complicated affective braids of bitterness, irony, anger, pride and sorrow that others often misread as monolithic sadness. "They explain people like that by saying that their minds are in watertight compartments, but it never seemed so to me," Rhys herself once wrote. "It's all washing about, like the bilge in the hold of a ship."

It has always been easier to shunt female sadness and female anger into the "watertight compartments" of opposing archetypes, rather than acknowledging the ways they run together in the cargo hold of every female psyche. Near the end of the new biopic "I, Tonya," Tonya Harding's character explains: "America, they want someone to love, but they want someone to hate." The timing of the film's release, in late 2017, seemed cosmically apt. It resurrected a definitional prototype of female anger - at least for many women like me, who came of age during the 1990s - at the precise moment that so many women were starting to get publicly, explicitly, unapologetically angry.

Harding was an object of fascination not just because of the soap opera she dangled before the public gaze - supposedly conspiring with her ex-husband and an associate to plan an attack on her rival figure skater Nancy Kerrigan - but also because she and Kerrigan provided a yin and yang of primal female archetypes. As a vision of anger - uncouth and unrestrained, the woman everyone loved to hate, exploding at the judges when they didn't give her the scores she felt she deserved - Harding was the perfect foil for the elegant suffering of Kerrigan, sobbing in her lacy white leotard. Together they were an impossible duo to turn away from: the sad girl and the mad girl. Wounded and wicked. Their binary segregated one vision of femininity we adored (rule-abiding, delicate, hurting) from another we despised (trashy, whiny, angry). Harding was strong; she was poor; she was pissed off; and eventually, in the narrative embraced by the public, she turned those feelings into violence. But "I, Tonya" illuminates what so little press coverage at the time paid attention to: the perfect storm of violence that produced Harding's anger in the first place - her mother's abuse and her husband's. Which is to say: No woman's anger is an island.

When the Harding and Kerrigan controversy swept the media, I was 10 years old. Their story was imprinted onto me as a series of reductive but indelible brush strokes: one woman shouting at the media, another woman weeping just beyond the ice rink. But after watching "I, Tonya" and realizing how much these two women had existed to me as ideas, rather than as women, I did what any reasonable person would do: I Googled "Tonya and Nancy" obsessively. I Googled: "Did Tonya ever apologize to Nancy?" I Googled: "Tonya Harding boxing career?" and discovered that it effectively began with her 2002 "Celebrity Boxing" match against Paula Jones - two women paid to perform the absurd caricatures of vengeful femininity the public had projected onto them, the woman who cried harassment versus the woman who bashed kneecaps.

In the documentaries I watched, I found Harding difficult to like. She comes off as a self-deluded liar with a robust victim complex, focused on her own misfortune to the exclusion of anyone else's. But what does the fact that I found Harding "difficult to like" say about the kind of women I'm comfortable liking? Did I want the plotline in which the woman who has survived her own hard life - abusive mother, abusive husband, enduring poverty - also emerges with a "likable" personality: a plucky spirit, a determined work ethic and a graceful, self-effacing relationship to her own suffering?

The vision of Harding in "I, Tonya" is something close to the opposite of self-effacing. The film even includes a fantastical re-enactment of the crime, which became popularly known as the "whack heard round the world," in which Harding stands over Kerrigan's cowering body, baton raised high above her head, striking her bloody knee until Harding turns back toward the camera - her face defiant and splattered with Kerrigan's blood. Even though the attack was actually carried out by a hired hit man, this imagined scene distills the version of the story that America became obsessed with, in which one woman's anger leaves another woman traumatized.

But America's obsession with these two women wasn't that simple. There was another story that rose up in opposition. In this shadow story, Harding wasn't a monster but a victim, an underdog unfairly vilified, and Kerrigan was a crybaby who made too much of her pain. In a 2014 Deadspin essay, "Confessions of a Tonya Harding Apologist," Lucy Madison wrote: "She represented the fulfillment of an adolescent revenge fantasy - my adolescent revenge fantasy, the one where the girl who doesn't quite fit in manages to soar over everyone's [expletive] without giving up a fraction of her prerogative - and I could not have loved her more." When Kerrigan crouched sobbing on the floor near the training rink, right after the attack (Newsweek described it as "the sound of one dream breaking"), she famously cried out: "Why? Why? Why?" But when Newsweek ran the story on its cover, it printed the quote as: "Why Me?" The single added word turned her shock into keening self-pity.

Credit... Photo illustration by Matthieu Bourel. Source photograph of model: Lucy Lambriex/Getty Images.

These two seemingly contradictory versions of Harding and Kerrigan - raging bitch and innocent victim, or bad-girl hero and whiny crybaby - offered the same cutout dolls dressed in different costumes. The entitled weeper was the unacceptable version of a stoic victim; the scrappy underdog was the acceptable version of a raging bitch. At first glance, they seemed like opposite stories, betraying our conflicted collective relationship to female anger - that it's either heroic or uncontrollably destructive - and our love-hate relationship with victimhood itself: We love a victim to hurt for but grow irritated by one who hurts too much. Both stories, however, insisted upon the same segregation: A woman couldn't hurt and be hurt at once. She could be either angry or sad. It was easier to outsource those emotions to the bodies of separate women than it was to acknowledge that they reside together in the body of every woman.

Ten years ago in Nicaragua, a man punched me in the face on a dark street. As I sat on a curb afterward - covered in my own blood, holding a cold bottle of beer against my broken nose - a cop asked me for a physical description of the man who had just mugged me. Maybe 20 minutes later, a police vehicle pulled up: a pickup truck outfitted with a barred cage in the back. There was a man in the cage.

"Is this him?" the cop asked. I shook my head, horrified, acutely aware of my own power - realizing, in that moment, that simply saying I was hurt could take away a stranger's liberty. I was a white woman, a foreigner volunteering at a local school, and I felt ashamed of my own familiar silhouette: a vulnerable white woman crying danger at anonymous men lurking in the shadows. I felt scared and embarrassed to be scared. I felt embarrassed that everyone was making such a fuss. One thing I did not feel was anger.

That night, my sense of guilt - my shame at being someone deemed worthy of protection, and at the ways that protection might endanger others - effectively blocked my awareness of my own anger. It was as if my privilege outweighed my vulnerability, and that meant I wasn't entitled to any anger at all. But if I struggled to feel entitled to anger that night in Nicaragua, I have since come to realize that the real entitlement has never been anger; it has always been its absence. The aversion to anger I had understood in terms of temperament or intention was, in all honesty, also a luxury. When the black feminist writer and activist Audre Lorde described her anger as a lifelong response to systemic racism, she insisted upon it as a product of the larger social landscape rather than private emotional ecology: "I have lived with that anger, on that anger, beneath that anger, on top of that anger ... for most of my life."

