First, I invite you to read the article that got me so riled here. The title is quite apt, because I needed a strong stomach to read it.
So, go ahead and read it. I'll be waiting here.
. . .
All done? Take the time to munch a few saltines if you're feeling nauseous.
. . .
Back? Good. Let's discuss.
I'll start with the preliminaries. Mr. Gilmour has every right to read what he likes. We all like what we like. He wants to teach what he loves. He has that right also, and it appears he was perfectly upfront with the University of Toronto about the content of his course.
Mr. Gilmour writes:
Um, okay. I was taken aback by the assumption that only Russian and American authors qualify as (apparently) being good writers in this genre. But again, we all read what we like and if Mr. Gilmour has had success only reading authors from these countries, he has every right to continue doing so.
But then, I almost fell out of my chair:
Another problem: In Mr. Gilmour's warped mind, there is a “masculine” and a related heterosexual benchmark. Obviously, in his estimation, non-contemporary men writing during less enlightened times meet his criteria for optimal heterosexuality, for "manhood," and for general validation as writers and as human beings.
We are to assume, then, a homosexual man is not a “real guy?” And what makes a heterosexual man a "serious heterosexual guy?" Because my husband might want to know.
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