I’ve been all worked up about real things in my life, so it’s time to lose my shit over something literary. Seriously, it’s one of the ways I get my kicks. (Internal sigh.)
I checked out Marie Curie and her Daughters from the library the other day. A book about Marie Curie (Obsessive Genius) started up my interest in women scientists, which eventually lead me to my current Fucker. I started reading it while waiting for DP to show up at our favorite gyro joint. The author apologizes for herself a bit too much in the beginning, but it looks like a good read. This is not why I’m mad.
The cover is beautiful. It’s a silver gray and has a rack of test tubes. There are dried flowers propped in the test tubes. The colors are gorgeous. It’s all very Anthropologie. And fucking appalling.
Marie Curie was a scientist. One of Curie’s daughters was a scientist and the other was a journalist. They fought against the idea that women should stay at home rearranging flowers. They were denied jobs, teaching positions, lab space, respect, and resources because they were women. They balanced careers in science with family life.
We don’t need fucking marketing departments to soften science to appeal to women. Not so long ago, women were once thought to be unable to study physics and math because it would make them insane. Today women can get Ph.D.s in physics or nuclear medicine with much less opposition. And yet it is not as easy for them as it is for men. And still, we think we can sell books to women by putting some flowers on the cover, because science is intimidating, foreign, and male.
This is not what Marie Curie won two Nobel Prizes for.