After the Uma Thurman clip went viral, the Trinidadian journalist Stacy-Marie Ishmael tweeted: "*interesting* which kinds of women are praised for public anger. I've spent my whole career reassuring people this is just my face." Michelle Obama was dogged by the label of "angry black woman" for the duration of her husband's time in office. Scientific research has suggested that the experience of racism leads African-Americans to suffer from higher blood pressure than white Americans and has hypothesized that this disparity arises from the fact that they accordingly experience more anger and are simultaneously expected to suppress it. The tennis superstar Serena Williams was fined over $80,000 for an angry outburst against a lineswoman at the U.S. Open in 2009: "I swear to God, I'll [expletive] take this ball and shove it down your [expletive] throat." Gretchen Carlson, a Fox anchor at the time, called another one of Williams's angry outbursts in 2011 a symbol of "what's wrong with our society today." Carlson, of course, has since come to embody a certain brand of female empowerment: One of the leading voices accusing the late Fox News chairman Roger Ailes of sexual harassment, she recently published a book called "Be Fierce: Stop Harassment and Take Your Power Back." But the portrait on its cover - of a fair-skinned, blond-haired woman smiling slightly in a dark turtleneck - reminds us that fierceness has always been more palatable from some women than from others.

What good is anger, anyway? The philosopher Martha Nussbaum invokes Aristotle's definition of anger as "a response to a significant damage" that "contains within itself a hope for payback" to argue that anger is not only "a stupid way to run one's life" but also a corrosive public force, predicated on the false belief that payback can redress the wrongdoing that inspired it. She points out that women have often embraced the right to their own anger as a "vindication of equality," part of a larger project of empowerment, but that its promise as a barometer of equality shouldn't obscure our vision of its dangers. In this current moment of ascendant female anger, are we taking too much for granted about its value? What if we could make space for both anger and a reckoning with its price?

In her seminal 1981 essay, "The Uses of Anger," Audre Lorde weighs the value of anger differently than Nussbaum: not in terms of retribution, but in terms of connection and survival. It's not just a byproduct of systemic evils, she argues, but a catalyst for useful discomfort and clearer dialogue. "I have suckled the wolf's lip of anger," she writes, "and I have used it for illumination, laughter, protection, fire in places where there was no light, no food, no sisters, no quarter." Anger isn't just a blaze burning structures to the ground; it also casts a glow, generates heat and brings bodies into communion. "Every woman has a well-stocked arsenal of anger potentially useful against those oppressions," Lorde writes, "which brought that anger into being."

Confronting my own aversion to anger asked me to shift from seeing it simply as an emotion to be felt, and toward understanding it as a tool to be used: part of a well-stocked arsenal. When I walked in the Women's March in Washington a year ago - one body among thousands - the act of marching didn't just mean claiming the right to a voice; it meant publicly declaring my resolve to use it. I've come to think of anger in similar terms: not as a claiming of victimhood but as an owning of accountability. As I write this essay eight months pregnant, I don't hope that my daughter never gets angry. I hope that she lives in a world that can recognize the ways anger and sadness live together, and the ways rage and responsibility, so often seen as natural enemies, can live together as well.

"Once upon a time/I had enough anger in me to crack crystal," the poet Kiki Petrosino writes in her 2011 poem "At the Teahouse." "I boiled up from bed/in my enormous nightdress, with my lungs full of burning/chrysanthemums." This is a vision of anger as fuel and fire, as a powerful inoculation against passivity, as strange but holy milk suckled from the wolf. This anger is more like an itch than a wound. It demands that something happen. It's my own rage at that faculty meeting, when the voices of students who had become statistics at our fingertips were being asked to hush up, to step back into their tidy columns. This anger isn't about deserving. It's about necessity: what needs to boil us out of bed and billow our dresses, what needs to burn in our voices, glowing and fearsome, fully aware of its own heat.

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I Used to Insist I Didn't Get Angry. Not Anymore. (Published 2018)

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Credit... Photo illustration by Matthieu Bourel. Source photograph of model: Igor Ustynskyy/Getty Images. To hear more audio stories from publishers like The New York Times, download Audm for iPhone or Android . For years, I described myself as someone who wasn't prone to anger. "I don't get angry," I said.

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Although this article is unrelated to anger I wanted to read about how feminism came about on the internet due to me mostly being online and feminism stuff etc  make this make sense

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Cyberfeminism resisted easy definition and, as the manifesto showed, there were multiple iterations and conflicting notions of what it was-and was not. By 1997, the movement was running into trouble. Haraway and Butler's texts had called for the dissolution of gender and racial hierarchies, but it was increasingly clear that cyberfeminism had failed to address race at all.

What's more, the notion that the internet could be employed as a categorically liberated space proved to be too optimistic. It was following the Cyberfeminist International in Kassel that Wilding mounted an important critique of the movement. "The Net is not a utopia of nongender," she wrote in Where is the Feminism in Cyberfeminism. "It is already socially inscribed with regard to bodies, sex, age, economics, social class, and race."

The cyberfeminists, Wilding claimed, had failed to actively interrogate the biases entrenched in cyberspace. "Being bad grrls on the internet is not by itself going to challenge the status quo," she went on. "Cyberfeminism presents itself as inclusive, but the cyberfeminist writings assume an educated, white, upper-middle-class, English speaking, culturally sophisticated readership," Wilding and Maria Fernandez wrote in the book Domain Errors: Cyberfeminist Practices.

The movement's advocates may have been bold and brazen, but while purporting to move beyond hierarchal divisions, Wilding felt that they had, unwittingly, reinstated them. She extended her practice to explore the intersection of feminism with other technologies beyond the internet, such as biotechnology-the next frontier for gender discrimination. She founded subRosa, an art collective that critiqued the racial and gender biases in assisted fertility and genetic engineering.

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How the Cyberfeminists Worked to Liberate Women through the Internet

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Cyberfeminism resisted easy definition and, as the manifesto showed, there were multiple iterations and conflicting notions of what it was-and was not. By 1997, the movement was running into trouble. Haraway and Butler's texts had called for the dissolution of gender and racial hierarchies, but it was increasingly clear that cyberfeminism had failed to address race at all.

