Today’s Guardian article by Viv Groskop about traveling on “feminist pilgrimages” entertained me. With a mixture of embarrassment and sincerity, the author tried to make a point to her daughter–essentially–about how great it is to be a woman by dragging her around to see statues of ladies.
I’m sympathetic to this idea because my own my mom tried something similar when I was fourteen. She created an itinerary for a visit to Britain that included a significant appreciation for Jane Austen and Beatrix Potter and other literary foremothers.
Meanwhile, I wanted to see the club where the Beatles played, and tour anything and everything to do with John Lennon.
It’s pretty obvious, when traveling in the U.K., that the only lady-sculptures you’re likely are of a chubby Queen Victoria, Boudica (yes, mom took me to see her, too) or some skinny lady like this one, in Inverness, Scotland:
Flora MacDonald, famous for helping some dude
Viv recommends walking in Dorothy Parker’s steps in New York and tracking down Gertrude and Alice’s apartment in Paris, which, weirdly, I’ve done. Maybe mom’s tour had more of an effect than I thought. So take heart, Viv.
On an only-marginally related note, John’s hometown is finally catching a break, and for the first time in decades, Liverpool is receiving more positive news coverage than negative.
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