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Because the boy's club had to ramp up the misogyny a little bit more - not that it wasn't present in the subtext throughout Stirling's aimless meander on the topic. I mean, he went on and on and on about his precious culture and you kept seeing words jump out, guys, men, and I eventually overwrote the whole rest of it with one sentence fragment; "I know hoards of men like -" No. Stop. "I know hoards of men." Yes, we know you do, you've been writing about them since the 1980s, and it's about time you shut the fuck up about them and acknowledged that they aren't the sum total of all the human beings on the planet.
Unlike, say, Frank Miller, Stirling probably has met women from time to time, but he doesn't write about them as more than an interesting side detail; curiously he's also tried to write genderqueer characters and in doing so reveals nothing but his own massive failure to get it.
And somehow, he's mysteriously come to a place where he believes that things like the above are the result of too much transparency. Wow. Wow, no. Too little, perhaps, too much out-of-sight-out-of-mind, too much cool boys not thinking women's lives are worth reading about, maybe.
Unlike, say, Frank Miller, Stirling probably has met women from time to time, but he doesn't write about them as more than an interesting side detail; curiously he's also tried to write genderqueer characters and in doing so reveals nothing but his own massive failure to get it.
And somehow, he's mysteriously come to a place where he believes that things like the above are the result of too much transparency. Wow. Wow, no. Too little, perhaps, too much out-of-sight-out-of-mind, too much cool boys not thinking women's lives are worth reading about, maybe.