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This is about the rise of reproductions of ancient greek plays with a female centric narrative, the reasoning behind it, as well as the history of why these female characters came to exist and be portrayed in a society where they were absent from positions of power and importance.

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Olga Taxidou is Professor of Drama and Performance Studies at the University of Edinburgh. She has published extensively on modernist drama, theories of tragedy and has also written adaptations of classical Greek plays, some of which have been performed. At the University, she is the College of Humanities and Social Sciences Festivals Coordinator, bringing together the scholarly work of academics with the creative work of artists. She helped to establish and has acted as judge for the James Tait Black Drama Award. For the past couple of years she has been a Visiting Professor at New York University and she is on the Board of Directors of the Athens and Epidaurus Festival.
The Citizens Theatre in Glasgow has announced a major production of the only extant trilogy that we have from the canon of Greek classical drama -The Oresteia by Aeschylus. First performed in the 5th century BCE, this adaptation is written by Zinnie Harris (the season runs 15 April - 14 May, 2016).

Arguably the first group of plays that deals with the 'battle of the sexes' and its structural and constitutive relationship to the discourses and practices of war, the trilogy has had many productions in the post WWII period that re-imagine and re-cast its political concerns in terms of the politics of gender. Agamemnon's triumphant return from the Trojan War (read in many ways as the 'original sin' of European history), is somewhat spoiled by the less than hospitable welcome of his wife Clytemnestra, who proceeds to kill him in probably the first scene in European drama that uses the bathroom as a site of slaughter.

Of course, she has reason to be angry.

Agamemnon had previously slaughtered their daughter Iphigeneia in a 'pro patria' sacrifice so the winds could blow favourably for the Greek boats to set sail (the dutiful daughter was told she would be attending her wedding).

Rather than continue with the intricacies of plot and action, I'd like to highlight some of the themes that are reverberated throughout this trilogy and perhaps underscore what makes it attractive for contemporary female playwrights and audiences.

Many contemporary adaptations approach this trilogy as a way of addressing our current state of constant war.

Indeed, this group of plays along with many others, is one that is also taught on many legal and philosophy courses as it charts a somewhat bumpy progression from vengeance to justice, from blood feuds to legislation, from darkness into light, from barbarism into civilisation, and quite predictably from a monstrous, murderous (and highly imagined) matriarchy to an equally imagined bloodless and lawful patriarchy.

However, as this is a piece of great literature and drama, these terms never remain binary, they are constantly switched about and traversed throughout the trilogy. The violence of Clytemnestra mirrors the violence of war, the vengefulness of the Furies turns into the kindness of the Eumenides, but is never truly expunged as it resides in the foundations of the houses. The house of the mother (and Harris's version is titled 'The Restless House'), never smoothly morphs into the law of the father.

These classical Greek plays are heaving with dangerous women, and in many ways provide us with probably one of the oldest imaginative/creative arenas at least in the European tradition, where the concept of the dangerous woman is given shape and form, metaphorised, stylised, enacted. Women who kill their husbands, their children, who sleep with them, who break the law and defy conventions of marriage; the spectre of these dangerous and monstrous women haunts these plays, and possibly the classicism that they have helped to construct in both its historical dimension and in its revived humanist, renaissance guise. For it is a somewhat incongruous, almost oxymoronic and counterintuitive fact that these plays are obsessed with dangerous women.

Counterintuitive, because the absence of women in the public domain of Athenian democracy is more than made up for by their conspicuous presence on the stage. Fascinating that in this foundational moment of democracy during which women are absent, they make a spectacular appearance in that great school of Athenian democracy, the theatre. Clytemnestra, Electra, Antigone, Jocasta, Medea, Helen, Hecuba, Iphigeneia, Agave.

Most of us have a received notion of these female characters whether we have read/seen the plays or not. Their reception in multiple re-writes across genres, media, disciplines and across historical periods is part of the fibre of what we understand as being female and indeed dangerously so. Perhaps these plays allowed the Greeks to think through the exclusions of their democracy in ways that were both safe (allowing men to identify with the women, always acted by men, on stage) and transgressive (perhaps questioning these exclusions).

In psychoanalytical terms we may call this kind of obsession as 'the thing you love to hate'. And indeed, much more than expressing an unmediated form of misogyny, these plays question and enact the structure of misogyny itself. From the romance and beauty expressed by Helen (compared to hell in the chorus of The Agamemnon, as she supposedly triggered the Trojan War), to the horror unleashed by Medea or Clytemnestra, this love/hate relationship is explored in these plays. From the first metaphorical use of the female body, in the figure of Helen (the 'face that launched a thousand ships', as Marlowe would later write), to stand in for both empire/expansionism and the idea of the motherland, to the use of Antigone's virginal, motherless body as the vessel that enacts the transgression of the law.

These dangerous women are called upon in Greek tragedy to enact the limits, but also the possibilities, of democracy itself.

And, of course, thinkers of modernity particularly from German Idealism and Romanticism onwards, have resorted to these figures to think through some of their most fundamental concepts about what it means to be human and a citizen of a democracy (Engels, Hegel and Freud). More recently, feminist thinkers have in turn engaged equally critically and in a revisionist manner with this now 'classical' tradition of modernity (Luce Irigaray, Hélène Cixous and Judith Butler amongst others).

It has always struck me as particularly intriguing that this conspicuous visibility of dangerous women should appear in a discipline -Classics - that is traditionally associated with class, gender privilege and exclusion. However, and going back to the centrality of democracy for the flourishing of this model of theatre, modernity has brought with it a radicalisation of the Classics.

It is beyond the scope of this brief, impressionistic piece to delve deeply into this issue. However, as more women entered the academy as students and teachers, more attention has been paid to the function of these dangerous women. Certainly the contribution of women classicists cannot be overestimated - from the formidable Jane Harrison at the start of the 20th century to the equally formidable and inspiring Mary Beard (who has written one of the early biographies of Jane Harrison). Equally significant is the emphasis placed on reception studies and the performative turn in cultural studies more generally.

This brings us back to the current adaptation by Zinnie Harris at the Glasgow Citizens Theatre.

It is a fact that more and more women playwrights are adapting Greek plays. The classical modernist takes on these plays (by Hofmannsthal, Anouilh, Brecht et. al.) are sometimes referenced, but contemporary playwrights also draw on aspects of contemporary theatricality, adding insights both formal and thematic, more often than not also informed by a feminist sensibility. Zinnie Harris, for example, has already written a war trilogy, so we are curious to see what her previous experience will bring to The Oresteia.

