w.w. norton & company

anonymous asked:

I'm not sure how to say something like this but I think there's only two genders, but if you wanna be non-binary, a gender, gender fluid I'm not gonna say it's wrong or stop you, like my opinion doesn't matter for anyone and they should do what they want and even though I think there's only two, I'd still support someone who's puzzled about having more than one gender, I know humans should be doing that anyway but I felt like saying this idk???

Look, pal. I hate to break this to you but if you’re going to a nonbinary blog and saying “i don’t believe that you are telling the truth about your lived experience” then that makes you a rude person. Nonbinary people exist and we are not making it up just like gay people aren’t pretending to be gay, or binary trans people aren’t pretending to be trans. 

Additionally, many ancient cultures condoned, encouraged, and even admired gender transcendence. Examples of this can be found in many cultures, both historically and fictionally. There are ancient Roman figures who transcend binary gender, namely Tiresias, Hermaphroditus, and Caeneus. Pre-colonial Native American tribes knew there were more than two genders and were known to highly respect people who neither men nor women. Ancient Mesoamerican deities do not ascribe to the concept of gender in the same way humans do, leading modern analysts to think that they would have supported and admired those who also did not ascribe to gender in a traditional way. Additionally, Jewish tradition says there are six genders. Nonbinary genders are as old as humanity itself. 


If you still think there is no such thing as nonbinary genders, then you should probably do some research. It’s out there. Don’t live in ignorance. 

I reiterate: going to a nonbinary blog to say “I feel like you are lying and nonbinary genders are fake” is a pretty rude thing to do. Find what makes you happy and do that. Get a life, seriously. 

L"Après-midi d'un Faune
Claude Debussy
L"Après-midi d'un Faune

Poem by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898)

Those nymphs, I want to make them permanent.
So clear
Their light flesh-pink, it hovers on the atmosphere
Oppressed by bushy sleeps.

Was it a dream I loved?

My doubt, accumulated through the night past, branches out
To many a fine point-no more in fact than twigs-
Proving, alas! that what I’d claimed for trophy, by myself,
Was only my imagination’s lack of roses.

Let’s think …

might not the girls you are describing be
Wishful figments of your mythopoetic senses?
Faun, your illusion flies from that shy girl’s blue eyes,
Does she make, say, a contrast like today’s faint breeze,
Warm on your fleece? Oh, no! this enervating swoon
Of heat, which stifles all fresh dawn’s resistance,
Allows no splash of water but that which my flute
Pours into chord-besprinkled thickets; as for breeze-

Except for my two pipes, blown empty long before
it could have scattered notes in parching rain-the only
Breeze is, out there on the immaculate horizon,
The visible, serene, and calculated breath
Of inspiration, as it is drawn back to heaven…1

1   Claude Debussy, Prelude to “The Afternoon of a Faun," ed. by William W. Austin (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1970), 23-25.

After an absence that was no one’s fault
we are shy with each other,
and our words seem younger than we are,
as if we must return to the time we met
and work ourselves back to the present,
the way you never read a story
from the place you stopped
but always start each book all over again.
Perhaps we should have stayed
tied like mountain climbers
by the safe cord of the phone,
its dial our own small prayer wheel,
our voices less ghostly across the miles,
less awkward than they are now.
I had forgotten the grey in your curls,
that splash of winter over your face,
remembering the younger man
you used to be.

And I feel myself turn old and ordinary,
[…] I had forgotten
all the old business between us,
like mail unanswered so long that silence
becomes eloquent, a message of its own.
[…] like one of those terrains
you read about, a garden in the desert
where you stoop to drink, never knowing
if your mouth will fill with water or sand.

—  Linda Pastan, from “After an Absence,” The Imperfect Paradise ( W.W. Norton & Company, 1989)

The 2014 National Book Award Longlist for Nonfiction is an eclectic selection of histories, philosophy, reportage, and a graphic memoir.

  • Roz ChastCan’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? (Bloomsbury)

  • John DemosThe Heathen School: A Story of Hope and Betrayal in the Age of the Early Republic
    (Alfred A. Knopf/ Random House)

  • Anand GopalNo Good Men Among the Living: America, the Taliban, and the War through Afghan Eyes
    (Metropolitan Books/ Henry Holt and Company)

  • Nigel HamiltonThe Mantle of Command: FDR at War, 1941 - 1942 (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt)

  • Walter IsaacsonThe Innovators: How a Group of Inventors, Hackers, Geniuses, and Geeks Created the Digital Revolution (Simon & Schuster)

  • John LahrTennessee Williams: Mad Pilgrimage of the Flesh (W.W. Norton & Company)

  • Evan OsnosAge of Ambition: Chasing Fortune, Truth, and Faith in the New China
    (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)

  • Ronald C. RosbottomWhen Paris Went Dark: The City of Light Under German Occupation, 1940-1944 
    (Little, Brown and Company/ Hachette Book Group)

  • Matthew StewartNature’s God: The Heretical Origins of the American Republic (W.W. Norton & Company)

  • Edward O. WilsonThe Meaning of Human Existence 
    (Liveright Publishing Corporation/ W.W. Norton & Company)

The longer I live the more I mistrust
theatricality, the false glamour cast
by performance, the more I know its poverty beside
the truths we are salvaging from
the splitting-open of our lives.
The woman who sits watching, listening,
eyes moving in the darkness
is rehearsing in her body, hearing-out in her blood
a score touched off in her perhaps
by some words, a few chords, from the stage:
a tale only she can tell.
—  Adrienne Rich, from “Transcendental Etude” (For Michelle Cliff), The Dream of a Common Language (W.W. Norton & Company, 1978; reissue 1993)

Our LONGLIST for the 2014 National Book Award for Fiction

Light at a window. Someone up
at this snail-still hour.
We who work this way have often worked
in solitude. I’ve had to guess at her
sewing her skin together as I sew mine
with a different

Adrienne Rich, from “White Night" in The Fact of a Doorframe (W.W. Norton & Company, 2002)