Better Penny Red than Dead

Let me say from the outset: I like Laurie Penny.

Anyone who can cheerfully provoke such astonishing levels of vitriol from left, right, and centre deserves not just begrudging respect and admiration, but genuine affection. Thus, although this post was originally intended as a critical commentary upon her Notes from the New Age of Dissent, it might in fact be better read as a passionate appreciation of both book and author.

Ultimately, it doesn't really matter if Ms Penny is right or wrong, or whether her work makes good sense or no sense. If, sometimes, she's spectacularly mistaken and naive in her assessment of what's unfolding within contemporary culture, I prefer her wrongness to all the orthodox banality and cowardice that usually passes for rightness in this world. The point, surely, of Penny Red is to accept the challenge that is being thrown down and engage - not nit-pick.

For a work concerned with politics and feminism, however, the nature of this challenge is rather unusual. Lacking as it does any kind of theoretical framework or point of reference, it's not so much a challenge to think, as to care - which, for those of us who philosophically affirm insouciance and irony (terms that will make Ms Penny splutter on her cup of tea) is quite a big ask.

However, such is the quality of the writing and the personality of the author, that one feels almost charmed into dropping the simulated apathy and indifference of my generation, for a while at least, in order to share her anger and enthusiasm. Even, at a push, I might also concede the importance of retaining a little hope.

That said, I'm certainly not about to scrabble around amongst the ruins looking for old values and ideals and something to believe in once more - not even for Ms Penny! Revolution should never be a question of faith: or, if it is, then you can be sure a time of terror and inquisition will follow.

Besides, as Nietzsche pointed out: No one is free to be a crab. Which means you can't just reterritorialize on models of self or society which you imagine as more authentic or more real. (Ms Penny does tend to fetishize these notions and there's a powerful sense of nostalgia throughout her writings which she might do well to interrogate at some stage, as it undermines her radicalism.)  

Anyway, I'll stop here, for fear of starting to sound like one of those pompous and patronising middle-aged men who always talk over women at dinner parties; or, worse, one of those academic dinosaurs who rudely like to jab fingers in the face of the young.