Ellen McLoughlin in the US is also preparing an adaptation of The Oresteia, having already worked on another war play, Ajax in Iraq. Timberlake Wertenbaker in the UK has also recently written an Ajax play, Our Ajax.

In some ways, what these contemporary versions underline is perhaps the fact that these plays are immensely adaptable. And, this adaptability ( translatability, as Walter Benjamin would say), is something pliable, vulnerable even, but endlessly creative, at at the core of their being. It may be this quality that renders them classical (and not some solid, static, eternal quality).

In my more speculative moments, I like to think that this quality may have something to do with the fascination that the plays have with dangerous women.

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Dangerous women on the stage - Dangerous Women Project

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Olga Taxidou is Professor of Drama and Performance Studies at the University of Edinburgh. She has published extensively on modernist drama, theories of tragedy and has also written adaptations of classical Greek plays, some of which have been performed.

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This article analyses Shakespeare's plays, specifically 'The Taming of The Shrew' and 'Measure for Measure' and contrasts them to the events happening today that trigger women's justified anger.

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Why, This Is Hell

In early December 2017, Saturday Night Live aired a song titled " Welcome to Hell." As it opens, four women, clad in bubblegum pink and lavender, perch on a pink stage; they are surrounded by oversized ice cream cones and lollipops. "Hey there, boys," one of them purrs, "We know the last couple of months have been friggin' insane." A second picks it up: "All these big, cool powerful guys are turning out to be - what's the word? - habitual predators." "Cat's out of the bag!" says the third. "Women get harassed ALL THE TIME." The fourth ventriloquizes an imagined listener, asking, "It's like... is this the world now?" The answer comes swiftly: "This BEEN the damn world."

"Welcome to Hell" aired two months after The New York Times ran an explosive story on Harvey Weinstein's history of abusing actresses, assistants, and others, and six weeks after Alyssa Milano invited survivors of harassment and assault to share their stories on Twitter with the hashtag #metoo - a movement first started by Tarana Burke in 2006, which in late 2017 gathered new energy as a call to action, a means of claiming ownership over individual and shared experience, and a snowballing reminder that behaviors like Weinstein's are both extremely common and commonly unacknowledged.

Shakespeare's portrayals of women's anger render entire structures of power and exchange visible.

In this particular moment, when these disclosures felt electrifying and new, it made perfect sense that "Welcome to Hell" mounted its critique of harassment in terms of discovery. The conceit of the song is that the listener-viewer does not already know about women's day-to-day experiences, and is being inaugurated, verse by verse, into a grotesque world that looks like candy and teems with dangers. "This is our hometown, we'll show you around," the women sing together, before launching into the song's chorus: "Welcome to hell; now we're all in here." To someone who reads and teaches early modern literature - someone like me - the line unmistakably echoes Christopher Marlowe's, "Why this is hell, nor am I out of it." This is what Mephistopheles tells Faustus in their first meeting, when the doctor asks the devil how he can be "out of hell," in Wittenberg. The song's point, though, isn't really Marlovian. This hell is less a portable existential state than a recurring set of ordinary situations, involving things like (in the song's words) "parking and walking and Uber and ponytails, bathrobes and nighttime and drinking and hotels." The song juxtaposes a rhetoric of epiphanic discovery - oh my god, this is hell - with the objects of that discovery: mundane, non-novel, utterly unsurprising. "Welcome to Hell" very efficiently makes a sophisticated point: women's anger lights up the world anew; women's anger reveals that it was ever thus.

The theorist Sarah Ahmed describes coming to feminism as a cognitive "click": things fall into place, systems of power and oppression become visible, everyday experiences become animated by new knowledge. "Becoming feminist," Ahmed writes, "is how we redescribe the world we are in." To put the theory in terms of the song: feminist criticism welcomes you to hell, and it shows you around. Another term Ahmed employs for this "clicking" structure - for coming into sudden knowledge of social systems through accreted individual experience - is "snapping." To snap is to be "unable to take it," to "lose it." To snap is to become angry suddenly and completely: to experience anger at something specific, and, through that, at the whole system that has brought enormous pressures to bear so that a particular moment in a particular life becomes a breaking point. For Ahmed, situational anger that leads to an emotional snap is a gateway to cognitive awakening: anger lets us see the world in a new light; anger lets us see what that world has always been.

The past few years have felt like one snap after another. Breaking bones, light-bulb flares: a weird mixture of awful pain and exhilaration. And all these snaps, these moments of boiled-over rage crystallizing into recognition, point to other, earlier snaps: past moments of women's anger that have since receded, faded, lost their urgency (but never really disappeared). I work on the past -  in the past, it feels like sometimes - and in the last couple of years, the past has shifted under me. I'm not alone in this: academic friends and colleagues tell me they also see women's anger and pain and outrage everywhere in the texts they teach and write about, and this anger makes everything else look different. For me, Shakespeare's portrayals of women's anger, in particular, have clicked into focus: they render entire structures of power and exchange visible, even as they expose the effects of those structures on individual people (or characters). That's why, I think, there's been an uptick of productions of Measure for Measure, a play in which a woman gets so angry at male desires and male behaviors that she tells her brother she will "pray a thousand prayers" for his death. For a long time, for a lot of people, this play felt unruly, unpleasant, somehow icky: a problem play. Right now, though, we understand it. And it, in turn, seems to understand us.

Shakespeare's Angry Women

When Shakespeare stages a snap, the world he lights up may look at first a bit different from ours. On the Shakespearean stage women's anger articulates a tension inherent in the patriarchal structure of English society - a society in which the transfer of land, wealth, and titles; the formation of alliances among households; and the perpetuation of family lines all depended on the exchange of women. Within this structure, women were both persons and tokens of exchange. Within families, daughters could be simultaneously loved for their own traits, qualities, histories, and esteemed for their exchange value on the marriage market. Shakespeare repeatedly returns to this double nature of daughters: in play after play, otherwise loving fathers like Egeus, Brabantio, Capulet, and Leonato explode into rage when their female children make or seem to make (or even seem to maybe want to make) independent marital or sexual choices. Female-driven ruptures within the marriage market produce angry men.

And at least some angry women. The fact that plays contain speaking female characters means that playwrights offered their audiences imagined, ventriloquized accounts of what it feels like to be both a person, and a thing.

In Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, for example, Katherine Minola's first line crackles with anger. After Baptista declares that he is resolved not to let his younger daughter, Bianca, marry before Katherine and invites the gathered company to "court" her - an invitation that immediately invites a cruel joke at Katherine's expense - she asks her father "I pray you, sir, is it your will / To make a stale of me amongst these mates?" A "stale" is a prostitute; "mates" means variously low fellows, or marriage partners, or sexual partners. "Are you selling me?" would be a reasonable paraphrase; "Are you selling me for sex?" a fuller one. Katherine collapses the elite marriage market into the market relations of prostitution, stripping away the symbolic distinctions between these economies and laying bare what's at stake in both: men profiting - financially and socially, directly and indirectly - from the exchange of women's bodies. As Lisa Jardine puts it: " The Taming of the Shrew is centrally concerned with the marketing of daughters for cash."

Daughters could be simultaneously loved for their own traits and esteemed for their exchange value on the marriage market.

This marketing is everywhere, from Petruchio's intention "to wive and thrive in Padua" to the contest Baptista sets up between Bianca's suitors: "[H]e... That can assure my daughter greatest dower/ Shall have my Bianca's love" (2.1.362-4). Baptista does acknowledge his daughters' capacity for emotion and desire - he tells Petruchio he must obtain Katherine's love - but this turns out to be mere lip service. He never asks Katherine what she thinks of Petruchio, and the decision about Bianca is made while she's offstage.

Katherine's first lines do not change anything in the world of the play - neither her anger nor her words are taken seriously - yet her shrewish protest is feminist, by Ahmed's definition, because it describes reality as it is lived in by women (a reality both perpetuated and denied by her father and the gathered suitors). Her last lines, though, famously advocate patriarchal norms of wifely submission. Shakespeare stages the fading (or the strategic suppression) of Katherine's anger, but not its origins, not her snap. In Measure for Measure, by contrast, he gives us a clear breaking point. We see Isabella lose it first at Angelo and then, more fully, at her brother, Claudio, who has been absurdly sentenced to death for getting his girlfriend pregnant. When Angelo, Vienna's acting Duke, proposes that she sleep with him to save her brother's life, Isabella rounds on him with the threat: "Sign me a present pardon for my brother / Or with an outstretched throat I'll tell the world aloud / What man thou art." The powerful cultural logic that underpins Angelo's calm response - "Who will believe thee, Isabel?" - prevents her from translating anger into action. But when her brother later reiterates Angelo's request - "Sweet sister, let me live," he begs - she explodes: "O, you beast! / O faithless coward, O dishonest wretch... Die, perish." "Might but my bending down / Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed," she tells him.

Katherine is angry at her father and, through him, the logic of the marriage market. Isabella is angry at her brother and, through him, something even more fundamental to patriarchal social relations: the fact that women's status as people is always more or less under threat, because of their status (to quote from Luce Irigaray) as both "utilitarian objects and bearers of value" with respect to men. Sibling relations complicated the tensions and contradictions of patriarchy. In his Dutiful Defense of the Lawful Regiment of Women, for instance, Henry Howard writes that wives must obey husbands and daughters must obey fathers, but that they are not subordinate to other men - including brothers. Brother-sister bonds were highly variable and individualized, and it is their individualization that makes them a rich site for onstage explorations of the double status of women in patriarchy (as persons and as tokens of exchange) and within families (as people male relatives loved and held particular intimate bonds with, and as means by which those same relatives purchased connection, prestige, wealth, or, in Claudio's case, survival).

What makes Isabella angry at Claudio is not, I think, simply his plea, but rather the structures behind it, whose constant pressures makes his request into a breaking point. Angelo reminds Isabella that power and credibility are unequally distributed among men and women: his word, the word of a well-placed, well-reputed man, will outweigh hers. Claudio then reminds her that a woman may become, at any moment, a thing, a token, an instrument - that her personhood can and in this moment does matter less than her usefulness to men: for sexual pleasure, or to buy safety. Many critics (and theater practitioners) have expressed unease at Isabella's vehement response to her brother. Unlike her righteous desire to expose Angelo's "seeming," her furious declaration that she would not so much as bend down if that would save Claudio's life, seems excessive, vindictive, even villainous. Yet I think her anger at Claudio is in a very real sense the same as her anger at Angelo. The two cannot be separated. It is the anger of a woman who recognizes that men evaluate her in ways that have little or no reference to her intrinsic qualities, and who understands that their evaluations - Angelo's sexual desire, Claudio's desperate instrumentalizing - potentially have more weight, more reality, than her own sense of self.

Isabella is angry at her brother and, through him, the fact that women's status as people is always more or less under threat.

Like the marriage market that Katherine compares to prostitution, the more short-term transaction facing Isabella is monumentally indifferent to her personhood, on which she might reasonably assume her brother's love for her is staked. The question, then, isn't really whether she's morally right or wrong to say what she says to Claudio, but why she snaps, and what knowledge - what recalibrated perception of reality - her snap brings into view.

Passing Presents

"Women's anger," feminist writer Kate Harding wrote after the Kavanaugh hearings, "is having a moment." Not coincidentally, Measure for Measure is also having a moment. High-profile productions have appeared in London and New York; a collaboration between London's Cheek-by-Jowl and Moscow's Pushkin Theater, in Russian with English subtitles, has been touring Europe and the US to critical acclaim; it appeared in Boston, D.C., and Brooklyn in the second half of 2018. Reviews have called these productions "timely," "unexpectedly modern," "tailor-made for the #MeToo era." In the media, op-eds not pegged to any particular production have noted the play's relevance. On vox.com Tara Isabella Burton writes that it is "one of the most relevant plays ever written about sexual harassment and abuse against women"; in the Times of San Diego, Peter Herman notes that Measure for Measure, "not only predicts contemporary events, but helps us understand them."

A Master Class in Women's Rage

Want to understand what all the women you know are so angry about? Here's a syllabus

books

Literary scholars often hear about dangers of presentism: we are warned against looking at the past for confirmation of our own progress - the distance between us and them  - and against collapsing that distance, and seeing, Narcissus-like, our own reflections in long-ago lives and letters. But of course, the present always shapes our encounters with earlier texts, whether we're reading them, writing about them or, in the case of Shakespeare, staging them. Not only do we inevitably view the past through the lens of our present, but our present also renders the past visible - or invisible - in shifting ways. Walter Benjamin tells us that history is "filled with the presence of the now." And, as the now changes, so does the history.

The "moment" that women's anger is currently "having" lights up the past, but it does so in unexpected, sometimes uneven ways. It offers more of a flare or a sparkle than a steady illumination. That's because this moment is itself volatile, marked by reversals and shifts in direction.

