Author of VIVIAN VERSUS THE APOCALYPSE, winner of the Young Writers Prize (Hot Key Books, 2013); previously published in Cobalt, Critical Quarterly, and The Fiction Circus; MFA from the University of Pittsburgh; a lot of thoughts about television and the patriarchy.
My old boss used to compare me to Lisbeth Salander. My old boss never understood why I did not take this as a compliment. After all, Lisbeth Salander is hot. ‘Not that you’re a sociopath!’ she would say. ‘Just, you know, you’re thin, and you have so many tattoos. And your clothes.’ If I remember correctly—it’s been a long time, since I read the Lisbeth Salander book—Lisbeth Salander only has one tattoo, a dragon, placed in a becoming manner upon her bony shoulder. Lisbeth Salander definitely does not have a stick-and-poke banner (empty) from the night she drank a fifth of Wild Turkey with her friend Matt and decided to commemorate the occasion, or a procession of wobbly broken hearts up the inside of her calf from the time she let her friend’s ex-junkie lover practice on her with his new tattoo gun. Lisbeth Salander does not have her dead cat’s name inside a heart over her hip, or a flight of shorebirds winging their way from her knees to her hipbones—the first tattoo I paid real money for, and the best tattoo I have ever seen, if I do say so myself. Stick and poke banners: not sexy. At all. Believe me. It’s tiny, at least. My old boss used to compare me to Lisbeth Salander, and then she would make me go get her coffee. Small latte, not too hot, two sugars. Look at me: I still remember.
FOR REAL. Chris and I saw this the other day, and I was like “Wait, that’s the strong woman everyone loves? You mean the rape victim clearly written by a man as a fantasy to be fetishized? Yeah, no.”