In the summer of 2017 I wrote a review of a very good and very funny production of Measure for Measure at Theatre for a New Audience in Brooklyn. I ended with a reflection on the character of Mariana, who chooses to marry Angelo in full knowledge of his past behavior. "The frankness of her love," I wrote, "feels like a kind of grace. Even the least deserving - even Angelo - may be forgiven." Academic publishing schedules being what they are, the review had yet to appear in print when #metoo surged that fall. I asked my editor if I could make some changes. The new ending reads: "Watching the play this past summer, I thought Angelo's ending looked like the workings of grace: unearned forgiveness for the worst of sinners. Revising this review in the wake of the avalanche of women's stories in the news, I can't recapture that sense of things. Angelo's ending still seems unearned. But instead of grace, it now looks like injustice."

In December of 2017, in other words, the play seemed so clearly to be about the ways in which the world, our world, was opening up - because of women's anger. Some people could say what they hadn't before; some people could see what they hadn't before. Something big had snapped, and Measure for Measure was part of it.

In December of 2017, 'Measure for Measure' seemed so clearly to be about the ways in which the world was opening up  because of women's anger.

A few months later, in the fall of 2018, I taught the play for the first time. Discussion of the middle acts fell one a year after the Weinstein story broke, one week after Christine Blasey Ford testified before Congress. My students' reaction to Angelo - and to Claudio, in fact - was by and large an echo of Isabella's: immediate, powerful rage. The fit was eerily exact: Kavanaugh the supposed "choirboy" was another Angelo, with his reputation for extreme sexual purity (other characters conjecture that his blood is "snow-broth" and his urine "congealed ice"). The confluence of the play and the hearings made my students angry. It made me angry too, and this anger involved different kind of knowledge than what I had come to just a year before. Instead of the cat's-out-of-the-bag epiphany that "women get harassed all the time," the play now imparted the darker knowledge that powerful men remain powerful, even when accused, as Isabella puts it, "with outstretched throat."

When I mentioned I had never taught Measure for Measure previously, the students asked why. The truth is, the last time I'd written a Shakespeare syllabus - in the late summer of 2016, a moment both recent and distant - a woman was about to be elected president. Insofar as I considered Measure for Measure for that 2016 class (which wasn't really very far) I thought that it would seem irrelevant, maybe even inaccessible, certainly a hard sell compared to Hamlet and Twelfth Night. This all now seems impossible, feels impossible, and yet I remember it was so.

Shakespeare's plays stay still, but we move, and they move with us - and our shifting reactions (critical, theatrical, journalistic, pedagogical) are worth attending to. The plays have facets, and when the lighting changes, so do they. But what that lighting reveals is also what was always there. Click, snap-this been the damn world.

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The Very Modern Anger of Shakespeare's Women - Electric Literature

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Why, This Is Hell In early December 2017, Saturday Night Live aired a song titled " Welcome to Hell." As it opens, four women, clad in bubblegum pink and lavender, perch on a pink stage; they are surrounded by oversized ice cream cones and lollipops.

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How Betye Saar Transformed Aunt Jemima into a Symbol of Black Power

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It would become Betye Saar's most iconic work, and a symbol of black liberation that famous activist Angela Davis credited with launching the black women's movement.

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Betye Saar was a prominent member of the Black Arts Movement. Drawing from diverse cultural associations, and influenced both by self-taught artist Simon Rodia's massive sculptural installation Watts Towers, constructed in the 1960s in her hometown, and by the intimate found-object constructions of American modernist Joseph Cornell, Saar developed a politically potent and personally meaningful practice rooted in assemblage. In Liberation of Aunt Jemima: Cocktail Saar transforms a Gallo wine jug, a 1970s marker of middle-class sophistication, into a tool for Black liberation. For Sacred Symbols fifteen years later she transfigures the detritus one might find in the junk drawer of any home into a composition with spiritual overtones.

MEDIUM Glass, paper, textile, metal

CREDIT LINE Purchased with funds given by Elizabeth A. Sackler, gift of the Contemporary Art Committee, and William K. Jacobs, Jr. Fund

RIGHTS STATEMENT © artist or artist's estate

The Brooklyn Museum holds a non-exclusive license to reproduce images of this work of art from the rights holder named here. The Museum does not warrant that the use of this work will not infringe on the rights of third parties. It is your responsibility to determine and satisfy copyright or other use restrictions before copying, transmitting, or making other use of protected items beyond that allowed by "fair use," as such term is understood under the United States Copyright Act. For further information about copyright, we recommend resources at the United States Library of Congress, Cornell University, Copyright and Cultural Institutions: Guidelines for U.S. Libraries, Archives, and Museums, and Copyright Watch. For more information about the Museum's rights project, including how rights types are assigned, please see our blog posts on copyright. If you have any information regarding this work and rights to it, please contact copyright@brooklynmuseum.org. If you wish to contact the rights holder for this work, please email copyright@brooklynmuseum.org and we will assist if we can.

CAPTION Betye Saar (American, born 1926). Liberation of Aunt Jemima: Cocktail, 1973. Glass, paper, textile, metal, Overall: 12 1/2 × 5 3/4 in. (31.8 × 14.6 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Purchased with funds given by Elizabeth A. Sackler, gift of the Contemporary Art Committee, and William K. Jacobs, Jr. Fund, 2017.17. © artist or artist's estate (Photo: , 2017.17_front_PS11.jpg)

IMAGE front, 2017.17_front_PS11.jpg., 2017

"CUR" at the beginning of an image file name means that the image was created by a curatorial staff member. These study images may be digital point-and-shoot photographs, when we don\'t yet have high-quality studio photography, or they may be scans of older negatives, slides, or photographic prints, providing historical documentation of the object.

RECORD COMPLETENESS

Not every record you will find here is complete. More information is available for some works than for others, and some entries have been updated more recently. Records are frequently reviewed and revised, and we welcome any additional information you might have.

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Betye Saar was a prominent member of the Black Arts Movement. Drawing from diverse cultural associations, and influenced both by self-taught artist Simon Rodia's massive sculptural installation Watts Towers, constructed in the 1960s in her hometown, and by the intimate found-object constructions of American modernist Joseph Cornell, Saar developed a politically potent and personally meaningful practice rooted in assemblage.

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I'm pissed off. Every morning, I wake up hopeful and I go to sleep apoplectic. My rage boils inside me like a shape-shifting Shadow Monster. As a feminist, I'm mortified to learn that my immediate response to my own anger is embarrassment. Misogyny leans over my shoulder, his pinstriped blazer grazing my overalls, and whispers, "You're being dramatic, hun."

But everything changed this year. From Donald Trump to Harvey Weinstein and every trash monster in between, I've broken free of my chains - I feel like a Hulk amongst Avengers, a Lannister amongst Starks - I'm like the protagonist in a young adult novel whose abilities were awoken in my 13th year. It turns out my Twitter trolls were right all along: I'm a full-fledged b*tch - and I'm not alone. I'm finally seeing myself represented on the big screen: Angry women, nasty women, bulldogs, and harridans. Hollywood is a slow learner, but it knows representation matters, and it's about time us b*tches get our close-ups.

Trump's America has engendered a backlash - a nasty-lash, if you will. My anger is being met by the wrath-driven art of female creators like Patty Jenkins ( Wonder Woman), Margaret Atwood ( Alias Grace, The Handmaid's Tale), and Jenji Kohan ( GLOW) and god, it feels good to watch. I'm seeing my darkest rage-filled fantasies played out in gruesome revenge plots. Take Mildred Hayes of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, for example. Played by Frances McDormand, Mildred is a self-described "c*nt" who leads a scorched-earth crusade against the local police chief for their failure to close her dead daughter's case. Whether she's calling her dentist "fat boy" and stabbing him with a drill or storming into the police station and yelling "f*ck-head" at a cop - Mildred Hayes is that b*tch. And she's just a drop in the bucket of irate women on-screen this year.

The movies slated for release in December alone are stacked with nasty women: Margot Robbie as the lowlife, merciless, titular character in I, Tonya, the sardonic Tonya Harding biopic, Jessica Chastain as Molly Bloom in Molly's Game, which tells the story of an Olympic-skier turned criminal mastermind, and Daisy Ridley, who will reprise her role in The Last Jedi as the unrelenting Rey.

This year, we also saw Gal Gadot rain fury on her enemies as the nominal Wonder Woman, which many women found cathartic and inspirational. And Cate Blanchett played the hellish, Medusa-like villain in Thor: Ragnarok. It's uncommon for women to play villainous roles, especially in the Marvel universe. But, having witnessed the villainization of Hillary Clinton in 2016, it seems fitting for women to actually lean into their inner-evil.

While female characters in general are slowly but surely on the rise, every day it seems we're seeing more indignant women on screen - and that matters, because the type of character is important. Lately, I don't want to see housewives and girlfriends and good girls. I want to see ex-wives with violent vendettas, girlfriends in a mystical coven, and hot babysitters who lead a satanic cult (this is the real plot of Bella Thorne's new movie The Babysitter. Just watch it). But when women's rights are being picked apart by a draconian male administration and each day feels like an assault on the female body, it's mollifying to watch fictional women beat their oppressors to a pulp. Is that such a horrible resolve to the interminable feeling of powerlessness in Trump's America?

Television has been just as impactful, if not more so, than film. Game of Thrones is famed for its standout female protagonists, most of whom were beaten down for years before transforming into belligerent viragos. This year, the sadistic Queen Cersei made Snow White's Evil Queen look cowardly when she aggrievedly revenge-poisons Ellaria's daughter. Arya Stark, the tomboyish, ruthless warrior who is driven solely by rage and retribution - which like, same - slits Littlefinger's throat in her most savage season yet. Then there's Khaleesi, who has usurped city after city by dominating weak men, and makes threats like, "The next time you raise a hand to me will be the last time you have hands." Her rage and power literally arouses me.

More female characters in television are banding together and taking what's theirs. Riverdale's Betty and Veronica join forces, rather than competing, to raise hell in their hometown and find Jason Blossom's killer. American Horror Story tackled female rage this season in Cult, which had an eerily prescient plot about post-presidential election anger. Sarah Paulson's character in AHS takes down a misogynistic cult leader, Kai (Evan Peters), rubs it in his face, then decides to run for a seat in the Senate - which is, essentially, 2017 goals (and, in some cases, glorious reality). In the season finale, (spoilers ahead) she unites with another female character to mercilessly set up Kai and murder him. Plus, who can forget the stunning season finale of Big Little Lies where five women take down a serial rapist and domestic abuser? Big Little Lies showed us the power of female friendship and what happens when women protect and stand up for each other.

Not only do I feel understood and represented by these pugnacious female rebels, but I also feel empowered. I've embarked on a personal journey of recognizing my rage, honing it, and funneling it into more than just sparring with Russian bots on Twitter. If 2017 has taught me anything, it's that women are furious, and that feeling is nothing to shy away from. In fact, quite the opposite: We are so unconscionably justified in our rage against the Trump administration, sexual harassment, and rape culture. It was only a matter of time before this anger came pouring out in massive, guttural fits of hostility, and that time is now.

Look, I'm not ready to strap on the Lasso of Truth and vanquish Hades to the depths of Hell. But I am making a conscious, daily effort to passive aggressively bump into manspreaders on the subway, roast Trump supporters on Facebook, and say, "Leave me alone" to as many men as it takes. I know this isn't what Sheryl Sandberg meant when she wrote Lean In, but I'm ready to "lean in" to being a giant b*tch.

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Angry Women In TV & Movies Are Finally Getting Our Close-Ups

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I'm pissed off. Every morning, I wake up hopeful and I go to sleep apoplectic. My rage boils inside me like a shape-shifting Shadow Monster. As a feminist, I'm mortified to learn that my immediate response to my own anger is embarrassment. Misogyny...

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Author: Select an Author

Your heart pounds. Your blood boils. You see red. You want to scream. To hit something. To hit something hard.

We've all been there, and it doesn't feel good. You're angry.

But what kind of angry are you, exactly?

Did you know that there are many different types of anger?

Once you learn to identify the kind of anger you are experiencing at any given moment, though, the better able you will be to understand it.

And that understanding will make your anger easier to control--before you do something you regret.

Read on to learn more about 10 different types of anger.

Why Distinguishing Between Anger Types Matters

The simple fact is that we in the modern Western world aren't very in touch with our emotions.

All too often, we're guided by the "Stiff Upper Lip" mentality. We repress our feelings. We stuff our emotions down deep inside, until finally we can't take anymore and we explode.

Anger is a perfectly normal human emotion. In fact, it can be healthy, alerting us to problems in our lives and relationships, prompting us to make positive changes for ourselves, our loved ones, and our world.

But that's only if the anger is controlled, directed in a positive and productive fashion.

It can be difficult to handle our anger, though, if we don't understand it, and if we don't even have the language to describe what or how we are feeling.

This is why learning to differentiate between the different types of anger is so important.

Because once we can name our anger type, then we can claim it, and then !

Types of Anger

Here is a brief overview of some of the most common types of anger:

1. Passive Anger:

This is an anger that doesn't express itself as anger. Instead, it seeps out in little ways, such as sarcastic comments or acts of unconscious aggression against the person you're mad at, such as "forgetting" to fill your car with gas when you know your husband won't have enough to make it to work the next morning.

Passive anger can also be directed internally. This is especially true if you have repressed your anger so much you don't even know you are angry.

You may simply find yourself stress eating, having panic attacks, drinking or shopping to excess, behaving erratically, or self-harming.

2. Volatile Anger:

This anger type is on the opposite end of the spectrum from passive anger. With volatile anger, you know you're mad, and so does everyone else.

This kind of anger is often explosive and unpredictable. It can easily spiral out of control, leading to words and actions that you immediately regret once the storm has passed.

Just as with passive anger, denial and repression are often at the heart of volatile anger as well. Instead of leaking out in small, often unrecognizable ways, however, this anger makes itself heard loud and clear.

3. Fear-Based Anger:

Sometimes, it is easier to be mad than scared. That's especially true when we are fearing for the safety of a loved one.

After all, no one can hurt us more than the people closest to us. So when we see them behaving in ways that could harm them in some way, we may react with anger rather than show our fear.

Besides, anger often gets results, at least temporarily. Consciously or unconsciously, we may vent our anger on our loved one in the hope of shocking them out of the behaviors that terrify us.

In the long run, however, showing anger when what we're really feeling is fear is not constructive.

Angry outbursts only lead to hurt, fear, and resentment in those we love--hardly the best way to protect them from the things we fear for them.

4. Frustration-Based Anger:

When frustration-based anger is directed against a loved one, it's a lot like fear-based anger.

We have the highest expectations and greatest hopes for those we love most. When we see them failing to live up to what we think is their highest potential, we get frustrated, and that frustration can all too often boil over into anger.

Frustration-based anger can also be inwardly directed. Maybe we are disappointed with life. Maybe we feel that others have the things we don't.

We watch as others seem to thrive and prosper, while we struggle from one disappointment to the next.

This kind of anger is based, above all, in the comparison of how life is (or seems) with some grand ideal of how you think life should be.

The fact is, though, that whether your dream is for yourself or your loved ones, real life can never live up to the fantasy.

5. Pain-Based Anger:

Often, this is a type of anger that masks hurt, pain, or even clinical depression.

Just like fear, pain and sadness are among the most difficult emotions to deal with. For some people, anger is easier because, if only for a moment, anger can make you feel powerful, whereas sadness and depression can make you feel weak.

When pain threatens to engulf you in sadness, then sometimes anger can feel like the only weapon to fight with.

But in fact, it only makes matters worse. Not only does this anger type fail to address the underlying pain, it also just adds more pain--the pain of regret, of loneliness, of guilt.

6. Chronic Anger:

No question about it, anger can be a rush. The adrenaline surges. You feel powerful, dominant--at least in the moment.

And anger certainly makes an impact. You can see how the people around you change their behaviors to accommodate you, to prevent another outburst.

In a way, that feels bad. You don't want your loved ones, in particular, to feel afraid. You don't want a reputation as a hot-head.

But there's another side, a secret one that maybe you don't like to admit to yourself, and that side likes the anger and the effect it has on others.

That hormonal rush can feel great, and to be sure there's a sense of power in watching others handle you with kid gloves.

But chronic anger is an addiction and, without help, not only will it wreak havoc on your physical and mental health, but it will also destroy your relationships.

Those around you will soon tire of walking on eggshells, and you'll find yourself alone with your fury.

7. Manipulative Anger:

Manipulative anger can be a lot like chronic anger. It's used as a conscious or unconscious tool for controlling others.

Like volatile anger, manipulative anger is often loud and explosive. The goal is to shock those around you into compliance.

Such efforts to control only backfire in the long run, of course, because your targets will only tolerate so much chaos before they walk out the door.

8. Overwhelmed Anger:

No question, life is hard. We're stressed. We're tired. We're anxious and worried. Some days, you feel like you're barely keeping your head above water.

This is when we are most vulnerable to "overwhelmed anger." This is the kind of anger that happens when life just gets to be too much.

Often, it's the result of not taking proper care of ourselves, of failing to get enough sleep, eat nutritiously, exercise, or de-stress.

9. Physiological Anger:

Anger isn't only a psychological state. It can also often a physical basis.

Low blood sugar, for instance, is usually the cause of the new buzzword, "hangry", as in "hungry/angry".

Blood sugars aren't the only physical causes for anger, however. Imbalances in brain chemical or hormones, for instance, can easily give rise to anger, as can other illnesses.

So if you find yourself getting angry for no apparent reason, it's not a bad idea to make an appointment with your doctor!

10. Righteous Anger:

This is the kind of anger that is constructive. This is anger with a cause.

It's the kind of anger that spurs you to action--righting a wrong, defending the innocent and the helpless. This is the kind of anger that makes the world a better place.

The Takeaway

Anger is a normal human emotion. Everyone experiences it at some point in their lives. When it is controlled, it can be a source of good--for yourself, for your loved ones, for your community and your world.

When it's out of control, though, it can be a tremendous source of harm, hurting and alienating those you love most. It can lead to a lifetime of regret.

Fortunately, there are powerful tools available to help you name, control, and productively channel your anger.

Please visit our website to learn more about our anger management program and self-help resources!

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Author: Select an Author Your heart pounds. Your blood boils. You see red. You want to scream. To hit something. To hit something hard. We've all been there, and it doesn't feel good. You're angry. But what kind of angry are you, exactly? Did you know that there are many different types of anger?

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This episode talks about 'What is Anger'. It discusses this with various emotion scientists, them having differing opinions:
1. That anger is a basic emotion that is universal across the globe
2. That anger is informed, interpreted and expressed differently based on culture and upbringing

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Talks about how people experience anger differently, asks 'is anger inherently violent?'
Maybe it's actually the violence that ties anger culturally together.

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This episode talks about the useful part of anger focusing especially on the anger of suffragettes.
It talks about how women have been chanelling their anger and how this especially was the driving force of women gaining rights.
They also mentioned how suffragettes resorted to violence as well, to sort of tell men, we are your equals in everything, even in violence (especially since men have historically taken everything they have by force)